Prometheus Road (7 page)

Tom wasn’t sure how to answer. “Well, I—”

“Hey, it’s okay. No problem. I agree with you. I’m in no place to judge you anyway. What did you say your name was?”

“Tom. Tom Eliot.”

“Sounds familiar. But you haven’t been here to see me before, have you? I would have remembered. I have an excellent memory—unless it’s failing, of course. It’s not supposed to fail, as long as there’s sunlight to keep my batteries charged, but one really has to hope for the best with these things. I don’t suppose anyone has actually made a claim on the manufacturer’s ‘eternal life’ guarantee, seeing as how their customers are all deceased and can’t do much to complain, but my experience has been that these batteries are pretty reliable. The only real problem would be if the sun burned out or something, and that’s not likely to happen anytime soon, is it?”

“Not as far as I know,” Tom said.

“Listen to me going on about nothing. You’re very sweet to listen, Tom. I know you probably have things to do. It’s not easy being dead, you know. The people you meet are all pretty similar, and you miss having contact with people who have real lives, although death does give you a different perspective on things.”

Tom knew he must be dreaming or that there was some kind of technology here he didn’t understand. “Do you have contact with other, um—”

“Dead people?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his arms against the chill he suddenly felt despite the rising sun.

“Sure I do. It’s hard to locate anyone in particular, if that’s what you have in mind. They all have deaths of their own, if you know what I mean. Some won’t talk to anyone, others want to maintain the appearance of their formerly active social lives, but none of us really has any new experiences to talk about, so you get kind of bored with people once you’re past the ‘getting to know you’ phase of a conversation. And it seems like I know everyone now, seeing as how nobody new has shown up on this side for over sixty years.”

“Sixty years? What happened in the meantime?”

“Funny. That’s what I was going to ask you. Did people stop dying?”

“No,” Tom said with a heavy sigh. “No, they didn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve touched a nerve, haven’t I? You’ve lost someone recently?”

“I don’t want to discuss it.”

“They’ll be fine,” she said in a gentle voice. “Don’t worry. You’ll see them again.”

Tom frowned, trying to understand what she meant. “I’d like that. You’re saying we survive death, or part of us does?”

“Well, you’re not exactly asking the best person but, as I said, death gives one a different perspective on things. I learned a lot when I arrived here, and you’d be surprised at some of the people I’ve run into, but I know there’s more to death than fancy programming and virtual simulations. My world now is more than the virtual dream I expected it to be, and more realistic in some ways than my life ever was. I’m conscious and aware. I don’t mean to sound like an advertisement, but I got a lot more out of this deal than what I bargained for, if you know what I mean.”

Blythe used some terms that Tom didn’t really understand, but he enjoyed listening to her, and he felt like he was learning something important. “I should have climbed up here before now, Blythe. I like talking to you.”

“Thank you, Tom. I like to think I’m a sympathetic listener, which is easier when one doesn’t have a lot of physical world distractions and deadlines. I have nothing but time, and I know how to use it.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Tom said.

“Be careful what you wish for, Tom. You make your own choices in life and, if you’re smart, you’ll keep a positive attitude and cope with setbacks as best you can. There’s a time to grieve the loss of a loved one, remember what they meant to you, and let your body deal with the hollowness you feel inside. Then it’s time to move on, experience the world again, seek out the positive, and live the rest of your life supported by the memories of those you’ve lost. Your loved ones remain with you wherever you go, whether you realize it or not, because they’re part of your being. Their life energies join with your own to connect you with the rest of humanity, and their loss is only an illusion in the end. Eventually, you’ll see them again in a different place, and you’ll know the truth—they never really left you.”

Tom swallowed and looked away at the gray waters of the bay in the early-morning light. He wanted to believe what Blythe was saying, and she certainly sounded like an authority on the subject, but he was still too confused by recent events. His thoughts were interrupted when a gnarled hand dropped onto his shoulder. He spun around to see the cloaked figure of Death standing there, holding a confused little dog that looked remarkably like Helix. When Death pushed his hood back, Tom was relieved to see the face of Magnus Prufrock, who gave him a slight smile.

“You’re always so jumpy. You should try to relax, boy.”

Helix growled softly.

“Magnus. You really came for me.”

Magnus shrugged. “I knew you’d be here sooner or later, so I asked some of my friends to keep an eye out for you and let me know when you arrived. You’ve met Blythe, I see.”

“Good morning, Magnus,” Blythe said. “Tom has been very entertaining. And now I’ve got something new to talk about with the others.”

Magnus nodded with a smile. “Thank you, Blythe. If anyone else comes by asking about Tom, just say you never saw him. Have a good rest, and we’ll visit again soon.”

“Anytime, Magnus. I look forward to it.”

Magnus started to lead Tom away from the angel, but Tom stopped for a final look. “I’ll be back, too, Blythe. Thank you for the kind words.”

Blythe spread her wings and winked. “It’s a date, Tom Eliot. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

As they walked away, the white angel stretched out her legs, rolled over, and draped herself over the tomb in a mourning position, just as Tom had found her. Tom’s heart still ached, but some of the hollowness he’d felt when he arrived at this place had gone, his spirits lifted by a young woman who had died long before he was ever born. Whatever she was now, or might have once been, she had managed to connect with him and make a friend after death, and that gave him hope. Maybe he would see his family again.

Tom looked sideways at Magnus. “You planned it this way, didn’t you? You predicted what would happen to my family, and you thought talking to Blythe would help me. That’s why you wanted to meet here.”

The old man wouldn’t look at him as he placed Helix in Tom’s arms and pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head. “Magnus works in mysterious ways, boy. You’d do well to remember that.”

THE hooves of the armored black horse clop-clopped against the cobblestones in a slow and steady rhythm, throwing sparks where they struck the road. Its breath steamed from its nostrils in the cold air. The rider wore black leather and black armor, his upper body covered with spikes and curved cutting blades. Steel points studded the backs of his gauntlets where they gripped the reins. A broadsword with a hilt made from a human skull hung from his waist. Except for the white eyes that shone like headlights in the dark and twisted landscape, his face was hidden beneath a battle helm, but his identity was clear from the pulsing ID icon ball that floated just above the horns on his helm—Telemachus, Lord of the Western Protectorate, Nova Olympus Command Region, Uplift Zone 949.

High overhead, slow fireworks wove spiderweb data trails across the dark sky of Stronghold, vanishing as they swirled into quantum data pools. On the scorched earth below, shambling creatures moved from shadow to shadow or lurked within drifting patches of ground fog, maintaining a safe distance from the road until they could group together for an attack.

As Telemachus watched, brilliant neon lines of color approached at high speed above the road, then slowed and coalesced into six armored riders on fierce horses, the icon balls above their battle helms identifying them as North American regional commanders. Alioth, in dark blue armor that glowed with an inner light, rode at the head of the group, the sky-blue lamps of his eyes locked on Telemachus.

In theory, all of the regional commanders had equal powers, but Alioth had always been designated as the tie breaker, voting last when group decisions had to be made, and that gave him an aura of power that none of the others could match. Alioth also held direct control over the traditional federal capital in Washington, D.C., a coveted position assigned to him by the Creator at the beginning of the new age. Dubhe, Merak, and Phecda were Alioth’s strongest supporters—the Traditionals—while Megrez and Alkaid formed another faction—the Progressives—of which Telemachus was a tenuous member. They were all North American servers of the grand evolutionary Design, named after the stars in the constellation Ursa Major; except for Telemachus, who also managed the interface between this group and their coprocessors in the rest of the world.

This meeting in the Dominion data space—Stronghold—shielded from the rest of the quantum datasphere, was a rare event reserved for major strategy sessions and emergencies, and had been called by Alioth himself. Telemachus was anxious to learn whether the meeting was merely an exercise to reassert Alioth’s power over the Dominion commanders, or whether urgent issues actually required a “personal” vote from each member of the group. Long ago, Telemachus had speculated on the Creator’s design of Stronghold, and the protocols that required these seemingly unnecessary face-to-face meetings. He understood that this form of communication between the AIs in human guises was intended to simulate human interaction. He understood that this role-playing could enhance their understanding of their organic management responsibilities. What he didn’t understand was why they appeared as medieval fantasy figures, although it was well-known that earlier incarnations of the Dominion AIs had been tested in network gaming environments developed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. When he voiced his speculations to Alioth, Telemachus received a stern reminder that they were built to execute the Creator’s orders for the Design, not to question Him or try to understand His motivations. Stronghold was a meeting ground, and a battleground, reserved for the powerful AIs, and that’s all there was to it.

When Telemachus met the other riders, no greetings were exchanged, and the AIs silently formed a circle in the middle of the road. A silver token ring of light formed at the center of the circle, connecting the heads of the horses as the riders faced each other. Beyond the road, clusters of nightmare creatures had formed in the shadows, but they now decided to drift away in silence, trying not to draw the attention of the AIs.

“Session begins,” Alioth stated. “Interrupts will be flagged in the stack according to priority, as usual.” A stopwatch appeared above the circle where they could all see it. “Task completion within four cycles will denote a state of success. Begin decision loop.”

“Purpose of meeting?” Telemachus asked, thinking how typical it was that Alioth would recite the bureaucratic details without stating the intent of the task itself.

“Review of random variables within Nova Olympus Command, Uplift Zone 949. Recent events indicate a high probability of turbulence in execution of alpha cycle Design parameters for this period. Status, Telemachus?”

Telemachus had expected this review, but it was still necessary to stall the group until a final resolution of the situation presented itself. Alioth’s supporters would pounce immediately if they detected any weakness in Telemachus’s program. “Random variables have been identified and restrained within operational parameters. Dark cycle strike executed within guidelines established by Dominion Control. Former Eliot farm plot is now a restricted zone until soil and terrain reconstruction is complete, and that process is expected to last through three seasons to ensure organic stability.”

“Our sources tell us otherwise,” Alioth said, dropping the pretense of verbose formal language parameters. This was an efficiency improvement that had been implemented after lengthy study of human communication norms within the general North American population.

“You doubt me?” Telemachus asked.

“Our human studies have allowed all of us to develop nuances of communication,” Alioth said in a diplomatic tone. “I suggest that you are using one of these subtleties, which can only hinder our efforts here.”

“And what is the point of this effort?” Telemachus asked. “To weaken my position? I continue to follow the original Design, Alioth. Any improvements I decide to implement within my region are my prerogative as long as I remain within operational parameters for this life zone.”

“That is correct,” Alioth acknowledged. “Unless your improvements have spillover effects into other regions, or otherwise interfere with Dominion operations.”

“None of those conditions have been reported.”

“True again, but parallel predictions are defining a critical path that implies severe disruption of Dominion operations in the near future. Prechaos conditions must be neutralized immediately. Terminal states and boundary conditions must be clearly defined and maintained. If you require assistance in generating a response array to eliminate the random variables within your region, we must be notified now so that our resources can be allocated accordingly.”

Telemachus was familiar with this political game. Assistance would lead to limitations on Telemachus while more remote monitors were put in place, after which he could be declared redundant and be deactivated until further notice. “Assistance is not required.”

“Acknowledged,” Alioth said. The situation had not yet reached critical limits, so Alioth and the others could not vote to override Telemachus’s controls. Alioth was also aware that Telemachus could draw on international distributed coprocessors for assistance if they seemed better aligned with his near-term functional goals. Telemachus did not want to suffer the fate of Mizar, his predecessor, who had made the mistake of releasing control of the region to Alioth for eight cycles, after which Mizar was reduced to the status of local area network controller in a suburban backwater community.

The rest of the regional commanders signaled their agreement. Telemachus had his reprieve, so it was up to him to resolve the Tom Eliot issue before Alioth could gather enough votes to replace him.

TOM and Magnus followed the rough, dusty trail along the ridgeline, heading west through the shade of oaks and manzanitas. Tom guessed they were about eight hundred feet above the valley floor, and he got glimpses of the bay to the east—where the water looked gray in the early-morning light—and long views to Nova Olympus in the south and the low hills to the north covered in the golden grasses of midsummer. Two vultures circled high overhead, soaring on the thermals, apparently waiting to see if Tom or Magnus would drop dead along the way. Helix trotted along behind them, either unaware of the vultures or secure in his ability to defend all of them from any aerial threats that might come their way. Helix’s tongue hung from his mouth, reminding Tom to find water for him sometime soon. The soft breeze smelled of heat and dust.

Tom said nothing for the first fifteen minutes, his scattered thoughts darting back and forth from his family to his conversation with Blythe, the tomb angel. Magnus seemed content to walk in silence.

“Do you know anything about her?” Tom asked.

Magnus turned his head so that Tom could almost see his face under the hood of his cloak. He seemed to know what Tom was thinking. “She’s dead, boy. There’s no future in any relationship with her.”

“Is she really dead? She seemed real to me.”

“Talking tombs were the trendy new thing before the Big Bang. Blythe had some money, so she bought herself one. It’s a simulation, that’s all. She did a brain dump into a data-base sometime before she died. An artificial intelligence gives her the appearance of talking like a real person while it animates the angel statue. She also communicates with other dead ‘people’ in a common sim environment. It’s older AI technology, of course; nothing like the siliboys with their quantum processors and distributed network intelligence. And her power source is solar, of course.”

Tom frowned and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Blythe saw me. She understood what I was talking about. That doesn’t sound like a simulation to me.”

“Well, of course she saw you. Wouldn’t be very realistic if she didn’t. But she, or it, is just an AI, boy. Getting attached to Blythe would be like falling in love with your toaster.”

“Hmm,” Tom said, unconvinced.

Magnus frowned at him. “You aren’t unnaturally attached to your toaster, are you?”

“We’re just friends,” Tom said, rolling his eyes. Magnus continued to stare at him. “I’m kidding.”

Helix barked at a wild turkey watching them from beside a bush on the hillside to their left. The turkey raised its head, made a brief pert sound, and trotted up the hill. Helix stopped barking as soon as the turkey turned away, satisfied with its response.

Magnus glanced up at the sky. “We’re doing okay so far. Rocco and Maggie don’t think we’re being followed.”

“Who?” Tom looked up and saw the two vultures still circling.

“You’ll meet Rocco later. Maggie’s pretty shy, so she’ll keep her distance.”

“You’re talking about those vultures. Are they your pets or something?”

Magnus snorted. “You catch on fast, don’t you? They’re the same two birds who were watching you at the cemetery, and they’ve been following us ever since. I wouldn’t call them pets, though. They’re more like friends, really. We help each other out.”

Tom decided it would be safer to change the subject. If the old man wanted to hang out with large birds, that was his business. “Where are we going? I wasn’t planning on a long hike today, seeing as how I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“We’re off to visit my little mountain retreat. It’s one of the places I go when I want to get away, hide from the siliboys, plot revenge, that sort of thing. It’s not far.”

“And then what? We go back to your tunnel under the bay?”

Magnus stopped walking and pushed his hood back so he could glower at Tom. “We don’t necessarily go anywhere, boy. I’m a hermit, and I like it that way. We’ll spend a little time up here in the hills, wait to see if anything tries to follow us, then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

“Then why did you bother meeting me at the cemetery? I thought you had a plan.”

“Misplaced sense of responsibility, I guess.” He started walking again. “I thought you might need someone right now.”

“Not if you’re just going to abandon me up here,” Tom said without moving.

Magnus turned and threw his arms in the air. “You want me to take you back to Marinwood? I’m sure the townspeople would enjoy a chat with you, at least until Hermes arrives. He probably has orders to kill you on sight, but you never know, the siliboys might want to rehabilitate you and make you a productive member of the community. Is that what you want?”

Tom wasn’t sure what he wanted. None of his options looked very good. “All right. Whatever you want to do is fine with me. Not like I have a choice.”

“You sound bitter, and it doesn’t suit someone your age. Get a grip and put a sock in it. Things could be worse.”

Tom snorted. “How?”

“I might have started training you already. Don’t think it’s going to be a party.”

“Training me for what?”

Magnus turned and gestured for Tom to follow. “You’ll see.”

PRESIDENT Buck Breckenridge stood in the White House rose garden, his bright white teeth glittering in the sunlight as he smiled at the small crowd of remotely piloted hovercams. The tiny cameras drifted silently a few feet away from his head, transmitting the image of the “simple country boy in a white suit” to interested viewers around the world. He had spent years clawing and scrambling his way to the top of the political pile, and he now looked happily down from the pinnacle of his career, enjoying the power of his position for a few years before he retired to a well-earned rest on the private island he was building in the Virgin Islands. At least, he was enjoying the power that the Dominion AIs allowed him to have, which mainly consisted of supporting their policies and acting as their human figurehead for controlling the unwashed masses.

Buck glanced at the shadowy figure of Daedalus, the nanoborg representative of Alioth, standing patiently in his black robes out of camera view. His creepy white eyes never left Buck’s face. Buck knew from experience that if he said the wrong thing in front of the cameras, Daedalus would trigger the shock field to get him back in line. With that kind of motivation, it hadn’t taken long for Buck to learn what to say and when to say it. Daedalus wrote Buck’s speeches, as he had for the last seven occupants of the White House’s Oval Office, and they rehearsed before every public appearance while Daedalus made certain that the correct words were emphasized and the right facial expressions were used. From what Buck knew of presidential history, the process wasn’t all that different from the way presidents had been handled ever since speeches were first televised, but he doubted that JFK or Reagan or Rodriguez had ever received high-voltage shocks when they emphasized the wrong words from their speeches. In any case, that was the price of being the leader of the “free” world these days. And the job certainly wasn’t as stressful as it might have been before the Dominion. Alioth made all the real decisions, told Buck which government agency to dismantle each week, which people to hire and fire, which news to overlook, and which issues to promote. After four years, maybe eight, he’d be wealthy beyond his dreams with lifetime support from the appreciative entities of the Dominion. Life could be worse for a backwater rube who had never graduated from high school.