The Raft: A Novel (49 page)

Quon grinned. I shuddered to think he’d be waiting for Jai-Li in the one place she was hoping to find solace from this broken world, but I also knew he’d told me with the intention of throwing me off, of exposing my insecurities. I couldn’t deny that it worked: Jai-Li had shared her tale of the secret sanctuary in confidence, yet Quon had fished it out of my mind and turned it against us with no effort at all.

“Tell me,” he continued. “How were those long years on the beach? Did you learn anything?”

“If you can read my mind, then you’ll know.”

“That’s true. And I am, as we speak. But actual conversation is so scarce these days. I really struggle to have a decent chat. Everyone’s so preoccupied with everything they don’t know. It’s dull. So let’s say, just for the sake of it, I won’t read a thing, and you just go ahead. Keep talking, and I’ll pretend I’m just a regular man, trying his best to listen.”

I was not convinced, not for a moment, that he would hold his end of the bargain, but was left with little choice. “Fine.”

“It’s not easy being a god, you know,” he added.

(
This Quon fancies himself a god, yes? Well, I don’t know much, but I have never known a true god to ever be scared of a man
)

“Is that what you think you are?” I asked. “A god?”

“An archaic principle, steeped in rubbish. But by definition I suppose I would be, wouldn’t I?”

(
After all, life is the will to connect. It is all life has over chaos. If you offer nothing to life you will be trimmed like the fat from a piece of meat. Similarly, if you choose to sit on a throne—to monopolise—you are doomed to stagnation, to collapse back into chaos
)

“Okay, so we’re just talking,” I said. “No mind reading? Man to man.”

“I like that! Man to man.”

“Then I do have something else to say. Something I know about you. And
you
can figure out whether I’m telling the truth or not. Like a game.”

“Condescending, but okay. Why not? A game.”

I smiled back at him, holding him in my grasp. No tricks. Simple fearlessness. The longer I waited, the greater his curiosity. I could see it in his eyes. What did a man like Quon need with such a thing as curiosity anyway? If he had the ability to know everything, what possible value could curiosity have?

My mind was a deluge of the details of every story and memory of the journey:

The first time Moneta had called me to the greenhouse, sitting at Jai-Li’s side as she told me about her father’s empire, Anubis’s story about the activists, the prophecy of human evolution, the family of machines …

I saw the thread that ran through them all, the one Shen had woven through each connected experience, and the purpose of being sent out to find this twisted king.

I knew how to end it all. I knew what had to be done.

“I can offer you something you don’t have,” I said.

“You have my attention.”

“On one condition.”

“Andy.”

“That’s right. If I have something you don’t have, something you want, you’ll tell me where to find my son.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I’ll give myself over willingly. I’ll join your drones outside.”

“I could make you join them if I wanted. Easily.”

“I’m sure. But how often have you had someone
choose
to join you, knowing what you are? Surely that’s worth something? That’s real power, Quon. Having people
want
to join you instead of
tricking
them into joining you.”

“Interesting,” he said, and tapped his chin. “All right. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Not yet,” I said quietly. “First you tell me where he is. It’s the only deal I’ll make. It’s not like you’d let me get away without giving you what I’ve offered.”

Quon chortled. “I like you,” he said. “I can see why Shen sent you, pointless as it will turn out to be. It’s a deal.”

Quon narrowed his eyes, a slitted smirk curling and tightening on his mouth. I held my resolve and offered no expression at all. He could read my mind but I’d never give more than I needed. I needed to be calm. Patient. Confident.

“He’s here,” Quon said, nonchalantly. “In the commune. I knew you’d be coming for him so I had him brought here. Always make sure you’ve got your bargaining chip close at hand—it simplifies transactions, yes? I had a feeling about your little visit. And, as it turns out, I was right. As usual.”

Andy. Right outside. There was a swell of exhilaration, and my heart walloped, but I remained calm, controlling my actions since I knew I could not own my thoughts.

“Now,” Quon said. He rotated his lower jaw and winked an eye. “It’s your turn.”

I waited again. He was fidgeting in his seat now, hands clutching the rests, his long neck extended like a turtle’s from its shell, his head lolling.

Gideon and I didn’t move. I held my poise, took a breath and said, “Before I tell you, I want to give you something.”

I grabbed the shoulder strap of the bag on my back and lowered it to the ground.

“Oh, this is most interesting, Mr. Kayle!” Quon said.

I glanced up at him, got down on my haunches and opened the bag. I pulled out an object wrapped in paper: the apple Klaus had given me.

(
It’s from the jungle. Of course, I don’t have to tell you not to eat it. You know that. But trust me when I say I think you should keep it. It won’t go bad. It won’t rot. It’ll last for as long as you need it. And something tells me you will need it
)

I held the shiny green apple out to Quon.

“An apple,” he said. Was that a surprised look on his face? I couldn’t tell.

“That’s right,” I said, rising.

He sat back in his seat. “I’m very tempted to read your mind, I must say.”

He stared at me intently.

“You can if you like.” I held his gaze. “It wouldn’t change a thing. But if you want to keep playing …”

“I’ll play,” he said.

“This is what I know about you, Quon. You’re bored.”

Quon paused and twitched his head to the side. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He sat back in his seat, turning his head and biting his knuckle in contemplation. “That’s all?”

“All and everything.”

He burst out laughing. “My terrible secret! That I’m bored!”

“And you’re becoming more bored by the day,” I cut him off. “It’s growing in you. And I know why. You may have people’s memories, but that’s all you’ve got. You can only know what everyone else already knows. Nothing more. That’s not omniscience, Quon. Not even close. It’s nothing but a trick. A cheap one. And
that’s
why you haven’t figured this out—because nobody has been able to tell you.”

He waggled a long-nailed finger at the apple. “And you want me to eat that, do you?”

“It’ll show you everything you are, everything you have and don’t have. Truth. That’s all I’m offering. If you don’t believe me, go on, do your trick, read my mind.”

“I already have.”

“Then you already know.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in that apple, Mr. Kayle, hoping it will end me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then why should I eat it?”

“Because you
need
to eat it. You need to know the truth, whatever that truth is. It’s the only thing you’ve got left. If you don’t eat it, you’re just another old man, scared of nothing more than himself.”

“The truth could be that I am destined to be God.”

“It could. There’s only one way to know.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, that’s why your mind-reading means nothing,” I said steadily. My heartbeat had slowed to normal and I knew as surely as I had ever known anything that these were the right words to say. “You see, you thought killing Shen would complete you. Give you all the power. But there’s something missing, isn’t there? And it haunts you. And you’re afraid it always will. Because life is the will to connect, and there’s nothing to connect with, is there? You’re at the top. Alone. Stagnant. And with nowhere else to go, you’ll crumble, deteriorate, and slowly, slowly … waste away.”

Quon paused for a moment, making sure I was done speaking, then threw his head back and chuckled. “Nicely done, old chap! Very convincing!” He clapped his hands twice. “This is all very familiar, isn’t it? The forbidden fruit. The promise of knowledge. Very, very good, old chap. I know precisely what you’re hoping for and, I must say, I appreciate the offer, but will have to decline.”

“No, you won’t,” I continued without hesitation.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll eat it,” I said. “They say you have our memories. But for what? A single man doesn’t even have enough years on this earth to explore the expanse of his own consciousness, and yet here you are, laying claim to billions of them. You must only be skimming the surface of who we are. You’d have to live ten billion lifetimes to understand all the intricacies, the details of each one of us—every one of our dreams and hopes and fears. But you don’t have that kind of time, do you? After all, you said it yourself, all hopes and desires are crushed by the weight of time. So what am I offering you? A catalyst. A chance to go from the highest peaks of our collective hopes to the lowest pits of our fear. To see what ten billion people truly desire, what they truly fear, and who we all really are. But I can’t fool you. You’ve seen what this apple can do … to an ordinary man. An ordinary man’s incapable of facing the paradox of his own existence. He might have to take his own life just to come to terms with his own realisations. But if you’re a god, well, then there’s nothing to worry about. You’d survive it. You’d thrive on it. If you’re a god, then what I’m offering you is precisely what you want. The full spectrum of your supreme consciousness in a single moment, without the waiting, the dull figuring out, the time to sift through this, through that, to see which memories should be tossed back to us like small fish. A chance to confront the paradox of existence, the stuff that gods are made of, and come out the other side, Quon, more powerful than you are now. Right here. In my hand. All in a bite.”

Quon nodded. “Everything you say is true. I can’t fault you on your logic. And yet … you don’t believe that, do you?”

“I don’t think you’re a god at all. I think you’re just a man. But the question isn’t whether I believe this; it’s whether you do.”

The chair lowered itself to the ground and Quon stood up slowly. Ponderous and awkward in the heavy suit, he made his way towards me. His white boots thumped on the ground. I could now make out the features of his face. A man, like any other man. Greying around his ears. Dark, tapered eyes. Cracked lips and rubber skin. I didn’t move, just stood there, keeping the apple up, urging him to take it.

“Such a simple thing,” he said. “Ridiculous, really.”

Quon paused and studied the apple, the large shiny apple. He was thinking about what I had said, and knew it was true. He’d never go on without knowing; his obsession was with knowledge itself—a delusion of acquiring omniscience—and he’d take whatever knowledge he could get, even though, paradoxically, it was the very knowledge he secretly knew would destroy him.

But there was something else in his eyes. He was being compelled by something more primal than a need for knowledge. The irrational compulsion of ordinary men and women. And in Quon’s case, billions of ordinary people, in that one place and one moment, desiring one more thing—just
one
more—as always. It was the scent of the apple. That sweet,
sickly
sweet scent. His lips began to work and his eyes began to bulge. His tongue flicked from his slit of a mouth. His nostrils flared and his torso heaved as his breath grew restless in his chest.

“Don’t do it,” he said, although I could not tell whether he was talking to me or to himself. There seemed to be a panel of voices, each fighting for its turn. “I must do it. No, that’s what he wants and you know why. He doesn’t know these things … he doesn’t know things the way we know things, he’s only hoping. This is a mistake. It’s not a mistake. This is what we need … no more secrets … no more waiting … it’ll destroy you. It won’t! Oh yes it will! Look at it! You know he’s right. No, you’ll survive the truth. And then you’ll see … you’ll see that I was right all along. And you will be satisfied. Complete. And there’ll be no more questions, no more doubt …”

I remembered the power of the fruit from my time in the jungle, but wasn’t as overwhelmed by it as I had been that first time. Gideon wasn’t reacting to the apple at all, but Quon …

Quon
was
reacting.

His desire to consume it, coupled with the need for its secrets, began to bubble up, rising in him like magma from beneath a cracked mantle.

Then, like the man in the woods who’d snatched Moneta’s sandwich, Quon grabbed the apple from me and tore through it with his teeth. He took enormous bites, chewing and chomping and slurping it down. The juices ran over his chin and along his hands and arms. I took a step back.

“That other earth,” I said, moving slowly away, “it knew. It had everything. But it sent you back here for a reason, Quon. A reason you never figured out. As powerful as that earth was, as complete in itself, it was alone. It needed to connect with something else. So it sent you here to advance
this
earth. To help it connect with something new, with us … and now you’re in a similar position, aren’t you? Powerful and stuck.”

Quon was still grinding and shredding off huge chunks of the apple, trying to swallow it all, but chunks were spilling from the sides of his mouth. After finishing the apple in his hand, he got on his knees and ate the remains from the floor like a dog.

“Yes,” he said faintly, and then louder. The fruit was streaming through him, flooding him with awareness. It took almost no time at all. “Yes! I was right! I am! Oh yes, I
am
a … god.”

Quon got to his feet. He was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes wide with horrific delight. He held up his glistening hands and threw out his chest. A laugh bellowed from deep within him.

“I am … a … god,” he said, his voice a loud croak. “I am a god! There is nothing and no one above me! Nothing and no one!”