The Sons of Heaven (26 page)

“Nicholas, sweetheart, please,” Mendoza implores. “Edward’s trying to help! I didn’t think cyborg babies could get colic, did you?”

“I had no idea,” Edward says, pressing his cheek to the top of Nicholas’s head. Nicholas pummels him with tiny fists. “Nicholas, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” Nicholas’s cries break off in a
whulp
as he spits up milk all down the front of Edward’s chest.

“Oh,” says Mendoza. There is a gurgling chortle from her arms, as Alec kicks in merriment. Edward stares down in disbelief.

Reckon you’ll want a spare nappie, won’t you, Commander sir?
remarks the Captain, as Billy Bones scuttles forward out of the shadows and offers one.

“Thank you, Captain.” Edward takes it and mops up the mess unsteadily, as Nicholas lies glaring on his arm, exhausted. He dabs sour milk out of the creases in Nicholas’s little wry neck. He accesses Molesworth for data on colic and intestinal cramping.

“Captain, fetch a fresh nightgown and diaper, please, and a bottle of water warmed to thirty-five degrees centigrade precisely containing four drops of tincture of catnip. Thank you.”

“That’s the way, señor,” says Mendoza in a weary voice, patting his arm. “We’ll do this reproduction thing yet, eh?”

“We ought to keep a record,” says Edward, absently lifting Nicholas to his shoulder again and rocking with him. Mendoza, noting this, smiles.

“We might write an appendix to Molesworth,” Edward continues. “Or a book of our own. ‘Child Care in the Cyborg Family,’ perhaps? For the benefit of any others who attempt this?”

Mendoza considers a moment. “You think any other cyborgs are going to want to do this?” she says at last. Edward begins to snicker, and she joins him. By the time Billy Bones returns with the bottle and clothing they are leaning on each other, helpless with laughter at the absurdity of the mere idea.

I’m still picking splinters out of my hair. And just now I don’t feel like being around any of them, thank you very much.

Don’t you look at me like that, Flint. You know damned well what I mean.

What happened this time? Daddy gave his little cherubs a bedtime story. No, no, let’s be more accurate: he gave them a
dramatic recitation
. What possessed him—I don’t care if it’s a children’s book!

Well. I haven’t updated this in a while and I suppose I should begin by mentioning that they’re walking now, at least in their little spider-walkers the Captain made for them. These are sort of bucket seats with holes through which their legs dangle down, so the toes just touch the floor. Extending from around the sides of each bucket are eight jointed legs. The legs are connected to a brain node controllable by any baby cyborg, if he learns the commands.

Alec learned them in a shot and went racing away across the deck, like a pink-and-white Invader Zim, laughing merrily as we ran after him. He got as far as the mainmast chains before Sir Henry intercepted the little dickens. Nicholas sat staring after us and cried piteously, until he suddenly seemed to figure it out and pattered forward a few unsteady paces.

After that he went creeping around, looking about him wide-eyed. At last he came up to the port capstan where I was sitting, and slowly rose on the jointed legs until he was at eye level with me. “Rose,” he said, and I was so startled I dropped my text plaquette and so happy I grabbed him, spider legs and all, and covered him with kisses.
Rose
, he said. That was Nicholas’s name for me. Nicholas
is
in there.

Alec should be remembering himself, too, but so far there’s no sign, other than his ease in picking up programming. He won’t speak clearly but babbles
at an incredible rate. I am
Memza
and Edward is
Deaddead
. He’s generally sunny-tempered, but his tantrums, when he’s thwarted, are awe-inspiring. Edward feels this is because Flint and Billy Bones are always there to give him anything for which he stretches out his little hands, and consequently he isn’t developing proper patience.

So Edward has set limits on how far Alec may be indulged, and this has led to pouts, screams of rage, a few almost-intelligible profanities (“
That’s my boy!”
roared Sir Henry) and recklessness guaranteed to drive us frantic.

Well, so we were having curried prawns for supper and Alec kept raising himself up on his spider legs and grabbing at them, and then he’d scream when we’d have to prize prawns out of his fists because of course they’re too spicy for him, and Edward kept trying to distract him with digestive biscuits instead … and he hit Edward in the eye with a fistful of peaches from his fruit cup … and I thought Edward was going to pop a collar stud, the veins in his neck were standing out so.

With tremendous effort I got them both calmed down (Nicholas, bless his little heart, just munched away at his fish sticks and peas without complaint) and maybe they noticed I was a bit stressed or something, possibly because of me twisting that spoon into a complete spiral, so when supper was over Edward volunteered to give them their baths and put them to bed. I went gratefully off to the forward stateroom and ran myself a bath. I never used to care for baths as such, I was always in the field and they were hasty affairs of splashing in some creek or other, much preferred showers … but lately I’ve been finding it strangely soothing to soak in a hot tub. So there I was, just beginning to relax.

And there was Edward with the boys in the great cabin’s lavatory, soaping curry sauce out of Alec’s hair. Let’s examine Sir Henry’s transcript of what happened next, shall we?

Here is Edward, immortal Recombinant superbeing, resignedly pouring water over Alec’s head, as Alec shrieks like a damned soul and flails at him. Nicholas, meanwhile, hair all spiked up into soapy tufts, is watching sadly.

Yer getting soap in his little eyes, you son of whore! says Sir Henry. And the Goddamned water’s too cold!

“It is precisely thirty-eight point eight degrees centigrade,” says Edward, swabbing at Alec’s eyes with a clean sponge. “There now. Incline this way, Nicholas, if you please. You see, Alec? Nicholas isn’t afraid of a little soap and water. Well done, Nicholas. Alec, sit down instantly.”

Alec bellows defiance, clinging to the edge of the tub. Sir Henry sends
Flint clanking close, raising a towel in his specially modified manipulative members.

Aw, now, he’s just ready to come out. Ain’t you, matey?

“Haaarrr,” says Alec, and holds up his arms, as Flint lifts him from the tub.

Listen there! His first word!

“I beg your pardon,” says Edward, swathing Nicholas in a towel. “His first word, or rather phrase, was something that sounded appallingly close to ‘You big bastard.’”

Heh! So it were, to be sure. Just my way of having a bit of fun with you, Commander sir. Hold tight, matey, we’re bound for the nursery!

They retire to the compartment Edward had had fitted up after a brief shopping expedition to Whiteley’s, circa 1880. He looks wistfully at the lace-trimmed cribs, but carries Nicholas to the changing table where Flint has already laid out diapers and nightgowns. In short order and with military precision the little boys are toweled, powdered, clothed, and carried in to the great cabin, where Flint has turned down the cradle’s skull-and-crossbone-embroidered coverlet.

Here we go, mateyas! All’s shipshape for a cruise to sweet dreams!

Edward rolls his eyes, but tucks the boys in side by side. Alec sits bolt upright again, scowling at him. “Memza,” he says accusingly.

“She’s presently occupied,” says Edward. “Lie back down and go to sleep, please.” In reply Alec scrambles to his feet and staggers forward, reaching for the rail with the apparent intention of jumping ship. “Alec, stand to this instant,” says Edward, and grabs him just before he plummets to the floor, stopping Nicholas (who was following suit) with his free hand.

Why, the little dears ain’t sleepy yet, Commander. Why don’t you tell ‘em a bedtime story?

“I was about to go clean their walkers,” says Edward. “Alec’s is liberally smeared with curry sauce, as you may have noticed.”

Certain sure I did, Commander sir. You just leave that to old Billy Bones. They wants a story, don’t you, lads?

“Yeh,” says Alec brightly, lying back and folding his arms. Nicholas looks sidelong at him and sighs.

Edward has never told a bedtime story before. He is so nonplussed he looks about the cabin a moment, searching vainly for a book, before he remembers that he can access the whole of children’s literature. Pulling up a selection that seems appropriate, he scans it and excerpts something he feels will entertain while conveying a cautionary moral.

“Very well,” he says. “H’em! The Walrus and the Carpenter. ‘The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all its might. It did its very best to make the billows smooth and bright; and this was odd, because it was the middle of the night.’”

Nicholas sits up, frowning. Alec snorts in a derisive way.

“It’s a nonsense rhyme,” Edward explains. He goes on: “
‘The sea was wet as wet could be, the sand was dry as dry … ‘
“The little boys watch his performance with stony faces, until he speaks in a falsetto for the moon. “
‘It’s very rude of him, she said, to come and spoil the fun!’”
Alec guffaws and Nicholas smiles.

Encouraged, Edward continues: “‘The Walrus and the Carpenter were walking close at hand. They wept like anything to see such quantities of sand.’” He pulls out a pocket handkerchief and, dabbing at his eyes with it, sobs out “‘ “If this were only cleared away,” they said, “It would be grand!”‘“

Alec laughs so hard his eyes glaze and his cheeks flush, and even Nicholas is chortling now. Edward forges ahead, holding up his fingers tuskwise to play the Walrus, with a comic voice, and doing a broad East End accent for the Carpenter. He does a funny walk for the Oysters. The little boys are helpless with laughter.

“‘… And more and more and more! All hopping through the frothy waves and scrambling to the shore!’
“carols Edward, skipping about the room, and Alec crows for breath, and Nicholas has fallen over sideways, gurgling with hysteria.

Edward thinks it’s going splendidly, and decides to pull out all the stops. The moral is approaching, after all. When the Walrus and Carpenter have seated themselves and the little oysters stand waiting in a row, Edward draws himself up. Speaking between his Walrus tusks, he drops his voice to a purr.

“ ‘ “The time has come,” the Walrus said, “to talk of many things … “‘“

As he works his way through the verse, his voice becomes deeper, subtly menacing. Alec is catching his breath, still giggling involuntarily now and then. Nicholas pulls himself up and stares, as Edward changes character for the querulous Oysters.” ‘…
For some of us are out of breath, and all of us are fat!” “Naow ‘urry!”said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that,’
” says Edward.

Now Edward resumes the Walrus’s voice for the next verse, and he begins to sidle back and forth, a bit nearer to the cradle on each pass. The boys watch him, eyes perfectly round, as little birds might watch a snake.

“ ‘“… Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear, we can begin to feed,”‘“ says Edward, in the silkiest possible voice, then dances away for the falsetto cry of the Oysters: “‘ “But not on us!”the Oysters cried, turning a little blue. “After such kindness, that would be a dismal thing to do!”‘“

Alec chuckles uneasily. Edward’s pale eyes are gleaming. He rises to his full height, licks his chops, bares his long teeth and leans down to deliver, in a soft thick voice, the most ominous line of dialogue in all literature:

“ ‘ “The night is fine,”the Walrus said. “Do you admire the view?”‘“

And he pounces!

Twin steam-whistle screams of utter terror, in major thirds, are heard the length and breadth of the ship!

This is the point where I experienced something like the reverse of astral projection, with my astonished mind watching from amidst scented bubbles as my body vaulted from the tub and vanished. The next thing I knew I was bursting through the great cabin’s door, or to be more precise
it
was bursting and I was arriving, clad only in bubbles and fragments of door, at the boys’ bedside, with Billy Bones no more than a step behind me, brandishing two disrupter pistols and three cutlasses in five of his six arms. Edward, looking stricken, was frantically trying to hush the babies’shrieking.

Things were rather confused for a moment, and extremely loud. I had launched myself at Edward before I was quite aware what I was doing, and the babies became even more frightened, and Flint accidentally shot the gimbal lamp, which exploded. There was a great deal of bad language from Sir Henry. The little boys were screaming in rage and embarrassment now as well, having wet themselves catastrophically, as Edward tried to explain what had happened, and I remember yelling, “You thought it had a moral? What moral?” and Edward roaring in reply,
“Don’t talk to Goddamned strangers
, what else?” before he drew back, appalled, and added: “Good God! You’re naked
in front of the children!”

I left in high dudgeon.

Being godlike beings like we are and all, this family business should be easy, eh? Especially for Edward Alton Bell-Fairfax, former secret agent and noted child care authority. Hark! He approaches …

Well, now we’ve made up and everything is fine. Sir Henry has had the door and lamp replaced, the little boys have had fresh baths, complete changes of clothing, and reassurances that Deaddead won’t eat them. Deaddead has apologized for his shocking language, and excused Memza for her nudity on the grounds that her profound maternal instincts prevented her delaying long enough to grab a robe when her young were in perceived danger.

Now it’s long past midnight and here I lie, watching my husband sleep. Well, Deaddead, this is a long way from that blissful eternal moment when
you
knew
you had the universe in the palm of your big clever hand, isn’t it? Are you enjoying immortal life, my love? It’s an awfully big adventure, to be sure.