Threshold Shift (13 page)

He
took a deep breath, searching for the path, hoping it was still there
and that time had not robbed him of it. His eyes were keen, it was
where he remembered, a narrow shingle path that proceeded up a hill
away from Main Street, the recharge station and Argon itself. He had
vowed to walk that path once a week. He did not know if old Jacob
Klein had kept that promise, but then it didn’t really matter.
He was here, and whatever he was, he would visit her anyway. A few
hours old, a thousand years old, it did not matter. He thought like
Jacob Klein. He remembered being Jacob Klein. He would fight like
Jacob Klein. In the end the answer couldn’t be simpler, he was
Jacob Klein.

The
path was swallowed by darkness, and he took each step carefully, the
light of the town an orange glow behind him. He continued until he
reached a tall metal gate that opened on receipt of his hand print.
He stepped through, ground lights bursting into life by his feet,
either side of the path. He followed this trail of yellow light, a
trail keyed directly to him. He knew there were other paths from the
gate, and many routes, but he was only interested in this one. He
followed, a little anxious, sad, the reassurance his reflexes gave
him was no reassurance here. This was a place that belonged to the
dead.

Headstones
came into view, some of the names clear, others faded, eaten by time.
Early settlers, families, miners, murderers, were all around him, and
finally, as the light trail came to an end, the one most precious to
him.

Eleanor
Klein

Beloved
wife of Jacob

Mother
of Jon

3331
– 3360

Jake
knelt down before it, on the cold and hard ground. “Hello El,”
he said and ran his fingers over the contours of her name, a layer of
dirt and grime falling away. “I miss you.”

Jake
bowed his head and closed his eyes. The grave was silent, it could
not reply, but inside his mind he saw Eleanor smiling back at him.
The wind catching her long red hair, and her green eyes, so close, so
detailed, he could almost see the brown flecks swirling within.

“I’ll
keep our son safe,” he promised her.

Time
passed, minutes, hours, it did not matter. He remained there,
remembering her, knowing the memory wasn’t even his, but
treasuring it all the same. It was all he had. Another Jacob Klein
had made the same promise, ten years before. He also vowed never to
make another sim recording, so that if ever it was needed, he would
be strong enough to keep that promise. Jopo H, he still found it hard
to believe. How old Jacob Klein had disappointed him, and yet, when
he had seen the body, he had seen himself. He would not make the same
mistake again. He may have been the sim, but he was also the second
chance. It wasn’t as if Jacob Klein had ever been completely
human to begin with. He had been grown in a vat too, a scout for Wun,
once part of the whole, divided to travel great distances and report
back when his mission was complete. Jacob Klein had never reported
back, and Wun would most likely consider him another lost scout, as
so many were lost.

Insignificant...

His
mission had changed, the long years away had given him individuality,
had given him his face. Just as Wun was ordered, he attempted to
create order by becoming the Marshal. But when he met Eleanor, he
found something else, a mind in tune with his own but not a part of
it. The connection was sublime, less but more, better than being an
appendage to Wun, better than being Wun. When Jon was born, he
realised he had created something new, something precious. In all his
life, he had never done that before. How he marvelled at seeing Jon
as a fully grown man, and how it had hurt to be so rejected. But in
the end it didn’t matter, he knew what he knew. He would keep
his promise.

The
echo of footfalls alerted him to a presence. He rose to his feet,
agitated, upset that he should be disturbed in this place. It was for
him alone.

“Hello
Jacob,” a man greeted. The voice was so familiar. “You
have caused quite a stir.”

Jake
turned to face a figure wrapped in a heavy brown overcoat. “Wun.”

“It's
Asher, please, Jacob.”

“Of
course,” Jake replied, studying the man before him. “How
long have you been here? You almost have a face.”

Asher
smiled. “I’m surprised Jon didn’t tell you about
me. In fact I’m disappointed in him.”

“Well,
he had a lot to tell me,” Jake said. “He probably didn’t
realise the significance.”

“Indeed.”

“What
do you want, Asher?” Jake asked.

“I
came to offer you the same terms as your predecessor. Give Paul back
to the Threshians and all is forgiven. No harm will come to either
you or Jon.”

“The
previous answer was no?”

“It
was,” Asher replied.

“Then
what makes you think I’ll say anything different?”

“Jacob
was very sick, you are in excellent health.”

Jake
turned away, rubbing his hands together before delivering a sudden
savage uppercut to Asher’s chin. The man dropped to the ground
in a heap.

“Did
he answer like that?” Jake asked.

Asher
cradled his jaw, moving it around experimentally as he struggled to
his feet. “Not in that language.”

“You
didn’t realise that was going to happen,” Jake said.
“Interesting.”

“You
are not my brother,” Asher replied. “But you are unique.
You have the memories without ever having a connection. But you are a
temporary being at best.”

“Then
I have nothing to gain by agreeing to your terms,” Jake said.
He turned to leave, only to find himself ripped from his feet by an
invisible force and pinned to the earth.

Asher
stood over him. “You are an abomination. I should not even let
you exist.”

“You
wouldn’t,” Jake said, trying to rise. An unseen pressure
prevented him. “Whatever I am, we share too much.”

Asher
turned away, leaning over Eleanor’s headstone, touching it with
one gloved hand. “I have absorbed all of Jacob’s
memories, I know of his feelings for this woman.”

“She
was unique,” Jake said.

“You
loved her,” Asher replied. “You love your son. How would
you feel if I took him back with me?”

“He
would be absorbed, his memories assimilated into Wun. You’d
kill him.”

“He
would not die,” Asher declared. “He would never die. He
would live forever, unlike you, with your handful of months.”

Jake
struggled to move, but it was no use, Asher’s hold was too
strong, and there was no way he could fight it. If he had not been a
sim, he could have accessed Asher’s mind, he could have struck
back. But the ability had not survived the copying process, No link,
no power. He was truly alone.

“Jacob
might have been able to stop me,” Asher said, “but not
you. You are so much less.”

“I’ll
find a way!”

“I’m
offering it to you,” Asher said. “Release your prisoner
and Jon goes free. I will not make any effort to take him back.”
The man in brown directed his gaze into the night sky. “Even
now powerful forces are moving against you. I could just let it play
out, but I would prefer not to see Jon die. I would even prefer not
to see you die.

“Promise
me, you won’t take him.”

Asher
smiled, and the pressure on Jake’s chest relaxed.

“On
condition you let Paul go.”

Jake
stood up, feeling a little unsteady. Asher wiped the blood away from
his cut lip, regarding it with a frown.

“Deal,”
Jake said, and shook that same hand.

*

They
arrived back at the Jailhouse, the light spilling out from the gap in
the door. Jake approached warily, keeping clear of any direct line of
fire from within. “It’s me,” he announced. “Don’t
shoot.”

There
was no reply.

“Jon?
Roe?”

Jake
listened carefully, but the only sound he could detect was the low
hum of the generator feeding the Jailhouse light and heat.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, pulling out his gun.
“Were the Threshians planning another attack?”

“I
would have been told,” Asher replied.

“Come
on.” Jake said, and squeezed through the gap, leading with the
muzzle of his gun.

The
office was mostly as he remembered it, the one chair intact, desks in
pieces, with one addition, a tray on the floor with two plates of
congealed spaghetti. “Be careful,” he muttered to Asher.

“I
can take care of myself.”

“So
could Jacob, once,” Jake said. “But that energy of yours
isn’t infinite.” He opened the weapons cabinet and
offered Asher a rifle. “Just take it.”

Asher
grasped the rifle reluctantly, unsure how to hold it. It took a
moment of concentration for that to change. Jake guessed he was
accessing a memory, Jacob’s memory. Afterwards, Asher spun the
rifle over in his hands, grasping it tightly and surely.

“Good,”
Jake said.

Asher
glanced at the ceiling. “Do you have access to the Jailhouse
surveillance cameras?”

“Not
anymore,” Jake replied. “My console’s gone. We’re
going to have to do this the hard way.”

Asher’s
eyes briefly defocused. “Interesting, Jacob never had an
Espirnet implant.”

“I
was frightened of anyone having access to my mind.”

“An
unfounded fear,” Asher declared. “Espirnet can be
controlled very easily. I have the security codes, accessing
Jailhouse surveillance.”

Asher’s
limited expressions were no longer connected to their surroundings.
He was completely absorbed by his Espirnet Interface.

“Where
are they?” Jacob asked.

“Not
here, or the floor above,” Asher answered. “The cameras
and audio for the levels below us are non-functional. The links are
damaged. I am surprised you were even finished.”

Jake
ignored him. “Like I said before, we’re going to have to
do this the hard way.”

He
led Asher to the top of the stairway and peered down. The lights were
on but there was no-one to see. The basement was easily the most
defensible position in the Jailhouse, the stairs being the only way
in or out. He took a step back. It could also very easily become a
tomb.

“Is
there a problem?” Asher asked.

“We
need a distraction, you don’t happen to have any flash grenades
do you?”

Asher
paused for a moment, a frown on his almost face. “Jacob doesn’t
have any.”

“OK,”
Jake replied and turned his eyes back to the staircase. “I’m
going down their head first, fast as I can. As soon as I go, you’re
going to shoot a few rounds down there and miss me.”

“That
sounds painful,” Asher said.

Jake
nodded. “I’m going before I change my mind. Ready?”

Asher
raised the rifle.

“Good,”
Jake said, and promptly dived down the stairway.

He
landed on his right arm and rolled, a barrage of rifle bolts
following him from above.

“That
was dramatic,” commented an electronic voice.

Jake
rolled into a crouch, his gun ready despite the aching arm. “Where
are they?”

Paul
was sitting on the bunk in his cell. Even for a Threshian, he didn't
smell good. His head and shoulders were covered in a sticky black
substance that Jake guessed came from the sewage tank.

“How
am I supposed to know?” Paul asked. “Better yet, why
would I even care? If only my uncle had been made aware of their
absence.”

“You
must have seen something.”

The
Threshian crossed his arms. “I think you need some new
deputies, Marshal.”

Chapter
Nine

Jon
tried to eat the spaghetti, but it was thick and tasteless in his
mouth and he could barely chew it without feeling sick. Roe hadn’t
touched her portion at all. She just watched him. It made eating the
stuff all the more difficult.

“It’s
that good is it?” She asked.

He
spat it out onto his plate. “Awful. I don’t know what’s
wrong with me.”

“Maybe
it’s just awful,” she said.

He
laughed, and put the plate back down on the tray beside her. The two
of them were huddled against the wall again. For a few moments there
was an awkward silence.

“I
should go to my father,” Roe said finally. “He may be in
trouble.”

“I’d
rather you didn’t,” Jon replied. “I don’t
think I can defend this place on my own.”

“Look
I’m …” she hesitated. “I’m sorry I
insisted on creating the sim. A lot of help he turned out to be.”

“No,”
Jon said wearily. “You were right, we need him. The fact he
isn’t here is a bit annoying, but we do need him.”

“You
should get some sleep,” she suggested. “You haven’t
slept for a while. I can keep watch here. Maybe the sim will be back
by morning and I can head over to my father’s.”

“Look,
Roe,” Jon said. “I can’t eat spaghetti, and that’s
my favourite. I definitely can’t sleep. You get some rest. I’ll
keep watch.”

She
smiled. “I can’t sleep either.”

Jon
opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by internal chime. “Hold
on Roe,” he said and accepted Christopher Kander’s
connect request. Momentarily the undertaker’s avatar appeared
before him, slightly younger and less emaciated than the man himself.
He obviously hadn’t updated the program for quite some time.

“Hello,
Deputy,” Kander said. “My son and I are outside. I wanted
to let you know it was us.”

“Thanks
Christopher,” Jon replied. “Give me a moment.” He
struggled to his feet, the blood flow to his legs a little reluctant.

“Undertaker?”
Roe asked as he offered his hand.

Jon
nodded and helped her up. The two of them took position either side
of the gap and waited. “OK, Christopher,” Jon said to the
avatar. “Come in.”

The
avatar nodded and then disappeared from his field of vision. The real
Christopher Kander poked his head through the gap a moment later.