The Machine's Child (Company) (29 page)

Suleyman shrugged. “Maybe. We can’t learn much from the people we rescued. It appears that a lot of them were there for disciplinary reasons. No innocents, like Lewis.

“But there are, yes, hundreds of people still missing. Maybe the bureau was simply where the real offenders were imprisoned, and the rest are at some other location we’ve yet to find.”

“How hard is the Company searching?” Nef said.

“Not very,” Suleyman said. “There was quite a splash when we dragged the bureau before their eyes, but the ripples are dying away now. A formal inquiry, a committee to look into the question. And a few of the disappeared have miraculously turned up in unlikely places, with no memory of where they’ve been for the past few centuries.

“I know that some of the elite Executive Facilitators I’ve always suspected of really running the Company were horrified at what we found,
horrified and angry as hell. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of the mortal masters have met with untimely ends, up there at their end of time. I may have precipitated 2355 by bringing this out into the open,” he added grimly.

“Now I really want sanctuary,” said Nef. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get married again? Though Latif’s a little old to need a mother.”

“He’d appreciate one anyway.” Suleyman smiled again. “For the time being, at least, things are going to be better. I don’t think any more of us will vanish, in the immediate future. We accomplished that much.”

Nef sighed. “Nothing ever turns out the way we think it will, does it? Even when history cannot be changed.”

“Even then,” agreed Suleyman.

Alec!

Alec opened his eyes, and so did Edward and Nicholas. The Captain had called them silently, so Mendoza slept on in Nicholas’s arms. Calm early morning, the ship rocking on a mild swell, the cabin full of reflected summer light.

We’re lying off the leeward side of the island, son. Arrow Point. You’d recognize the place, Edward. I been scanning for Company structures. They got a transmitter array concealed in one of the mountains, and a couple of manned stations. There’s an underground storage facility, too, that ye’ll want to be looting, I shouldn’t wonder.

How well defended?
Edward asked, sitting up.

Nothing but electronics, and I can send ’em a fireship. The stations have a three-cyborg complement each. We won’t trouble with ’em. Near as I can tell, they’re just collecting and shipping loot other operatives have acquired.

Edward stared out the window at the looming island, at the dry hills and sea-facing cliffs. As they cruised slowly past, a particular outline of cove tugged at his memory. He grimaced and turned away, but all he said was:
It looks a good deal less green than I remembered.

Well, now, lad, it’s been sixty years since you seen it.

What’s the plan, Captain?
said Alec, watching Edward’s face.

Why, son, what’d be more natural for a innocent young couple of tourists than to wander about and have themselves a good look at the
pretty scenery? Aye, but you’ll be laying a few mines under the Company’s keel. Metaphorically speakin’, of course.

And our silver vial?
Nicholas said.
Is it here, Spirit?

Something’s here, by thunder. There’s a storage unit with yer file designation on it, according to the records.

Then we’ll take it,
said Edward.

To be sure, bucko, but not with blazing cannons nor drawn cutlasses, eh? Quiet-like, leaving no traces, just like they taught you when you signed on to be a Political.

Edward’s eyes glinted. Nicholas and Alec exchanged glances.

What of our lady?
said Nicholas.
This was her prison a long weary while. Will she not remember, and grieve?

Why, son, why should she, with you at her side? And it’s changed a good deal, remember.

And we can take her dancing, yeah?
said Alec.
At that ballroom she wrote about?

That ain’t built yet, but we can jump ahead later. Get yerselves up and dressed.

Splendid,
said Edward, and taking control from Nicholas he leaned down and woke Mendoza with a long, hard kiss.

“I know I remember this place,” Mendoza said, looking around at Avalon as Alec dragged the whaleboat up on the shingle beach. “Did we live here?”

“Yeah,” Alec said, panting. “A long time ago.” He tied the painter to a pier piling.

“It must have been, because I don’t remember the town . . .” Mendoza found a dry rock and sat to pull on her stockings and shoes. “Though it seems a nice little town. Perhaps we could have a cocktail somewhere, later?”

“Okay,” Alec said. “The First Prohibition is going on in this time, though, so we’ll have to find what they called a speakeasy.”

“What fun.” She looked around, frowning slightly. “Weren’t there more . . . trees?”

“Things change,” he said apologetically, handing her up over the seawall and onto Crescent Avenue. She pulled him up beside her.

They wandered along the street, a young man in a white linen suit and a young girl in a summer frock of peach-colored silk, with a strand of pearls about her throat. He wore a Panama hat; her white summer hat kept coming off in the wind, until they stepped into a shop and he bought her a hatpin. He fastened on her hat for her and they walked off, holding hands.

On a street running back from the beach they found what had been a tent city, and was now rapidly being converted to a residential neighborhood. It was an odd process to watch: in some places the owners of the tents were simply slapping board and batten walls over canvas ones, or putting up modest Yankee clapboard cabins with names like Conch Cottage or Kilcare. Bougainvillea bloomed beside the finished ones, that were painted white or pink or green. The homes in progress stood like hopeful skeletons, bright new wood bleeding out amber pitch under a hot blue sky.

“Why are we here?” Mendoza murmured.

“I’m looking for a certain address,” said Edward, who had taken control. He smiled and tipped his hat to an elderly lady. “According to the Captain, this particular house, which is in the process of being built on this particular day in history, will still be standing in the year 2355. Ah! And here it is.”

They stopped and regarded a house three-quarters finished. Workmen were hammering away.

“What a charming residence this will be,” said Edward, loudly enough to be noticed.

“And such a lovely location,” said Mendoza, clasping her hands.

The foreman looked up and saw them.

“I wonder, sir, whether the property is for sale?” said Edward, taking off his hat and smiling pleasantly.

“This place is already sold, I’m afraid,” the foreman said. “But Mr. Glidden’s building more. You could inquire at his offices, up on Maiden Lane.”

“Yes, I might at that.” Edward nodded.

“Do you suppose, if we were very careful, we might walk through this one?” Mendoza said. “Just to see what the others will be like?”

“Well—since you’re interested—well, sure,” said the foreman, doffing his own hat and coming forward to offer her a hand up over the foundation. Edward followed smoothly.

“We won’t be a moment,” he told the foreman.

“Yes, sir, you go right ahead,” the foreman replied, and stood back to watch them as they picked their way through, peering desultorily into rooms and exclaiming over this or that architectural feature.

“Jesus, ain’t they polite?” grunted a carpenter, watching from his ladder.

“Real well-spoken,” the foreman agreed. “He’s English, huh?”

“Sounded that way.”

“Tall, too,” added the foreman. He was unable to better express exactly what he found so striking about the couple. The girl moved with a grace and self-control not often seen in people so young. And there was something eerie about the tall man’s eyes, in the way they focused on you and just . . . persuaded you, in the nicest possible way, to tell him what he wanted.

Closely as they were watched, somehow no one noticed Edward slipping his hand into his pocket to bring out a little bottle, nor did they see him lean down to slide it between the laths near the baseboard of a wall.

It dropped into the darkness with a soft thump and settled into the position it would occupy for the next four centuries, until the morning in 2355 when its contents would awaken and, snatching molecules from their surroundings, arrange themselves into a fairly dire weapon.

“Oh, this must be the kitchen!” Mendoza said. “Look, darling, how modern and up-to-date.”

“And yet preserving a certain quaintness,” Edward added. He took her arm. “Yes, I think we really must make inquiries. But we’ve detained these good men long enough! Let’s be on our way, my love.”

They made their exit, thanking the foreman profusely, and walked away down the quiet street. At the corner Edward stopped, took Mendoza’s face firmly in both hands and bent down to kiss her.

“Well done,” he growled. “Oh, we were made for each other!”

“Of course,” she said. “Where now?”

They continued their stroll up the canyon, climbing the steep bluff to the first hole of the golf course. There they sat for a few moments, on a conveniently placed bench, and anyone watching them would have assumed they were admiring the view. Edward withdrew some postcards from his coat pocket and passed them to Mendoza, who sorted through them thoughtfully.

Edward then took out what appeared to be a fountain pen, something small and cylindrical anyway, and removing the cap held it out over the lawn a moment. Anyone watching would have assumed he was attempting to shake ink down into the nib. In reality he had just activated a small laser, burning a vitrified tube to a depth of one meter in the earth under the beautifully manicured lawn. He passed the laser to Mendoza, who did not write on the postcards with it, though anyone watching them would have gotten the impression she was doing so.

Edward, meanwhile, took out a roll of Lifesavers, loot from their raid on 1996. He opened it, in the process dropping a spiral of silver paper on the lawn. He leaned down to pick it up at once, and in the same movement, with flawless sleight of hand, dropped a tiny vial down the shaft he had burned in the lawn. The sporting party just arriving to tee off did not notice.

He put a Lifesaver in his mouth and offered one to Mendoza, who accepted it. They sat on the bench and watched, apparently fascinated, as four middle-aged gentlemen who had clearly already located a speakeasy launched unsteady shots in varying trajectories. As the caddies were hoisting bags for the long trek down to the second hole, Edward rose and approached the nearest golfer, crushing in the top of the vitrified tube with his bootheel as he came.

“Pardon me, sir,” he said, removing his hat once again. “Would you happen to know the location of a reliable source of refreshment?”

“Huh?” The old duffer focused on Edward with difficulty. He met Edward’s gaze and his face lit with sudden comprehension. “Oh! Yeah.” He glanced about furtively. “Hotel Saint Catherine. Fine place. You ask for Johnny.”

“You’ve been most kind,” Edward said, bowing slightly. The golfer stared past him a moment, goggling at Mendoza, who had bent over to adjust her stocking and in the process was further obliterating any trace of the tube.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and lurched away. Edward replaced his hat, put his hands in his pockets, and walked back to Mendoza, who stood up flushed but smiling.

They wandered farther up the canyon, along an aisle between spindly little palm trees, and noted the presence of a riding stable to their left. Farther still and the recent extension of the golf course opened out, irregularly
green yet but determined. Alec, staring up at the looming mountains, recognized them.

This was where the time shuttle crashed. This used to be her cornfield.

Doth she remember it?
Nicholas peered at Mendoza worriedly.

But Mendoza seemed quite unperturbed by memory, pleasant or otherwise, as they rounded a foothill and regarded a wide canyon opening out to the left.

Her little house is gone,
mourned Alec.

Oh, really!
said Edward.
Did you honestly think it would still be here, after a hundred and fifty thousand years?
And in fact there wasn’t a trace, not of Mendoza’s house, not of her garden. Even the verdant forests that had covered the hills were gone like phantoms, having given way to chaparral and sagebrush.

You got the girl, laddie. She belongs to the sea now, like us. Don’t grieve yer heart for no house nor a few trees,
the Captain transmitted.

But if I’d stayed here with her,
said Alec,
if I hadn’t gone on to Mars like an idiot . . . all those people would still be alive.

Aw, son, just now they ain’t even been born yet.

So you’re watching us, are you, Captain?
Edward paused and looked about.
Well then, where’s the next target?

The spot was quite deserted, and so there was no need to obscure their movements as they concealed the third bottle.

“A fine morning’s work,” said Edward. He reached out to Mendoza, who was gazing up at the mountains. “And now, I think, we’ve earned a pleasant luncheon at the Hotel Saint Catherine. Wouldn’t you say so?” He turned her face to his. She started a little, but smiled for him.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “By all means.”

They walked away together down the canyon. Behind them, there was a queer disturbance in the dust; its surface roiled like seafoam, alive with green and springing blades of corn.

A tunnel through the cliffs at Sugar Loaf Point brought them out upon Descanso Bay. The sea was clear as glass, full of waving purple and amber weed, where fire-colored fish swam slowly. Above the water’s edge, a hard-packed road ran along to a broad green lawn.