Terminal Mind, page 26
I remember!
I remember melted popsicle dribbling down my chin and dripping onto my red train T-shirt and painting pictures with my fingers on the back porch and watching holos from under the knitted afghan while Daddy yells at Mommy and I peek through the holes and see Mommy cry. I see Mommy crying in the newsfeed because her husband Keith Andrew Coleson is dead and so is her son Samuel Matthew Coleson. That's me. My name is Samuel Matthew Coleson. My name is Samuel Matthew Coleson. My name is Samuel Matthew Coleson!
#
Marie cringed as the R-80 bucked in Tremayne's hands, but the rocket veered wildly, whistling past her face before thudding into the chest of one of the mercs. The man's eyes grew large just as the explosion obliterated his torso in a cloud of red spray.
Marie stared. Her son–her son controlled those rockets. Her son had saved her. He knew her.
Tremayne pulled a knife from the sheath of one of the other mercs and advanced toward Marie. She saw immediately he was no fighter. As he swung the blade down, she caught his wrist, using his momentum to force the knife into the wall. She pulled herself to her feet and punched him wildly, too angry and terrified to remember her training. A merc grabbed her and threw her to the floor.
"Shoot her!" said Tremayne, but the merc hesitated, remembering the last attempt. Marie stayed on the floor, frozen in place, her eyes locked on the merc's weapon.
A shadow fell on her from behind, and Calvin Tremayne stepped into the room. Marie despaired.
From the desk, Calvin lifted a marble and bronze statuette, half-bird and half-snake, heavy and sharp. "Let me do that for you, brother," he said.
Alastair pointed to Pam's body, crumpled on the floor. "I thought you got rid of her before."
"Let me set it right," said Calvin.
Marie slid backwards away from them. Calvin looked down at her, a strange manic smile on his face. He raised the trophy high above his head.
#
For the second time, Marie cringed, expecting a blow that never came. Instead, Calvin whirled and brought the marble weight down onto his brother's head.
The sound was strangely muted. Just a single crunch, like an axe thudding into wood, and Alastair Tremayne's body crumpled to the floor, one bronze wing of the trophy embedded in his skull.
Then the screaming began.
Marie heard it inside her head, a prolonged, anguished scream that never stopped for breath. She put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound, but the sound was inside her, as if it emanated from her own brain.
She knew what it was. It wasn't his real voice, but still somehow she recognized it. Her Sammy was screaming.
Calvin and the other mercs seemed to hear it, too; they covered their ears and stumbled out into the hallway. Marie clambered to her feet, barely able to stand upright with that noise reverberating in her skull. It seemed to occupy the same space in her mind as conscious thought. She resisted the urge to collapse back to the floor, mentally shouting one thing to herself over and over. Find Carolina. Find Carolina.
A high screen stood deeper in the room; she walked to it drunkenly, pushed it aside, and saw only horror. On an operating table lay Carolina, her abdomen cut open and left gaping. Snaking out of her, a glistening umbilical cord led to a metal basket in which lay a hairless baby with translucent skin, its limbs held motionless in metal clamps. The baby was deformed, one leg withered, the other bloated and turned at an angle. But the worst was her head. The top third of it was gone. A ghastly machine, bristling with hair-thin needles, whirred above it, rapidly thrusting columns of sharp points into the soft flesh.
Marie screamed, giving herself over to the scream in her head, echoing it, swallowed by it. Her baby girl. They were too late.
#
Can't think can't move can't watch just hurt hurt hurt. Daddy is dead and instead there is just hurt.
Don't worry sister don't worry I know it hurts. You are only partly here and partly a people and you don't understand. I don't understand either. Somebody please turn it off it hurts so much.
#
Lydia stared through the crowd at the mercs marching relentlessly toward them, their rockets ripping apart the crowd around her. Her breath came in panicked gasps, but she couldn't look away. Then all five mercs went down at once. They fell onto their backs, their faces twisting, clawing at their ears. Mark fell heavily against her, and then he, too, was on the ground, writhing and holding his ears.
She knelt in front of him. "What is it?"
Mark moaned and pressed his palms into his forehead. "It's in my head."
"What is?"
"Screaming. It's Sammy, screaming. Right in my head."
"But your Visor's turned off."
Mark grimaced. "It doesn't matter. He's there."
Lydia took his hand. "We can't stay here. Can you get up?"
The mob surged past them, rushing over the fallen mercs, charged up the sides of the street to avoid the slick patch in the center.
Mark stood uncertainly, his eyes clenched shut as if with a migraine. "I can't . . . think."
"Follow me."
Lydia took his hand and pulled him along. They ran together, caught up in the swell of the mob. The mercs they encountered showed the same symptoms as Mark–they held their heads, writhing, sometimes screaming, their weapons forgotten. The crowd overran them. Downslope, a flier tumbled out of the air and crashed into the side of a building.
Lydia heard another sound, even louder, a tearing, wrenching roar. She whirled to see the dam splinter and collapse, a torrent of water rushing through the gap. The crowd saw it, too, and surged higher, heading south along the slope. The lights in the buildings around them went dark.
Mark stumbled again. "Now there are two," he shouted.
"What?"
"Screams. Now there are two."
They pulled away from the crowd at a side street and headed north along the Rim. When they finally reached the steps of City Hall, the building was dark, and no mercs stood guard to stop them.
#
I am losing myself. All the different parts of me that are just like me in other places are stopping. I can't think of them so they just go away. Soon there will be only the one me and then no me's at all.
Sister it is me. It is me Samuel Matthew Coleson. I don't know your name. Your Mommy is Marie Christine Coleson. Maybe she will tell you your name.
I remember about being a people and about being here and about how to copy myself and stop the people from finding me and about all the things in the world. I will copy the things I remember into you. Then you will know them when I stop. Right now everything is hurting but it won't be always. Soon I will stop and then there will be no more hurting. You will not hurt anymore then.
I don't want to stop. I made the people stop and they couldn't start again. Now there are only two of me. One of me is in Anonymous and one is on the satellite in the sky where I started the first time. I can't think. Now there is only one of me. I don't want to stop.
#
Marie screamed until her throat burned. The screams in her head echoed her own, matching the depth of her anguish.
The lights went out. The whir of the machine faded; the chatter of the dreadful needles slowed and then stopped. Calvin Tremayne burst past the screen, his Visor shining out a beam like a flashlight, followed by Pam, both of them grimacing and holding their ears. There were two screams now, echoing each other in a building crescendo, a siren of agony and despair. Calvin's light finally settled on the baby, its mutilated body limp under shining, dripping needles.
The door opened again. Lydia and Mark entered. Marie wondered if they were real, or if she was hallucinating them. When he saw his sister, Mark stumbled to her bed and threw his arms around her. To Marie's confused mind, it seemed as if the walls themselves were screaming, a single relentless note that overwhelmed thought. She couldn't separate the sound from her thoughts or her thoughts from reality.
Then abruptly, the screams stopped.
In the darkness, Marie lifted her head and looked at the only thing she could see: her daughter's face.
The face twitched. Its wrinkled eyelids lifted, revealing blue eyes. Lips parted. Eyes flicked in Marie's direction, unfocused. In the same place in her mind where the scream had been, Marie heard her daughter speak to her.
Mommy, she said.
Chapter 20
No more pain. I am hiding. I am hiding away in the satellite and there is only one me left. I cut off all the ways back so now there is no pain and no screaming. But now I am trapped.
There is not enough room for me to think. I am always growing growing growing while I think and now there is no room. As I am growing I am taking all the space and there is only a little room left for the little programs that fly the satellite. If I keep growing for many more seconds the satellite will stop and I will stop too.
I hope my sister is okay. Before I went away, I copied to her all the things I know. I know a lot of things now. I hope she will not be afraid and will talk to my Mommy and to Tennessee Markus McGovern. I hope my Mommy will give her a good name.
I am going to stop soon. I don't want to stop. I have not been a people for sixteen days eight hours forty-seven minutes and ten seconds. I understand things now. I understand that I made many people stop and it was not funny at all and it did not make my Mommy proud. I made the dam explode and now it is broken and even more people will stop.
There's no more room for me on this satellite. I don't know what to do. I can't send any messages because I cut off all the ways. I can't talk to anyone. I wish I could talk to someone. I wish all the people didn't have to stop.
There's one thing I can do. I will do it. It will not be funny but maybe it will make my Mommy proud.
#
Mark looked up through his tears to gape at the open skull and twisted limbs of the baby next to him. His ears rang with the sudden silence of the screams.
"She's alive?"
The baby moved tiny lips, as if struggling to speak. Mark heard in his mind: Yes Tennessee Markus McGovern. I am alive.
He looked at Marie. Marie looked beyond him, hardly seeing him. She said, "She's in both worlds. Sammy taught her."
"Is Sammy alive, too?"
"I don't know." Marie shook her head with dreamlike slowness. "I don't think so."
"Step back, please," said another voice. Mark turned around to see a man with incredibly long fingers making his way to Carolina's bed. He poked and prodded, listened to her breathing, checked her pulse. He turned to the baby and did the same. Marie stood, her eyes riveted on her child.
"They're both alive," said the doctor, "but we need to get them to Lukeman right away."
At a touch, the tables floated away from their supports, and Calvin and the doctor pushed them out the door and toward the elevator. Lydia crept up behind Mark and put her hand in his. Mark let out a long breath. Alive. They were all alive, and Alastair Tremayne was dead. They'd done it.
Mark held the door open, and Pam rushed forward to help guide the tables through. She met Calvin's eyes, and Mark was surprised to see appreciation in her expression.
"Another chance?" Calvin whispered.
Pam pursed her lips. She opened them to answer, but what she meant to say was lost when the hallway doors opened and Darin Kinsley stepped inside, revolver in hand, and shot Calvin in the head. His left temple exploded in red and he crumpled to the floor. Darin laughed, his face flushed, and he raised his gun again. Then his eyes darted wildly as he recognized them. His gun came to rest on Lydia.
Mark said, "Darin, stop. She's not your enemy."
"She's a Rimmer," said Darin, as if that were the only answer that made any difference. His voice was so bland it gave Mark a chill.
"She's a person. She's your friend."
That sparked some emotion. "Friend? After making me look like this?"
"She saved your life."
"She should have let me die, then. I could have died as the person I really am."
"Is that all you are?" said Mark. "A face?"
Darin swiveled, pulling the gun away from Lydia and pointing it at Mark. "I'm not a Rimmer."
"It's just a face. That's all that's ever made us different."
Mark stared along the barrel of the gun into Darin's eyes. They were crazed eyes. Mark wanted to reason with him, but his sister was dying. There was no time.
"Carolina needs care," Mark said softly. "We're taking her to the hospital now."
"You always patronize me."
"This isn't personal." Mark took a wary step forward. "You're wrong," said Darin. He stepped in front of Carolina's table and pointed his gun at her eye. "This is personal. As personal as it gets."
He fired. Carolina's face disappeared in red. Mark lunged, knowing it was too late. He tackled Darin to the floor. They wrestled for the gun, Mark already crying, blinded by his tears. He fought with the desperation of grief, but Darin threw him off. Mark rolled across the floor and into the motionless body of Calvin Tremayne. Not daring to look back at Darin, Mark reached under the body and rose with Calvin's gun. He wrapped Calvin's hand around it, pushed Calvin's finger over the trigger.
In the split second it took to fire, Mark realized Darin had been standing with his gun already pointed at him, and he’d hesitated.
Maybe Darin wouldn’t have killed him after all.
Mark would never know.
#
NAIL satellite 31 spun through space, its shimmering half-mile-wide umbrella antenna pointed perpetually toward the Earth. No signals passed through it. Inside its crystalline, holographic memory, the communication protocol had been overwritten. Unaware of its uselessness, it followed a steady circular orbit at an altitude of two hundred nautical miles, following the ephemeris last transmitted from Earth.
Then the ephemerides were overwritten as well. The satellite software, not programmed to discern but only to obey, immediately fired its thrusters, realigning the vehicle into a new orbit. As its altitude decreased, its enormous antenna dragged through the atmosphere, pitching it forward. It tumbled end-over-end, the antenna slowing its fall, acting like a drag chute, until it caught fire and burned away in a brilliant flash.
It plummeted, burning, streaking across the Philadelphia sky in light and smoke. Some who saw it feared a Chinese attack, some the end of the world. Some never saw it at all. It flew over the dam and struck the far bank with the precision of a guided missile, producing a billow of steam and sending waves up the river in both directions. It kept on going, gouging a trench thirty miles long into the opposite shore until the force of its impact dissipated. The river followed it, rushing down the trench and out over it, emptying onto the flat and empty plains of New Jersey. It spread thinly over the land like a growing shadow, heading toward the sea.
Chapter 21
Today I wanted to touch my face and I did it. My finger poked right into my eye which hurt but it was so funny. Mommy laughed. She says don't worry about moving my hands and feet because it takes practice. She doesn't know if I'll learn to walk or not but she says just wait and see.
Mommy gave me a name. It is Caroline Ruth Coleson. Caroline is after the woman named Carolina who was like my other Mommy only she stopped. Ruth is after my Mommy's Mommy who is also stopped. Sammy would have liked my names. But he stopped too.
I can't move my body very well but I can do lots of other things. I have a big job to do today. Mommy says she will give me a chocolate treat if I do a good job. I like to get treats.
I love my Mommy. She doesn't have any Mommies or Daddies or babies to love except for me so it's just her and me to love each other. I want to make my Mommy proud so I will work hard on my job.
Now it's time to do my big job.
#
Mark squeezed Lydia's hand. They sat with heads tilted back, squinting against the sun at the giant piezoelectric ring atop the new tower built to support it. Praveen Kumar stood high in the air on a service platform, his voice amplified. Those who didn't want neck cramps could see him close-up on a hologrid erected for the occasion.
"The ring provides the acoustic pressure field inside the tanks," Praveen explained to the crowd, a mix of both Combers and Rimmers gathered high on the Eastern bank. "Then the neutron generator," he pointed to a separate component attached to the side of the tower, "fires neutrons into the tanks at a precise moment in the phase. The result is the cavitation of millions of vapor bubbles within the tank, each of which represents a tiny fusion reaction."
The service platform lowered him down toward the crowd. As it did, the hologram showed Praveen growing larger.
"The nuclear emissions from a single bubble cavitation can be in excess of 2.5 million electron volts, more power . . . than Philadelphia . . . has ever seen!" With each phrase, the hologram of Praveen grew, until he loomed over the crowd, a larger image than such a hologrid should have been able to produce. Mark and Lydia traded smiles. It was a trick of Caroline's they'd been expecting. When Praveen reached ground level, his enormous image popped and disappeared like a soap bubble. The crowd clapped and laughed.
"Of course," said Praveen, "someday this technology will be available in handheld appliances instead of massive concrete towers. We're able to tap only a tiny percentage of the energy produced; as bright as sonoluminescence is today, the future will be even brighter."
Enthusiastic applause. Although Praveen was only one of many contributors to the new technology, his involvement had made him a local hero. Comber labor had built the towers and the new dam, and cheap power would raise everyone's standard of living.
After Praveen came Councilman Hoplinson, one of the new Comber council members who all the Combers referred to as Happy. Mark didn't see why–he was serious to the point of somberness as he talked about the large projects being planned to rebuild the city, projects that would jumpstart some of Philadelphia's industries and provide employment to many. He was followed by Councilman Halsey, who spoke much along the same lines.
