Greg Bear - Blood Music

“Martians,” John said. That was his last protest to April’s claim of knowing what had really happened, fie said very little after that until they started the climb up the Grapevine, past the unconverted trees and buildings of Fort Tejon and the vague outlines of tiny Gorman. As they neared the ridge, he stared at Jerry with wide eyes, pupils dilated, and said, “City of Angels, coming up.”

It was five o’clock, early evening and getting dark.

The air over Los Angeles was as purple as raw meat.

At noon, Bernard’s lunch was delivered through the small hatch—a bowl of fruit and a roast beef sandwich with a glass of sparkling water. He ate slowly, reflectively, occasionally glancing at the VDT. It displayed the tab’s recent results in analyzing some of his serum proteins.

The screen’s alphanumerics were mint green. Red lines were taking shape under the numbers, which scrolled up as new series were added.

Bernard, what is this?

—Not to worry, he answered the internal query. If I don’t do research, I malfunction.

Their level of communication had improved enormously in just a couple of days.

You are analyzing something to do with our communication. There is no need. You already communicate through the proper channels, through us.

—Yes, indeed. But will you tell me all I need to know?

We tell you what we are assigned to tell you.

—You’ve riddled me, so allow me to riddle you. I have to feel I’m not powerless, that I’m doing something useful.

With great difficulty, we have been trying to comprehend *encode* your situation. To VISUALIZE. You are in an enclosed SPACE. This SPACE is of *concentration* you regard as SMALL.

—But adequate, now that I have you fellows to chat with.

You are restrained. You cannot *diffuse* through the limits of the enclosed SPACE. Is this restraint by your choice?

—I’m not being punished, if that’s what you’re worried about.

We do not *encode* comprehend PUNISHED. You are well. Your body functions are in order. Your EMOTION is not extreme.

—Why should I be upset? I’ve lost It’s all over but the (ahem) loud encoding.

We WISH you were more aware of the physiology of your brain. We could tell you much more about your state. As it is, we have extreme difficulty finding WORDS to describe the location of our teams. But to return to the prior question. Why do you WISH to process other forms of communication?

—I’m not blocking my thoughts, am I? (Am I?) You should be able to figure out what I’m doing on your own. (How could I block my thoughts to you?)

You realize our inadequacy. You are so new to us. We regard you with…

—Yes?

Those who have been assigned to replicate this state to… This is unclear.

—I’ll say.

We regard you as if you were capable of mild *dissociation* reproof for minimal performance of assigned processing.

—You regard me as what?

We regard you as a *supreme command duster*.

—What is that? And that brings up a whole host of questions I would like to ask.

We have been authorized to answer those questions.

(Jesus! They knew the gist of the questions even before he had formed them in his mind.)

—I’d like to speak to an individual.

INDIVIDUAL?

—Not just the team or research group. One of you, acting alone.

We have studied INDIVIDUAL in your conception. We do not fit the word.

—There are no individuals?

Not precisely. Information is shared between dusters of…

—Not clear.

Perhaps this is what you mean by INDIVIDUAL. Not the same as a single mentality. You are aware that cells cluster for basic structuring; each cluster is the smallest INDIVIDUAL. These clusters rarely separate for long into single cells. Information is passed between clusters sharing in assigned tasks, including instruction and memory. Mentality is thus divided between dusters performing a function. Important memory may be *diffused* through all dusters. What you flunk of as INDIVIDUAL may be spread throughout the *totality*.

—But you’re not all of one mentality, a group mind, collective consciousness.

No, as much as we can analyze those concepts.

—You can argue with each other.

There can be differences of approach, yes.

—So what is a command cluster?

Key duster placed along travel *Juncture*, lymph and blood vessels, to monitor performance of traveling clusters, servant cells, *tailored* cells. You are like the mightiest of cell command clusters, yet you are ENCLOSED and have not yet chosen to exert your power to *lyse*. Why do you not exert control?

Eyes dosed, he pondered that question for a long while—perhaps a second or more—and replied,

—You are becoming acquainted with mystery.

Are you attempting to challenge by these researches into our communication?

—No.

There is a *disjunction* here.

—I’m getting tired now. Please leave me alone for a while.

Understood.

He rubbed his eyes and picked up a piece of fruit He suddenly felt exhausted.

“Michael?”

Paulsen-Fuchs stood in the reception area. “Hello, Paul,” Bernard said. “I’ve just been having the weirdest conversation.”

“Yes?”

“I think they’re treating me like some sort of minor deity.”

“Oh, dear,” Paulsen-Fuchs said.

“And I probably only have a couple of weeks left.”

“You said that when you arrived only then, you said a week.”

“I can feel the changes now. It’s slow, but it’s still going to happen.”

They stared at each other through the three-layer glass. Paulsen-Fuchs tried to speak several times, but nothing came out He lifted his hands helplessly.

“Yeah,” Bernard said, sighing.

N orth America, Satellite Transmission from High-Altitude Reconnaissance RB-1 H; Voice of Lloyd Upton, Correspondent EBN

Yes, in place—leads separate and patched—we’re all a bit nervous here, don’t mind the teeth chattering. Taping now? And the direct feed…yes, Arnold? 1,2,3. Lloyd Upchuck here, yes, that’s how I feel… Okay. Colin, that bottle. The orange suit won’t upset the viddy? It upsets me. Let’s begin.

Hello, I’m Lloyd Upton from the British branch of the European Broadcasting Network. I’m now at twenty thousand meters over the heartland of the United States of America, in the rear compartment of an American B-l bomber modified for high-altitude reconnaissance, an RB-1H. With me are correspondents from four major continental networks, from European branches of two United States news organizations, and the BBC. We are the first civilian journalists to fly over the United States since the beginning of the most hideous plague in world history. We are accompanied by two civilian scientists whom we will interview on the return leg of our flight which has thus far averaged twice the speed of sound, that is Mach 2.

In just eight weeks, two short months, the entire North American continent has undergone a virtually indescribable transformation. All familiar landmarks—entire cities-have vanished beneath, or perhaps been transformed into, a landscape of biological nightmare. Our aircraft has followed a zigzag course from New York to Atlantic City, then over to Washington, DC, through Virginia, Kentucky, and Ohio, and soon we will be dipping down to one thousand meters to pass over Chicago, Illinois and the Great Lakes. At that point we will double back and fly along the Eastern seaboard to Florida, and over the Gulf of Mexico we will be refueled from aircraft flying out of Guantanamo Naval Base in Cuba, which, miraculously, has escaped the major effects of the plague.