Alfred Bester - The Computer Connection

“I’ll have to help you bathe and change.” Natoma smiled. “I have two babies on my hands.”

“Thank you. This one is a v. tired baby.”

“And then you’ll sleep.”

“I don’t dare, love. If I go to sleep now it’ll be for a week. We’ve got to get our brother home first.”

“That’s not wise, Edward. You’re still driving too hard.”

“I know you’re right. I — You were right about Fee. I should have listened.”

“You don’t know how right,” she said in a curious tone. I was too exhausted to make anything of it.

“But please let me wrap up the whole package tonight. Then we can be together again, alone. You don’t know how I’ve missed you.”

Natoma cried out. The three cryos had entered the tepee silently, carrying a heavy burden wrapped in plastic. No warning from the wolves; M’bantu had taken them with him. I stared. The cryos were still blind but now moved with assurance. The new computer connection, perhaps?

“This is the sister? Your wife?” They seemed to be aware of everything.

“Y.”

“She must not fear. Tell her who we are.”

“I’ve told her already.”

“And will she trust us, too?”

“You saved my brother,” Natoma said.

“As he saved us.”

“Then I must — No. Then I do trust you.”

“She’s a good woman, Curzon, and brave. We know now how our appearance shocks people. You must go, all three of you. There will be a pyre behind this tent and you should not see it.”

“That’s the Rajah?”

“Yes. His rot is not for the compost; only for burning.”

“But why here?”

“We will live here. We’ve taken over everything for Sequoya; his home as well. With his sister’s permission?”

“You have it,” Natoma said.

“Then go, please. We have much to do here, and even more to do directing the Extro. For that we need solitude.”

“Solitude? Won’t you work in the complex?”

“N need. We can control the Extro on our wavelength from anywhere. We’ve programmed it to respond to our electronic valence.”

“My God! You’ll be like God Himself.”

“No. God is neither man nor woman.”

“Then what is God?”

“God is Friend.”

It was hell for Mr. and Ms. Edward Curzon getting brother into another pogo and worse getting him into a linear to Erie and off. The Shoshoni were on duty at the west gate and they lent a hand without asking any questions, for which I gave them good marks. They hovered us to the marble wickiup, carried Sequoya in, and put him down on a couch. He wet the couch. Mama looked him over and began to sob in Cherokee. The kids ran in, wide-eyed. Mama snapped an order at them. They ran out and in a few moments the Sachem entered. He looked.

“It’s all yours,” I said to Natoma. “You’ll have to explain. Give them as much of the picture as they’ll be able to understand. I don’t think you should mention the Moleman bit. That’s too much.”

I left, went to the wall where Sequoya and I had sat together so long ago, and let the morning sun warm me. After a couple of hours Natoma came out, looked around, found me, and came and sat down alongside me. She was subdued and depressed. I didn’t say anything.

At last she said, “I explained.”

“I knew you could. What did you tell them?”

“That you and my brother were doing scientific research with a computer and he had an accident.”

“Good enough. How did they take it?”

“Not very well.”

“I don’t blame them. Their splendid, brilliant son. I hope they live long enough to see him become what he was.”

“My father says this would never have happened if he hadn’t met you.”

“I never knew it would turn out like this. How could I? Grant me that.”

“My father says you have taken his son away from him.”

I sighed.

“My father says now you must replace him.”

“What!”

“You must be his son.”

“How?”

“Here.”

“On the reservation?”

“Yes. Here. In Erie. You must never leave.”

“Dio!”

“And Sequoya will be your son. You must raise him and bring him back to what he was.”

“But that will take years out of my life.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a hell of a sacrifice.”

“Yes, but what about mine?”

“Yours?”

“I’ll have to become a squaw again.”

“Not to me. Never.”

“But to Erie, always.”

“Dearest love, he’s in good hands. We can go away; to Brazil, Ceres, the Corridor, Mexas, Africa. We have the whole solar before us and you haven’t seen all of it yet. Yes?”

“No, Edward. I must stay and help, but you can go away.”

“From you? Never.”

“Then you’ll stay and do what father says?”

“Yes, damn it. Goddamn it, yes, I’ll stay, and you knew I would. All this pussyfooting around!”

She looked at her naked toes. “I love you for a hundred reasons. Most now because you never let me down. You never will.”

“Never.”

“Now I’ll tell you something I promised never to tell. It’s your reward.”

“I don’t want any rewards for doing the right thing.”

“I knew you’d never find Fee’s body.”

“And you were right.”

“Because I knew it was gone.”

A long moment, but I couldn’t twig. “I don’t understand.”

“After she was killed and you were suffering so, Jacy took you out to comfort you.”

“I remember.”

“Borgia and I went to the compost. I wanted Fee buried in a private grave just for you. Borgia said no and talked about rebirth.”

“What? DNA-Cloning?”

“Y. She said we were in time and she got Fee back. It cost an enormous bribe.”

“And you never told me.”

“Borgia said she had luck with Boris, but it was still so iffy that she didn’t want to get your hopes up. She made me promise. Anyway, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. My XX wasn’t v. good then.”

My heart began to pound. “So? Now?”

“She said she’d write and report progress.”

“And?”

“She hasn’t yet.”

“Then I can hope. Dear God! I — I can’t tell you how grate — And I made that vicious crack about jealousy.”

“I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me.”

“No bargains. It’s just us together, forever.”

“Not quite,” she said solemnly. “I’ll grow old and die, of course, while you go on forever. That’s what hurts most. It must have tortured poor Fee, who didn’t even have — But I know you’ll be with me to the end. Who else would you have to take care of you?”

“We don’t have to think about that for a long time.”

“You’ll probably want to run away.”

“Probably, but I won’t.”

“They’ll all believe I’m your mother.”

“Or a rich old lady I married for her money.”

She giggled a little. “Why didn’t you ever hook up with one of the eternal ladies?”

“I suppose because I prefer human beings. The Group isn’t really human, you know.”

“You are.”

“We have a long time before us in Erie — we can take vacations, I hope, and see the solar — so you may change your mind about that.”

She smiled. “I’ll go tell my father. Meet you in the tree in an hour.”

“Why not now?”

“I have to help mother bathe and diaper your son.”

So here I am, here I am in Erie, son of the Mighty Sachem, prince of poppies, fink of firewater, and it’s damned hard work. They’ve renamed me White Eagle. I study Cherokee, Ugly synthesis and customs at the college. I obey. I refer all major decisions to the Sachem. I exercise with the braves and submit to their derision. My wife walks three steps behind me with her head lowered. What she does after hours is nobody’s business but mine.