Stephen Baxter - Transcendent

“He was involved in one of the big geoengineering projects—”

“Yes,” Reath said. “The struggles to get past the great Bottleneck of his day. But what motivated Poole, do you think? I’m sure he was paid. But was it just money he wanted?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

She frowned, thinking. “His world was in trouble. Duty, I suppose.”

“Duty, yes. Of course everything is different now. But even though money has vanished, duty remains — don’t you think? And I already know you do your duty, Alia, with your Witnessing. Tell me what you think of Poole.”

“His legacy—”

“Never mind his place in history. What do you think of him? ”

She studied the playing boy. To her, Poole was a stunted creature, living in a cramped, dark time. And his mind was only half-formed, his speech a drawl. Why, he was barely conscious most of the time. It was as if he walked around in a dream, a robot driven by unconscious and atavistic impulses. When tragedy hit, when his wife died, he was overwhelmed, quite unable even to comprehend the powerful emotions that tore him apart.

Yet this flawed animal was a citizen of a civilization that was already reaching out beyond the planet of its birth, and Michael Poole himself had a grave, history-shaping responsibility; and yet this man, in a way, would save his world.

Uncertainly she tried to express some of this to Reath.

Reath said, “Just think how you would look to him. Why, you’re a different category of creature altogether. If Poole was standing before you now, I wonder if you’d even be able to talk to each other! You and Poole are as different as two humans could ever be. And yet you have always watched him. Do you think, Alia, that you could ever love him?”

“Love? What are you talking about? What do you want, Reath?”

His eyes were a deep, watery gold. “I have to be sure, you see.”

“About what?”

“If you really are what I’m looking for.” He turned in response to a faint sound. “I think your father is home.”

Alia was happy to run from the room, fleeing from this strange man and his intense scrutiny, seeking her father’s reassurance. But in the end reassurance was the last thing she got from him.

In the apartment’s living room, her mother and father stood side by side. Her sister Drea was here, too. Alia’s attention was distracted by the Witnessing tanks stacked up in one corner of the room, her parents’, and Drea’s. It struck her that she couldn’t remember when the others had done their Witnessing. Maybe Reath was right, she was unusual.

Her family was staring at her.

And then, as if noticing it for the first time, she saw that Ansec hadn’t come home alone. In her father’s arms, fresh from the birthing tanks, was a baby.

Reath followed Alia, and stood discreetly to one side.

Alia found it difficult to speak. “Well,” she said. “Quite a family gathering.”

Her mother was anguished. “Oh, Alia, I’m sorry.”

Ansec, her father, was calmer, though distress showed in his face. “It’s not a crisis,” he said. “At least it doesn’t have to be. An opportunity — that’s what we have.”

Alia turned on her sister. “And you — did you know?”

Drea snapped back, sibling rivalry briefly flaring. “Don’t take it out on me.” She waved at Reath. “It’s you the Commonwealth wants, not me!”

And all the time, in her father’s arms, there was the mute, incontrovertible existence of the baby. Bel’s eyes were shining now. “It’s a boy, Alia, a baby boy!”

Ansec said, “You know how happy this will make us, don’t you? You know how we love children — how we’ve loved having you as you’ve grown.” He cradled the baby. “This is us, Alia. The two of us, Bel and me. Having children. It’s what makes us what we are.”

“And what about me?” Alia said. “It takes two years for a gestation in the tank. So you’ve known this day would come for that long. And you’ve known what would happen then…” It was the Nord ’s one iron rule. In its limited space, you were allowed two children; if you wanted a third, one of the others had to leave to make room, leave the ship altogether. “You kept it secret from me. You went to the tank. You planned it all—”

Her mother took her hands. “It’s not like that, Alia, not at all. We weren’t supposed to tell you the Commonwealth was interested in you.”

“Why?”

“In case the Commonwealth didn’t want you after all,” Reath said gently. “You might feel rejected, you see. It is thought to be kinder this way.”

“But we had to plan,” Bel said. “You see that, don’t you? We thought we would lose you. We had to plan for what would follow.”

And Alia saw it all now. “So that’s it. The Commonwealth wants to take me away, and that’s an excuse for you to get rid of me and have a new child. You just assume I’m going to go with Reath. With this stranger. So you can stay home with this baby.”

“But it’s a marvelous opportunity,” her father said. “An honor. Anybody would want to go.”

“You will go,” her mother said. But she glanced at the baby, and there was an edge of panic in her voice.

“Won’t you?”

Reath stood beside Alia, a tall, calm presence. Suddenly she felt closer to him than she did to her own family. He said, “Don’t worry, Alia. It wasn’t supposed to be so difficult. We are all to blame. But I’ve seen enough of you to know that if you come with me you won’t regret it. I’ll take you to places you can’t imagine. The center of the Galaxy — worlds beyond number. You will be trained, your full potential brought out. Your mind will open up like a flower!”

“But what for? ”

“Why, haven’t you worked that out yet?” He smiled. “I want you to become a Transcendent, child.”

She gaped. “Me?”

“You’re just the type.”

To be a Transcendent — it was unimaginable. Her heart was tugged by curiosity, pride — and, yes, by awe. But she was afraid, too. “Can I choose to stay?”

“Of course,” her father said. But her mother cast increasingly desperate looks at the baby, and Alia knew there was really no choice, none at all.

The news of the disaster had come to me thirdhand, through a friend of a friend of Tom’s. Arriving out of nowhere, it was a punch in the head.

John acted compassionate and concerned. What a jerk. I always thought that at times of difficulty like this my brother never really got it; he never really felt the deep emotions swirling around, and was never quite capable of understanding what you were feeling. He had a role to play in putting things right, a role he fulfilled. But he didn’t get it.

And nor did his two Happified kids. With their blank, pretty eyes they watched me to see what I would do, as if I were an animal that had been poked with a stick.

My mother was a more complex case altogether. She fussed around making hot drinks for everybody, her self-control absolutely rigid. But she was hollow inside, and fragile, a china doll that had somehow survived nearly a century. John didn’t feel it at all; my mother felt it, but fought it. So who was more screwed up?

Anyhow, I had things to do. I escaped to my room.

I sat on my bed, the bed I’d slept in as a child, the bed Tom had used a few times when he stayed here, and spoke into midair, trying to contact my son.

I couldn’t place a call to Tom’s implants, or to the office he worked out of. The local communications in Siberia were down, and the networks as a whole seemed to be suffering. I imagined a great gouge torn roughly out of the world’s electronic nervous system, waves of pain and shock rippling out, and flocks of counselors, artificial and human, swooping down to help the wounded artificial minds cope with their trauma. Sentience comes as a piece: if you want the smarts you have to accept the self-reflection, the angst.