Bruce Sterling - Holy Fire

“Such as?”

“I just like to walk around. Earth, sky, stars, sun. You know.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Well, I do photography.… The Amish, they’re such good material and they’re so good about it.… I mean, Amish children look incredibly like normal children, they are normal children, but then you can trace them decade by decade. Amish people around seventy … The natural human aging process … It’s amazing and terrifying! And yet there’s this strange organic quality to it.… The Amish are wonderful. They can tell I’m some kind of impossible monster by their standards, but they’re so sweet and good about it. They just put up with us posthumans. Like they are doing the rest of us a favor.”

Chloe thought about it. “What are you really doing with all this photography of Amish people?”

“Nothing much. My pictures still stink. I’m a lousy apprentice photographer and I got a lousy camera. But that’s okay; I need a lot of practice. Especially in framing shots properly …”

Suhaery and Chloe exchanged knowing glances. Then Chloe spoke up. “Mom, Harry and I think it would be a good idea if you came back with us to Djakarta for a while.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“There’s plenty of room in the condo, and in Asia they’re better about these things. They’re more understanding.”

“If only you had run to Indonesia,” said Suhaery indulgently. “In Europe, they’re all crazy. They never know how to rest, even when they’re rich. There is something very wrong with Europeans. They just don’t know how to live.”

“You really want your weird mother-in-law to live under your roof, Harry?”

“You’re a harmless little thing,” said Suhaery kindly. “I always liked you, Mia, even when you were very afraid of me.”

“Well, I can’t do that. No way. Sorry.”

“Mom, you need looking after. Let us look after you a little. You deserve it, you know. You sacrificed a lot for me. Years and years.”

“Forget it.”

Chloe sighed. “Mom, you’re almost a hundred years old. And they’ve cut off your treatment!”

“Do I look feeble to you? I can pass for twenty. Sure, I might live even longer if I went back to the lab and kissed up to them, but I’m okay, I’m not doing anything stupid . I eat right, I sleep like a top, and I get plenty of exercise. You see my legs now? Look at these legs! I could kick a hole right through the side of that hex barn over there.”

“Mom, stop that and listen. You’re living like a bum, like some kind of tramp. All right? You’re acting weird, you’re not acting responsibly. These other people that went through your same treatment, they all act pretty oddly, too. I think you people have got a serious legal case. You should stand up for your rights as abused patients. You should go through proper channels. What happened to you, it’s not your fault at all, and it never was. You should organize.”

“Darling, if we could organize, we wouldn’t be acting oddly in the first place.”

“You should talk to the others. Network with them.”

“I don’t have net access. And I bet they don’t, either.”

“Mom, why not? You should be calling us. Really, Harry and I, we’ve both been worried sick about you. Haven’t we, Harry?”

“It’s true, Mia,” said Suhaery loyally. “We are concerned.”

Chloe drew a breath. “I can see that you’re not human any longer, and I can accept that. It’s fine, it happens. But you are my mother. You can’t run off and do this to us. It’s unconscionable.”

“Your father did it.”

“No, he didn’t. Dad left you , but he never left me. Dad talks to me whenever I ask Dad to talk to me. And at least I always know where Dad is. I never know where you are anymore. Nobody knows. You know how long we’ve been searching for you on these back roads?”

“No. How long?”

“Long enough,” Suhaery said, smiling. “Maybe too long. Your daughter and I are very patient people.”

“Can’t you just call us, at least? So we won’t fret so much. Please, Mom. I don’t mind if you want to walk around, but Mom, you can’t ever walk away from your dharma and karma.”

“Look, I don’t have any money.”

Suhaery slipped his brown hands neatly into his creased trouser pockets. “That’s no problem. Twenty marks a week? Would that be too much?”

“Twenty marks? …” said Maya. “Wow.”

Suhaery nodded happily. “Take a little money. What’s wrong with that? It’s not enough money to make any trouble for any of us. A little allowance, Mia. A family remittance. We are your family, you know. It would make us so happy.”

“What do I have to do for this allowance?”

“Nothing! Just call us. Talk to us. Sometimes. That’s all. Is that so much to ask?”

Chloe nodded eagerly. “You need some looking after, Mom. We can do that now. We can set up a little account for you. We’re good at that now.”

“Well …”

“You’d have done that for me. Wouldn’t you? Heck, Mom, you did do it for me. Remember that allowance you gave me when I was on probation?”

“Did I?” Maya paused. “Well, okay, I guess that makes sense. Okay, have it your way.”

Chloe wiped her eyes sentimentally. “Oh, I’m glad now.… It’s funny to see you so pretty.”

The allowance made a difference of sorts. Maya was no good at all at controlling money now, but a steady dribble every week bumped her up from wanderjahr status to the crumbling lower edges of society. She still had no more possessions than she could carry, but she bathed more often, and ate nicer things, and sometimes accessed networks.

Networking was not without its risks, however. Networking was how the dog found her in Des Moines. Maya found the city of Des Moines much nicer than its press would indicate. Des Moines had some very interesting buildings, the regional Indianapolis influence. Paul had been a little cynical and shortsighted on the subject of modern architecture, she could see that now. Once you learned to look for modern architecture, you could perceive waves of architectural influence percolating right through the old urban structure; a cornice here, a door there, a fungarium windowbox, even the manhole covers.…

She spotted the postcanine dog and his producer having breakfast as she prepared to leave the hotel. She recognized the dog at once, and she felt sorry for him. She felt quite certain that the dog would continue to follow her if she somehow escaped the hotel. But she wasn’t afraid of the dog; she was no longer afraid of much of anything. The dog and his producer looked so sad to be in a cheap American hotel in Iowa, confronting flapjacks and a battery of specialized multicolored syrups.

She went to their booth. “Ciao Aquinas,” she said.

“Hello,” said the dog, startled. His normally perfect suit looked rumpled, perhaps because of the guide collar. His producer was blind.

The producer adjusted a translator clipped to his wattled ear. He was a Deutschlander, very elderly and very polite. “Please sit, Maya. Have you eated? Ate? Ated?”

“Okay.” Maya sat.

“We came to ask for an interview,” said Aquinas, in brisk and flawless English.

“Really.”

“We have had both Herr Cabaline and Signorina Barsotti already.”

“Who?”

“Paul and Benedetta,” said the dog.

The mention of their names touched her deeply. She missed them as she would miss a heartbeat. “How are Paul and Benedetta?”

“Famous of course; rather troubled, unfortunately.”

“But how are they really?”

“They escaped their legal difficulties. A great political success for them. But they have had a famous falling-out. A schism in their artistic movement. You hadn’t heard this?”