Ray Aldridge - The Orpheus Machine

“That was the dream,” she said, sadly. “And this is the truth.” She looked around the cell. How childish she had been to blame Ruiz Aw because he could not protect her from all the dangers of Sook. On this terrible world, there was no safety, no refuge — not for more than brief sweet moments.

She had learned that truth too late. Too late. She put her face in her hands and cried.

“We’ve decided,” said Hemerthe as she came through his door.

Ruiz Aw sat in a chair, where he had been waiting for hours. “And?”

“We’ll help.” Hemerthe perched on the arm of Ruiz’s chair. “What other choice do we have? If we do nothing, would we survive? Probably not. At least you’ve given us the opportunity to do something. Even if it’s the wrong thing, at least we’ll have a comforting illusion. Right? Besides, if you should actually reach the enclave and broadcast the location of the Machine, no one will come looking for it in Deepheart.”

“I guess not,” said Ruiz. “What now?”

“We’re trying to contract for a sub, first. Meanwhile, would you like to meet your clone?”

Ruiz frowned. Perhaps at another moment, in another place, he’d be curious. All he felt now was a vague weary dread. “All right,” he said finally.

She got up. “Then let’s go. To his suite, if you don’t mind. We’ve told your clone nothing except that you’re here and you want his help. You’ll have to convince him to help you; we can’t compel him. So go easy on yourself.” She grinned, as though she had uttered a great witticism.

Hemerthe stood aside and Ruiz went through the door. His clone was sitting before a datascreen; he rose and turned to face Ruiz. Ruiz looked at that dark uninformative face and felt no sensation of recognition. The face seemed to belong to a person to whom self-doubt was unknown, for whom failure was unthinkable. Did I ever look so blindly confident? Ruiz shook his head in wonderment.

Hemerthe glanced from Ruiz to his clone. “Well,” said Hemerthe. “I suppose introductions aren’t in order, are they?” She laughed mischievously. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”

When she was gone, the clone nodded carefully. “Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” answered Ruiz.

“Sit down,” said the clone.

They sat and observed each other in silence. After a while, the discomfort of seeing a stranger with his face began to fade a little.

“This is very odd, isn’t it?” Ruiz said.

His clone nodded somberly. His face was unreadable, which struck Ruiz as terribly wrong. This was a mind identical to his own; how could it be so inaccessible? Had he really changed that much in the weeks just past?

Finally Ruiz spoke again. “What shall we call each other?”

The clone shrugged. “You choose; you’re the senior entity, according to the Fuckheads.”

Ruiz smiled. “What if I call you Junior, then?”

The clone smiled back. “Shall I call you Dad?”

Ruiz laughed. For some reason he had begun to feel a bit better. “If you like.”

“So, Dad,” said Junior, “what’s this job you want us to do?”

“It won’t be an easy job,” Ruiz said. “I’ve promised to destroy a machine.” He looked at his clone. How much of the deathnet remained in that duplicated mind? What could he do but ask? “Does the League deathnet still function?”

The clone shook his head a bit doubtfully. “The Deepheart Gench claims not enough remains to kill me. We’re not completely identical — something is always lost or skewed in translation, and my edges are not as sharp as yours were. My lights not so bright, my darks not so deep.” He gave Ruiz a critical glance. “Though I have to say that you seem quite different from the self you gave me. You look a little worn. Somewhat broken. Your body is damaged, but that’s the least of it, isn’t it? It worries me. I can’t help wondering what could do that to me. ”

“We’ve been wounded before, body and soul,” said Ruiz a bit defensively.

“Of course, of course… perhaps it’s just the perspective,” said Junior.

“Perhaps,” said Ruiz. “Anyway, this is the story.”

He told the clone a greatly condensed version of the events of the past weeks, since their memories had diverged. He saw no point in mentioning his involvement with Publius — and the things Publius and Ruiz Aw had done to each other. He said little about his time on Roderigo. He said less about his traveling companions. He devoted considerable description to his visit to the Compendium, though he had not meant to — but he mentioned Leel only in passing.

When he finally told the clone what Somnire had told him, the clone shuddered and his eyes rolled back into his head for a moment. His color faded to a dirty gray and he almost fell out of the chair.

Ruiz caught him and eased him back into a more comfortable position. He felt a strange reluctance to touch his own cloned flesh, so he propped his other self upright in the chair and stepped back.

After a bit, the clone drew a ragged breath and seemed to regain his composure.

“A little of the net remained?” Ruiz said.

“Apparently.” The clone rubbed his neck.

“You’re all right?”

“I suppose. The weight of it is gone.” Junior’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “I’d almost forgotten how heavy it was.”

“Good,” said Ruiz. “It almost killed me, several times.”

Junior gave him a somewhat cool stare. “You risked my life without a lot of soul-searching, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Ruiz said impatiently. “But this is important. If we don’t destroy the Orpheus Machine, humankind will become a slave race.”

“Yes, yes,” said his younger self wearily. “I grant you it’s important. Why must we be the ones to do something about it? Why not return to the pangalac worlds and organize a well-equipped force?”

“There’s no time,” said Ruiz. “By the time we could get home and find help, Roderigo might have the Machine. Or Delt, or one of the pirate Lords. Besides, who could we trust with such a secret? Who could resist the temptation to seize the machine and use it to make the universe a sweeter place?”

The clone looked at him with a look of resignation. “Ah. I see. We two, who know nothing of constructive solutions, are perfect for the job. All we know about is destruction — the only safe alternative.”

“Do you think I’m wrong?” asked Ruiz.

“No, no.”

“Will you help me?”

“If your plan seems feasible,” said the clone. “You have to trust your own judgment, I guess — especially if you’re twice the man you once were.” He chuckled.

Ruiz felt no great sense of achievement. Rather he felt a more intimate premonition of disaster — the time when he must go down into the Gencha enclave was now a little closer.

For a while it seemed there was nothing left to say, but Ruiz felt an unexpected curiosity. “Tell me,” he said. “How did it feel to become a person so suddenly?”

“You haven’t thought this through,” said Junior. “It didn’t feel any particular way at all. The Joined chopped my memories at the point of our arrival in Deepheart. We took a nap and then I woke up and Hemerthe was there. She — well, she was a man at the time — explained that I was Ruiz Aw the Second. And that you had sold me to Deepheart in return for their help.”

The dark face tightened and the black eyes grew even more unreadable. “So I was henceforth a Fuckhead, like it or not. It was something of a shock, I’ll admit.”

“I guess so,” said Ruiz faintly. When he had departed Deepheart, he had never imagined he would one day have to face the result of his bargain. He wondered if he would have made the same decision, had he known how things would eventuate.