Chapters Twenty-four and Twenty-five

“I could get used to this,” I sighed happily, leaning back on my elbows, tilting back my head, and closing my eyes.

This was picnicking.  Needless to say, life on board the Janus hadn’t included many such outings, impromptu or otherwise.  Counting the picnic Lexi, Lu, and I threw together a week after the gathering at Lu’s place, my personal tally was … one.  But one was enough to hook me.  All I could think was, Where has this been all my life? As far as I was concerned, eating outside—or in the garden, which was the closest thing we had to outside—was a small slice of heaven.  A gentle breeze ran soft fingers through our hair and caressed our bare arms and legs, as we tore chunks from a crusty loaf of French bread.  Bathed in clear yellow light, seated on a red plaid blanket and surrounded by greenery, we lingered over creamy soy Gouda; ate red, ripe tomatoes like apples; savored the cool sweetness of plump green grapes; and gulped raspberry tea from plastic bottles.

I felt movement and opened my eyes.  Lu stood, wiping her fingers on a napkin before she stooped to pick up her sketch tablet.  Moving a short distance up the path bisecting the garden, she sat, folding her legs like a pretzel, heedless of the effect of gravel on her white shorts.  Her eves moved over Lexi and me, then she bent her head and applied her stylus to the screen.  Closing my eyes again, I abandoned myself to a lazy, sunny sense of well-being.

“So.  Did you decide?” Lexi murmured a few drowsy minutes later.

“Hmm?”

“You and Eran.  Did you decide?”

I smiled.  “Yes.”

“And?”

“We’re going to do it.”

She stirred; I opened my eyes and raised my head to find her lying on her right side, propped on her elbow facing me and grinning widely.  “I knew it!  Didn’t I tell Jordi you would?  I told him.”  Her left hand touched my arm.  “Congratulations, my friend.”  With a wink, she added, “And so your next adventure begins.”

“Y’all need to hold still,” Lu chided.

“Sorry,” we answered together.  I obediently resumed my former pose as Lexi lay on her back again, crossing her ankles and straightening her tan sleeveless tunic before she folded her hands atop her stomach.

“You would think we would all have had our fill of adventure,” I mused, “what with one thing and another.”

“One develops a taste for it, I find.”

I thought about Alpha Genesis and grimaced.  “Some of it, anyway.  Funny, I never pictured myself as a daredevil or a risk taker.  Learn something new every day, I guess.”

“Mm.  So, are you happy?”

“Happier than I’ve ever been.  Happier than I ever imagined being, actually.”

“And I’m happy you’re happy.  So.  We’re all happy.  When did you finally make up your minds?”

“The night Rune popped in at Ke-Ling’s.”

“Did you and Eran celebrate your commitment?  I’ll bet the fireworks were impressive, after your heroic weeks of abstention,” she teased.

I cleared my throat self-consciously.  “Well, to tell you the truth, we haven’t actually had that particular celebration yet.”

The blanket shifted.  I opened my eyes to find Lexi back on her side, facing me.  She shook her head in obvious disbelief.  “You mean you’re still ….”  I nodded sheepishly.  “But why?”

“Lexi, you’re moving again!”

Casting a distracted glance toward Lu, Lexi waved a hand, nodding and saying, “Yes, yes, all right.”  She lay back down.  “So what’s the holdup?” she muttered.  “Don’t you two know you’re denying yourselves something very special?”

“That’s just it, Lex.  It is special.  I wonder if any of us, even you and Jordi, understand exactly how special it is?  How could we, when we know next to nothing about it?  I did some research while I was weighing the pros and cons.  Historically, the joining of a man and woman was a pretty significant event.”

“Truly?”

I almost nodded, but remembered Lu.  “You bet.  Back then, people saw it as the cornerstone for legal, social, and economic stability.  The institution of marriage—”

“Institution of what?”

“Marriage.  That’s what they called formalized monogamy back then.  It was also the nucleus of the family unit—a partnership dedicated, among other things, to the nurture and education of children.  The number and variety of elaborate laws and rituals that surrounded marriage is almost mindboggling.  Goes to show you how important people … even governments … thought the union was.”

“I wonder if that’s why the Colony outlawed monogamy?  You know, because it was such a big deal.”

My arms and shoulders had started to ache.  I tried to unobtrusively adjust position as I pondered her question.  “Well, monogamy wasn’t all that common by the time they left Earth.  Still, you may be right.  All that stuff about avoiding relationship hassles and promoting unity could be a load of soft-soap.  The Alphas wanted us all married to the program.  They probably wanted to head off any possible division of loyalty, even if chances were remote that monogamy would ever crop up.”

“Chances were obviously not as remote as they hoped,” drawled Lexi.

I grinned.  “Guess not.”

“You said there were laws and rituals.  What kind?”

“The laws usually revolved around property, the guardianship of children, various rights and privileges, and state recognition for tax and census purposes.”

“And the rituals?”

“By and large, they were public declarations of love and/or commitment made in front of friends, family members, and officiates.  They could be anything from simple ten-minute civil ceremonies conducted in front of a couple of witnesses to huge celebrations involving elaborate costumes, hundreds of guests, and religious rites.”

“Really.  How did religion get mixed up in it?”

“Many cultures considered the union between a man and a woman holy, even mystical.”

“How so?”

My brow furrowed as I tried to recall what I had read.  “Well, those groups believed each individual had an ordained soul mate, one person without whom the other would remain forever incomplete.  Some of the earliest writings even link the union between a man and woman to the divine, describing marriage as a three-way covenant, or contract, between the man, the woman, and the deity.  According to the texts, the joining of a man and a woman was so profound, they actually became one—or, as the ancients put it, ‘one flesh.’”

“I assume they didn’t mean that literally.”

“Didn’t seem to.  I’m sure they meant one person … one consciousness.”

“Still sounds like a lot of hocus pocus to me.  Exactly how did they think this magical union happened?”

I smiled slightly.  “Nobody seemed real clear on the actual process.  I suppose they chalked it up to the supernatural, wrote it off as a divine mystery.”

“Sounds superstitious,” Lexi mused, “all this talk about deities and two people merging.”  She paused.  “And yet ….”

“And yet you can identify?” I ventured when she didn’t finish her thought.

“With that two becoming one business, yes.  Although it embarrasses me to admit it.  How did you guess?”

“No guess, empirical evidence.  I’ve watched you and Jordi grow closer and closer, more in tune with one another every day.  Can I explain that kind of union?  No.  Do I sense some ‘divine’ influence?  That kind of thinking is so far outside my frame of reference I can’t even grasp the concept.”  I pictured the video of Tom and Anna Fox.  “But I do believe two people can be soul mates.  I believe a melding of hearts and minds is possible.  Is that the same as becoming one?  I don’t have a clue.”

“An interesting question, but let’s leave it for another time.  While this discussion is enlightening, I still don’t understand how it relates to the fact that you and Eran haven’t consummated your union.  In light of everything you’ve been telling me, I would think you two would be anxious to begin.”

I grinned crookedly.  “Oh, we’re anxious, believe me.  But we decided all those millions of people couldn’t have been completely off base.  Maybe an occasion as important as the joining of two lives, ought to be marked by a ceremony of some sort.  It was actually Eran’s idea.  When he heard about the solemn rites used to formalize monogamy in ancient times—how the couple made promises to one another in front of their friends and families—he said the custom seemed fitting, and why didn’t we do something like that?”

“Ah,” Lexi breathed.  I discreetly arched my back, giving my shoulders a break and her time to think it over.  “It’s a nice idea,” she decided.  “When?”

“Soon, I hope.  First there’s the little matter of telling the others we’ve decided to be monogamous.  Everyone’s been caught up in our various dramas; so far, they’ve been too distracted to notice the changes in our relationships.  Eran and I thought we would invite everyone over to my place for dinner tomorrow night, break the news to them then.  Don’t worry, we won’t mention you and Jordi.”

“Mention us,” she said.  “Better yet, we’ll mention us.  It’s time they knew.”

“Yes, I think it is.  Anyway, once the furor dies down, we’ll set a date.”

“A date for what?” Lu asked as she approached the blanket.  “You can move now.  Or should I say again?  You two would never make professional models; they have to be able to hold a pose for hours.”

“Sounds like torture to me.”  I sat up, rotating my shoulders, slipping a hand under the collar of my amber tunic to rub my neck.

Lexi grimaced as she sat.  “Were we really that bad?”

“Never mind.  I got enough to go on.”

I leaned toward her.  “Can we see?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, slipping the tablet into its case.  “You’ll have to wait for the finished portrait.  Date for what?”

“Huh?  Oh.  Dinner,” I said, thinking quickly.  “How about tomorrow night?  My place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Lexi answered smoothly, eyes twinkling.  “I’m sure I can vouch for Jordi’s presence, too.”

“I’d love to come,” Lu agreed.  “Who else is going to be there?”

I shrugged.  “Everyone, I hope.”

“Everyone?  Oh, you mean everyone but Rune and Ke-Ling.  It’s too bad they won’t be able to join us.”

Her comment had the strangest effect on me.  An urge to look in on Ke-Ling had started to prod me the night before.  It grew so strong and insistent, I got very little sleep because of it.  Only sheer force of will—and a mental picture of me barging in on Ke-Ling at two in the morning, devoid of any rational explanation—had enabled me to resist.  The impulse had subsided to a vague undercurrent during the last couple of idyllic hours, but the moment Lu mentioned his name, it surged back, suddenly, sharply insistent.  The jolt disoriented me; I shook my head and struggled to retain my bearings.

“That is too bad,” Lexi agreed.

A reply rolled off my tongue while my brain was still struggling to catch up.  “When I say everyone, I mean everyone.  I’ll stop by Ke-Ling’s on my way home.”

“Oh, dear,” said Lexi.

“Rune will pitch a fit,” said Lu.

“I don’t care,” said I.  But I fervently hoped Rune wouldn’t.  “Rune can decide for himself, and so can Ke-Ling.  He’s one of us and he’s been in solitary confinement long enough.  He might decide not to come tomorrow night, but I can at least check in with him.”

No use reminding myself I didn’t want to make things worse for our friend by visiting, or that Rune was an expert at this kind of thing after all, and he seemed to think we should keep our distance for now.  No matter how much I wanted to cooperate, I knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“I understand how you feel,” Lexi sympathized, gaze filled with alarmed concern, “but please be reasonable.”

“You might as well save your breath,” sighed Lu.  “She’s got that look in her eye.”

Unable to resist or explain my now-overpowering sense of urgency, I shot to my feet.  “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll go see him right now.”  My two friends scrambled off the blanket with me.

“What, now?” Lexi shot Lu a do-something glance.  Lu shrugged.  “Oh, you’re a big help,” Lexi muttered and turned back to me, arms outstretched imploringly.  “Can’t we talk about this?  Let me call Rune.  He’ll check on Ke-Ling.  He’ll know how to do it without—”

I shook my head.  “I’ll go.  Look, I’ll be careful, really careful.  Everything will be all right, I promise,” I assured them as I started down the path.

Everything will be all right? I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ω

Chapter Twenty-five

The portal was open.

I wasn’t sure why that stopped me in my tracks, but it did.  My brow furrowed in confusion.  It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen portals standing open before.  Deck Two often reminded me of images I had seen of an early twentieth-century city:  narrow residential streets densely lined with townhouses, everybody’s door open, neighbors visiting back and forth.  The catch here I finally decided, wiping suddenly clammy palms on my brown shorts, was Ke-Ling couldn’t possibly be feeling all that neighborly, circumstances being what they were.

I wasn’t aware of moving, but a second later I was at the portal, peering diffidently through the entryway into the brightly lit salon.  “Hello?  Ke-Ling?”  Silence.  Nudged by vague misgivings, prickly with the discomfort that comes with being a trespasser, I edged into the entryway.  “Anybody home?”

Not a sound.

If I found it hard to believe Ke-Ling would leave his portal open while he was home, I found it impossible to understand why he would leave it gaping if he wasn’t.  So I made my way into the living room hesitantly, half expecting him to walk in and catch me invading his space for no logical reason.  Dogged by my conscience and a faint, sharp whiff of something I couldn’t quite place, I tiptoed through the spotless living room into the bedroom.  Crossing to the massive square bed flanked by tall, slender silk bamboo trees, I stopped to think, chewing my lower lip as I absently brushed my fingertips back and forth across the gray-banded black coverlet.  Ke-Ling obviously wasn’t in, so why was I still there, snooping around?  Exactly what was I hoping to find?  And what would I say if he came back and found me standing in his bedroom, petting his bedspread?  Nice material?

I snatched back my hand and turned away from the bed, wandering over to a long table set against the opposite bulkhead.  The table’s brushed aluminum frame cradled a smoky glass top, polished to a mirror finish and bare except for two pieces.  The first was a foot-high bronze horse sculpted in delicate lines—ears cocked alertly forward, long neck arched, right foreleg pawing gracefully.  The other was a rectangular bamboo tray half-full of sand.  The sand was smooth except for precise curves and whorls etched around five black stones of various shapes and sizes.  I knew the Zen sand-and-rock garden was Japanese not Chinese but could understand how its tranquil simplicity might speak to Ke-Ling.  Picking up the tiny rake balanced on the tray’s edge, I wondered again where he was.

“Well, you can see he’s not here, Kai,” I said, carefully replacing the rake.  My voice sounded unnaturally loud, so I lowered it, murmuring, “Guess you’ll have to catch him later.”

It’s funny how feet sometimes have a mind of their own.  My head was all for leaving, but my feet carried me back across the living room into the immaculate galley across from the bedroom.  Glancing around, I decided if it hadn’t been for the rectangular metal rack holding a row of black-lidded spice jars—two tall ones flanked by four short ones—and the matching chrome cylinder bristling with chopsticks, you would think no one had ever laid a finger on one of those gleaming counters.

“Nobody’s this clean,” I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief.  “It isn’t natural.”

That’s when it dawned on me:  The whole place looked unlived in, neat as a pin, not a spec of dust or smudge anywhere.  Had it been this clean the day we had come to warn Ke-Ling about Enid’s scheme?  I hadn’t noticed.  Of course, to be fair, I did have a few other things on my mind that day.

The vague misgivings I had come in with stirred darkly.  Trying to shrug them off, I decided since I had already trespassed an inch, I might as well go the whole mile.  Crossing the living room for the third time, I went through the portal to the left of the bedroom and found myself in Ke-Ling’s office, a room that gave the phrase unlived in brand-new meaning.  Behind a glass-topped, brushed-chrome desk, a sleek, high-backed brown leather chair faced the portal where I stood.  The desk was equipped with the usual built-in touch-screen keyboard and self-actuating holographic monitor, but that was it as far as furniture.  Maybe it was the soft, recessed lighting, but both the desk and chair looked storeroom new.

Hugging myself against uneasiness that was growing deeper by the minute, I came into the room and slowly circled the desk, wondering yet again what I thought I was going to find here.  I was no Rune Gaspar.  I didn’t even know why I was poking around, let alone what to poke for.  I sat in the chair and leaned back, barely swiveling back and forth as I pensively fingered the keyboard, waiting for inspiration to strike.  It was a frustrating, fruitless wait.

“I give up,” I sighed a few wasted minutes later.  “I’m out of here.”  When I lightly touched the period key for emphasis, the light shifted and Ke-Ling materialized on the opposite side of the desk.  My mouth dropped open as I stared.

His loose tunic and slacks were a deep, bright blue, as was the surgical-type cap completely covering his hair.  Smiling contentedly as he rolled a vial between his latex-gloved hands, he radiated utter peace as he relaxed in the same chair I sat bolt upright in now.  My eyes narrowed as I leaned forward to search the holographic image for a hint of the buttoned-down, inscrutable man I had seen in these quarters a two short days ago.  That man had apparently vanished without a trace.

“Hello,” he said, and I almost said hello back, because it seemed so real—like he was sitting right across from me and could see me and was talking to me, personally.  His next words jerked me back to reality.  “No doubt you are surprised and curious about my sudden appearance.  The computer was programmed to call up this video if and when any key on the keyboard was pressed.  I do not know who you are or why you have come to these quarters, but please accept my gratitude.  I have an important message for everyone aboard the Janus, a message that would have remained unheard without your help.”

A slow chill slid down my spine as my brain struggled to put a label on the apprehension that was rapidly spiraling into real fear.  The invitation posed by the open portal, the computer program designed to launch at the touch of a key … it all struck me as ominously automated.  But why would he set this up so it would operate without him?

“My dear countrymen,” Ke-Ling was saying, “—if I may call you that, in view of the fact that the Janus has become our homeland—I find myself in a curious and uncomfortable position.  I, who have labored for decades to make life continuance possible, lending my expertise to the replication process and dedicating countless hours to our quest to overcome the Known Span, must now confess both my guilt and my failure.  In doing so, I will be the cause of extreme individual and social turmoil.  I hope you will one day find it in your hearts to forgive me.  I am confident the Colony will eventually recover from the shock, although I must warn you, that process may take considerable time.  In spite of the painful and potentially cataclysmic repercussions, I implore you to listen and believe.  If you do, and if you are one of the fortunate, life may one day become truly rewarding and meaningful for you.”

His gaze intensified, although the smile remained.  “That is what I want to talk to you about:  life.  It is more than a beating heart, my friends.  It is greater than individual consciousness, greater even than the genome.  Life is an ineffable mystery.  It should inspire reverence and awe.”  His smile faded.   “We,” he paused to touch a hand to his chest, “notice, please, I include myself … have demeaned life.  Heedless of the consequences, we have schemed and cheated and deluded ourselves, arrogantly determined to bend this mysterious gift called life to our collective will.  Greedy for immortality at any cost, we have thoughtlessly thrown away many precious lives.  Does that sound like a contradiction?  I promise you, it is not.  Let me explain.

“We must begin with this truth:  The Known Span cannot be breached.  It will never be breached.  Centuries of meticulous, exhaustive research have ruled out every possible biological cause for mortality.  We do not die because we degrade physiologically; we die because we are meant to, because something outside ourselves, a force greater than our will to live, has numbered our days at forty-three thousand eight hundred.  One hundred twenty years.  It is a constant as unyielding as the speed of light.”

He held up an index finger, continuing softly, “But perhaps you will say, ‘Even if all that is true, our inability to breach the Known Span does not matter in the end.  We live after all and in spite of all.  Replication is a kind of immortality, too.’”  He smiled that sad, familiar smile as he shook his head.  “You are wrong if you think so, and I will tell you why.  It is another truth, an old truth, a truth we all know but chose to forget.”

A cold, sick dread was growing in me, but I found myself unable to move, powerless to do anything but play the role of helplessly mesmerized spectator.

“This,” he said, “is the second truth:  Absolute fidelity in replication is a delusion every bit as unrealistic as the claim that we can overcome death itself.  No matter how painstaking and advanced the cloning process, no two generations are alike in every particular.  The differences may be small or great; we do not know, having no means of comparison.  But we know the differences are there.  You and your Alpha are not one and the same.  You are unique; no other exactly like you ever has or ever will pass through this universe.  This was also true of each generation before you, but those lives were lost to the proud, self-centered doctrine we call the Prime Tenet.”  His tone became impassioned.  “Do not let your lives be lost, too!  Seize each day for your own, find a new path, and live fully!”

What about you? I screamed silently, eyes locked on the image across from me.  When are you going to practice what you preach, Ke-Ling?

It was almost as if he had read my mind.  “As for me, I ….”  He faltered for a moment, his expression becoming sad and uncertain.  “I cannot ….”  He paused and looked down.  When his gaze lifted again, it was melancholy, but clear and direct.  “There are reasons I cannot stay with you.  I no longer have work to do, because the work I once loved has become meaningless.  Life without it seems intolerable.  Still, I might have stayed … tried to find a way… but there are other considerations ….”  He took a deep breath.  “I do not blame anyone; the truths I have told you are more difficult for some to bear than others.  I understand.  But I cannot stay and let life be ripped away, even if that life involves a painful personal struggle.  I find the thought that I might be forced to return to the man I was unbearable.”

My lips formed a soundless oh no as undeniable, unthinkable understanding finally broke over me in an icy wave.

“Almost as unbearable,” he continued grimly, “as the thought of another Ke-Ling Yan being engineered after I am gone.  He will be told the lies, he will spend his days in futility.  No, that is not to be born.  So, I am taking this with me.”  He held up the vial, and my breath caught, because in that heart-stopping moment I realized he was holding the Alpha-Yan DNA.  I finally understood the cap, the gloves, the faintly antiseptic smell.  “Furthermore, there will be no usable genetic material salvaged from these quarters.  They have been sanitized, micro-vacuumed and vapor fumigated by the Gen-Lab’s custodial droid.  My colleagues will recognize the process as the one we periodically use in the laboratory to sterilize equipment by eliminating traces of DNA that might result in cross-contamination during replication.”  His eyes blazed with a kind mournful triumph.  “There will be no other Ke-Lings.”

I didn’t wait to hear more, but launched out of the chair and bolted across the room, half-blind with terror.  I had to find him, stop him!  Hurtling through the portal, I slammed into a hard, immovable object.  Strong hands gripped my shoulders; they kept me from falling, but they weren’t letting me go anywhere, either.

“What part of, ‘Keep your distance,’ don’t you understand?”

I thrashed and kicked, trying to break free of Rune’s unyielding grip.  “Let me go!” I screamed, pushing against his chest.  “You have to let me go!  It’s Ke-Ling.  We’ve got to find him before he—”  But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“Before he what?”  Rune gave me a hard shake.  “Come on, Kai-Lee, snap out of it!  Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

Tears streamed down my face.  “The video.  He made a holographic video,” I sobbed, with a wild glance toward the computer.  I looked up to see Rune staring over my head, eyes narrowed.  He had gone absolutely still.  “He’s going to kill himself!” I finally cried, and started to struggle all over again.  “Let me go!  Don’t just stand there staring!  Do something!  We’ve got to stop him!”

“Too late,” Rune murmured, nodding over my shoulder.  I spun around to look.  Ke-Ling’s image was gone; the holographic monitor now floated above the desk.  The image was as clear from where we stood as it would have been from the chair on the other side of the desk, but I didn’t recognize the setting detailed with three-dimensional clarity.

“Where is that?  What are we looking at?”

“Deck Five.  The airlock in the hangar bay.  See the red light?”  I nodded.  “Ke-Ling just went in and closed the portal.  Must have hacked into the control room video system so he could record the whole thing.  Damn.”

Filled with fresh horror now that I fully understood the plan, I shook my head.  “He can’t just walk in there, can he?  Somebody will see,” I whispered hoarsely.  “Won’t they?  Somebody will see and stop him.”

“They might have, if any of the hangar crew had been on duty.  Look at the time stamp in the lower right-hand corner.  Three a.m.  This was a done deal fourteen hours ago, Red.  He just wanted us to know.”

When the light over the airlock went green, I sagged back against Rune, my vision now mercifully obliterated by tears.  “Did it ….”  A harsh sob tore up my throat.  I drew a deep, shuddering breath.  “Do you think he suffered?”

His hands gently kneaded my shoulders.  “No.  He was unconscious fifteen seconds after he stepped off into space.  No, he didn’t suffer.  I just wish he had—“  Rune broke off.  I felt him stiffen behind me, the hands on my shoulders tightened.  “Aw, hell.”

“What?  What’s wrong?”  I scrubbed at my eyes and peered toward the monitor.

Gone was the rendering of the hangar bay.  In its place, centered in the air over the desk, large red numbers counted down:  0:4:50, 0:4:49, 0:4:48 ….  Above the numbers text in a large, bold blue font read, “Distribution to all users in ….”

Ω

©  2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved