Journey - Book II of the Five Worlds Trilogy (11 page)

He was a difficult man.

And yet, Visid had never felt so alive as she had since coming to assist the Machine Master. Her brain, long used to attending to itself while the boredom of rote Lessons went on outside it, felt on fire with ideas and excitement. Her brain felt like a muscle being flexed for the first time. From the very first day—which she had spent in tasks as mundane as sweeping rat droppings from the corners of the Machine Master’s shop and pushing inches of dust, which fell in cascades to the floor from old machines—she had felt invigorated, alive, as she never had before. And though the Machine Master spent neither that first day, nor any subsequent day, in conversation with her, she nevertheless felt the power of his presence as well as his incrementally growing confidence in her.

When he needed a tool, she was there at his side, bearing it; when his impatient mumblings indicated that he was in want of a certain item of ancient equipment, she knew its location and dragged it out to his side. And though in the beginning there was a tendency for her to get underfoot, which he proclaimed in freezing silence, her quick adaptability to his ways seemed to make a quick and permanent impression on him, and his silences became notes of approval.

“Visid, Screen three,” he might mumble, and when she had rolled that instrument to him on its casters, leaving it beside him, his silence, punctuated by not so much as a grunt, led her to believe that she had done well.

As to his appearance: she had soon become accustomed to his ugliness and deformity; as comfortable with it as he seemed to be himself. His permanent smile, afforded by his snipped-away lips, and at first startling and horrible, became, in short time, merely his mouth. To Visid, in time, the Machine Master could look no other way. He sometimes spoke, often in sleep, when their long hours in the shop precluded proper quarters, and a cot might be erected near one of the damp walls, out of direct light from the high cuts that served as windows near the ceiling; and his speech was often in anger at Wrath-Pei, the benefactor of the Machine Master’s appearance. The first of these episodes had greatly troubled Visid—she had briefly considered calling for assistance, until the Machine Master abruptly woke and rose, continuing his work as if nothing had happened. When it happened hence she knew that it was nothing to treat with alarm, only his way.

He was a difficult man.

And absolutely, of course, brilliant.

If this had been merely a damp basement occupied by a lunatic with instruments, Visid may quickly have tired of the novelty and sought release. But the things that the Machine Master turned his mind to were fascinating things to Visid. For the Machine Master’s mind worked in fallow fields, churning up well-tilled soil and exposing treasures beneath. He took what others had cast aside, in both ideas and apparatus, and with the marriage of the two made something new—and useful.

“Visid, parts cabinet number five,” the Machine Master said today (or was it night? the light drifting in through the high windows was indicative of either twilight or street light, she could not tell which).

Immediately Visid moved to a far corner of the shop and retrieved the requested part, an ancient computer chassis bursting with electronic components. Some parts had already been expropriated from the cabinet, but though the Machine Master had little idea where all of his components and tools resided, he knew exactly what parts he owned, and to what use they could be put. On the occasions when new machines arrived in the shop, borne by traders or confiscated by the High Leader (the Machine Master was not immune from asking for help when it was needed—though his asking so often sounded like demanding), Visid was amazed to see the Machine Master pulling covers from old parts, instantly cataloging what he now had at his disposal. He might never give that piece of apparatus another look—but he would know forever what it was composed of.

With a grunt—the cabinet was heavy—Visid set the requested piece down before the Machine Master and stepped back from the table. Without so much as a glance in her direction or a word of any kind, Sam-Sei proceeded to pull three tiny electronic components from their sockets, holding them up to the light for inspection before setting them down on the table and pushing parts cabinet number five aside. He then bent over a slim device, a hand controller of some sort, opened on the bench before him, pressing one of the components precisely into it.

Without being told, Visid retrieved the cabinet and brought it back to its place.

When she turned back to the Machine Master—he was gone.

And then he was back.

In a blink of an eye, nearly before Visid could react, the Machine Master once more activated the hand controller; there was a shimmer, during which Sam-Sei seemed to be surrounded briefly by a translucent egg, and then the Machine Master attained invisibility.

“Sir?” Visid called, but there was no answer. Then the Machine Master was back in place, his huge eyes fixed on the device.

“It works, as far as it goes.”

“Sir?” Visid said, unable to keep quiet.

The Machine Master turned from his project. “You have a question?”

“I…”

“I see. You are interested?”

“You were invisible.”

“Not invisible. Transferred.”

Visid kept silent, hoping he would continue.

“You recall the properties of the plasma generators, which drive the light soldiers?”

“Yes.”

“You will recall, then, that there is a projector initially applied, followed by an amplification signal. It is a variation of the projector that is employed here. Instead of light we project … matter.”

“Where …”

The Machine Master regarded her with something akin to amusement, though amid his placid demeanor and dreadful physical appearance it might go unnoticed to someone who had not worked as closely with him as Visid had.”Where did I go?”

“Yes,” Visid whispered.

“Merely to the other hemisphere of Mars. The Utopia Planitia province, I think. It was rather cold, and they are having winter there at the moment.”

Visid said nothing; and now the Machine Master turned back to his workbench, prying the cover from the hand controller to poke at its innards with a slim instrument.

“It is not yet suitable for my purposes,” he said, either to himself or to Visid—she wasn’t sure.

Taking a deep breath, Visid dared to ask, “And what are your purposes?”

He said nothing, but continued to work; after the longest minute Visid had ever lived, he asked quietly, “Component board number eighteen, Visid.”

She scrambled to get it for him, placed it gently on the workbench, and stood back.

He worked for an hour, during which Visid busied herself around the shop, wiping nascent moisture from machine cases, dusting, tracking down the occasional squeaking mouse to his hole and there laying a trap.

Another hour passed, and she was hungry, but said nothing. She was used to these conditions; during her free time, she was allowed her own putterings, in a far corner away from the Machine Master on an old workbench she had cleared for herself. She amused herself with an old intensity lamp, projecting white light through a scavenged prism to break it into its spectrum.

“Visid, come here, please,” he called.

She looked up; the light slats in the ceiling were darkened with night. It might be four in the morning; it might be that a day had passed and they were heading into another night.

She went to the Machine Master’s side.

On his workbench the hand controller lay open; many of the components that had been inside now lay in a scatter nearby. A rogue tool was clipped to a portion of the controller’s innards.

Visid stood silent, waiting, while the Machine Master, seemingly having forgotten that he had summoned her, picked over a pile of slim, tiny old electronic components that resembled ruby spiders; each was a garnet nub with delicate silver wires protruding.

Visid stood; and though her feet ached and her stomach growled for food, she said nothing.

The Machine Master continued his search—and then finally plucked from the pile a crimson part with a tiny green jewel embedded in its center.

This he put aside.

Still Visid waited for his orders.

He unclipped his tool from its place within the hand controller, lay it aside, and suddenly turned to Visid, his huge lidless eyes brimming with tears.

“Not suitable yet for my purposes,” he said, choking within his lipless mouth.

“Sir?”

She reached out to touch him, but he recoiled from the possibility; his hands, which had laid flat on his lap, drew up to his breast and crossed there.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Visid gasped.

He stared at her for the longest time, and then his gaze seemed to pass through her, to his previous thoughts.

“But soon it will be suitable,” he said finally. “It will, you see, reach to Titan, or wherever Wrath-Pei hides at the moment. And we will have our long-postponed interview.”

Chapter 12

A
t Mel Sent’s bidding they met beyond the Kuiper Belt, at the very outer reaches of the Solar System beyond even the Oort Cloud.

Since their last meeting, the traumatic one within the ring of cometoid material that was the Kuiper Belt, Kay Free had sought loneliness; indeed, if Mel Sent had not been so insistent now, she would have refused the meeting and stayed, a pale shimmer of light, facing away from the sun and out toward
there.
Only in this position could she hope to find solace, if not answers, to her questions.

And it was with a heavy heart that she met with the others today.

Mel Sent, uncharacteristically early, met her not with a greeting but with a characteristic shout of complaint.

“You would not
believe
what happened to Mother!” Mel Sent nearly shouted.

Pel Front, the last to arrive this day (it would be, it seemed to Kay Free, a decidedly uncharacteristic meeting), was greeted with the same announcement:

“Pel Front, You would not
believe
what happened to Mother!”

“I have no
wish
to believe what happened to your mother, Mel Sent,” Pel Front said waspishly; it was obvious that he had been undergoing his own form of self-exile and, lacking Kay Free’s politeness, felt no compulsion to be quiet about it. Kay Free did note that behind his peevishness there was the same weight of sadness that afflicted her.

Mel Sent, unburdened as she was by such feelings, waited impatiently for one of her companions to inquire what it was that had happened to Mother. In the interest of ending the present rendezvous as quickly as possible, Kay Free offered, “So tell us, Mel Sent—is Mother all right?”

“She
will
be, in time, I’m sure. The fact was, she was practically
frightened
out of her wits by one of
the creatures.”

Kay Free’s interest was mildly pricked. She asked, “Where has she been staying?”

“On the farthest planet. The double one, with the weak light and the dry cold that Mother finds so pleasant.”

“The one they call Pluto,” Pel Front interjected, the snap of his tone conveying his continued impatience.

“Yes!” Mel Sent said.

“And what creature there did she encounter? One of the white bears? A mountain cat?”

“No! Not one of those—do you think I’d stir you from your self-indulgent mopings for that? A
creature!
One of the cognizant ones!”

Kay Free made what passed for an intake of breath with her kind. “A
human?”

“Yes! The fragile, clumsy thing nearly fell on top of her! It was falling into an ice hole or something at the time—you know how vague Mother can be.”

“And did she—” Kay Free began.

“Of course she touched it! She saved the wretched thing—what else could she do?”

“But did she—”

“Enter it—no! Do you think Mother’s become senile?”

“There’s been some question of that,” Pel Front said sharply.

Mel Sent turned on him with similar sharpness: “She’s not senile! And she acted properly. What’s more, she said there was an … aura about this one.”

Now Kay Free’s interest was complete. She said, slowly and carefully, “What do you mean, Mel Sent?”

“I don’t know, exactly; you know Mother and her ways of explaining things. She merely stated that there was something … special about this one. Yes—that’s the term she used.”

“Special …” Kay Free said. She looked at Pel Front, who was trying to hide his own excitement.

“There is a possibility … ?” Pel Front said, after a moment.

“Yes, it would explain much,” Kay Free said.

“What are you talking about?” Mel Sent said. “You don’t mean …”

Her two companions regarded her with an even expression, and, after a moment, understanding blossomed fully within her.

“And to think it was Mother!” she said. “She will be thrilled; I must tell her—”

“Say nothing to her until we have a calling. There is nothing at all definite about this now,” Kay Free said.

“And that decision is unanimous, is it not, Mel Sent?” Pel Front said harshly.

After a moment Mel Sent threw in the towel. “All right, I shall say nothing, for the moment. But if and when the calling comes regarding this, I shall rush off to Mother at the instant and tell her. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Kay Free said immediately, knowing that this was the best promise they were likely to get from Mel Sent. After a much longer pause, Pel Front also exclaimed, “Agreed.”

“Good!” Mel Sent said. “Well, until the calling, then—good-bye!”

“We should wait, to see if it comes now,” Kay Free said.

“But I have things to do! Places to go!” Mel Sent said. “And even though I can’t tell Mother this news, I still have to attend to her needs, you know—she
is
old.”

“Do what Kay Free says,” Pel Front said, all traces of sarcasm gone.

Mel Sent huffed, then said, “Very well.”

They waited; yet nothing happened; no calling came.

“There, you see?” Mel Sent said. And then, saying nothing more, she took her leave of them.