The Diamond Deep (65 page)

Joel glanced at the robot. “Leave.”

It ignored him. “See?” he said.

“Call Satyana and tell her to tell it to leave.”

“I will.”

“After I'm dead?”

“Soon.” He reached a hand up and caressed her cheek and then let the hand fall to her hair, which had become dry and unruly. Something the robot gave her dried her out, and she filled herself over and over with water, letting it energize her tissues and ease her dry mouth. Right now a glass of water rested in her left hand, cold and reassuring, as if it were a moment of life.

She stared at the ceiling and enjoyed the rough feel of Joel's fingers combing slowly through tangles. “What next? What happens now?”

“We're still counting up,” he said. “Winter is a great help.”

He actually sounded as if he liked Winter Ohman. She couldn't remember anyone else from the
Diamond Deep
that Joel had actually liked. The idea that he might have a friend warmed her.

It was hard to talk so she listened. “We'll know what we have soon, and we'll choose a place to go. But we'll stay in Ash until we really know what to do. Even all of the credit we have now isn't unlimited.”

He sounded so serious. He shouldn't be. It would be easier for him if he didn't paint the world so black and white. She sipped some water so that she could talk. “That's not what I meant. What happens to us when we die?”

“I don't know. It used to be that we were shot out into the stars.”

That still wasn't what she meant, but she could go with it. “Can you still do that? Can I go out into the stars?” Maybe she could find her own dead out there. Nona. Hugh. Owl Paulie. Haric.

Aleesi.

“I'm sure we can arrange that for you.”

“Will you see me off? Will you sing for me?”

“Of course I will.”

As soon as he heard, Onor went home. He found Marcelle in their rooms, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at him. “I didn't think she could really die.”

He hadn't either, not really. It had only been two weeks since their trial. The other trials, the other changes, were still under way. The people of the
Fire
gathered in the bar every night to watch summaries of the day's proceedings, the same way they used to gather to watch Ruby sing. It kept him busy, kept Evie busy. “At least Ruby got to hold Nona before she died.”

“Yes.” Marcelle came to him for a hug, and they watched the baby, sleeping. “At least Nona may not have to die.”

“Sure she will.”

“Not for a very long time.”

The baby didn't care that they were admiring her perfect fingers and toes. She slept peacefully, as if there was nothing wrong with the world, and there never would be anything wrong with the world.

BRENDA COOPER
lives in the Pacific Northwest, which is peopled with very many authors, perhaps because it is full of perfect writing weather. She writes science fiction and fantasy stories and novels, writes non-fiction and delivers talks about the future, rides bikes, and walks dogs. She also manages technology for a local government.

For more information, please head to
www.brenda-cooper.com
and
www.rubyssong.com
.

Every book is a group effort.

Writers help each other. In this case specifically, thanks go to all of those who read the first draft at the Wellspring workshop in Lake Geneva, particularly to Grá Linnea and Kelly Swails who read the full manuscript, gave me great advice and didn't pull punches. Thanks to Brad Beaulieu who organized. Also to my two best and oldest friends, Linda Merkens and Gisele Peterson, who read as readers, and to John Pitts, who has read almost all of my work in draft. To my dad, who reads my manuscripts and comments brilliantly. Every science fiction writer should have a father who is a real rocket scientist.

There are songs in this book. I am not able to sing (well, when I'm alone I often sing, but other people don't like my voice much). So to prepare for this, I attended two songwriting workshops led by the talented Chris Williamson. Any mistakes in the songs are mine and I appreciate her patience trying to teach songwriting to a woman who can't hear notes.

I can't say how pleased I am to have Lou Anders champion this book. He is one of our finest editors, and a fabulous person as well.

John Picacio created more than a book cover when he drew Ruby for
The Creative Fire
. He created an iconic piece of art that I kept on my computer screen and referred to while writing this book. He is a master of his craft.

As always, thanks to Eleanor Wood, my agent. These are shifting times in the industry, and Eleanor has been steady.

My family's support is priceless beyond measure. Writers are not the easiest folk to live with. We are often somewhere else—either physically or in our heads. Thank you, Toni and Katie, Nixie, Sasha, and Cricket.

Books are written to be read. Thanks to everyone who has read any of my work, and particular thanks to those of you have commented on it to me.