The Mountain Cage (44 page)

Andrew broke down at suppertime. Food had been laid out on the coffee table next to the helix. He stuffed himself, not tasting anything; Silas picked at his chicken while Emily hovered, beaming at them. Then she settled herself in a chair and sipped wine. She wore her white dress, but the setting sun in the window made the dress seem pink.

Thérèse was not eating. She scowled at the woman and drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa. A finger caught in the doily. Thérèse tore at the lace, and it fluttered to the floor.

Thérèse said, “Give me some wine.”

“Aren’t you a little young for that, dear?”

“Give me some wine.”

Emily poured more of the pale liquid into her glass and handed it to the girl. Thérèse downed it in two gulps and held out the glass. The woman poured more wine. Thérèse leaned back. Her face was drawn.

Andrew’s stomach felt heavy and too full. Silas, seated cross-legged on the floor, had stopped eating. Emily said, “Would you like to hear a story?”

“No,” Andrew replied.

“I’ll tell you one, and then maybe you can tell me one.”

Thérèse raised her glass, peering over it at the woman. She said, “Go ahead, tell it. It better be good.”

“Oh, it is.” Emily sat up. “It’s very good. It’s about a lovely young woman, like a princess in a fairy tale.”

The young people were silent. Emily stared at the helix for a moment. “Once, there was a lovely young woman,” she began. “She lived in a beautiful house on the edge of a great city, but she was very sad, because the world beyond was cruel and hard. Even in her citadel, the evil of the world outside could reach her. It was as if everyone was under an evil spell; a dark spirit would come upon them, and they would go to war. Do you know what a war is?”

No one replied.

“That’s when people take all their talent and organize themselves to kill other people. Well, one day, something wonderful happened. The wars stopped. They stopped because some people had found a way to keep from dying. Now, before that, they had already found a way to stop people from aging as rapidly; they had a substance that cleared out all the protein cross-linkages.”

“We know about that,” Andrew said impatiently.

Emily shot him a glance. “Hush, child. Let me finish. These people had found a way to make everyone younger. You see, they were trying to find out about cancer, and they learned a lot about cells, and they found that they could stimulate the body to rejuvenate itself and become younger. No longer did our genetic structure condemn us. When people realized that they could live forever, the world changed. It was made beautiful by those who knew that now they would have to remain in it forever. We call that time the Transition.”

Andrew fidgeted. Thérèse sipped her wine. Emily’s long fingers stroked the arms of her chair; her pale hands had small brown spots around the blue veins.

“The young woman was happy. She opened her house to others, and they all spoke of the new age, their escape from death. But then the young woman began to grow weak. Soon she discovered that evil was still in her body. A malignancy was growing within her, her cells were out of control.” Emily paused. “It didn’t matter. The growth was soon inhibited by another substance, which enabled her immune system to control the disease. But later, when she received her rejuvenation treatments once more, the cancer returned. Her body was a battleground; her own cells were at war.”

Emily’s voice was trembling. Andrew moved a bit closer to Thérèse.

“Do you understand?” The woman’s voice was firm again. “It was as if the woman had been cursed. When she received the treatment that would allow her to live, the disease returned, because the same process that caused her body to renew itself allowed those cells to grow. When she took interferon—that is what controlled the disease—she would be well, but growing older. Do you understand now? Each time, she grew a bit older physically than she had been; she was aging—very slowly, to be sure, but aging nonetheless. There were others who had the same problem, but she did not care about them.”

The woman tilted her head. “She became a project,” she went on. “Biologists studied her. They discovered that she had a defective gene. The substance that enabled her body to rejuvenate itself triggered a response, and cancerous cells would multiply along with those that made her younger. Now these scientists were able to keep this gene from being passed on to others, but they could do little for the woman. They tried but nothing worked.”

Andrew sat very still, almost afraid to breathe. Thérèse threw her head back and finished her second glass of wine. Silas cleared his throat uneasily.

“The young woman left the world,” Emily said. “She didn’t want to be where she could see the youthful bodies and cheerful spirits of others. When she had clung to hope, she had drifted into depression and deep sorrow. Now she released her hopes and accepted her situation and found a freedom in so doing. Denied life—denied, at least, a full life—she would accept death, and find peace in the acceptance. So, you see, the story has a happy ending after all.”

Emily’s green eyes glittered. For a moment, her face seemed younger in the evening light.

Thérèse spoke. “The woman can still stay alive. She can still be helped. It’s her own fault if she gives up. More is known now, isn’t it?”

Emily smiled. “You don’t understand. Hope was too painful. Even healthy ones sometimes seek death, even now, you know that. The evil hasn’t disappeared, but it too has its consolations, even its own beauty. Flowers are beautiful because they die, aren’t they? And isn’t there a special poignancy in thinking of something you’ve lost? It’s a mercy. That’s what people used to say about death sometimes, it’s a mercy. It was a good death. He didn’t linger, he isn’t suffering now, he’s gone to meet his Maker, he’s cashed in his chips, he’s gone to his reward. Many of the old expressions were quite cheerful.” She lowered her chin. “There is little new knowledge now, only tinkering, little workshops where they play with genes and make things like those.” She waved a hand at one of the kobolds. “Something else died when we decided to live, and that was great change. There is no hope for the woman, but it doesn’t matter. There is a happy ending, you see. There, I’ve told you a story. Now you can tell me one.”

Silas looked up at Andrew apprehensively. Andrew lifted his head, unable to gaze directly at Emily. “We don’t have a story,” he mumbled.

“Come now. Of course you do, all alone in the middle of nowhere without your Bonds.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Maybe your girl friend has one, then. Don’t you, Terry? Why don’t you tell it?”

Thérèse held out her glass. “Give me a drink first.”

“You’ve had quite enough,” Emily said, but she poured more wine anyway. Thérèse rose and walked over to the window; the dark-haired kobold moved doser to the woman. Thérèse turned around.

“All right. I’ll tell you a story.” She took a breath. “A girl was living with a man. She’d lived with him all her life. He wasn’t her biological father, but he was the only parent she had ever known. He’d brought her home and cared for her ever since she’d been born.” Her voice shook a bit as she spoke.

“A rather abrupt preface,” Emily said. “But do go on.”

“At first, he was kind. Then he changed. He began to come to her room at night. He’d make her do things, and sometimes he hurt her. It got to where she sometimes even liked the pain, because he’d be sorry for a while afterwards, and he’d be nicer when he was sorry, and do what she wanted. But then it would start again. She tried to run away, but he hurt her badly, and she was afraid to try again. It was all her fault. That’s what he made her think. Everything he did was her fault, because something in her led him to do it.”

Thérèse’s voice did not tremble now; it was flat and toneless. She perched on the window sill; her face was shadowed.

“She was still growing. She began to change. The man didn’t like that, because he didn’t like women, only girls. So he began to give her the same thing that kept him young. It was tricky, but he managed. No one found out. They lived alone, and not many people saw her. He was only doing what the biologists do, wasn’t he? He was shaping a body to be what he wanted, that’s all, that’s how he looked at it. The years went by, and the girl grew older, while still remaining a child. The man began to forget that she wasn’t what she seemed.”

Thérèse gulped the rest of her wine and set the glass on the sill. “The girl was careful. She watched the man and bided her time. One day, she was able to escape, and she did. My story has a happy ending, too.”

Andrew realized that he was digging his fingers into his thighs. He tried to relax. Emily was watching the girl out of the sides of her eyes.

“You didn’t tell the whole story,” the woman said at last. Thérèse shook her head. “Tell the rest. The girl didn’t just run, did she? She killed the man while making her escape, didn’t she?”

Thérèse did not reply.

“They’re looking for her. She’s still missing. She killed someone. You know what they’ll do when she’s found? They’ll send her up.” Emily pointed at the sky. “They’ll exile her, they’ll send her to a prison asteroid, with all the other murderers. She’ll have to stay there. After a year of low gravity, she’ll need an exoskeleton to live on Earth again. There won’t be a happy ending if she’s caught.”

Thérèse moved her arm, hitting the glass. It fell to the floor, shattering. Andrew started. Emily rose. “Enough stories for tonight, don’t you think? It’s time to rest now.”

She left. The bearded kobold remained; the blond one went out on the porch and stood in front of the screen door. Andrew got up and went to Thérèse. “It isn’t true.”

She said nothing.

“It isn’t true, Thérèse. They won’t send you away, they can’t.”

She pushed him aside and threw herself across one of the cots. He hovered at her side, wanting to touch her, but afraid to do so. She hid her face. Her body was very still.

The kobold made a sound. “Others,” it said, and Andrew started. “Others, before. Other visitors. Gone now. Go to sleep.”

The raspy voice made Andrew shiver. Silas stood. He picked up a plate and smashed it on the floor. Thérèse turned her head. Silas broke another plate. “Stop,” the kobold said.

Andrew went to his friend. “Silas.” He reached for the shadowy shape and held the other boy by the shoulders.

Silas shook his head and pushed Andrew away. “I’m all right now.” He sat down on the sofa. Thérèse was lying on her side, her hip a dark hyperbola obscuring part of the window.

Silas lifted his chin. “Did you really do it?”

“Do what?” Her voice was flat.

“What she said.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to get away. He tried to stop me. He should have let me go. When it was over, I was glad. I’m glad he’s dead.” The cot squeaked as she settled herself. “Go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep,” the kobold echoed.

Silas said, “We have to get out of here.”

Thérèse did not answer. Andrew stretched out on the other cot. The girl seemed resigned. He realized that Thérèse had only exile to anticipate, more wandering or a prison world. He heard footsteps in the hall; they faded, and the back door slammed. The house was quiet; outside, crickets chirped. There was light just beyond the window; the moon had risen.

Silas got up and went around the cots to the window. He put his elbows on the sill. The small shape outside the screen door disappeared; a small head appeared near Silas, making him look, for a moment, like a two-headed creature. Silas stood up.

“Come out,” the blond kobold on the porch said. It was a black shadow with a silver nimbus around its head. “Come outside.”

Silas backed away. The bearded kobold crossed to the screen door. “Go on,” it whispered, as if conspiring with them.

Silas came closer to Andrew. “They want to help us.”

Andrew shook his head. “No, they don’t. They don’t want to do anything. Emily tells them what to do. Don’t listen to them.”

“If I could get away, I could get help. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Don’t go outside, Silas.” He looked toward Thérèse. “You tell him. Tell him not to go.”

“Andrew’s right,” Thérèse said from the cot.

“They said there were others,” Silas replied. “Maybe they helped them get away.”

“You’re wrong. Kobolds can only do what they’re told; they have to be directed. They don’t have minds.” But Andrew heard the doubt in the girl’s voice.

“It’s worth a chance, isn’t it?” Silas said. “Maybe you don’t want to go because you know what’s going to happen to you when you’re caught. You don’t want help to come. You don’t care what happens to us.”

“Don’t go,” Andrew said.

Silas leaned over him; Andrew could feel his breath. “It’s your fault, too.” Andrew shrank back, puzzled. “You should have stopped me before, if you hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t be on this trip. And it’s her fault for having us stop here. I’m not going to stay because of what you tell me.” He walked to the door; the bearded kobold let him pass. The screen door slammed behind Silas.

Thérèse slid off her cot and stood up. The kobold made a circle with its wand. She moved closer to the creature and it pointed the wand at her. Andrew rolled off his cot toward the sofa, trying to decide what to do. Thérèse backed to the window. The android’s head turned.