All My Sins Remembered

  He set his mental alarm for 3 A.M., meditated for a few minutes, and slept.

  Once inside the office, he took off the quiet slippers and got into heavy socks and boots. No telling how far the temperature had dropped. He knew where the alarm for the steel door was; opened the drawer and clicked it off.

  He opened the steel door an d thought of a word he’d read but never used: gelid. It seemed almost as cold as outdoors. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and breathed carefully. The air made his teeth hurt. He closed the door silently.

  “Balaam’s?”

  “Over here.” The S’kang was huddled in a corner to Joshua’s left. He picked his way across rows of wilted flowers.

  “I wanted to talk to you. This is the only safe time.”

  “So talk.”

  “Well… why did you shut up on me, earlier?”

  “I was helping my friends. Trying to help. It didn’t work, damn it. I’m too awake.”

  “What were you helping with?”

  “Cooling off this place. Also moving the planet closer in.”

  “Wait. One thing at a time.”

  “It is one thing.” He made an eery imitation of a human sigh.

  Joshua waited for him to continue. “Balaam’s, I can’t stand this cold for very long. What you mean… you claim you actually do move the planet closer to Ember? It’s not a joke?”

  “It’s not a joke. I told you. It’s very simple.”

  “You said we could do it too.”

  “You said you weren’t interested.”

  “I am now.” Long silence. “Come on, Balaam’s. How do you do it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What you mean is you don’t want to tell me.”

  “What I mean, jerk, is that you could do it our way, but you won’t. You’d complicate it, make it too expensive.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Let me put it this way. You know that matter and energy are the same sort of thing, really.”

  “Okay.”

  “And there are some kinds of matter that want to be energy, like uranium.”

  “So far so good.”

  “All we do is take other kinds of matter and make them want to be energy. We make the energy go in a certain direction. That speeds up the planet and makes it want to go in closer.”

  “That’s all there is to it.”

  “Ay-firmative.”

  “You use your minds to—”

  “Meganegatron. You never will get it. Jerks, all of you. Stupid jerks.”

  “If we never will ‘get it,’ what do you mean by saying we could do it?”

  “See? You see? I told you how to do it and now you ask me how to do it.”

  “I’m a jerk, then. Please elaborate.”

  “What I mean is you wouldn’t do it directly. You’d use technology: set up big reaction engines and shovel mass into them. You can convert mass into energy with about seven-percent efficiency. Use up half the Goddamn planet, keeping it warm. Blow the atmosphere away, too. That’s your way. Jerks.”

  “The way you do it is more efficient? A hundred—”

  “There you go again. If you add two numbers and come up with the wrong answer, what per cent efficiency is that?” He had been dancing nervously, agitated. Suddenly he stopped. “Did you hear something?”

  “No… what does moving the planet in have to do with—” Suddenly the moon came up to daytime brillance, dazzling him.

  Applegate stood in the door, dressed for the cold, a pocket laser pointed at Otto.

  “Joshua. I think it’s time we talked.”

  Otto shaded his eyes. “Henry?” Ten or eleven meters. The crucifix was an accurate throwing weapon, but he’d have plenty of time to dodge it. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know. You’ve been recorded, earlier this evening and just now. You have some things to explain.”

  “Now, Henry…” Otto was playing for time, hoping the man would come closer. In an effort to seem casual, he leaned against the wall.

  The wall collapsed as if it were made of sand, exposing the steelite pillars that supported the roof. As he struggled to keep his balance, falling, Otto saw that the steelite was eaten through with some kind of corrosion. He toppled off the raised foundation, felt the stinging cold on his face and hands, and landed on his head, on something hard.

  Otto was lying on his back, his face wet. He wiped water from his eyes and saw the office ceiling, blurred. Sitting up doubled the intensity of the pounding in his head.

  Applegate’s voice came from somewhere. “Now, let’s—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Otto staggered across the room to the water cooler. He took a bottle of APQ’s from the drawer underneath it and shook out a double dose. Took them, counted to ten with his eyes closed, turned to face Applegate, and tried to sound authoritative while his eyes focused: “I’d call this insubordination, Henry. Gross insubordination.”

  “Would you, now.” Applegate had the laser trained on him, sitting behind the desk, leaning forward, tense.

  Otto walked toward him, picking up a chair on the way. He sat across the desk from him, close enough to reach the pistol. “Please put that away, Henry. It might go off.”

  “You told that creature you worked for the Confederación. What did you mean by that?”

  “What do you think I meant?”

  “I happen to know that you don’t.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I’m a spy for the Holy See.” Otto put an elbow on the desk and tried to look casual, leaning forward. “How do you know that I don’t?”

  “I checked. You see, I do work for the Confederación.”

  “My God.” Otto buried his face in his hands. Surrounded by allies. “What department? TBII?”

  Applegate gave him a strange look and laughed. “There’s no such thing; it’s just a myth to keep the Diplomatic Corps in line. Where did you hear about it?”

  Otto grunted. “I get around.” That rumor had been old when he was a trainee. Nobody in the DC was fooled by it. “Are you a diplomatic… person?”

  “No. I work for the Bureau of Energy Research and Development.”

  “You’re a spy for the Bird?”

  “No, I’m a research monitor.”

  “A monitor with a gun. Why did they give you a gun?”

  “They didn’t; I brought it myself.”

  “Very resourceful.”

  “Because I thought you were dangerous, from your dossier. For years I felt foolish; now, I’m not so sure. Did you kill that woman?”

  He stared at Applegate. Beads of sweat on the man’s forehead. “I think the winter’s getting to you, Henry. Why don’t you go lie down somewhere?”

  “Did you?”

  “Let me show you something.” He held the crucifix up to his face and sliced off a piece of cheek. Plastiflesh, it didn’t bleed. He tossed it on the desk in front of Applegate.

  “Listen carefully because I’m not going to repeat myself. I’m not Joshua Immanuel; Joshua is dead. I’m an agent for a bureau that doesn’t exist, made up to look like him, trained to act like him. And if you don’t put that guff away, you’re going to be in deep, deep shit.”

  Applegate shook his head slowly; looked at the piece of plastic; looked at Otto. His gun hand trembled.

  “Keep listening. Now you know something you shouldn’t; the memory of this conversation will have to be destroyed. That’s a delicate and expensive process. It’s easier just to brainwipe and start over with a stock personality. If you put that gun away I’ll ask that you be spared.”

  “Joshua’s dead?”

  “Oh, hell.” Otto slapped his right hand on the desk, hard. When Applegate jerked his head toward the sound, he swept his left hand across the desk and knocked the gun away. Applegate half rose; he pushed him back into the chair. Picked up the gun and put it in his pocket.

  Applegate was cradling his right hand with his left, eyes squeezed shut with pain. “You broke my thu
mb.”

  “Sorry. I hope not.” Otto crossed the room and drew two cups of wine. “If you really intend to shoot somebody, you should put your finger inside the trigger guard.” He got the APQ’s from the drawer and brought them over.

  “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I would’ve. Take these.”

  He washed two of the tablets. “It really… you really are from the TBII?”

  “Yes. Will you answer some questions?”

  He sat upright. “You’ve got the gun.”

  “Please.” Otto sighed. “I’ve had a lifetime of this. We both work for the same people. I’m curious about what you’ve been doing. Can’t we just be two colleagues and talk?”

  He stared at his thumb. “Do you have any identification?”

  “No, do you? I think it’s just sprained.”

  “It’s turning blue. No, I don’t either. I really ought to clear it with my superior before I answer anything.” He looked at his watch. “I wonder what time it is in New York.”

  “Add six hours and 32 minutes. What, you want to wake up Brother Desmond and have him place a call?”

  “I could. He’s with BERD, too.”

  “Jesus. Who else?”

  “Only Sister Caarla, as far as I know.”

  “Anybody from the Bureau of Standards? Agriculture?”

  “No… why should there be?”

  “Never mind. Look, if you drag your superior into this, he’ll have to go through memory modification too. And everybody he tells. Don’t make trouble for everybody.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He touched the thumb and grimaced. “Could we get some ice for this?”

  “Sure. Let’s move into the kitchen.” He picked up both cups and led the way to the door; worked the latch with his little finger.

  Applegate walked behind him, studying his thumb morosely. Suddenly he looked up. “Wait!”

  Otto turned as he was opening the door, and out of the corner of his eye saw that someone was standing in the corridor.

  Sister Caarla, white-faced, holding a pistol with both hands. When Applegate yelled, she fired, point-blank.

  Otto’s “Hey!” was drowned out by the loud snap. Hot sting in his chest. He threw both cups of wine at her, in reflex; thrust his right hand in the pocket, slid the safety off, saw that she wasn’t going to fire any more. She’d dropped the gun and was trying to cram her fist into her mouth.

  He looked down at his robe and saw the ugly spatter of blood on his chest. When he breathed, it gurgled and foamed. Two sucking chest wounds in one year, some kind of record. He leaned against the door jamb. Applegate grabbed his elbow and held him up. “I’m sorry—in all the excitement I forgot.”

  “Oh, that’s all right.” He felt light-headed, detached. “Let me sit down.” He coughed politely into his hand; wiped a bright smear on his robe.

  “Do—do you want me to give you last rites?”

  “I’m not Catholic.” Otto started to laugh and stopped abruptly, coughing. “Why don’t you get me a doctor instead? Someone who knows how to work the doctor machine?”

  Applegate ran down the hall. Sister Caarla was crying. “I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t hear through the door, you surprised me, he said you might be dangerous—”

  “Christ and Buddha,” Otto mumbled. “Will you please shut up?”

  8.

  Asleep, awake, he remembered a few things:

  Trying to tell Caarla not to let him lie down.

  Falling over and choking.

  Waking up with the doctor machine sealed over his thorax; Applegate and Desmond arguing about something.

  A S’kang hovering over his face. A wall caving in, then reassembling itself, then caving in again.

  Fuzzy image of the infirmary cell, rippling, turning hard-edged.

  Applegate: “Are you awake, Joshua?”

  Otto coughed and shook his head. The Joshua persona was gone; he was Otto McGavin, encased in alien plastic, a dull ache in his chest. “I guess so.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know yet. All right. It was a new lung, good thing she missed my heart.” Coughing spasm.

  “Caarla was hysterical. We had to give her a sedative.” Otto stopped coughing but didn’t say anything. “Will she be in trouble?”

  After a while he answered. “No. You’ll both have to have your memories cropped. Desmond, too, I guess. But there won’t be any repercussions; you were just doing your job, too enthusiastically. You might even get a medal and not be able to remember what it was for.”

  Otto groped beside the bed and found the button that raised his bed to a sitting position. “How long have I been out?”

  “About half a day.” He checked his watch. “Fourteen hours.”

  “Have you been in touch with your bureau?”

  “Yes… but I didn’t tell them anything about you.”

  “That was smart.” He straightened the tubes going into his arm and chest. “Well, let’s go back to the beginning. You joined the Magdalenists eleven years ago. Were you working for BERD?”

  “Yes. I was a research assistant on Earth.”

  “Why did they choose you?”

  “I’d been a priest, a Jesuit. They shuffled some records to make it look like I was still in the order.”

  “All right.” Otto rubbed his eyes. “This is what I don’t understand. My bureau has access to everything, I mean everything, in Confederación files. But they didn’t know about you, or Caarla, or Desmond. How is that possible?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you.”

  “Come on, now. You can either tell me everything or finish the job Caarla started. Or face brainwipe.”

  Applegate looked at the floor and exhaled loudly. “Well, it’s simple. We only report verbally, straight to our department head. Our salaries were paid in advance, ten years’ worth, and hidden in an appropriation for a new building.”

  Otto digested that. “Because you knew there was a Charter violation involved.”

  “We suspected it.”

  “And you’re accessories to it now.”

  “I suppose.” He looked up, defiant. “It was worth it, though. No matter what happens to us.”

  “You really think so.”

  “We got what we came for,” he said. “We know now that they actually do change the planet’s orbit; we know that they do it by converting matter directly to energy.

  “The preliminary figures are exciting. Brother Judson took core samples from the walls in the winter room, to test for permeability. Turns out that they can process more than two kilograms of mass per hour. That’s on the order of 1017 joules.”

  “I’m not a scientist. What does that mean?”

  “About…” he gazed at the ceiling, “fifty million gigawatts. Fifty billion megawatts. Fifty trillion kilowatts. Enough to orbit a ten-ton shuttle, and then some.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much, compared to moving a planet.”

  “It’s enough—with a thousand of them working, they only have to do it a few minutes a day over the fifty-year dormancy.”

  “If all of them can do it. Balaam’s says he can’t.”

  “You can’t take anything they say at face value. They removed a lot of mass from that wall, as you found out.”

  “What did you do about the wall?”

  “Nothing permanent; we have the roof jacked up until we make a decision. Probably just let it collapse. We shouldn’t need the winter room any more.”

  “You’re stopping the experiments, of course.”

  “Well, that’s up to the bureau—obviously, Balaam’s is easier to communicate with after having been frozen and thawed out. That may be true of the others, too. If there’s no Charter violation, we’ll continue, but with proper equipment and a lot more funding.”

  Otto cocked his head at Applegate. “No Charter violation? It’s fatal! Balaam’s said he was going to die.”

  “That’s what it said. But we checked it out with the diagno
stic machine, and there’s nothing wrong… the creature’s just disoriented. Delusional.”

  “When is your bureau going to decide?”

  “They didn’t say. They had to check with Earth.”

  “Let me give you-a piece of advice.” Otto toyed with the tube leading into his chest. “Get on the side of the angels. There’s a clear-cut Article Three violation here. When the dust settles, a lot of people are going to wind up in a rubber room. Or in the tank, for brainwipe. You had better act outraged, whether you are or not.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand the Charter watchdog committee. And it won’t just be my testimony against you. Dr. Jones and, probably, all of her colleagues—including another TBII agent—and most of the people in this order.

  “To exploit the S’kang, you’ll have to demonstrate that not only will you not be harming them, but that the exploitation will result in some long-term benefit to their culture. That will be some job.”

  “You may underestimate my bureau.”

  “Bureaus.” Otto laughed good-naturedly. “Let me pose for you a hypothetical situation.

  “Suppose you went down the hill and searched just north of the middle of the landing strip, and found a government-is-sue high-powered ultraviolet laser buried there. Suppose you made an intuitive leap and decided that I had used that laser for TBII business, to kill that woman.”

  “What are you—”

  “I’m talking about bureaus. Suppose you reported this homicide to your bureau. Which of us would get off this planet alive?”

  “You can’t threaten me.”

  “I think I just have.”

  Applegate stared at the tube. “I could reach over and—”

  “You try it. I’ll tear off your head and beat you to death with it.” Henry flinched. “Seriously, you’d never—” A knock at the door interrupted him. Applegate unlocked it.

  It was Desmond. “Henry, we’ve got a scrambled call from Epsilon Indii.” He looked at Otto. “You have a visitor. Sire.”

  Applegate left and Balaam’s shuffled in.

  “Hello, not-Joshua. Did they hurt you for trying to help me?”

  “Not really. It was an accident. Besides, it doesn’t look like I helped you very much.”