Read Online Balzac's War: A Tale of Veniss Underground by Jeff VanderMeer - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeff VanderMeer
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near the rocks prompted him to write in his diary:
I cannot be sure of anything, but I believe that Madrid is alive somewhere. That he knew this would happen. That he purposefully sent me away so I would not be killed. That he may or may not have fashioned a double for Nicola, too. That she may also be alive, somewhere. That I do not know why they would not take me with them, why he would send me away instead, why he would want me to find those bodies like that, and why he would want me to doubt not only him but my own thoughts, because how can I ever be sure? About any of this?
Although the AIs’ men and the AI avatars had left long before his arrival, Bunadeo did not feel safe in the caves, among the ruined equipment. He took the bodies out to the sea and let the current take them. The strangeness of watching his own likeness slide away into the waves would never leave him. It lent a chill to the air, a sharpness to the contours of the sky. He stood on the rocks until the bodies had disappeared and then stared out at the island. If Madrid had sought refuge there, it meant he did not want Bunadeo by his side. So be it.
Before leaving his home, he went into his room one last time. There, he found the fish he had taken from the tidal pool still alive. He also found one of his creatures, a large ball of pregnant flesh with no eyes, no brain, and no legs. He took both the fish and the creature with him. He also gathered together the few unbroken pieces of equipment. Finally, he took vials of both Madrid and Nicola’s DNA from previously stored samples.
Then, numb, he found his way out of the caves and into Veniss Underground. There was nothing for him above ground. He could never live there as long as the AIs ruled; he could never be sure they wouldn’t want him killed, or worse.
Bunadeo never saw Madrid or Nicola again, or at least not in their original forms. He hid himself in Veniss Underground, going as deep as he could, taking any job to survive, often cold, often beaten, often hungry. Wherever he went, he could not drive the thoughts from his head: that, ultimately, Madrid hadn’t wanted him, or, worse, that it had been Madrid’s body on the floor of the laboratory and Bunadeo had betrayed his memory by not trusting him. This second possibility hurt more than the first. As time put more distance between him and the event, Bunadeo even had days when he imagined that the dead Madrid’s eyes had been blue, not brown. The brine of the sea was always in his mouth.
When he did begin to experiment again, a year later, within the confines of his tiny apartment, it was as much to distract himself as from any interest in the research. He was working for a psychewitch at that point, looking into people’s minds with crude equipment. It paid enough for him to begin to buy what he needed, and gave him experience he would later find useful.
The pregnant ball gave birth in that month. It gave birth and died, but what it gave birth to was a miracle: a modified meerkat that could reason, could talk after a fashion. Bunadeo had placed the embryo of a dog-lemur inside the creature, not a meerkat. Only Madrid could have performed the operation to switch them.
The meerkat did not last long—only two months—but that was enough for Bunadeo to begin to understand where Madrid had made a mistake. And to realize that by leaving the creature in his room, Madrid sent him a clear message. At least, this was Bunadeo’s reasoning. He could not tell for sure. But he preserved the meerkat’s DNA.
Over the next few years, he worked hard to duplicate Madrid’s success, and to improve upon it, despite several interruptions. The first period of civil unrest, during which the human population of Dayton Central tried to overthrow its AI overlords, led to horrible suffering for Bunadeo. His paranoia about his memory returned, he lost his position with the psychewitch, and he had to take a series of illegal, demeaning, and often morally
I cannot be sure of anything, but I believe that Madrid is alive somewhere. That he knew this would happen. That he purposefully sent me away so I would not be killed. That he may or may not have fashioned a double for Nicola, too. That she may also be alive, somewhere. That I do not know why they would not take me with them, why he would send me away instead, why he would want me to find those bodies like that, and why he would want me to doubt not only him but my own thoughts, because how can I ever be sure? About any of this?
Although the AIs’ men and the AI avatars had left long before his arrival, Bunadeo did not feel safe in the caves, among the ruined equipment. He took the bodies out to the sea and let the current take them. The strangeness of watching his own likeness slide away into the waves would never leave him. It lent a chill to the air, a sharpness to the contours of the sky. He stood on the rocks until the bodies had disappeared and then stared out at the island. If Madrid had sought refuge there, it meant he did not want Bunadeo by his side. So be it.
Before leaving his home, he went into his room one last time. There, he found the fish he had taken from the tidal pool still alive. He also found one of his creatures, a large ball of pregnant flesh with no eyes, no brain, and no legs. He took both the fish and the creature with him. He also gathered together the few unbroken pieces of equipment. Finally, he took vials of both Madrid and Nicola’s DNA from previously stored samples.
Then, numb, he found his way out of the caves and into Veniss Underground. There was nothing for him above ground. He could never live there as long as the AIs ruled; he could never be sure they wouldn’t want him killed, or worse.
Bunadeo never saw Madrid or Nicola again, or at least not in their original forms. He hid himself in Veniss Underground, going as deep as he could, taking any job to survive, often cold, often beaten, often hungry. Wherever he went, he could not drive the thoughts from his head: that, ultimately, Madrid hadn’t wanted him, or, worse, that it had been Madrid’s body on the floor of the laboratory and Bunadeo had betrayed his memory by not trusting him. This second possibility hurt more than the first. As time put more distance between him and the event, Bunadeo even had days when he imagined that the dead Madrid’s eyes had been blue, not brown. The brine of the sea was always in his mouth.
When he did begin to experiment again, a year later, within the confines of his tiny apartment, it was as much to distract himself as from any interest in the research. He was working for a psychewitch at that point, looking into people’s minds with crude equipment. It paid enough for him to begin to buy what he needed, and gave him experience he would later find useful.
The pregnant ball gave birth in that month. It gave birth and died, but what it gave birth to was a miracle: a modified meerkat that could reason, could talk after a fashion. Bunadeo had placed the embryo of a dog-lemur inside the creature, not a meerkat. Only Madrid could have performed the operation to switch them.
The meerkat did not last long—only two months—but that was enough for Bunadeo to begin to understand where Madrid had made a mistake. And to realize that by leaving the creature in his room, Madrid sent him a clear message. At least, this was Bunadeo’s reasoning. He could not tell for sure. But he preserved the meerkat’s DNA.
Over the next few years, he worked hard to duplicate Madrid’s success, and to improve upon it, despite several interruptions. The first period of civil unrest, during which the human population of Dayton Central tried to overthrow its AI overlords, led to horrible suffering for Bunadeo. His paranoia about his memory returned, he lost his position with the psychewitch, and he had to take a series of illegal, demeaning, and often morally
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