identify. They filled the promenade and terraces and walked, talking in tunnel-end whispers he couldn't make out, laughing and looking and being alive, but not in Jeshua's time.
They were not solid, not robots or cyborgs. They were spirits from ten centuries past, and he was rapidly losing all decorum watching them come to form around him.
"Sh!" Anata said, taking his arm to steady him. "They don't hurt anybody. They're no' here. They're dreams."
Jeshua clasped his hands tight and forced himself to be calm.
"This is the city, what it desires," Anata said. "You want to kill the polis, the city, because it keeps out the people, but look -- it hurts, too. It wants. What's a city without its people? Just sick. No' bad. No' evil. Can't kill a sick one, can you?"
Each night, she said, the city reenacted a living memory of the past, and each night she came to watch.
Jeshua saw the pseudolife, the half-silent existence of a billion recorded memories, and his anger slowly faded. His hands loosened their grip on each other. He could never sustain hatred for long. Now, with understanding just out of reach, but obviously coming, he could only resign himself to more confusion for the moment.
"It'll take me a long, long time to forgive what happened," he said.
"This me, too." She sighed. "When I was married, I found I could not have children. This my husband could not understand. All the others of the women in the group could have children. So I left in shame and came to the city we had always worshipped. I thought it would be, the city, the only one to cure. But now I don't know. I do not want another husband, I want to wait for this to go away. It is too beautiful to leave while it is still here."
"Go away?"
"The cities, they get old and they wander," she said. "Not all things work good here now. Pieces are dying. Soon it will all die. Even such as Thinner, they die. The room is full of them. And no more are being made. The city is too old to grow new. So I wait until the beauty is gone."
Jeshua looked at her more closely. There was a whitish cast in her left eye. It had not been there a few hours ago.
"It is time to go to sleep," she said. "Very late."
He took her gently by the hand and led her through the phantoms, up the empty but crowded staircases, asking her where she lived.
"I don't have any one room," she said. "Sleep in all of them at some time or another. But we can't go back dere." She stopped. "There. Dere. Can't go back." She looked up at him. "Dis me, canno' spek mucky ob -- " She held her hand to her mouth. "I forget. I learned bu' now -- I don't know..."
He felt a slow horror grind in his stomach.
"Something is going wrong," she said. Her voice became deeper, like Thinner's, and she opened her mouth to scream but could not. She tore away from him and backed up. "I'm doing something wrong."
"Take off your shirt," Jeshua said.
"No." She looked offended.
"It's all a lie, isn't it?" he asked.
"No."
"Then take off your shirt."
She began to remove it. Her hands hesitated.
"Now."
She peeled it over her head and stood naked, with her small breasts outthrust, narrow hips square and bonily dimpled, genitals flossed in feathery brown. A pattern of scars on her chest and breasts formed a circle. Bits of black remained like cinders, like the cinders on his own chest -- from a campfire that had never been. Once, both of them had been marked like Thinner, stamped with the seal of Mandala.
She turned away from him on the staircase, phantoms drifting past her and through her. He reached out to stop her but wasn't quick enough. Her foot spasmed and she fell, gathering into a twisted ball, down the staircase, up against the railings, to the bottom.
He stood near the top and saw her pale blue fluid and red skinblood and green tissue leaking from a torn leg. He felt he might go insane.
"_Thinner!_" he screamed. He kept calling the name. The lunar glow brightened, and the phantoms disappeared. The halls and vaults
They were not solid, not robots or cyborgs. They were spirits from ten centuries past, and he was rapidly losing all decorum watching them come to form around him.
"Sh!" Anata said, taking his arm to steady him. "They don't hurt anybody. They're no' here. They're dreams."
Jeshua clasped his hands tight and forced himself to be calm.
"This is the city, what it desires," Anata said. "You want to kill the polis, the city, because it keeps out the people, but look -- it hurts, too. It wants. What's a city without its people? Just sick. No' bad. No' evil. Can't kill a sick one, can you?"
Each night, she said, the city reenacted a living memory of the past, and each night she came to watch.
Jeshua saw the pseudolife, the half-silent existence of a billion recorded memories, and his anger slowly faded. His hands loosened their grip on each other. He could never sustain hatred for long. Now, with understanding just out of reach, but obviously coming, he could only resign himself to more confusion for the moment.
"It'll take me a long, long time to forgive what happened," he said.
"This me, too." She sighed. "When I was married, I found I could not have children. This my husband could not understand. All the others of the women in the group could have children. So I left in shame and came to the city we had always worshipped. I thought it would be, the city, the only one to cure. But now I don't know. I do not want another husband, I want to wait for this to go away. It is too beautiful to leave while it is still here."
"Go away?"
"The cities, they get old and they wander," she said. "Not all things work good here now. Pieces are dying. Soon it will all die. Even such as Thinner, they die. The room is full of them. And no more are being made. The city is too old to grow new. So I wait until the beauty is gone."
Jeshua looked at her more closely. There was a whitish cast in her left eye. It had not been there a few hours ago.
"It is time to go to sleep," she said. "Very late."
He took her gently by the hand and led her through the phantoms, up the empty but crowded staircases, asking her where she lived.
"I don't have any one room," she said. "Sleep in all of them at some time or another. But we can't go back dere." She stopped. "There. Dere. Can't go back." She looked up at him. "Dis me, canno' spek mucky ob -- " She held her hand to her mouth. "I forget. I learned bu' now -- I don't know..."
He felt a slow horror grind in his stomach.
"Something is going wrong," she said. Her voice became deeper, like Thinner's, and she opened her mouth to scream but could not. She tore away from him and backed up. "I'm doing something wrong."
"Take off your shirt," Jeshua said.
"No." She looked offended.
"It's all a lie, isn't it?" he asked.
"No."
"Then take off your shirt."
She began to remove it. Her hands hesitated.
"Now."
She peeled it over her head and stood naked, with her small breasts outthrust, narrow hips square and bonily dimpled, genitals flossed in feathery brown. A pattern of scars on her chest and breasts formed a circle. Bits of black remained like cinders, like the cinders on his own chest -- from a campfire that had never been. Once, both of them had been marked like Thinner, stamped with the seal of Mandala.
She turned away from him on the staircase, phantoms drifting past her and through her. He reached out to stop her but wasn't quick enough. Her foot spasmed and she fell, gathering into a twisted ball, down the staircase, up against the railings, to the bottom.
He stood near the top and saw her pale blue fluid and red skinblood and green tissue leaking from a torn leg. He felt he might go insane.
"_Thinner!_" he screamed. He kept calling the name. The lunar glow brightened, and the phantoms disappeared. The halls and vaults
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