Read Online The Divide by Robert Charles Wilson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Charles Wilson
Ads: Link
Benjamin again, moving against her with a passion that was also kindness and which she had allowed herself to think of as love.
The vision of him crowded out her fear.
He was Benjamin. And that was good.
Chapter 7
For the rest of that rainy October week Susan immersed herself in the mystery of John Shaw.
I’ve talked to him, she thought. In a sense, I
know
him.…
But beyond that loomed the inescapable fact:
He is not entirely human.
There was no way to reconcile these ideas.
She tried to stay in her hotel room in case he called, but by Thursday morning she was overcome with cabin fever. She left a firm order at the desk to take any phone messages and set out on foot with no real direction in mind.
The rain had stopped, at least. The sky was overcast and the wind was cold, but even that was gratifying after the monotony of recycled hotel air. She walked west, away from the downtown core. Toronto was a banking city, crowded with stark office towers; its charm, she had decided, was peripheral to this, in Chinatown or the University district. She turned north along University Avenue, willfully avoiding the direction of Benjamin’s office. Shortly before noon she found herself between a phalanx of peanut carts and the granite steps of the Royal Ontario Museum, with pennies in her pocket and nowhere else to go.
Inside, the museum was all high domed ceilings and Egyptians, botanical displays and gemstones under glass. Susan appreciated these, but she especially liked the dark vaults of the dinosaur arcade, cool Pleistocene fluorescence and faint voices like the drip of water. The articulated bones of Triceratops regarded her with the stately indifference of geological time. Susan returned the look for almost a quarter of an hour, reverently.
Beyond Triceratops, the corridor wound away to the left. She eased back slowly into human history; where she was startled, turning a corner, by the Evolution of Man.
It was one of those museum displays that compare the skull sizes, tools, curvature of the spine across the eons. Here was Homo habilis leading the human march out of Olduvai, but surely, Susan thought, the entire concept was archaic: did anyone still believe evolution had proceeded in this reasonable arc? From stone club to Sidewinder missile, here at the pinnacle of time?
But she supposed John would have had a place here, too, if anyone had known about him. Dr. Kyriakides had once told her that he wanted to engineer the next step in human evolution. “A
better
human being. One who would make us obsolete. Or at least embarrass us for our vices.”
So here would be John, leading the march toward the future, a little taller and a little brighter and in his hand—what? A pocket H-bomb? A neutrino evaporator? Or he might be as pristine as Dr. Kyriakides had envisioned him… as weaponless and innocent as a child.
She turned away. Suddenly she wanted the high ceilings of the main arcades, not this cloistered space. But before she left she paused before the diorama of Neolithic Man, stooped and feral in wax, wincing at the first light of human awareness. Our father, she thought. Mine and John’s, too; as obdurate, inscrutable, and foreign as every father is.
Still he did not call.
Friday afternoon she phoned Maxim Kyriakides at his office at the University.
He said, “I should have come myself. Forced the issue. Then he could not have avoided me.”
“I don’t think that’s what he needs. That is—I had the impression—it would have made things worse.”
“You may be right. Still, I could come there if necessary.” He added, “I suppose I’m feeling guilty about demanding so much of your time.”
“It’s all right.”
“Is it really? You weren’t so obliging when you began the project. I had to talk you into leaving.”
“I think it’s different now—meeting him and all. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Some kind of monster.”
“Are you sure he’s not?”
She was
The vision of him crowded out her fear.
He was Benjamin. And that was good.
Chapter 7
For the rest of that rainy October week Susan immersed herself in the mystery of John Shaw.
I’ve talked to him, she thought. In a sense, I
know
him.…
But beyond that loomed the inescapable fact:
He is not entirely human.
There was no way to reconcile these ideas.
She tried to stay in her hotel room in case he called, but by Thursday morning she was overcome with cabin fever. She left a firm order at the desk to take any phone messages and set out on foot with no real direction in mind.
The rain had stopped, at least. The sky was overcast and the wind was cold, but even that was gratifying after the monotony of recycled hotel air. She walked west, away from the downtown core. Toronto was a banking city, crowded with stark office towers; its charm, she had decided, was peripheral to this, in Chinatown or the University district. She turned north along University Avenue, willfully avoiding the direction of Benjamin’s office. Shortly before noon she found herself between a phalanx of peanut carts and the granite steps of the Royal Ontario Museum, with pennies in her pocket and nowhere else to go.
Inside, the museum was all high domed ceilings and Egyptians, botanical displays and gemstones under glass. Susan appreciated these, but she especially liked the dark vaults of the dinosaur arcade, cool Pleistocene fluorescence and faint voices like the drip of water. The articulated bones of Triceratops regarded her with the stately indifference of geological time. Susan returned the look for almost a quarter of an hour, reverently.
Beyond Triceratops, the corridor wound away to the left. She eased back slowly into human history; where she was startled, turning a corner, by the Evolution of Man.
It was one of those museum displays that compare the skull sizes, tools, curvature of the spine across the eons. Here was Homo habilis leading the human march out of Olduvai, but surely, Susan thought, the entire concept was archaic: did anyone still believe evolution had proceeded in this reasonable arc? From stone club to Sidewinder missile, here at the pinnacle of time?
But she supposed John would have had a place here, too, if anyone had known about him. Dr. Kyriakides had once told her that he wanted to engineer the next step in human evolution. “A
better
human being. One who would make us obsolete. Or at least embarrass us for our vices.”
So here would be John, leading the march toward the future, a little taller and a little brighter and in his hand—what? A pocket H-bomb? A neutrino evaporator? Or he might be as pristine as Dr. Kyriakides had envisioned him… as weaponless and innocent as a child.
She turned away. Suddenly she wanted the high ceilings of the main arcades, not this cloistered space. But before she left she paused before the diorama of Neolithic Man, stooped and feral in wax, wincing at the first light of human awareness. Our father, she thought. Mine and John’s, too; as obdurate, inscrutable, and foreign as every father is.
Still he did not call.
Friday afternoon she phoned Maxim Kyriakides at his office at the University.
He said, “I should have come myself. Forced the issue. Then he could not have avoided me.”
“I don’t think that’s what he needs. That is—I had the impression—it would have made things worse.”
“You may be right. Still, I could come there if necessary.” He added, “I suppose I’m feeling guilty about demanding so much of your time.”
“It’s all right.”
“Is it really? You weren’t so obliging when you began the project. I had to talk you into leaving.”
“I think it’s different now—meeting him and all. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Some kind of monster.”
“Are you sure he’s not?”
She was
Similar Books
