Stolen Faces, Stolen Names

Stolen Faces,

Stolen Names

BY RAY ALDRIDGE

Illustrations by Janet Aulisio Dannheiser

/Science Fiction Age, March 1995/

Nomun woke just before sundown on a beach of shattered diamonds, the glitter cold against his back. He rolled to his knees and found himself in a crowd. They all wore Nomun’s face.

Seven Nomuns stared, hot-eyed.

One Nomun lay at the edge of the water, a smear of blood at his mouth. His dead eyes gazed up at the sky.

The last Nomun reached out a hand to help Nomun to his feet.

Nomun took the hand and stood, though the world still wavered.

He concentrated on the helpful one and saw his own face as it might have looked a thousand years before. Ten thousand years? «Thank you,» Nomun said.

A smile lit Young Nomun’s dark features. «Yes. And you are?»

«Nomun,» Nomun said, and as he spoke, he realized he remembered nothing but his name and his face. For some reason he felt no great surprise; it was almost as if he had made the same discovery many times before.

«Of course,» Young Nomun said, his smile growing wider. The others made a collective sound of disgust, a sort of growling hiss, full of contempt. Nomun jerked and released Young Nomun’s hand.

A Nomun with white hair sniggered. Like several of the others, he wore a unisuit of vaguely military cut, the fabric showing dark frayed patches where weapon pouches had been ripped away. A terrible scar crossed the high forehead at an angle, then cut downward through the left eye socket and furrowed the cheek. The eye had been replaced by a mech prosthesis, a blind metallic gleam in the damaged flesh.

Scar Nomun flexed his hands and moved close. «We really should have killed the clone before he woke. It would still be easy,» said Scar Nomun.

Young Nomun stepped between them. «No. You’ll kill no more of us.»

Scar Nomun laughed. «You were foolish to stop me, clone. It would have been just the two of us, then. You’re young and strong. Who knows, in the end you might have stolen my name.»

Nomun looked at Scar Nomun’s hands. The palms were thick and calloused, the fingers long and muscular; those hands must have crushed the throat of the dead one. Nomun glanced down at his own hands and shuddered.

To distract himself, he studied the others. Their faces were so similar that they seemed to disappear, leaving visible only the harsh emotions each bore: hatred, fury, fear. Nomun put his hands to his own face. The skin was dry and deeply furrowed. Am I old? he wondered.

A Nomun in black silk and silver lace stepped forward. A jade disk in one ear lobe matched the cloudy green of his eyes. «Putting aside the question of our identities, perhaps we should consider other questions,» said Jade Nomun. «Where are we? Who has brought us here? For what purpose?»

A gaunt Nomun with a chempump laced to his neck spoke. «Do you care?» Pump Nomun asked, his fingers fluttering at the worn keyboard of the pump. His face abruptly cleared, becoming almost as peaceful as the dead one’s. He gazed off across the sunset sea. «Look... great beauty.»

«Beauty?» asked a Nomun whose features seemed blurred by centuries of self-indulgence. «Only a rothead would see beauty here,» said Soft Nomun. «It’s cold, I’ll be hungry soon, there’s no place to sit down. The light is almost gone.» Soft Nomun turned fearful eyes on the crystal jungle behind them.

Nomun noticed the jungle for the first time. Fifty meters inland, angular shapes rose black against the darkening sky; slow pulses of blue light flickered beneath the canopy. A shock of recognition flew through him–but no word, no image followed. «What is it?» he asked Young Nomun.

«It’s a memwort. We’re on the terminal moraine of a memworL So says that one.» Young Nomun indicated a Nomun whose naked torso gleamed like blued metal. Nomun looked again and saw that Blue Nomun’s torso was metal, cunningly articulated at the waist. His arms were forged to resemble human arms, but armored hydraulic lines veined them.

The cyborg spoke in a high clear voice. «Yes, a memwort a plantlike macro-organism. A memory storage biodevice, adapted from a natural species.» He sniffed. «A costly, inefficient mechanism; the same quantity of memory could be better maintained on a monomol chip the size of my thumbnail. Conspicuous consumption of the most blatant sort. The fantasy of a disordered, melodramatic mind, one unconcerned with safety or efficiency. Look!» He gestured at the glittering beach. «We stand on broken memories.»

«Whose memories?» The Nomun who spoke was beautiful, his face subtly reshaped by some great lineamentor. The wideset eyes, the hawk nose, the sharp cheeks, the long jaw, the thin-lipped slash of a mouth, the black hair swept back from the forehead; each feature was distilled from its original harshness into clean perfection. Handsome Nomun’s voice was a rich tenor. «Whose memories? I have many enemies.»

Blue Nomun turned a severe eye on Handsome Nomun. «How would I know? My datacache is extensive, but not omniscient. Be amazed by what I do know.»

«And what do you know, clone?»

«I know, first, that I am not a clone!» Blue Nomun took a step toward Handsome Nomun, servos whirring, powerful hands grinding into fists.

«Yes, yes,» interrupted the last Nomun, in a voice that shook with fear. This Nomun carried no distinguishing mark; he wore no jewelry, his clothes were nondescript, his hair was cut in no particular style. «This is all very interesting. But even I know at least one thing: someone intends to punish us! Why? Because someone knows we’re impostors.»

Of all of us, Nomun thought, False Nomun is the only one who does not believe himself to be the Nomun.

«Whoever brought us here intends our destruction; nothing could be more obvious,» said False Nomun.

Nomun turned away from the jungle and looked out over the sea Its surface was like polished iron; not a ripple disturbed the reflection of the great red sun that touched the horizon. A kilometer to the east he saw an island; after a moment he decided it must be another memwort. Its terminal beach trailed away to the north. It grew south like a chain of bright beads, each node taller and more lustrous, until it crested in a glistening cone, around which blue lightning flared, though there were no clouds.

When he looked back at the sun, it was half gone, but now he saw shapes moving slowly against the red disk, growing larger.

«Look,» Nomun said. «What are they?»

Blue Nomun turned and stared. «Breathboats,» he said. «We are on Coal then. I thought so.»

Nomun watched the boats drift closer.

There were three of them. The masts seemed impossibly liigh and delicate, ten times the length of the craft. The sails were a transparent glimmer against the sunset sky, thousands of square meters of monomol film spread to the imperceptible breeze. Each hull seemed a dark fleck riding at the bottom of a glorious soap bubble. Nomun had seen this loveliness before–of that he was sure. Still, there were no meaningful echoes in this whisper of memory.

The others watched the breathboats with varying degrees of tension.

«Perhaps our captors arrive,» said Handsome Nomun.

«Should we take refuge in the jungle?» asked Soft Nomun. «Who knows what they plan for us?»

«That would not be advisable,» said Blue Nomun in pedantic tones. «The ‘jungle’ growths are, in fact, the exposed ganglia of the memwort. Should you stumble against the wrong synapse in the dark, you might well be trapped in an irreversible fugue.»

Scar Nomun spat, just missing the toe of Nomun’s boot «Coal. A rich man’s playworld. Whoever collected us seems less formidable already.»

Jade Nomun looked at Scar Nomun without expression, but his eyes glittered. Pump Nomun released a soft musical sigh, and his fingers tapped idly at the keyboard of his chempump. False Nomun clenched his jaw and made no sound, but sweat filmed his face, despite the coolness of the air. Young Nomun waited with a small smile on his lips.

No one spoke again until the sun was gone and the breathboats had drawn close. The nearest coasted to a stop just fifty meters off the beach. Soft light bathed its decks and lit the sails, transforming them into a cloud of glowing mist against the darkening sky. A pale-haired handsome woman seemed to be the captain; she stood in a pulpit on the foredeck, directing with silent gestures dozens of spidery mechs. When the mechs had feathered the sails to her satisfaction, an anchor splashed ripples into the flawless surface of the sea. The other boats anchored nearby.

Men and women clustered in small groups along the near rail. They wore fashionably eccentric garments and privacy masks. Their languid postures spoke of pleasant expectation. Nomun felt a chill. What did they wait for?

False Nomun’s teeth began to chatter. Suddenly he ran forward into the sea, kicking up a spray in the shallows. «I’m sorry, I meant no harm,» he cried, just before he smashed into an invisible barrier. A spot of violent yellow light flared at the contact point, a tone almost too low to be heard throbbed out, and False Nomun was flung on his back. He floated motionless.

«Ah...,» Young Nomun said, and made a disgusted face before trotting into the water. Nomun hesitated a moment, then followed. Together they dragged False Nomun onto the beach, where he coughed and gagged and started to breathe again.

«Idiots,» said Scar Nomun.

«Indeed,» said Jade Nomun. «But at least we know we’re not meant to leave the island.»

«The memwort,» corrected Blue Nomun.

«Yes, of course, the memwort,» said Jade Nomun. «Now. What part do they play?’’ He gestured at the passengers.

Tell us,» said Scar Nomun. «They look to be your sort.»

For an instant Jade Nomun’s carefully casual face slipped, and Nomun saw another face underneath, bloody and inhuman, older and more loathsome than Scar Nomun’s simple brutality. But Jade Nomun recovered his smile and said, «Yes, they are, aren’t they?»

«I will speak to them,» said Handsome Nomun. He approached the edge of the water and called out in his rich voice. «Aboard the vessel. Who are you?»

There was no response, though some of the passengers nudged each other.

«We’re castaways,» said Handsome Nomun, strain marring his rounded tones. «Can you take us off?»

Laughter floated across the dark water, and Handsome Nomun clenched his fists.

«They don’t care,» said Soft Nomun, in a small voice. «They must be the ones who brought us here.»

No, Nomun thought. That isn’t tme.

They’re only watchers. He wondered how he could know this, when he knew so very little.

The black water swirled and broke, as Dead Nomun emerged from the sea.

The captain of the nearest breathboat pointed her spotlight at the killmech, and in that white brilliance they could see every detail of its chassis. It was twice Nomun’s height, armored with some dull red ceramet alloy, painted with stylized white bones. The braincase bore the detailed image of a rotting head. Nomun recognized the decayed features as his own.

As it came up the beach they drew back to the edge of the jungle. Someone on one of the boats followed their retreat with another spotlight, as though they were all players on a glittering stage. Several of the Nomuns slapped at their hips, as if reaching for missing weapons.

Dead Nomun knelt smoothly beside the corpse, rolled the body onto its back–a movement that seemed almost gentle. It turned its black photoreceptors on the Nomuns, and Nomun was struck by a sudden irrational perception: that the killmech felt a cold mechanical regret.

A shining vibroscalpel emerged from the tip of its right index finger. The killmech took the corpse by its hair and separated the head from the body with one precise slash. It removed a thick transparent bag from a storage niche in its thigh, and dropped the head into the bag. As it stood, it attached the bag to a clamp on its chestplate. The head lolled there, an upside-down trophy.

Nomun noticed that Dead Nomun’s chest was fitted with ten clamps.

Dead Nomun took a step toward them, then another.

The Nomuns recoiled, backs against the crumbling crystal forms that marked the boundary between the dead beach and the living body of the memwort. As if some group instinct had seized them, half of the Nomuns sidled to the left, half to the right. The killmech accelerated toward the closer, left-hand group, which gave ground. Those in the right-hand group, in which Nomun found himself, attempted to make an end run past the killmech, but it responded with frightening speed, blurring across the open space to confront them.

«Too fast for an unaugmented human. Cheating,» hissed Scar Nomun. His living eye was wide with rage.

«Back,» the killmech said, in a thin monotone. It pointed to the jungle.

Nomun retreated immediately into the crystal, not pausing until he was ten meters inside the jungle’s boundary. At a tall fractured pylon, he turned and watched as the others decided to follow. One by one, they did, until only False Nomun and Soft Nomun remained on the beach.

False Nomun trembled at the very edge of the jungle, caught between two terrors. Soft Nomun stood his ground, as if he could not make himself believe in the reality of the mech. «No!» Soft Nomun’s voice quivered with outrage, not fear. «No,» he repeated. «I won’t go. This isn’t right. You can’t force me; I’m Nomun.»

Dead Nomun approached Soft Nomun, moving with smooth precision. «Then you must die,» it said. It extended the vibroscalpel slowly, as if giving Soft Nomun as much time as possible.

Soft Nomun’s face was a formless darkness in the glare of the spotlights when he turned to appeal to the others. «Wait,» he said. «Don’t leave. We’ll be lost in the jungle, no one will be able to find...» His speech was interrupted by a small gurgling sound. Nomun crouched back into the blackest shadow; watched as Soft Nomun’s head tipped forward and fell from his neck. The killmech caught the head before it could hit the ground. A moment later, Soft Nomun’s head, face frozen in horrified surprise, swung from the second clamp on the killmech’s chest.

False Nomun stared at the kicking corpse, then made a choking sound and fled into the jungle.

The beach was empty, except for the killmech and the two headless corpses. The lights from the breathboats swept back and forth, and Nomun wondered if the spectators had found the performance entertaining.

He could sense the others in the jungle; he felt connected to them by their hatred and srrspicion, though he felt none of that himself. His mind still held nothing but his identity, but that seemed to be growing stronger.

The killmech took a step toward the jungle and stopped. «Listen, all,» it said, in an amplified voice that shook the jungle and set the crystal to chiming. «Listen, all. You are required to transit this node before daylight. Food and water will be waiting at the internode beach. This device,» the killmech pointed to itself with a huge thumb, «will not molest you unless you attempt to return to the terminal beach, or fail to emerge on the internode before the sun clears the horizon.» The killmech paused, and the skull moved slowly from side to side. Nomun had the sudden notion that the killmech could see each of them, and when the dead eyes rested on him, he shuddered.

It spoke again. «All who remain on this node at daylight will die.»

«Why?» The voice came from Nomun’s left. Nomun recognized the resonant tones of Handsome Nomun.

The killmech swiveled to face the speaker, but it made no response.

Nomun heard a tiny sound, close behind his hiding place. He whirled, to see Scar Nomun holding a heavy shard of crystal, his good eye glittering in the blue light. Nomun crouched, his body falling effortlessly into a defensive posture. Pleasurable remembrance swept through him. Yes, this was true, this was right. Nomun felt a humorless smile tighten his face, and Scar Nomun backed away warily, giving him back exactly the same smile.

«So, you claim to be dangerous after all, old one,» Scar Nomun said.

Nomun said nothing. He watched Scar Nomun alertly until the other turned and disappeared into the jungle. Nomun listened to the fading sound of Scar Nomun’s boots, crushing the delicate crystals that frosted the ground.

After a moment Blue Nomun’s mechanical voice boomed out. «A conference,» he called, from a considerable distance. «A truce. Let us confer. Danger exists. One blundering fool could kill us all.» After a pause, Blue Nomun repeated his message, word for word, using the same passionless inflections. Nomun followed the voice through the jungle, stepping carefully around the crystal growths, guided by the faint cold light they emitted.

The jungle was a webwork of inter – connected forms, a tangle of shining tubes. The individual growths varied from faceted cylinders the size of a man’s leg, to great pylons a meter or more in cross-section. There were no true curves in the crystal shapes, but the planar surfaces shifted direction frequently enough that in the distance the jungle seemed full of muscularly sinuous shapes. Nomun had to pick his way carefully; sometimes he had to crawl through tiny openings. The groundcover punctured his hands and knees, and he considered climbing into the upper story, where progress might be easier, but then he remembered Blue Nomun’s warnings. As he penetrated deeper into the jungle, the light grew stronger, the crystal less weathered, and he detected a faint hum. He thought of machinery buried deep. No, a great hive–sleeping memories like sleeping bees, he thought, and it seemed a true perception.

He saw darkness ahead. He moved forward more cautiously, until he reached the edge of a clearing. Inside, the crystal had decayed into glittering black gravel, with a few lightless twisted stumps rising here and there. Blue Nomun stood in the dimness at the center, motionless, still calling out in an amplified voice.

Nomun waited. Minutes passed, and Nomun heard the others moving through the concealment of the jungle.

Abruptly, Blue Nomun fell silent. He turned slowly, as if searching the edge of the clearing. Nomun surmised that Blue Nomun’s vision was augmented into the infrared range. He wondered how many of the others owned dangerous bodymods, and then it occurred to him to wonder about his own body. He looked down at his killer’s hands. Did he feel anything? Frustration? Fear? Anger? His hands knotted. Nothing. He still had nothing but his name. And the conviction that it was his.

Blue Nomun spoke. «Good. We are all here. I called to you not because I was concerned about your counterfeit lives, but because I wish to preserve my own valuable self.»

A piece of crystal sailed out of the jungle and shattered against Blue Nomun’s chestplate. His face showed no reaction. «Childish,» he said. «Listen carefully, if you wish to live. The memwort supports a large population of parasitic organisms. For example: small but dangerous predators hunt the ganglian symbiotes. Avoid open areas such as this.» Blue Nomun swept his arm to indicate the clearing. «After moonrise they become killing grounds. The predators are not formidable individually, but in large numbers they can easily bring down a man. Though of course they would be poisoned by such a meal. This posthumous revenge would be small consolation to me.

«The ganglia are dangerous, as I have already stated, and they will become much more so shortly, when the Blood Moon rises. The ganglia will enter the active mode then, and a misstep by one of us may cost all of us our lives.»

A voice spoke from the other side of the clearing. «How are we to avoid this ‘misstep’?» Nomun recognized Handsome Nomun’s smooth tones.

A look of pedantic irritation crossed Blue Nomun’s face. «Yes. I was just getting to that. Please, no more interruptions; moonrise is near and I, for one, wish to reach the internode with my head attached to my body. To continue: the primary danger is that one of us will stumble against an active ganglion and thereby precipitate a synaptic storm. If that happens, all who remain on the node will be trapped in a memory-fugue. Do you understand? We are threatened by the memories of an unknown being, memories in all likelihood incompatible with our own mnemonic substrates. At best, the fugue would expose us to the predators–or to those among us who recover most rapidly.»

Blue Nomun turned and looked severely at a spot just to Nomun’s left, and Nomun surmised that Scar Nomun lurked there. «At worst, the fugue will be irreversible, an endless loop, and we will all still be standing in the jungle at daylight, trapped in a stranger’s memories, waiting for the killmech and its cabbage knife.»

Scar Nomun stepped from concealment and moved toward Blue Nomun, hands clenched. «Why should I believe you? Perhaps this is all your game, perhaps you’re attempting to amuse yourself at my expense.»

Blue Nomun looked at Scar Nomun without emotion. «Fool,» he said. «You–grotesque corrupt piece of meat that you are–would never understand my amusements. If you will not listen, you could destroy us all.»

Across the clearing, Jade Nomun appeared. «I tend to agree with the halfmech. I have some knowledge of Coal.» Jade Nomun stroked his chin, then the jade in his ear. «The mem-worts are well-known to be treacherous. To all but their owners. We ought to dispose of the ugly one now, before he makes any more trouble.»

Blue Nomun glanced to the east, where a pink luster tinted the darkness above the jungle. «That might be wise, but we have run out of time. The Blood Moon is on the horizon, and I must leave. This is my advice: Do not move in groups, you will attract predators. The safest route is directly over the dorsal ridge of the spine. The predators are most active near the lateral beaches. Above all, do not touch the ganglia; in particular, do not touch them when they are glowing with the pink light. If a storm begins when you are near the intemode, run. Perhaps you can reach the beach before it takes you. And do not dally. Coal is a small world, with a very rapid rotation. The night is short.» Blue Nomun turned and trudged into the jungle. Scar Nomun made no move to stop him; he was watching Jade Nomun. Jade Nomun drifted forward, hands twitching idly at his sides, a look of benign good humor on his face.

Scar Nomun laughed. «No, fop. I won’t give you any easy opportunities. Come after me, if you wish.» He melted back into the blue light and was gone.

Nomun backed away from the clearing. Was it his imagination, or did slender quick shapes flow along the ground at the far edge? He shuddered and moved faster.

The dorsal ridge, Blue Nomun had said. Nomun followed the rising ground, alert for the sound of pursuit or for the pregnant silence of ambush. The crystal jungle was full of small noises, as if a million tiny creatures scratched and crawled, hidden somehow in the cold radiance that coursed through the tangled forms. Once Nomun heard purposeful steps; later he heard a nervous patter as something ran by him, just out of sight. The jungle was disorienting; the shining shapes seemed to twist away from the eye. Whenever Nomun attempted to follow the pulses of light that surged through the jungle, he would lose his purpose, would find himself slowing in his careful movement After he realized this, he kept his gaze directly in front of his feet, slightly unfocused, and was able to maintain his momentum.

The Blood Moon rose above the canopy, huge, scarred by vast craters. The crimson light that poured down seemed thick, a viscous light that dripped through the crystal, spattering fire. Nomun noticed a change in the jungle’s internal light. Did the memwort’s heart beat faster, did it pump a richer blood? A hot dazzling pink began to flow along the crystal. Pulse followed pulse, faster and faster, until the jungle blazed, and Nomun was forced to shield his eyes from the glare.

On the ridge, the jungle abandoned its semblance of chaos and revealed its structure. The web of crystal flowed together into a line of great toroids, marching like fiery vertebrae over the crest of the node toward the distant intemode beach. Light whirled fiercely within the toroids, and Nomun stopped for a moment to admire that energetic beauty. The moment stretched out, and Nomun began to imagine he was about to understand something of his situation; perhaps if he just watched long enough, opened himself to the light, somehow he might remember. What memories they must carry, he thought, and he began to feel a frightening urge. By the time Nomun reached the dorsal ridge, he wanted to press himself to the glow, to fill the empty places in his mind.

He approached the nearest toroid, moving slowly, as in a dream. It was five or six meters tall, a wreath of light woven from a thousand strands of jungle. He stopped so close to it that he might have reached out and touched its glorious surface. He closed his eyes; the fight beat through his eyelids, almost undiminished in intensity. He swayed there, mindless, until a sound from behind alerted him, too late. He turned and ducked, but something glanced off the back of his head, hard enough to pitch him forward against the toroid.

The crystal was hard, and shockingly cold. He twisted onto his back. Jade Nomun stood over him, smiling, holding a heavy chunk of crystal high.

«Time to go, clone,» Jade Nomun said.

Nomun struggled to move, but could not, trapped in light thick as honey. He waited for the impact.

But Jade Nomun was trapped in the light, too... frozen in the act of striking. The elegant face was twisted in a snarl of frustration, but fear had begun to seep into the cloudy eyes.

The light brightened until all vision was lost, replaced by a white glare that filled Nomun utterly.

... And he was a child in his mother’s hardcar, riding through Howlytown. His mother, deep in conversation with her womanfriend Marlain, paid no attention to him, so he amused himself by peering through the armored window at the strange life of Howlytown.

The streets lay between rivers of light in the early evening. The programmable facades of the crumbling buildings flashed a million messages, projected a thousand colorful scenes. Most of it made no sense to him, but he was fascinated, all the same. Usually he could catch only a tantalizing glimpse of Howlytown before his mother opaqued the window, and so he was trying to make the most of this rare opportunity.

Few of Howlytown’s inhabitants were out so early, but there were still plenty of amazing sights. On one comer he saw a firedancer, turning cartwheels inside her cloud of green and blue flame. Across the street, an elderly mnemon sat in a steel kiosk, guarded by two huge mechdogs. The sign above his kiosk read: «New Regrets for Old.» The mechdogs lay on either side of the kiosk, waving the huge pink pompoms attached to their tails. Nomun laughed.

At the next cross street, the hardcar paused for a moment, to allow a great steel landbarge to pass. The barge scraped slowly down the street, striking an occasional spray of sparks from the littered surface. It displayed the red skull-and-spiral logo of one of Howlytown’s warlords; the muzzles of grasers emerged from turrets at either end of the top deck.

While they waited, Nomun saw an ugly sight. A procession of naked men and women emerged from the dark mouth of an alley, cabled together neck-to-neck. They were led by a rotund dwarf wearing lavender armor. The coffle shuffled to a stop by the curb, so close to Nomun that he might have reached out and touched one of the men, had there been no glass between them. The man had a lean wolfish face; in his eyes was a disturbing absence. Slaves, Nomun thought, feeling both pity and curiosity.

Slowly the man turned and looked at Nomun. Or so it seemed, although the hardcar’s windows were set for one-way vision. The man’s eyes drifted away for a moment, then snapped back, filled abruptly with fierce nameless emotion. He reached for his shoulder, twisted at something there, and the arm fell off. There was no blood. Nomun caught a glimpse of something metallic where the arm had disconnected.

With an unnaturally swift movement, the man bent, picked up his arm by the wrist and slammed it against Nomun’s window, though no sound penetrated the armored glass. He dropped his arm, jerked away the arm of the woman next to him. She reacted with dull bemusement, swaying and smiling. The man drew back to strike the hardcar again with his new weapon, and then the dwarf was on him, slashing at him with a painstick. The man fell to his knees, unconscious, eyes rolled up into his head, supported only by the cable that leashed him to the others.

The dwarf picked up the woman’s arm, turning it this way and that, as if inspecting it for damage. Eventually he locked it back on her shoulder. At his direction she flexed it. The dwarf turned his attention to the man’s arm, shaking his helmeted head over the arm’s condition. Nomun could see split flesh and ruptured conduit.

The hardcar moved on. Nomun glanced at his mother. She had noticed nothing, nor had Marlain.

Just before they reached the security lock that led out of Howlytown, the hardcar passed through a crowd of grim-faced women dressed in black. Nomun stared at them with such intensity that Marlain glanced out.

«Oh,» Marlain said. «The Barrens.»

«What’s wrong with them, Mother?» Nomun asked, for even to his young eyes it was obvious that something was dreadfully wrong.

His mother smoothed his hair and opaqued the window. «They have no children,» she said. «They live outside the Pale, so they must carry the Korr virus. Else they would breed us all to death. They are allowed no children, either of the egg or of the flesh. Do you understand? They are sterile; and also their cells are useless to the doners.»

«The enforcers should drive them away,» Marlain said. «Like vultures, they seem to me. Did you hear what happened in Darkway Howlytown? Just last week it was. A man and his daughter were waiting at the security lock, as we are. A fire started in the rotor pods, and they were forced out of their car. The Barrens swarmed over them, with their scrapers and tissue vials. By the time the enforcers came out, the poor little girl’s hands were nothing but bones and tatters.»

«Marlain!» said Nomun’s mother, pulling him close.

«Sorry; I’m sorry. But it’s horrid, somehow, to think that in a few years Howlytown will be infested with a thousand copies of that innocent one.» Marlain shook her head, her face a mask of disapproval.

His mother held him tightly. «Don’t worry, Nomun. That could never happen to you.»

The jungle was quiescent, lit only by an occasional blue flicker. Jade Nomun was sprawled across Nomun’s legs, still clutching the piece of crystal with which he had meant to brain Nomun. Nomun pushed him away and the elegantly dressed body rolled bonelessly to its back.

Perhaps he is dead, Nomun thought The idea was pleasant, and he sat back against the now- dark toroid, to gather his strength.

He recalled the fugue-memory. How comforting it must be, to have a head full of such things, instead of this aching emptiness. But now he had at least one, even if it was not his own. Though perhaps it was; the mother had called her child Nomun. He considered the possibility that the memwort belonged to him, or to one of the others who claimed the name. He laughed. Absurd. Why would the owner expose himself willingly to the dangers of the memwort, and to the more deadly hatreds of his clones?

He looked up and realized he could no longer see the Blood Moon. What had Blue Nomun said? The nights are short on Coal. Nomun struggled to his feet. How much time was left? He thought of the killmech, and a shudder ran up his back.

Jade Nomun stirred and groaned. Nomun felt disappointment. He cast about for Jade Nomun’s weapon, picked it up, looked down at the dark features. He raised the shard high.

«No, don’t,» Young Nomun said. He stood beside the next toroid, leaning against it as if exhausted.

«He tried to kill me,» Nomun said, but without passion. He let the crystal drop. «Why do you care? He would kill you without a thought; he would kill us all.»

«Yes. But he is a part of me. Or I of him.» Young Nomun laughed, shakily. «Will you help me carry him?»

«Insane. There might not be enough time for an encumbered man to reach the beach, if the cyborg can be believed. Leave him; perhaps he will revive and save himself–though I hope not» Nomun turned away, began to trot through the dark ciys- tal. As he ran, Young Nomun’s face filled his mind’s eye. So young. Abruptly, he felt ancient. How old am I? he wondered.

The going was easier along the dorsal ridge, and soon the ground sloped downward. Nomun glanced up; was the sky growing light? He ran faster, sometimes brushing against a crystal in the semidark. Nothing terrible happened, and he assumed that the synaptic storm had temporarily neutralized the organism.

Nomun was the first to arrive. A narrow crescent of glit-tering sand had collected against the ridge of black crystal that snaked between the terminal node and the next node–on this beach an inflatable orange shelter had been erected.

He stopped, breathing deeply. His heart thumped, but slowly. I still have my strength, he thought.

Inside the shelter he found ten cots, and a neat stack of water canisters and self-heating food packs. He held back for a moment, wary of poison; then he uncapped a canister and drank. If their captor had wanted them to die outright, the mech could have killed them all.

Others arrived. Blue Nomun’s face showed nothing, Pump Nomun’s eyes were dreamy, Scar Nomun bared his teeth in a humorless grin, False Nomun’s hands shook. One by one they came into the shelter, and Nomun felt the pressure of their hatred, though no one spoke. Nomun went to the shelter’s entrance and watched the jungle’s edge.

Just before the sun rose, Jade Nomun emerged.

Jade Nomun walked past Nomun, but Nomun put a hand on the other’s arm. «Where is he?»

Jade Nomun looked at Nomun, and his nostrils flared. He chopped at Nomun with a reptilian quickness, but Nomun was quicker, and caught the hand. His body moved without thought, effortlessly, precisely, twisting Jade Nomun’s arm, forcing Jade Nomun to his knees. Nomun applied more pressure, and Jade Nomun’s face descended to the sand. Nomun set his foot against Jade Nomun’s neck, shifted his weight slightly so that the vertebrae creaked and Jade Nomun gasped. Nomun felt a fierce delight and laughed. The skill he used now was right, was true, was as much a part of him as his name. «Where is he?» Nomun asked again.

«Who?» Jade Nomun spit out sand, writhed, but could not escape Nomun’s grip.

«The young one. The one who persuaded me not to kill you in the jungle.» Nomun laughed again. «He was right; pleasure deferred is pleasure doubled.»

«All... the infant»

Nomun leaned into his foot, just a little more, and the sensation was an exquisitely familiar one. Bone, singing with stress, on the brink of failure; how many times had he felt that sweet ominous tremble? The thought disturbed him, though only in a cold distant way that did not touch the joy of the moment.

«Wait,» Jade Nomun whispered. «I have information; if I die you may die too.»

A sound from the edge of the jungle attracted Nomun’s attention. Young Nomun stood there, swaying. Blood covered his face; his eyes were unfocused. Behind him, Nomun saw a flash of dull red through the crystal. Dead Nomun, he thought. He released Jade Nomun, then rolled him away with a kick to the ribs. Jade Nomun huddled on the sand, curled around his injury, gagging.

Nomun ran for the jungle and reached Young Nomun just as the killmech stepped into view. He pulled Young Nomun’s arm across his shoulders, half-carried him to the safety of the sand.

The killmech spoke in a great voice, so loud that Nomun winced. «Be advised. You must rest here until dark, using the provided facilities. You may not leave the beach before dark. When the sun is gone, you must enter the next node. The same strictures apply.»

Nomun looked at Dead Nomun’s chest A third bag hung there now, heavy with Handsome Nomun’s beautiful head.

Nomun helped Young Nomun into the shelter and lowered him to one of the cots. He took a napkin from one of the food packs and began to wipe blood from Young Nomun’s forehead. The others stared.

«A nursemaid,» Scar Nomun said. «Come minister to me.» His mouth was full of food; his good eye gleamed. He clutched at his crotch and sniggered.

Jade Nomun slumped on his cot, but he snorted with weary contempt «Don’t be fooled, clone. The old one is still formidable. He wears his wrinkles for effect. I would wager to the extent of my fortune that he could chew you up and spit you out And not break a sweat»

Scar Nomun replied scornfully. «You perhaps. Not I.»

«You did not see, did you, ugly one?»

«I did,» said Blue Nomun. «The fop is correct. The old one is competent. Even I would not care to test his skills.»

Young Nomun’s eyes finally cleared, drifted to Nomun. «You were right,» he said, in a small scratchy voice. «We should have killed him.»

«Then you would be dead now yourself,» Jade Nomun said. «Why do you suppose you still live, boy? The killmech stopped me from finishing the job, that’s why. It informed me that we weren’t to kill each other on the nodes–that to do so was to commit suicide.»

Scar Nomun glared, said, «You lie to protect your weakness.» Then Blue Nomun spoke. «Interesting. We seem to be in the hands of a meticulous madman. I will venture a theoiy: he calls himself Nomun.»

«Yes. The dream,» said False Nomun in a small voice. «Indeed,» said Blue Nomun. «The fugue was the same for us all, was it not? Nomun the child, riding through some Howlytown with his mother? This is the nature of the synaptic storm, as I understand it: it was no dream we all shared; it was the prime memory of the terminal node. The memory which best represents the memories held in that array.» The cyborg’s face was closed and dark; Blue Nomun seemed to have lost some crucial confidence during the night in the jungle. «Furthermore, I am forced to face an unhappy fact. I must conclude that I am not the original Nomun, as I have believed for all my long life.»

«How so?» Jade Nomun sat up carefully, holding his ribs. «The memwort. It may be as old as fourteen hundred standard years. It is certainly no younger than eleven hundred. This I deduce from the size of the terminal node, the diameter of the dorsal toroids, the degree of parasitism. And other factors beyond your comprehension.» Blue Nomun’s chin dropped onto his metal chest. «I am eight hundred and seventy-three years of age.»

Nomun looked around at the faces. Pump Nomun did not seem to care; the rothead was absorbed in resetting the keys of his chempump. Scar Nomun did not believe. False Nomun had already admitted that he was a clone. Young Nomun did not seem surprised. On Jade Nomun’s drawn face, angry comprehension grew.

«No!» Jade Nomun shouted. «No! I am Nomun. No other can be. You are lying, or you are wrong.» Jade Nomun took a deep breath, struggled visibly for control. «And Nomun is not so uncommon a name. Why must the Nomun who seeded the memwort be related to us?»

«If not,» said Blue Nomun heavily, «then we witness an astounding coincidence. All of us rose from the same genetic root; each calls himself Nomun. If the Nomun of the memwort is not our clonebrother, then what other explanation for our presence here would you suggest?»

Nomun saw a fearful madness kindle in Jade Nomun’s cloudy eyes. «No, I will never believe it.»

Blue Nomun shrugged. «As you will. I care nothing for what you believe. Here is an undeniable fact: at least nine of us are clones of the original Nomun. Nomun the Great. Nomun the Emancipator. Nomun the Scourge. Some of my titles now seem ludicrous to me. Nomun the Only, for example.» Blue Nomun stopped, and silence filled the shelter.

Finally Blue Nomun spoke again. «Are any of us old enough to be the true Nomun? You, for example?» He gestured at Scar Nomun.

«I will not say,» answered Scar Nomun.

«Just so.» Blue Nomun lay back on the cot with a sigh, as if his metal body was tired. <

«Perhaps it’s him, the old one.» False Nomun was watching Nomun, his eyes full of fearful coi\jecture.

«Nonsense. I am the Nomun,» snapped Jade Nomun. «Besides, the wrinkles he wears are cosmetic; I know this from bitter experience.»

No one else spoke. After a bit the others settled in their cots, though no eyes closed. Young Nomun looked up at Nomun. The boy was still confused by the blow to his head, or so it seemed to Nomun. «I would like to sleep,» Young Nomun said. «But I’m afraid. I might never wake.»

«Sleep,» Nomun said. «I’ll watch. Later you can do the same for me.»

Somewhat to Nomun’s surprise, Young Nomun smiled agreement, and his eyes fluttered shut. He still trusts, Nomun thought. How sad.

Young Nomun slept away the short Coal day. Nomun felt little desire to rest; he was too conscious of the others and their hatred.

When the shadows were long, Nomun went to the entrance to the shelter and looked out.

Dead Nomun stood motionless on the beach, not five meters away. The black photoreceptors regarded Nomun steadily, but the killmech did not otherwise react to Nomun’s presence.

Nomun’s gaze dropped to the three plastic bags ML attached to the killmech’s chest. Except for the Nomun killed by Scar Nomun on the terminal beach, the faces did not look dead. They seemed to sleep, though Soft Nomun’s eyes were open. Trophies? The thought seemed true, and he wondered what sort of man would make trophies of his own face. A monster, certainly.

«Why are we here?» Nomun asked. Dead Nomun showed no reaction. Nomun tried another question. «Who is your master?» The armor that protected the killmech’s speaker grille lou- vered open. «Nomun is his name.» The louvers closed.

Nomun retreated within, chilled. False Nomun stood there, hands twisted together. «Who were you talking to?»

«The mech’s here. The sun is going.» Nomun brushed past him, going to Young Nomun’s cot.

Nomun shook Young Nomun’s shoulder lightly. «Wake up,» he said.

Young Nomun came to with a start and struck out blindly. Nomun caught his arms. «Calmly, calmly...,» Nomun said. Awareness flooded back into Young Nomun’s eyes. He sat up too quickly and winced.

False Nomun spoke in a wheedling voice. «Are you the one? Will you spare me? I only took the name to get a little respect, to have some of the things that come so easily to others. I did no harm; I took none of your money. Please, let me go. Why must I die?»

Nomun found False Nomun repellent; the sweating staring face, so like his own, made him a little sick. «I can’t help you,» he said. False Nomun shuffled away, muttering incomprehensibly.

Young Nomun was still pale. «I don’t want to die either,» he said.

«Nor do I. Are you strong enough to climb the next node?» Young Nomun smiled, touched the gash on his forehead. «I’ll have to be, won’t I?»

«Listen,» Nomun said. «We can keep within shouting distance.

If you’re attacked, call out, and I’ll come. You can do the same. Do you agree?»

«With relief....»

Just before sundown, the seven Nomuns left the tent and stepped warily away from the killmech, which did not move. «Perhaps it has malfunctioned,» said False Nomun hopefully. Jade Nomun laughed carefully. «You’re the greatest fool of us all, clone.» Jade Nomun wore an improvised binding around his ribs, tom from the full sleeves of his shirt. «You’ll die soon, and we will no longer have to look at your quivering face.»

Of them all, only Pump Nomun seemed calm. He stood a little apart from the others, close to the water, watching the breathboats come ghosting in. His eyes were dreamy; he caressed the keyboard of his pump with languid fingers. «Beautiful,» he said softly. He turned to the others. «Isn’t this lovely? Look around. I marvel. The perfect darkness of the sea, the fading lavender of the sky, the sand that shimmers. The boats, like dreams. Even that thing.» He pointed to Dead Nomun. «Its color the perfect counterpoint to this world, its purpose in perfect resonance with our lives.» He shook his head. «Have you killed as often as I have, brothers?» His thin face twisted with transitory pain. «My pump is nearly dry. I’d meant to top it up, just before I was taken. Had I done so, this adventure might have ended differently for me.»

«Rothead nonsense,» said Scar Nomun.

«Yes, yes, you’re right. Wonderful nonsense,» said Pump Nomun, smiling. «But my chemicals... they insulated me from what Nomun must do, all these centuries, so that I could act– and not be corrupted by the terrible tenible things Nomun must do, if he is to be Nomun. It saved me from becoming a mindless brute like you.» Pump Nomun looked at Jade Nomun. «And from your hungry nothingness.» He looked at False Nomun. «From your fear.» At Blue Nomun. «Nor did I give up my humanity to a machine. The pump was my armor.»

Then Pump Nomun’s face grew sad. «But it wasn’t the perfect solution. It has taken my strength.»

The breathboats anchored off the beach, closer than they had been the first night. The pale-haired captain came down from her pulpit and stood at the rail, apart from the passengers. Her shadowed face held some strong emotion. Sorrow? Concern? Despair? Nomun could not tell.

«Vultures,» said Scar Nomun, and spat into the water.

The killmech moved, and the Nomuns retreated toward the second node, all but Pump Nomun.

«You must leave the beach now,» Dead Nomun said, and gestured at the next node.

Pump Nomun turned to look out over the water. «Lovely,» he whispered, and triggered his pump. His eyes rolled back, and he stood there for a moment, shuddering, before he fell face down on the sand. A last tremor shook him; then he was still.

The killmech bounded forward. It turned the body over. Pump Nomun’s face had become a red ruin. As they watched, more of Pump Nomun’s head deliquesced and ran through the killmech’s hands into the sand. Dead Nomun emitted a terrible wordless grinding sound and slashed off the remnant, but by the time it had clipped the bag to its chest clamp, the bag held nothing but the chempump, floating in gray-pink slime.

The corpse was gone, melted into the beach, leaving behind only a pile of empty clothing.

«Clever,» said Blue Nomun. «He cheated our captor of his trophy. A hyper-efficient enzyme, no doubt.» The cyborg seemed envious. «I wonder did he always carry it, hidden in the pump?» «What does it matter?» said Scar Nomun, and went into the jungle. Jade Nomun followed, still moving with painful care.

Then False Nomun slipped away, making a small whimpering sound deep in his throat.

«Well,» said Blue Nomun. «Just us.» He watched Nomun with too-bright eyes. «I side with the frightened one. It is you, old one, is it not?»

Nomun shrugged helplessly. He felt a strong desire to tell the cyborg of his memory loss, but held back, afraid to admit to any weakness.

«You will not say? I’m not surprised. What I cannot understand is this: why have you chosen to expose yourself to the same dangers your victims face? Madness does not nm strongly in the Nomun flesh. None of us seem truly psychotic, with the possible exception of the fop.» Blue Nomun rubbed his metal hands delicately across his human face. «Well, no matter,» he said, and walked into the jungle.

Young Nomun’s eyes were large. «Is it true? Are you the one?»

‘The cyborg is losing function,» Nomun said, and after he said it, he saw that it was true. «He won’t last much longer; the situation is too novel.»

The sun was almost gone, and Dead Nomun stirred threateningly. «Go or die,» it said.

«I prefer to go,» said Young Nomun. He looked at the killmech with a trembling smile.

«Go, then,» said Nonrun. «I’ll follow at a hundred paces. Call out if you need me. Loudly.»

The second node rose more steeply than the first, and the crystal growths grew more massively from the memwort’s back. However, Nomun moved with greater ease, as he grew used to the terrain. He could hear Young Nomun ahead, crunching through the ground frost.

The light in the jungle was still blue, and glancing back, Nomun could see no sign of the Blood Moon. Perhaps the moon would not rise until he had reached the second intemode. The thought cheered Nomun, and he increased his speed. He began to catch an occasional glimpse of Young Nomun, who seemed able to maintain a good pace, despite the blow to his head. Nomun was pleased. The young one was, as far as he could tell, the only truly human person among them. I wondei' if any of us deserve to survive...? Nomun thought.

By the time the Blood Moon showed above the canopy, Nomun was almost happy. When the jungle began to pulse with the hot light, he slowed a little, took more care with his movements. Perhaps they might both survive. Who knew what waited for them at the nremwort’s last node; perhaps rescue, or even reward?

These pleasant thoughts occupied him for long minutes, to such an extent that he did not notice the storm until Young Nomun shouted, and the brilliance swept over him, washing everything away.

... And he docked his ship with the dllvermoon beanstalk. The terminal habitats glowed, their thousands of ports like colored spangles sewn to the black cloak of space. He watched the curving silver of the planet’s hull, until Iris ship sheathed herself in the cradle.

He shut down the ship’s systems one by one. The noises he had lived with during the month-long return from Mavark died away and left him alone with his triumph. Alive. He was still alive.

When he stepped down into the concourse, he was surprised by the size of the crowd. Every comer of that vast space was packed with newsels, each equipped with a camera. Every eye, human and machine, was fixed on him.

A semicircle of red-uniformed guards held open a space directly before him. An old herman in elegant Dilvermoon garments bowed to him, his/her face composed into lines of dignified joy.

«Greetings, Nomun,» he/she said, in a rich strong voice. «Dilvermoon is honored by your presence. The world is yours.»

A roar came from the crowd and Nomun smiled.

After the speeches, after the questions, after Nomun’s triumphant procession through the crowd, the old herman and his/her guards escorted Nomim to the beanstalk, and they rode down toward Dilvermoon in an expensively appointed private car.

The herman splashed a pale mauve liquid into a goblet of pink corundum and handed it to Nomun.

«What is this?» Nomun asked. The liquor had a heavy sweet fragrance; Nomun thought of tropical flowers and rot «Mavark brandy, Emancipator. You appreciate the irony?» Nomun set the goblet down, untasted. «To an extent.»

«That is a precious substance, Emancipator; far more so now that you have freed the serfs that formerly went down into the heatlands. You know, to collect the fruit from which it was made.» The herman sipped from his/her own goblet; his/her old face softened with delight. «My combine is particularly grateful to you. We control three hundred megaliters; we’ll profit heavily before the former serfs resume the harvest.»

«They’ll never do so. Humans die too easily in the heatlands.» The herman laughed, though not rudely. «This is the first great revolution you have made, is it not? I suppose idealism is a necessity to one like you, still young in your craft. As necessary as a knowledge of weapons and tactics.»

The old herman wore condescension like a second skin, but Nomun smiled. What did it matter? He was Nomun. The universe was his.

The herman returned his smile. «You’re amused? That’s good. The drop to the shell will take thirty minutes; make yourself comfortable.» The herman pointed to a deep soft chair by the videopanel, and Nomun sat down.

The herman settled into a chair opposite Nomun’s, raised his/her goblet and drank again. «So. Tell me, is it good to be a famous lion?»

«Yes. Of course.»

«Of course. But surely there are drawbacks?»

Nomun let his smile slip away. «Not that I’ve noticed. Educate me, please.»

«That would be presumptuous. What could I, a simple trader, teach a great emancipator? Yes, you will be great, Nomun. I’ve predicted this, and prediction... that’s my skill. I’m rarely wrong. You have all the qualities you will need to be first in your profession: intelligence, mthlessness, will, courage, reckless commitment»

Nomun’s heart filled.

«I see that I have pleased you,» he/she said. «But consider. With great fame comes great change. A new set of problems. For example; your cells will become very valuable to the doners. A child of your flesh will bring a fine price in the market of any world to which your fame has penetrated. As your fame grows the price will grow too.»

Nomun, transfixed by the glitter of his/her knowing eyes, could not respond. The light in the car seemed to dim, and the herman’s voice dropped to an intimate purr. «Irony, that is the true constant in life, don’t you agree, Great Nomun? You have made your lifework the freeing of slaves; but your competence at that work will generate a vast number of new slaves. And all of them will be you.»

Nomun stood abruptly, moved to the nearest port, looked down upon Dilvermoon’s steel surface. «I’ll guard my flesh. What you suggest won’t happen.»

The herman laughed. «Did you not feel the touches as you moved through the crowd? Show me your hands, Great Nomun.» Nomun raised his hands, looked at them. They trembled as he turned them over. Tiny red scratches marked both sides.

W hen the light faded, Nomun found himself lying under a heavy horizontal crystal, pressed back into the hollow, as if he hid from some enemy too terrible to fight. He lay there, heart pounding, examining his hands in the exhausted blue light. They were covered with scars, large and small. A thin white knife cut crossed the back of his left hand, two fingers and the thumb of the right hand bore ringscars where missing digits had been regrown. Inconclusive, he thought His pivfession was evidently a violent one.

Eventually he got to his feet, moved on through the jungle. Within thirty meters, he came upon Young Nomun, leaning against a column of milky crystal, forehead pressed to the cool surface. In approaching, Nomun made some small sound, and Young Nomun whirled, wide-eyed.

«Just me,» Nomun said. «Can you walk?»

«Yes,» Young Nomun said, in a hoarse voice. «Yes, I can. You remembered Nomun’s first triumph?»

Nomun nodded.

«A hideous memory,» Young Nomun said. «I begin to understand the hatred the others bear for each other. But if we are clones, is it our fault?»

The answer stuck in Nomun’s throat With an act of will, he forced it out. «No.» Why was that so difficult to say, he wondered. «Come. We should hurry. I’ll go first this time.» Nomun trotted away, and didn’t look back at Young Nomun.

They reached the next intemode without further mishap, well before the rising of the red sun.

No one else was in the shelter when they went inside. The shelter seemed identical to the first, with its ten cots and its pile of provisions. Young Nomun lowered himself heavily to one and put his face into his hands.

Nomun fetched two canisters and a handful of food packets. «Here. Eat; then we’ll rest»

Young Nomun took a canister. «I’ve changed my mind. You cannot be the one. Why would you trouble yourself over me, if you were?» He took a long swallow, and Nomun was pleased to see that his color was better.

Young Nomun continued. «Let’s choose a name for the one who brought us here. First Nomun, perhaps? What do you think?» Nomun shrugged, said nothing.

«Then that’s what I’ll call him. To him: First Nomun.» Young Nomun raised his water canister in a mock toast. He looked at Nomun, raising his eyebrows. «Tell me something. Do you find the similarity of our names as confusing as I do? I’ve made up names for each of us; it helps me to keep them straight. And you...?» Nomun nodded, smiled.

«Ah.... For example, I call the scarred one Bloody Nomun. Appropriate? And the mad fop? Sick Nomun. The frightened one? Not Nomun.» Young Nomun lay back on the cot, fixed his gaze on Nomun. «It would please me to know what you call me.» Nomun hesitated for a moment, then answered. «Well. I think of you as Young Nomun. And so? What do you call me?» «Young Nomun? Indeed? I no longer feel so young. As for you, why....» Young Nomun’s eyes dropped. «I mean no offense, but I think of you as Empty Nomun.»

Nomun tinned away. In empty silence.

Young Nomun laughed, a not-entirely pleasant sound. «Let us discuss our captor. Would you agree that he has an obsessive focus on the children of his flesh? The cyborg mentioned a «prime memory,» did he not? I would guess that the next node will serve up yet another memory related to First Nomun’s horror of his clones. By the way, I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid the storm, no matter how carefully we move. I think that even if none of us are clumsy, the killmech will initiate the sequence. It’s obvious the memories are part of the entertainment» Something stiired at the entrance, and Nomun turned to see Jade Nomun stumble in and throw himself on a cot, breathing heavily.

«The others?» Young Nomun asked.

Jade Nomun replied with a wordless snarl. False Nomun came in, face drawn.

«Well, where were we,» said Young Nomun. «Oh yes. Clones. It appears now that we are all clones. I knew of course that children of my flesh–our flesh–exist. There must be many of them, on thousands of worlds. Too many to count So why were we singled out for chastisement?»

«Because we took the name. The name, the fame, the presence. That’s why.» False Nomun no longer seemed so frightened, as if some of his fear had burned away in the night, He took food and water, retired to the farthest comer of the shelter.

Nomun went to the entrance in time to see Scar Nomun stagger from the jungle, just ahead of the killmech. His right arm flopped; blood soaked the tattered sleeve of his unisuit His left hand clamped the artery, but his face was white.

Dead Nomun stopped at the jungle’s edge. Five bags now hung from its clamps. Frayed silver cables sprouted from the new trophy’s neck. Blue Nomun’s face was as calm in death as it had been in life.

Nomun stood aside as Scar Nomun entered the shelter. Scar Nomun sat heavily on a cot, spoke through gritted teeth. «Get me a tourniquet»

No one responded. Scar Nomun glared at each in turn, looked last at Young Nomun. «So you’ve learned wisdom.» He rose painfully, went to the provisions, and stripped a wrapper from one of the food packs. He twisted it into a band between his teeth and good hand. Then, with great difficulty, he tied it around his upper arm and twisted the knot until it slowed the flow of blood.

«I won’t die so easily,» he said.

«What happened?» Young Nomun leaned forward, took a healthy bite of his food.

Young Nomun has changed, Nomun thought Not surprising. But Nomun found it a little depressing, for some reason.

Scar Nomun looked up from his arm. «‘Predators,’ our late halfmech brother called them. Like a snake with many legs. Or a weasel with scales. When the Blood Moon rises, they gather into packs. The pack I met was a small one, but they have no restraint. They would slash at me and die the next instant, poisoned, writhing in a ball. I crushed a dozen of them. They kept coming until they were all dead and I was as you see.»

Jade Nomun laughed uproariously. «How appropriate; how satisfying. Eaten by your scaly brothers. I suppose they’re much like you–stupid, brutal, persevering. And you poisoned them?»

Oddly, Scar Nomun joined in the laughter, laughed until he drowned out Jade Nomun, who subsided uneasily. «I’m flattered,» Scar Nomun said finally. «Well, you’ll meet my ‘brothers’ soon, fop, and they’ll eat you up more quickly than they did me.» Nomun lay back, looked at the orange ceiling of the shelter. «You’re sleepy?» Young Nomun asked. «Rest. I’ll watch; I’m much stronger today.»

Nomun looked toward Young Nomun. A series of ambiguous emotions seemed to flow across the smooth face. Nomun could not bring himself to trust his younger self, but he decided to close his eyes and rest alertly. If Young Nomun attempted to betray him, at least he would learn a valuable fact.

Nomun’s fatigue was deeper than he had realized, and he sank into dreamless sleep, until a sound disturbed him. It was a thrumming scrabble, covert, quietly violent. Nomun jerked himself awake.

In the comer, False Nomun was rising from Scar Nomun’s cot. Scar Nomun lay still, eyes bulging, a twisted food wrapper biting deeply into his throat.

Jade Nomun lounged on his cot, watching, face taut with amusement. He looked at Nomun. «One more down, eh, clone?»

Nomun glanced at Young Nomun. His face was impassive, relaxed. Young Nomun looked at Nomun, shrugged. «I decided to conserve my strength. That one’s no great loss, you will surely agree. And he had lost much blood; how could he have climbed the next node? A mercy, in a way.»

«And see, the timid one has developed a little backbone,» said Jade Nomun. «Isn’t that a gain?» He laughed and laughed, the ugly sound filling the shelter.

A little later Young Nomun spoke in a low voice. «Tell me the truth, Empty Nomun. Would you have defended him?» Young Nomun’s eyes were clear and guileless.

Nomun did not answer.

The remainder of the afternoon passed in watchful silence. Nomun felt no further inclination to sleep. Jade Nomun laughed occasionally to himself. False Nomun’s face was that of an animate statue, devoid of any purpose beyond the next heartbeat, the next breath. Only Young Nomun seemed able to relax, to doze lightly. Several times Nomun observed Jade Nomun casting a speculative look toward Young Nomun, but when Nomun caught Jade Nomun’s eye, the fop smiled and pulled a mask of innocent curiosity over his mad features. Still dangerous, Nomun thought No. More dangerous. He no longer believes in his own existence. He has nothing to care about anymore. Nomun resolved never to turn his back on Jade Nomun. Or any of them.

At twilight the four survivors went out onto the glittering sand. Dead Nomun waited for them there, and on die black water the breathboats moved in slow grace.

Nomun stepped to the water’s edge. The passengers had discarded their privacy masks; some of the faces seemed familiar. Nomun studied them for a moment, then took an involuntary step backward. Three of the passengers wore his face. They saw his consternation and laughed. One dressed in the same manner as Jade Nomun, but in garments cut from finer fabric, called out. «Yes, we’re brothers, Nomuns. But we did not steal the name, so....» The man flung up his arms in an expansive gesture. «We’re here, and you’re there.»

Beside Nomun, Jade Nomun snarled and brought forth a chunk of crystal he had hidden inside his shirt. He threw it at the grinning faces, and it flew true until it struck the barrier. The warning tone rang out and the crystal burst with a flat ear- hurting crack, became a cloud of drifting sparks.

Young Nomun had come up behind them. «Tell us, what were your plans?» he asked. «Had you not wasted your weapon on the spectators?»

Jade Nomun walked down the beach toward the next node without replying. Nomun noticed that False Nomun was already gone. He looked toward the shelter, realized why False Nomun had left.

«Come,» he said to Young Nomun. «Who knows how the mech will react, when it finds the corpse. I would prefer to be in the jungle.»

Young Nomun nodded, distractedly. He seemed to be fascinated by the men in the breathboats. «Is this such a famous event then? That our brothers gather from the stars to watch us?»

Nomun did not reply. He walked quickly down the beach, so that Young Nomun had to trot to catch him before he reached the blue glow of the jungle.

«Wait Empty. Do we have the same arrangement?» He made to touch Nomun’s shoulder, but Nomun slid away from his outstretched hand. Young Nomun seemed surprised, then angry. «You mocked me for sparing the mad one. Do you criticize me now for not saving the brute?»

Nomun looked at him. «No, no. Who am I to judge you? Our agreement stands. I’ll go first tonight» He turned and stepped under the canopy.

The Blood Moon rose swiftly, a blot of crimson, and almost as soon as the crystal pulsed with hot light the storm began.

... and Nomun’s ship dropped, engines silent, through the thick clouds of Hell. A thousand planets bear that name, Nomun thought. But it’s especially apt in this case.

To setde himself into the proper emotional mode for the task ahead, he viewed a recording of FareLord Gegando, First Voice of that race in the Manichaean Reach.

Gegando addressed the Human Assembly: «... the natural condition of humanity is slavery.» The FareLord’s silver face was narrow, humanoid except for the eyes–protruding red balls set too far apart. «This truth is self-evident. Even were we to withdraw from those worlds where indentured humans perform the necessary work of the Holdings, their ‘freedom’ would rapidly prove to be illusory. Occasionally, we are driven from our Holdings by agitators and mercenaries. What happens? Almost instantly, the humans select a new slavemaster. We have seen this over and over.» Nomun clicked off the recording, smiled wryly.

Nomun inserted another wafer. His smile faded as he watched. He saw the melt mines, where humans trawled the magma in bottlecars, and died in fiery white implosions. He saw the pens in the highlands where millions lived behind the wire. He saw the deep catacombs full of mindless breeders. He saw the graceful spires of the FareLord palaces, high atop the most stable peaks. It’s good, he thought. It’s helpful that the FareLords are so easy to hate.

Nomun pulled the ship out of freefall when he had dropped below the highest ridges of the Moving Mountains, where for a time, he might be safe from FareLord detectors. He landed in a narrow canyon, just below the mouth of a cave from which a boiling river poured.

A welcome party awaited him; three figures muffled in cool- suits. He let them wait, while his ship scanned the landscape for any evidence of treachery. Eventually he shut the ship’s systems down and gathered his gear.

He stepped out onto the surface of Hell; his clients indicated with urgent gestures that he was to follow them. They led him up a precarious trail to the lip of the cave.

Just before he went down into Hell’s heart, he turned for one last glimpse of his ship. Workers were already covering the hull with concealing pumice.

They conducted him to a coolroom under the mountain, where ancient machinery wheezed and strained to keep the temperature bearable. Inside, the welcoming committee stripped off their cool- suits.

The spokesman was a tall cadaverous man with the spiraling tattoos of a firediver. He stepped forward, offered his hand to Nomun. «Welcome, Emancipator. I’m Kronerq; these are my adjutants, Maril and Wumorin.» A long uncomfortable moment passed before Nomun touched the hand briefly.

«Yes, welcome,» chorused the other two. One was a fat woman with metal eyes, the other a young man wearing a privacy mask, a headband which generated a black mist over his features.

«Thank you,» Nomun finally said, since they seemed to expect some response. «Shall we get to work?»

Kronerq’s lean face showed surprise. «Now? Will you not rest first, here in the comfort of the room prepared for you?» Nomun wiped sweat from his forehead, flicked it from his fingertips. Comfort? «Your contract is time-based, Kronerq. You say you can pay my fee for nine standard weeks. If I haven’t destroyed the FareLords by then, I must leave.»

«Surely that will be enough time....»

«Possibly.»

Kronerq sighed and sent the young man out. He returned with an armful of maps, charts, and datawafers; these he dumped unceremoniously on a long table.

Kronerq waved his bony arm over the table. «Here is what we have, Emancipator. Profiles of the FareLords, charts of their diggings, troop dispositions, organizational sheets for the various indentured cadres, ecological analysis of the various Holdings, estimates of sympathizer strength in the cadres. Everything else we thought you might have use for.»

Nomun leaned over the table, began pushing the mass into some sort of order. «This will do for now,» he said. «Leave me.» Kronerq was shocked again. «But, but, Emancipator. We have so much to discuss; I must convey the plan we wish you to carry out....»

Nomun made a gesture of dismissal. «You’ve somehow gotten the wrong impression. I’m not here to carry out your plans; I’m here to destroy the FareLords. That’s what my contract specifies: ‘reasonable and diligent efforts to eradicate the FareLord presence on Hell.’ Reread it, if you cannot remember. Any plan I execute will be my own.»

«Well, of course.... Still, Emancipator, it’s a good plan, made by Wumorin, who has demonstrated a fine aptitude during our struggle for independence.» The young man nodded, his face still concealed beneath the dark blur of the privacy mask.

Nomun was losing patience. «Then I’ll depart and Wumorin will put this paragon of a plan into effect, and you’ll save a great deal of money.» He reached for his coolsuit.

Kronerg’s tliin hands twisted together. «Wait, please. You’re right, of course. We lack your experience and aptitudes; had we been able to get the FareLords off Hell on our own, we wouldn’t have contracted with you. Please, we’ll withdraw now and allow you the privacy you require.»

When they were gone, Nomun turned to his task, feeding the data into the slate. An hour passed, and he began to develop a clear picture of the situation. He sat back, stretched. The FareLords had been unusually greedy. They had increased the scale of their Holdings on Hell far beyond their ability to control the slaves who won the precious substances from the magma.

In fact, he couldn’t immediately see why the slaves hadn’t already thrown the aliens back into space. Did the FareLords here possess a remarkably able security chief?

Nomun was still absorbed in his analysis when a red light flared and something exploded against the back of his head, throwing him forward onto the table.

Nomun pulled a thinbeam from his boot as he rolled across the table, then fired at his assailant as he dropped off the other side. The beam punched through Wumorin’s chest, hissing.

When Nomun peered cautiously over the edge of the table, he saw Wumorin slumped against the far wall. The cauterized wound was as yet bloodless. A heavy mining laser lay just beyond Wumorin’s twitching hand.

For the moment, the young man still lived.

Nomun kept the thinbeam pointed at the adjutant, while he explored the back of his head with cautious fingers. The hair was burned away, but he was otherwise unharmed. «Are you wondering why you’re dead and I’m not? Dermal energy shunt,» he said. «The latest tech, expensive as hell. Good thing it worked as advertised, eh? Good thing for me, anyway.» Nomun glowed with the euphoria that always accompanied a near-miss. «I thought you were my ally, Wumorin.»

Wumorin shrugged, a feeble movement. Then he reached up and clicked off the privacy mask.

The white face was instantly familiar, even with the blood that trickled from the mouth. Nomun had seen it in a thousand mirrors.

He stepped around the table, kicked away the laser. His good humor was gone. «So. Where did they get you?»

The clone twitched and coughed convulsively. The blood that flowed down his chin turned a brighter red. «I don’t know. I came here in an embryo bottle.» Wumorin grinned, an ugly sight «You cannot imagine the joy I felt when I discovered that I was a child of the great Nomun’s flesh. I’m sure you can’t No.»

«Was it that bad?»

Wumorin’s head dropped forward. «This is Hell, after all,» he mumbled. Then he went on, in a slightly stronger voice. «Don’t blame the slaves. They were hoping for a cheap messiah when they bought me. I might have been the one they hoped for. But then I learned who I was. And who you were. Nomun. Admired on a thousand worlds. Great Nomun. So that day I decided to not be the one, to wait until they must send for you.»

A puzzle solved, Nomun thought darkly. Here is the reason why the FareLoi'ds are still on Hell. «How many died while you were waiting to take my place?»

«What does it matter? I would have been Nomun. Of course, poor Wumorin would have had to disappear....» Wumorin drew a deep bubbling breath.

«You’d never have gotten into my ship,» Nomun said after a while, but the clone was dead.

Nomun stumbled through the jungle, spitting out the taste of the memory. It was better when I was empty, he thought A hand reached out and took him by the shoulder, pulled him to a stop. Nomun struck the hand away, whirled, teeth bared. Young Nomun dodged away, his finger to his lips. «Shhh....»

Young Nomun crouched, gesturing for Nomun to follow. They moved downhill, until they could see the black mirror of the sea through the jungle. «He tried to go too close to the beach,» Young Nomun said. On the beach, False Nomun battled a pack of predators. The sand was alive with the fluid shapes; they swirled about False Nomun’s feet like surf, rising and falling. With a manic energy, False Nomun swung a long shard of crystal, smashing at the creatures. But there were hundreds.

«You may stay and watch,» Young Nomun whispered. «I intend to pass while they’re busy with him.» He crept away.

False Nomun’s blows were slowing. One creature ripped at False Nomun’s belly, and a loop of intestine spilled out, to tangle around False Nomun’s feet Arms flailing for balance, False Nomun fell silently, and was covered.

Nomun closed his eyes for an instant. Then he slipped off. When he was over the crest of the node, he began to run, as fast as he could, occasionally bouncing painfully from a low-hanging crystal.

He reached the beach, almost blind with fear. He fell to the sand, gasping for breath. Why now, he wondered. Why did it take so long for me to be afraid?

The other two were already in the shelter, as far apart as possible, wearing identical looks of watchful hatred. Neither spoke when Nomun came in, and he was taken aback by the sudden similarity between Jade Nomun and Young Nomun.

The day passed with exquisite slowness. Nomun was exhausted, but felt no urge to sleep. Nor did the others, apparently; they sat staring at nothing. In late afternoon, Nomun ate. After a while, he went outside into the sunlight.

Dead Nomun stood motionless at the jungle’s edge. Seven plastic bags hung against its chestplate. False Nomun’s head was a red tatter, not recognizably human.

«A bad night for head hunting, eh?» Nomun called out impulsively. He expected no reply, and he was shocked when the killmech responded.

«Yes. My master will be sad. He likes to preserve their memory in some way.»

Nomun shook his head. «What is your master’s purpose in tormenting us?»

Dead Nomun looked at him. «Purpose?»

Nomun was suddenly furious. «Yes, purpose! Why were we captured, why were we brought here, why do you drive us along the memwort? Why do you kill us? Why?»

The killmech took a step forward, then another. «I do not have that information.» Its arms twitched, as if it were disturbed, and Nomun retreated into the shelter, heart pounding, his anger cooling abruptly into fear. I shmddn’t have asked it such questions. It might have answered. He couldn’t imagine why this notion frightened him so badly.

Inside, Jade Nomun mumbled to himself and took no notice, but Young Nomun looked up inquiringly. «The mech is friendly?» Nomun lay down without answering.

Night finally came, and they went out into the stillness of the beach. Jade Nomun’s face was no longer human; he had the look of a cornered animal. His eyes flickered constantly from the killmech to Nomun. He sidled away, moving toward the jungle.

Dead Nomun spoke. «This is the last node. Survivors will be taken off the apex beach, tomorrow at sunrise.»

Jade Nomun stopped, listened, his head cocked at a feral angle. «Survivors?» A hideous smile corrupted his face. Then he ran into the jungle on light, quick feet Young Nomun stood for a moment, as if waiting for the killmech to speak again, before he trudged away. At the edge of the sand, he paused to look back at Nomun. Nomun thought How terrible to look into my own face and see a stranger.

A high mist obscured the Blood Moon. Nomun moved carefully. Jade Nomun’s mad, gleeful face floated before his mind’s eye. The light in the jungle remained cold, and the shadows were impenetrable. At intervals, Nomun stopped and listened, but he could hear nothing beyond the ragged sound of his own breathing, and the thump of his heart He passed the crest of the node without incident. The node fell away steeply to the south, so that Nomun could look out over the jungle canopy. The apex beach formed a wide crescent.; within its arms rode a half-dozen breathboats, sails furled, lit only by small green anchor lights. The jungle glowed pale blue, until it ended on the sand. There a narrow zone of hot light flickered. The last banier, Nomun thought Fresh memory?

He moved warily down the slope, but nothing attacked him. He wondered how Young Nomun was doing. Had he already fallen to Jade Nomun’s cunning? Nomun felt a sharp twinge of regret... he remembered how Young Nomun had saved him from Scar Nomun. It seemed so long ago.

The slope leveled out The crystal ganglia were smaller, more delicate, and Nomun surmised that they were still growing. Pink flickered through gaps in the jungle; Nomun slowed, stopped more frequently to listen. Something tightened inside him. He reached out with all his senses, sifting the jungle for the death hidden there. Nothing. He went on.

He paused at the edge of the active zone. Directly before him, slender angular tendrils broke from the glistening surface. They were motionless, but the hot light that pulsed in them gave them a treacherous, shifting quality. He sighed. He took one last look around, listened. Still nothing.

Nomun stepped into the zone, moving with slow-motion caution. The surface seemed to give slightly under his feet, trembling visibly with each careful footstep.

Jade Nomun and Young Nomun came from the jungle’s edge. Young Nomun retreated before Jade Nomun, whose face was wild. Pulses of emotion crossed it in slow-breaking waves; hate, fear, pride, horror, triumph.

«Wait,» Nomun said, making useless warding gestures.

«Wait,» Young Nomun said, as Jade Nomun rushed at him.

As Nomun watched helplessly, the two fell among the pink tendrils, tearing at each other.

... and Nomun paced the catwalk that circled the breath- boat’s main hold. Age and memory pressed on him, so heavy. He shook with that weight; he almost staggered.

At each of the stasis cages, he paused to look up into his own face. «Once again....» He was muttering in a broken voice, and in a lucid moment he thought; I would seem mad to anyone who listened. His head jerked around. Is anyone listening? Watching? The notion frightened him so much that he had to stop and lean his forehead against the solid reassuring metal of the hull. No, no... don’t be so foolish, old man.

He calmed himself by a great effort of will.

At the next cage, the frozen face had a terrible scar. Where did he come from? He remembered: He had found that Nomun on Sook, had taken him from an armored burrow beneath the Black Tear slave compound. Anger pulsed through him. A Nomun slaver; it was unbearable. He hoped that Nomun died early and painfully. Oh yes.

He walked to another cage. The face was beautiful; still Nomun, but transfigured into a mask of nobility and grace. Nomun shuddered. A politician, that one, high in a government that regulated slavery.

«Die, die, you die too,» Nomun hissed.

He drifted on. He looked up at a cyborged Nomun. The face was inhumanly calm, the frozen eyes reflecting nothing. Why had he taken this one? Ah... he was working as a trade analyst. The consortium that employed him had a thousand tentacles; some of them dipped into the slave trade. The cyborg must have known.... Nomun drew back, confused by the intensity of his hatred. One of the Nomuns had to survive, at least one.

Another Nomun, this one dressed in elegant garments. Jade gleamed in one ear. The face was Nomun’s, but it was as if the familiar features concealed the skull of a hyena. An assassin, he thought. Skilled with poison, skilled with the wire and the pin knife. He stood for a bit, and another thought crept into his mind. How are we different, he and I?

The next cage held a young Nomun, his face unmarked, innocent Nomun struggled to remember where this one had come from, but his head was too full, aching from the building pressure of memory. It will be so sweet to shed this weight, he thought.

Nomun reached out, touched a button. The young Nomun was still motionless, but inside that dark head, the brain caught fire, slowly warmed to the level of dream.

«Can you hear me?» Nomun asked.

The soft calm voice issued from a speaker on the stasis cage. «Yes. What a strange dream.»

«What do you dream?» Nomun demanded.

A long pause. Then: «I torture myself efficiently. I refuse to confess, though the pain is terrible. I dig deeper into my flesh, with fire, with knife, with lash. Still I say nothing; perhaps I have nothing to tell, but I will not admit it. I will not give up, I will get the truth out of me or I will die trying. I...»

«Enough,» Nomun said. «Enough....» He shuddered, clutched his hands to his head. The young Nomun was picking up transients, the pointless writhings of Nomun’s overloaded mind. He pressed another button, and the Nomun’s brain accelerated to a higher level of function. The eyes showed a spark of life now.

Nomun tugged down the headband of a privacy mask, fumbled at the switch. There was a memory associated with that mask; had someone given it to him, long ago? But the memory was gone, given to the memwort. All that remained was a little sore spot where the memory had been. That was the drawback to the memwort–once buried in the crystal the memory was gone... but not its pain. Each trip to the memwort left him clean, but added to the store of sourceless aches in his mind.

He found the switch, and a black mist covered his face. Why am I hiding my face? he wondered. He won’t remember any of this when he’s thawed. But Nomun left the mask on.

The voice from the speaker was sharper, more focused. «Where am I? Who are you? Why are you holding me?»

Nomun took a deep breath. «You’re at sea, like the rest of us. I’m a man; I took you from wherever I found you because of your name.»

«My name?»

«But it isn’t your name; it doesn’t belong to you. You’ve stolen it from someone.»

«It’s the name my parents gave me.» The voice seemed puzzled. ‘They weren’t your parents! They bought you in some alley, from a fleshseller; they brought you home in ajar. Though perhaps you were implanted into the woman’s womb.»

A pause, as if the young Nomun were pondering this allegation. «I find this hard to believe.»

Nomun rubbed at his face, pushed his fingers through his tangled hair. «It’s true. Ten thousand Nomuns walk a thousand worlds. You’re only an unimportant one. Those who bought you hoped you would do as well as the original Nomun, hoped you would get rich and share your wealth. Where did you grow up? No, don’t answer, I know. I don’t know the name, but it was on some backwater world where you would be unlikely to hear about the other Nomuns until you’d made your own mark. And then, when you heard, what did you think?»

«It’s true that news seldom reaches Melluce. The other Nomuns? Rumors about myself, echoed from far away. Flattering to be the source of legend, so early in my career.» The voice paused for a bit «So you claim to be the original Nomun?» Nomun fingered the privacy mask band. «I never said that» «If not, why would you care?»

A good question. Nomun tried to follow the thought, but it slipped away, to hide in the confusion filling his head. «What?» The voice grew sharper. «I asked: why would you care that another uses the name. And what will you do with me?» Nomun drew a shuddering breath. «I don’t care,» he lied. «My purpose isn’t revenge,» he lied again. «A test That’s what this is. Yes. To see which of you is the truest Nomun.» As soon as he said it, he felt the truth of it and the falsehood.

«Truest? What does that mean?»

«Who knows?» Nomun laughed, but the sound of his laughter frightened him. He punched the switch, and the young Nomun fell silent.

He stood beside the stasis cage for a while, as motionless as one of his captives. He heard the anchor chain rattle out of the hawsepipe; a moment later, the pale-haired captain came down the companionway into the hold.

«We’re here,» she said. «Will you go ashore now?»

«Yes. Immediately. You have your instructions? Is everything clear?»

«Clear,» she answered sadly. «Must you do this?»

«Oh yes,» he whispered as he moved past her. All he could think about was the crystal. The crystal, waiting to drain away the centuries. «Oh yes.»

He went out through a long passageway. On either side, in ranks that reached the ceiling, were hundreds of heads encased in clear plastic blocks. Nomun kept his eyes on his feet; he felt the pressure of all those dead eyes. «Don’t blame me,» he muttered. «You lost.»

Nomun woke with the first sunlight and raised his face from the glittering sand. The red light slanted across the beach, lit the motionless forms of the others, sprawled in the active zone. On the edge of the sea, Dead Nomun waited.

A faint chorus of chimes rang across the black water, and Nomun recognized the sound. Alarms on the breathboats, he thought. They don't want to miss the end. As he looked, the first of the passengers appeared. They waved; some seemed jovial, some disappointed.

Young Nomun stirred, groaned. After a moment, he got to his knees. «Have we lived?» he asked.

Nomun sat up. «Perhaps.» He looked out at the breathboats. Observers crowded the decks; they waited in silence.

A furtive sound from behind claimed his attention. Jade Nomun had revived; his forearm was locked across Young Nomun’s throat. The two fell to the ground, struggling.

Nomun sighed. He was abruptly weaiy, almost too weaiy to act But he got to his feet anyway, trudged across the sand.

Young Nomun’s movements were weakening; he looked up at Nomun with desperate eyes. Jade Nomun’s gaze was blind, his teeth were bared in a painfully wide grin. Tendons stood out on his neck like wire. He wrenched at his forearm and laughed when Young Nomun made a small gagging sound.

«Stop,» Nomun said. «Stop it, if you want to live.»

Jade Nomun laughed again, eyes incandescent with triumph. «I live now!» He rolled Young Nomun under him and ground his face into the broken diamonds.

Nomun kicked him, felt ribs break. But Jade Nomun’s grip didn’t slacken. «Oh well,» Nomun muttered, and reached down to curl his hand around Jade Nomun’s chin. He felt the life surging imder the skin. He dropped his knee onto Jade Nomun’s neck, jerked upward at the same time. Jade Nomun’s neck broke, his head rotated without resistance. His eyes fastened on Nomun, burned for an instant longer, then went dull.

Young Nomun pulled free and lay gasping on the sand.

Good, Nomun thought. It’s good he’s alive. He dropped Jade Nomun’s head, got up.

When the killmech moved in to take its trophy, he turned away, stumbled to the edge of the water. He waited there, until the sun was well clear of the horizon, staring at the nearest breathboat. The Nomuns there seemed like inconsequential ghosts and he ignored them.

The pale-haired captain came on deck; when she saw him, she smiled brilliantly and waved.

«Behind you,» Young Nomun rasped. Nomun turned, to see Dead Nomun. The killmech was very close; in one metal hand it held some sharp gleaming object Nomun leapt away, a convulsive movement and fell backward into the water.

«No!» he shouted. «Get back.» But the mech waded into the sea, and jabbed the weapon against his neck, before he could flounder away.

«You ordered this, Master,» it said. It took his arm, helped him from the sea He saw that the ‘weapon’ was a drug injector. «An antidote, Master. For a mnemonic block.»

He searched his mind and found just one new memory. It swam into focus.

Four days ago, before the other nomuns had begun their dying, he had opened his eyes to find his head gloriously empty. The blonde woman had lifted the inductor harness away and handed it to one of the men who stood near.

«Are you eased now, Nomun?» she had asked with a small smile. «Nomun; that’s your name, that’s all you will remember, after I give you this.»

She held up an injector. «A mnemonic block. You ordered me to give it to you, before we moved you and the other Nomuns around to the terminal beach.»

Nomun looked around. The men all had the same face, hard, cold, determined. His face.

«Your brothers, Nomun. Flesh of your flesh. But they do not bear your name. That’s important to you.» The woman no longer smiled; some unhappy emotion crossed her smooth face. «You asked me to say these things, and then make you forget them, until you emerge from your little war. If you ever do. Do you understand at all?»

«No.»

«I’m not surprised,» she said. «No one else understands. But listen: You’ve just given a hundred and thirty years of ugly memory to a biostorage device. All you have left are the skills of your body and your name.» She caressed his cheek with cool fingers, smiled again, sadly. «Though not till your memories were ugly; this I know, because we’ve shared some sweet ones. But anyway. This is how you bear your life–you told me to say it just that way. I don’t know why it can’t, stop there, but it can’t or so you say.» She sighed. «In a little while, we’ll take you to the other end of the memwort and lay you on the sand with nine of your clones. Clones who’ve taken the name; you’ve collected them over these last few years.»

He had become uneasy, watching the ir\jector. «I really don’t understand at all. Wait... perhaps I’ll change my mind.» He tried to rise; strong hands pressed him back, though not roughly.

«No. I have your orders, Nomun. You warned me that you might suffer an attack of sanity, after the memories were gone. Were it up to me, I’d take you back to the boat, but your killmech and your brothers would not permit it So you’ll go, you’ll risk your life among those animals who wear your face.»

«Why? Do you know?»

She leaned forward, caressed his cheek, and then the injector hissed. «Because you’re a great fool,» she had said, with bitter affection, tears pooling in her eyes.

Nomun sighed. Young Nomun stood beside him, watching the launch arrow across the water toward the beach. The palehaired woman stood in the prow, face glowing.

«Will I live?» Young Nomun asked.

Nomun turned, looked at the smooth face, now so much older than it had been–and somehow darker. «Yes,» he answered. «Yes, if you’ll give up the name.»

Young Nomun shrugged. «Of course. Life seems far more important to me than any name.»

Nomun smiled, with an effort.

As they waded out to the launch, young nomun asked, in a low voice, «So, will you tell me now? Are you the first Nomun?» Just for a moment, all of Nomun’s years returned, all that deadly crushing weight. Nomun stopped, knee-deep in the black ocean, and felt the sand shift under his boots.

Finally he answered. «How could I ever know?» □