'Time ravelers. The real ravelers, not that pissy little stuff you were doing. What we have is too important to be entrusted to any government or any political movement. Who we are is a commitment to-well, that's part of the test. Figuring out the commitment. Once you figure out the commitment, the rest is obvious.'
'Okay. So, right now, I'm committed to saving Matty, and you say-?'
'We can do that-under our domestic partner plan. We protect the partners of our operatives. We don't extend that coverage to one-night stands.'
'He's not a one-night stand. He's - '
'He's what?'
'He's a kid who deserves a chance.'
'So give him the chance.' Eakins pushed a pillbox across the table at me. I hadn't noticed it until now.
Picked it up. Opened it. Two blue pills. 'What will this do?'
'It'll get you a toaster oven.'
'Huh?'
'It will shift your sexual orientation. It takes a few weeks. It reorganizes your brain chemistry, rechannels a complex network of pathways, and ultimately expands your repertoire of sexual responsiveness so that same-sex attractions can overwhelm inhibitions, programming, and even hard-wiring. You take one pill, you find new territories in your emotional landscape. You give the other to Matty and it creates a personal pheromonal linkage; the two of you will become aligned. Tuned to each other. You'll bond. It could be intense.'
'You're kidding.'
'No. I'm not. You won't feel significantly different, but if your relationship includes a potential for sexual expression, this will advance the possibility.'
'You're telling me that love is all chemicals?'
'Life is all chemicals. Remember what Brownie said? It's empty and meaningless -except we keep inventing meanings to fill the emptiness. You want some meaning? This will give you plenty of meaning. And happiness too. So what kind of meaning do you want to invent? Do you want to tell me that your life has been all that wonderful up to now?'
I put the pillbox back on the table. 'You can't find happiness in pills.'
Eakins looked sad.
'I just failed the test, didn't I?'
'Part of it. You asked me what you could do to save Matty. You said you would do anything…' He glanced meaningfully at the box.
'I have to think about this.'
'A minute ago, you said you'd do anything. I thought you meant it.'
'I did, but-'
'You did, but you didn't…?'
Glanced across at him. 'Did you ever have to - '
'Yes. I've taken the blue pill. I've taken the pink pill too. And all the others. I've seen it from all sides, if that's what you're asking. And yes, it's a lot of fun, if that's what you want to know. If you're ever going to be any good to us, in your time, in our time, anywhen, you have to climb out of the tank on your own.'
I stood up. I went to the balcony. I looked across the basin to where an impossibly huge aircraft was moving gracefully west toward the airport. I turned around and looked at Brownie -implacable and patient. I looked to Eakins. I looked to the door. I looked at the pillbox on the table. Part of me was thinking, I could take the pill. It wouldn't be that hard. It would be the easy way out. The way Eakins put it, I couldn't think of any reason why I shouldn't.
But this couldn't be all there was to the test. This was just this part. I thought about icebergs.
'Okay.' I turned around. 'I figured it out.'
'Go on - '
'Georgia gave me an assignment. Four assignments. I had to prove my willingness to do wetwork. That was the first test of my commitment. And if I'd never said anything, that would have been as much as I'd ever done. But when I said I didn't want to do any more wetwork, that was the next part of the test. Because it's not about being willing to kill-anybody can hire killers. It's about being able to resist the urge to kill. I might be a killer, but today I choose not to kill.'
'That's good,' Eakins said. 'Go on.'
'You're not looking for killers. You're looking for lifeguards. And not just ordinary lifeguards who tan well and look good for the babes-you want lifeguards who save lives, not just because they can, but because they care. And this whole test, this business about Matty, is about finding out what kind of a lifeguard I am. Right?'
'That's one way to look at it,' Eakins said. 'But it's wrong. Remember what you were told-that Matty isn't part of this case? He isn't. He's a whole other case. Your case.'
'Yeah. I think I got that part.'
Eakins nodded. 'So, look-here's the deal. I honestly don't care if you take the pill or not. It's not necessary. We'll send you back, and you can save the kid. All we really needed to know about you is whether or not you would take the pill if you were asked-would you take it if you were ordered, or if it was required, or if it was absolutely essential to the success of the mission. We know you're committed to saving lives. We just need to know how deep you're willing to go.'
Nodded. Didn't answer. Not right away. Turned to the window again and stared across the basin, not seeing the airships, not seeing the spires, not seeing the grand swatches of color. Thought about a kiss. Matty's kiss on my cheek. And that moment of… well, call it desire. Thought about what I might feel if I took the pill. That was the thing. I might actually start feeling again. What the fuck. Ugly puppies need love too. It couldn't be any worse than what I wasn't feeling now.
Turned back around. Looked at Eakins. 'This is going to be more than a beautiful friendship, isn't it-?'
'Congratulations,' he said. 'You're the new harvester.'
La Malcontenta by Liz Williams
From Gardner Dozois - The Year's Best Science Fiction 23rd Annual Collection (2006)
Liz Williams is the daughter of a conjuror and a Gothic novelist, and currently lives in Brighton, England. She has a Ph.D. in Philosophy of Science from Cambridge and her anti-career ranges from reading tarot cards on Brighton pier to teaching in Central Asia. She currently writes full time. Her novel The Ghost Sister was published by Bantam in July, 2001. Further novels include Empire of Bones, The Poison Master, and Nine Layers of Sky, and Banner of Souls now out in the USA with Bantam and the UK with Tor Macmillan.
Liz has had over 40 short stories published in Asimov's, Interzone, Realms of Fantasy, and The Third Alternative, among others, and is co-editor of the recent anthology Fabulous Brighton. She is also the current secretary of the Milford UK SF Writers' Workshop.
The coldest night of the year in Winterstrike is always the night on which the festival of Ombre is held, or Wintervale if you are young and disdain the older dialects. The Matriarchy knows how to predict these things, how to read the subtle signatures in snowdrifts and the length of icicles, the messages formed by the freezing of the breath upon the air, the crackling of the icy skin of the great canals.
In the centre of Winterstrike, Mars' first city, in the middle of the meteorite crater that gave the city its name, stands the fortress: a mass of vitrified stone as white as a bone and as red as a still-beating heart. And at the top of the fortress, at the summit of a tower so high that from it one can see out across the basalt walls to the dim, shimmering slopes of Olympus, stands a woman. She is surrounded by four glass windows. She stands before a brazier and beneath a bell. She wears triple gloves: a thin membrane of weedworm silk, then the tanned leather of vulpen skin, then a pair of woollen mittens knitted by a grandmother. In spite of this, and the spitting coals of the brazier, her hands are still cold.
