Amund didn’t know what to do next. He felt as if he was watching himself finish the walk, one hand grabbing the railing and his body climbing onboard with as much grace as possible, each piece of him acting of its own accord. He was responsible for nothing, including what he said to the others. “A pleasant day,” his voice allowed. But not Amund. Amund was a ghost trapped behind the flesh and behind the words, as surprised as anyone when he entered the toilet room and closed the door, one hand and then the other slowly rubbing the face that still couldn’t put an end to the endless smile.
Three minutes, and he stepped back into the sun.
Rococo was standing at the bow. The nonboat was moving again, sliding down a long slope fast enough that the machine had to tilt a little bit forward, leaning against the wind. But Mere had disappeared. Amund looked in her cabin first, but she wasn’t there. What if she was waiting inside Rococo’s cabin? That’s what Amund saw, in his mind. She was lying on Rococo’s bed, waiting for a god, which was exactly what she deserved. Amund waited for jealousy to take hold. He was hoping for ugly emotions, something to give the next moments even more importance. But even when he was convinced that Mere had abandoned him, he couldn’t find any useful anger or need for vengeance.
To himself, he muttered, “What makes a god?”
Power, vast and deadly but also capable of great accomplishments.
Amund pushed open the door of his cabin. Mere had returned to bed, and she was naked again. What had been her clothes had formed blankets across the damp, fleshy mattress. She smiled at Amund and sat up a little more, starting to speak and then thinking better of it. What did she notice in his face? Probably more than he would ever tease out of her face.
“Four gods,” he said.
She blinked. “What’s that?”
“Sorry. Nothing.” Amund offered the apology. But he meant it. Four gods were present, but it just so happened that one of the deities had only a few hours remaining, and then he would be nothing but a mortal man again.
The nonboat twisted slightly, and sunlight fell through the open and over the naked woman. So scrawny, so odd. She was a stick with tiny breasts and the wrong eyes, and Amund wondered why he had ever cared so much about sex with that creature. Then in the next instant, he wanted to throw himself on top of her and take her until he was exhausted. Which was what he should do, he told himself. Because this could well be the last time for this sort of fun.
“Come outside,” he heard himself saying.
Mere tilted her head, those eyes gaining a slightly different perspective.
Then he added, “I have news,” and still naked, he walked to the bow, claiming a patch of the deck where he was close to Rococo.
How much did he hate this man?
Not nearly enough, he decided.
But that didn’t mean there weren’t good reasons for what was going to happen. That’s why Amund didn’t wait for Mere to dress and join them. He looked at a face that never changed, and feeling a smile building, he told the face and the machine behind it, “There’s a new agreement. In place of that old, lost treaty of yours. That’s what I’ve been doing these last days.”
The surprise seemed genuine, suspicions tagging along behind.
“A new agreement,” the diplomat repeated.
“But not for four worlds,” Amund said. “I convinced the river to agree to give us full rights to both hot worlds and the original two ice moons, plus twelve other moons. And one gas giant. Which is pretty useless in the short term. But maybe someday. And also, I’ve won the right for the colonists to bid on this system’s Oort, if someday they ever want to do that.”
Rococo opened his mouth.
One word emerged.
“Good,” he said.
“It is,” Amund agreed.
Mere was clothed and emerging from the cabin.
Amund continued. “And by colonists, I mean humans. Mortals. Nothing but. This solar system is and will always be a sanctuary for luddies, whether they’re human or big ribbons of living gel.”
Rococo said, “Oh.” Then his natural poise took charge, and he said, “Goddamn impressive, sir.”
“Sir,” he said.
Mere was close but the wind was blowing, and what could she hear?
Amund leaned against the man, his mouth next to Rococo’s ear. And that was when he said, “Oh, and the river still needs its sacrifice. And she left it up to me to choose which one of us gets the honor.”
11.
Rococo was friendly with three former luddies, a fourth was an out-and-out enemy, and there was a fifth luddy who he met while she was still a child. Apparently he made an impression, because two decades later, having decided to leave the faith, she asked this important immortal to accompany her to a facility that did nothing but transform her kind into his kind.
“I want to live and live and live,” she claimed, holding her companion’s knee. “But can I confess what scares me?”
“That you’ll grow bored,” Rococo said.
She was startled until she stepped outside herself. Then she laughed, admitting, “That’s the cliché, I suppose. Lives always become tiresome, and ten thousand years leaves a girl empty and dull.”
“That’s what some people want to believe,” he said. “But then again, luddies need every reason to think themselves right. No matter how much of a lie that reason happens to be.”
“So you don’t feel bored.”
Rococo winked
