Glancing at me, the little woman manages an odd smile.

  I stop short, asking, "Why are you even thinking this, Tannie? You've done nothing wrong."

  "Haven't I?" The smile is enormous, and joyless. "Oh, Jusk... You can't understand what I'm thinking..."

  The curing pond is directly below us, waiting for new bone.

  "He's not what we think he is," she tells me. "He lies to us. All the time..."

  "Who's that! Due?"

  She shivers, saying, "Not the expeditor, no."

  "Then who --?"

  But I know who she means. Interrupting myself, I shake my head, telling her "That's ridiculous. Stupid. How can you know that?"

  "When that first bone went bad, and I touched it... I saw what's real..."

  I want Tannie to jump. Now.

  "I saw the Memories we aren't suppose to see." Her steady voice doesn't match her soft forlorn face. "The terrible things that He has done with his hands. The awful orders that He's made others carry out --"

  "Shut up," I tell her.

  "How else can he rule the world --?"

  "Tannie!" I shout. "You're talking about bone. Bone doesn't have memories. But you could easily, easily be insane. Have you thought that --?"

  A contemptuous look nearly slices me in two.

  "Come here," I say, offering a hand. "I'll take you straight to Maintenance.

  We'll get you back to normal. Before our next shift... All right...?"

  The odd smile returns. "That newborn's right about one thing."

  "What's that, Tannie?"

  "We exist for a purpose. We're supposed to protect the world."

  I don't know what to say.

  She sighs, rocking forward and gazing over the brink.

  I move, not even thinking first. I drive suddenly with my legs and grab with both arms, trying to sweep up that little body before the insanity takes her.

  My arms close on air.

  Suddenly I'm lying on the corundum, watching Tannie shrink away, vanishing even before she strikes the pond. Then a furious storm of bubbles erupts, pulling what I can't see even further out of sight.

  "Where's the newborn?"

  Old Nicka looks up from a supply wagon's manifest, discounting me with a glance. Only when his face drops again does he say, "In the back. Counting."

  The warehouse always feels enormous, mysterious. In that, nothing is new. What works on me is a powerful sense that I don't know where I am going, and when I make my next turn, I'll become lost. It has happened more than once. A worker loses his bearings, and the shift ends without him. Then the lost man is found dead in a nameless corner, starved of power and picked bare of mock-flesh by the relentless janitors. I shout for Due; no one responds.

  A whispering voice is counting. I follow its rhythm, coming upon him sitting behind a stockpile of assorted rare earths. His back is to me, long legs stretched out before him and a pair of giant diamond-hulled bugs balancing his hands. "One, two," he says. "One, two. One, two. One, two."

  I stop short, and wait.

  Due doesn't look at me. He simply pauses, regarding the bugs as he says, "I was told to count. I'm counting."

  Even the back of his head is handsome.

  "You want me?" He inquires.

  I step closer, admitting, "Something awful has happened."

  Due turns, finally. His gray eyes are warm, but their black centers radiate a withering heat. "Does it involve me?"

  "No."

  He seems surprised, if only for a moment.

  "One of my line workers is dead. A bone handler...."

  Eyes flicker. "That fat woman?"

  "Her partner. Tannie."

  I can't read any emotion. It's unfair to expect grief from newborns, but this face seems more than adult. It's almost ancient. I'm the newborn here, and how can I hope to outsmart this bizarre, supremely gifted monster?

  "I need your help on the line," I tell him.

  Again, the eyes flicker. "You want me to handle the bone --?"

  "Until we find another newborn."

  "Who expedites?"

  "No one," I promise. "You've delivered enough raw material to do the order, and we won't finish till the end of the shift."

  A curt nod, then he rises, bugs glittering in his hands.

  "What kind of bugs are those?" I ask.

  "Five-gauge knitters," he lies, setting them on an obscure shelf.

  I step back.

  "Besides," he comments, "if I'm working with you, you'll be able to keep your eyes on me. Right?"

  I say nothing, knowing it isn't necessary.

  THE NEW BONE is meant for His skull. That's why it's been reinforced with diamond, and that's why it carries superconductive fibers: This bone must protect His vast mind, and it needs to be porous to His great thoughts.

  I watch that bone come out of the oven, pure white sheets punctuated with gray-black veins. Mollene is educating her new partner about how to check the product, then carry it. Grieving for Tannic, she makes no small talk. She doesn't flirt, much less try to seduce. And to her credit, when Due says something about the reinforced skull -- "Why does someone so loved need so much protection?" -- Mollene responds with a disinterested shrug and sharp words:

  "Love drags other emotions along with it. Envy and jealousy, and worse... From what I can see...."

  The belt carries the new bone down to the curing pond, and after its bath, it is hoisted into the air, cleaned and dried, then given a final measurement with lasers and eyes. Then the sheets are wrapped in aerogel and stacked. One hundred sheets at a time are inserted into armored boxes, then those boxes are sealed and loaded into a parked wagon. It's the third box that I have pulled aside, on my own authority. "Open it," I say. My packing crew obey. "Now pull out the top sheet," I tell them. They do it, but grudgingly. "Now, the next." Why? They ask. Not answering, I tell them to stack the second sheet on the first, just as they will lay in His skull. The superconductive materials are aligned, then the third sheet is added. And the fourth. My crew doesn't balk until the thirtieth sheet but that's enough. I hope. Ignoring their complaints, I place my forehead against the gray-black material, and nothing happens. The electric surge coursing through me is my embarrassment. In front of everyone, I'm acting insane.

  I start to rise, slowly.

  And I pause.

  Faint gray marks have been left on the edges of the bone sheets. Alone, they're senseless. But stacked together, they become a word. A faint but unmistakable signature. Jusk, I read. A hundred times.

  I kneel down, pressing my forehead against my name.

  Laughter blossoms behind me, then vanishes.

  Beneath a brilliant blue sky... People are running, shouting. And I'm running with them, more excited than afraid, trying to remember what is happening..., what I'm doing here...

  "... Five times.., With rocket slugs...! "His bodyguard steps up beside me, a tall, strong, and very pale man walking fast despite a gaping hole in his armor a healing crater in his chest. I smell blood and pain killers on his breath, and smoke hangs thick in the air." The assholes got past us. Not me, I mean... L did my job.... "He hesitates, measuring his words." Dropped two of those assholes myself. Took a round for Him, too. Lust wish I could have taken more, of course...!"

  "Of course," I mutter, my voice brittle. Unfamiliar to me.

  "But He'll be all right. No problem." The bodyguard wobbles, then straightens himself. "How in hell did they get past us, sir?"

  I shrug, not answering. Instead I ask my own question. "Who were they?"

  "Don't know," he says. "Separatists, or free-thinkers, I'd guess. . . Unless it's something closer to home...!"

  From inside His own government, he means.

  I say nothing.

  "Out of our way!" The bodyguard shouts. "The deputy wants to see Him....!"

  I am the deputy. Among the hundreds, perhaps thousands of grieving sycophants, I see the maintenance man who installed my new arms. And my feed crew chief. And Old Nicka, as well as a weepy, pain-wracked Tannie. Except these aren't the people whom l know, just as I'm not Jusk anymore.

  "Look what they did to Him!" Tannic screams, in anguish. "How could they...?!"

  The crowd parts for me -- out of respect, and fear A and He is revealed. Five rounds punctured His defensive array and His body armor, entering His flesh then exploding with a brutal force. The body has been shredded. Composite bone is scattered, useless. One round even managed to puncture His skull, the warhead shaping its blast to obliterate His soul. But what is intact is what startles me. Beneath the shredded brain is a bloody but whole face -- Due's face -- gray eyes opened to the blue sky, staring down Death itself.

  The man with Old Nicka's face kneels, a hand pressed against my back. "Don't worry, sir," he mutters. "I've called for His full catalog. It'll be on site in two minutes."

  The catalog is His memory, saved for emergencies.

  "An hour, tops," he promises. "Then He'll be conscious again. In charge."

  I nod, saying nothing.

  "I wish we could have captured one of those assassins," he says, giving the bodyguard a reproachful glance. "Apparently they weren't using even the simplest nano-system. A pure suicide attack."

  I reach for the corpse.

  "You shouldn't, sir," says the bodyguard. "It might muddy up the healing cycle ii your little friends get mixed in with His..."

  My hand stops short, then drops, touching a fragment of freshly killed bone.

  Hopefully that will be enough....

  "Sir," I hear. "Step on back, please. We've got to let him heal on his own sir."

  I rise, nodding.

  And for the first time in years, I feel the smallest beginnings of hope....

  The plant manager invites me into her office. Set on a medium-high catwalk, it affords an impressive view of the entire plant. But all I can see is the stranger sitting behind her desk. He wears the bodyguard's face and body, and over his flesh is diamond mail of the sort used by Security troops. Suspicious eyes look at me, then move about the office. Even the most benign object seems worth a hard glare.

  "You've been checking the bone," says the manager. She makes no attempt to introduce our guest. "Find anything?"

  I shake my head. "No, nothing."

  "Neither have we," says the bodyguard, or whatever he is. Then he grins, adding "We don't need to unpack bone to make sure that it's all right."

  I look at the manager. "What's going on?"

  "Ask me," says the bodyguard.

  I turn to him, saying nothing.

  "You purchased a newborn. Due is his chosen name. Is that right?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're suspicious of him?"

  I nod.

  "There's no reason to be. He has a simple defect, something that happens on rare occasions." The lie is well-practiced, seamless. "He's responsible for some of your troubles, but they aren't very serious troubles. Believe me."

  Even now, after everything I want to believe him.

  With a careful voice, I ask, "If you're familiar with the problem, why don't you just take him out of here?"

  My manager says, "Jusk..."

  "We are getting him. Don't worry." The bodyguard smiles, casually scratching his crotch. "I'm here as a formality. As I understand it, you've had several conversations with the newborn. Correct?"

  "I am his boss --"

  "The warehouse manager claims that you've spoken to Due at length. Do you remember the subjects?"

  I hesitate.

  The bodyguard's suspicions are focused squarely on me.

  Through the crystal walls of the office, I can see my line stretching out below me. Due and Mollene are handling the latest bone, working together smoothly.

  Perfectly. The bodyguard's associates are stalking Due. They creep along the narrow aisles, each wearing diamond mail and carrying an electric saber. In a few moments, everything is going to end. Whatever everything is...

  "Jusk?" Says my manager, in pain. "Can you answer his question, please?"

  I look at the bodyguard, and smile.

  The ovens and belts stop in place and every light suddenly goes out, an instant of shocked silence followed by the rattling charge of janitors, and then, by hundreds of distant, white-hot screams.

  I bolt downstairs, pushing against the panicked flow of bodies.

  A limping figure slams against me, and I know those pendulous breasts. "Where is he?" I shout at Mollene. "Where's Due?"

  "Jusk....?" She squeals. "Are you all right?"

  She isn't. The janitors have plucked the meat off one of her legs, then tried to take the leg, too. But all I can think about is my expeditor. "Is he with you? Did he say anything to you. /What do you know...?"

  Pressing her mouth to my ear, she says, "I'm tired, Jusk... So tired..."

  I slip past her, reaching the floor just as the dim emergency lights come on. A single janitor is calmly dismantling one of the security troops. Simple eyes regard and dismiss me, then the machine returns to its task, removing another limb, inflicting careful misery on its victim.

  An electric saber lies forgotten against a pallet.

  It accepts my hand, which it shouldn't do. And it slices into the pallet on my first attempt, beads of pure calcium bouncing frantically across the diamond floor.

  I run with the quickest beads, making for the back of the plant.

  "Due," I call out. "Show yourself, Due!"

  Silence.

  When everything works normally, the warehouse is dimly lit. The indifferent glow of the emergency lights are nearly useless inside that cavernous place accomplishing nothing but to make the shadows darker, more ominous.

  Softer this time, I say, "Due."

  Someone moves in the shadows.

  "You're going to run out of tricks," I tell him, dropping my saber to my side. "Eventually Security is going to catch you and kill you, and what's accomplished? A single bone plant is a shift behind in its work, which is nothing. Some or most of its workers have to be replaced, but that won't take long. And He ends up being reborn just the same.

  "Is that what you want, Due?"

  In the blackest shadow, flesh brushes against a pallet.

  I step closer, saying, "I'm sorry. That I stole you away from your mission. That I doubted what you were telling us. And now that I know better, I'm very, very sorry that He's going to live again...

  "If there's anyway that I can help --"

  A figure charges out of the darkness, arms lifting what looks like an iridium hammer. Because it is a hammer, I realize finally. Then I look at the patched face, realizing that it's Old Nicka, not Due, and too late by a long ways, I start to lift my saber, backing up, my sputtering voice saying, "No, wait...!"

  A sharp, clean noise comes from nowhere. Everywhere.

  Old Nicks collapses at my feet, the hammer missing my head by nothing, then banging its way to the floor. "You are mistaken," I hear. "But it's an easily forgiven mistake." Due appears on my left, the handsome face offering a smile tinged with sadness. "I've never wanted Him to stay dead. Even if that was possible, it would be dangerous. There would be a terrible civil war afterward then someone would replace Him. Who knows who? And would that person be a more benign leader? You can't tell me yes, Jusk, and you can't tell me no."

  I nod, conceding the point.

  "We're here to protect the world," he promises. "And the best way to do that is to rebuild Him, but improve Him, too. To give Him insights so far lacking in Him, and a spirit worthy of His station..."

  With a flourish, Due hands me that pair of five-gauge knitters.

  "But about the rest of it, you're right," he tells me. No more smiles, just sadness. "I'm about to be caught, and I'll be killed. Which leaves you with a debt to pay...."

  He says. "The best of luck. Now, and always."

  Due has already cut a hole in the back wall of the warehouse, and when I climb through, in an instant, I've left the only home that I've ever known.

  The birth wagon waits.

  Its driver wears Mollene's face and body, but her voice is different. Slower more thoughtful. She tells me to climb into the back end, and whatever happens I shouldn't talk. Then she climbs in after me and shuts the gate, hesitating briefly when the sound of fighting comes from the warehouse.

  A bomb detonates somewhere close, shaking us.

  The wagon drives itself, and this new Mollene gets me to lie on my back, then checks to make sure that I have both of the knitters.

  "What are these things supposed to do?" I inquire.

  "When it's time, they'll explain themselves." Then she warns me firmly, "You must stay quiet."

  I nod.

  The woman has a knife with the thinnest of blades, and leaning over me, she says, "Now I need to remove your flesh. To make you look like a newborn again."

  I nod again, compliant as a newborn.

  More bombs detonate. We're a long way from the plant, but the blasts seem even larger than before. Erasing evidence as well as the Security troops.

  With a practiced surety, the woman cuts at my legs.

  Then, higher.

  I can't help myself. I reach up with both hands, grabbing one of the enormous breasts, sucking on the brownish red nipple exactly as He must have done in His youth. Desperately. Gratefully. Wishing the moment will never end.

  "Stop that," she tells me, pushing my face down again.

  But I can't. I need the touch of flesh. Any flesh. So I grab hold of her again and eventually she stops fighting me. I cling tight until nothing's left of Jusk but a shiny body and his familiar face, and even then I won't let go easily sucking with a metal mouth when my fleshy one lies in the pile with the rest of the Scrap.

 

 

  Robert Reed, Due

 

 

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