Some of it was just daydreams, thoughts of young friends and summer days on the sculpted college yards. Books. Dinner with his parents. This or that girl. Music that drifted in his mental ear as clearly as the real thing.
Mostly he missed his mother, but he found himself crying, unexpectedly, for his father. At the end of things, in the courts, the old dark lord had been unmade, revealed for the first time as a small man like any other, with a heart that could break. More than anything, Milo wanted to know this new father.
At first, Milo fought against such thoughts. They were an impediment to him, in this dark arena. Especially thoughts of Ally, which made him angry and led him into self-pity like a bottomless cave. Self-pity made him weak and small; he could feel it. Remembering Ally was something he could not afford.
He could afford only that which aided his survival. Memories and wishes were deadly illusions.
The old voices agreed that his memories were dangerous. But, they said, memories are not like other illusions. Memories shape our humanity.
Milo eventually came to agree with this. He would not let Unferth reduce him. He would not be an animal, with nothing but animal thoughts.
The night after he received his mechanical eye, everything was so quiet and calm that Milo even ventured to speak to Thomas the way one human speaks to another.
“Thomas? What was your life like before you came here?”
Thomas had been busy repairing some kind of crude tool. He did not stop.
“There is no before,” he said.
Milo opened his mouth to press the issue, but Thomas turned his head and looked at him. It was a look of total calm and honesty, and it said that if Milo made another peep, he would kill him.
So Milo was silent and watched a mind movie of an Easter morning some years ago, a soft pink blur in his head.
—
Arabeth cradled Milo’s head in her hands and tilted it back and forth, scrutinizing Seagram’s work.
“Looks legal enough,” she told Thomas and Gob. “Who’s to say it ain’t?”
They were meeting in the same room as before, where they’d thrown Milo into the air lock. Except it was crowded in there this time.
Three other prisoners for the air lock.
An old man, built like a whip, with springs wired into his legs.
A younger man with one arm gone, covered in hair like a troll.
A woman who could have been a man, except that she was naked, so you could tell. She had blue eyes like Arabeth’s.
Were the bionics all Seagram’s work? What did the blue eyes do, and the springs?
Made them faster, obviously. Made them see better, go farther, last longer.
Milo clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted this over with, one way or another.
“You better win,” said Gob, squeezing his elbow, “or I will eat your face.”
“If you don’t win,” said Thomas, “better just stay out there.”
Milo was the only slave among the divers. The only one with owners on hand to threaten him. The others, it seemed, were volunteers. Lucky. Stupid?
Over by the window stood five men with what looked like cameras.
“Sportswriters,” said the man-woman, stepping up beside Milo. “Just like back in the world.”
“I thought so,” said Milo.
“They’re the ones who’ll flash around pictures of your dead face after I check you on the rocks.”
“That’s great,” said Milo.
—
Arabeth sprayed the divers down with…what? Hot water?
“Glow,” said the trollish diver, seeing the puzzled look on Milo’s face. “It’ll make you visible out there, so people can come see your body floating.”
“Good luck,” Milo told him.
The troll shook his head, and then they all climbed through the hatch.
No preliminaries, no countdown.
Just pppppppppsssss-sssss-sssst! Thump! And the four of them were in space.
Milo knew he had to be aggressive. He had to be faster than—
He wasn’t.
Space grabbed at him and vacuumed him in all directions at once.
Hands and feet slammed him back and down. He felt his skin tear down one side of his cheek. Raw tissue started bubbling out of the wound.
They looked like ghosts, leaping through space, flying just above the cratered surface. Glowing nakedness in pure dark.
Milo did the arrow thing, just like before. Off to one side, as he flew into the void, he saw the ready-room window, with the reporters staring out through their lenses.
It didn’t take Milo long to realize his mistake.
He had launched himself at the opposite air lock, with its light. But this race was different. He had forgotten. He was supposed to dig in and go back the way he’d come. Could he still do that? Did he have enough consciousness left?
He saw the troll reach down and drag his fingers along the surface, slowing, and bringing his feet to bear against uneven rock. Pushing off like a swimmer, the troll reversed course back to the air lock. Seconds later, Milo could tell he was unconscious. Had he aimed well? Hard to tell.
Milo looked around for some way to stop himself, to start back. But he had aimed too high; rocks and crevasses slipped by just out of reach.
Well, shit.
(Cold like a million tiny ripsaws…fizzing and boiling…swelling like dough…)
The last thing he knew before his mind emptied was the old man shoving him aside, off course.
Milo wondered who had won, and then————Boop. Zero. Dark.
—
He woke up.
Had they come and gotten him?
No. He was still out there. Floating across the crater. Gravity must have slowed him, finally. He could reach down and stop himself if he wished. So he did. He turned and looked back the way he’d come.
Not too far away, he saw the reporters in the window.
Also not far away, he saw his three competitors, floating at various speeds back toward the open air lock. The first, the man-woman, would reach it within seconds. Then the old man. The troll was off course. He was going to float off and die of exposure, Milo saw.
Hurry, advised his voices.
His hands, pawing at the ground, were like balloons and sausages, and he bubbled inside, like before. But his head was clearing. Why? How?
No time.
Milo pushed, launching himself through space, and almost instantly he was back among the other divers—too fast!
He slowed.
What the fuck? You can’t slow down in space!
But he did.
What is happening? he asked himself, asked his old-soul self, but the wise ones were just as surprised as he was.
—
Later, the entire viewing audience of Unferth would be surprised. And impressed. And wild to know more.
Wherever digital screens could be viewed or wherever still pictures could be pasted on stone walls, the story of Milo’s first competitive space dive was all over Unferth.
The videos and pictures showed Milo zooming out of nowhere, unexplainably awake and functioning, and then slowing down.