Europa's Crossing

- 1 -

The Bull

Once upon a time, before my heart found its true home, I was a revolutionary. In the history they teach in schools I am still a revolutionary, of course, but that was never the full story. I was just like anybody else, growing up and trying to find a path to a future where my dreams came true.

Of course the path to adulthood involves compromise: for someone like me, a lot of compromise. I had to find my way around obstacles that most people don’t. But obstacles have a way of presenting us with life-changing choices. It’s true for me same as it is true for you. If I blazed a trail it was only because there wasn’t an easier road for me to walk.

Anyway, my path is a rambling road. If it veers off in unexpected directions, please be patient and try not to judge me. This is my life, not a convenient narrative. This is the real Janis, not the one you heard about through the media.

Perhaps we should start at the beginning.

* * *

Twenty-one girls and a boy got out of a coach and were led across an old-fashioned farmyard. These were primary school children with ages around ten years old, dressed not in school uniforms but in old clothes and boots that would avoid parental complaints about dirt and worse. Twenty-two noses wrinkled at the strong, unfamiliar smells and forty-four eyes looked down at the greys and browns of the concrete with suspicion.

Around them moved two teachers and a guide, shepherding their little charges and trying to keep them out of trouble.

The farm was really a museum. Had it been a working farm it is unlikely that schoolchildren would have been allowed the run of it. But by the end of the Twenty-Second Century meat didn’t come from farms but food factories, grown humanely and cleanly, far away from real animals. This farm was a working history lesson and history lessons have always been considered a part of a civilised child’s education. The hope is that children learn civilisation by comparing it to the savagery that came before.

The farm did grow food, though. Real wheat and oats were grown and even real cattle were raised, for all that modern regulations would have declared them unfit for human consumption. Indeed, one of the main purposes of farms like these was to preserve the animals from extinction.

The child learned little in this visit. The one thing the child was to remember had only little to do with farms. It was a lesson in strength.

Meeting the animals provided the high spots of the day. The children got a chance to see the mechanical motions of chickens, the flightiness of sheep, the eager intelligence of pigs and the placid bulk of cows. As they trooped back into the farmyards from seeing the cows the guide told them about the bull in the barn.

"Cows are female animals that give milk. Bulls are male cows and do not give milk. But we have to keep a bull, otherwise the cows will have no calves, or baby cows.

"Bulls are much larger and more dangerous than cows. The cows you have been looking at are all less than half a ton each, but this bull weighs more than a ton. As I’m sure you know, a ton is one thousand kilogrammes. The two handlers weigh fifty-five and sixty kilogrammes each. They each weigh less than one twentieth of the weight of the bull. They can handle him, though, using an old-fashioned way to control bulls. This is not cruel, although it might look painful.

If you get onto your coach now, we will get the bull out of the barn. You can see him through the windows. The farmhands will lead the bull into the south field, where he will be able to eat his afternoon meal.

The children filed obediently onto the coach and the door closed. One farmhand called from the coach door and her colleague replied from in the barn. The barn doors opened and the children craned forwards to see a dangerous wild animal.

What they actually saw was a pair of strong farm hands walking backwards out of the barn doors, each holding a long pole. As they emerged into the daylight, the ends of the poles could be seen to converge at a point a half-metre or so above the ground.

The heavy-armed farmhands became frail girls in comparison with the bulk of the beast that emerged. The poles that they carried seemed to be poked at the animal’s mouth or nose, but seemed to be tiny thin sticks compared to the massive muscles of the bull’s shoulders and chest. The cows had been large but lazy. This was raw power. The resemblance to a cow was clear, in the shaggy brown hide and the cloven hooves. The differences were apparent in the long horns, the huge muscles and the snorting of breath. And, beneath the animal’s belly, another difference jutted out.

In spite of the enormous disparity between the beast and the handlers, they walked calmly backwards towards the coach, the sticks remaining converged at the nose of the beast. As the handlers approached the silly girls in the class shrieked, hid their faces and shrank away from the windows.

Watching it, the child wondered: why didn’t the animal back off and charge them? Surely with horns and hooves it could quickly defeat them. But it only took a moment to see the reason. A shiny metal loop had been placed through the bull’s nose. Hooks on the end of the poles were engaged through this loop. The bull could only escape from the lead of the poles by tearing the front off his nose. The farmhands stayed carefully out of the range of the horns and hooves and just pushed and pulled their burden around the yard and away into the field. They closed the gate then released the ring and the animal backed away and walked into the grass. It began to graze, at peace with it’s captivity.

Perhaps I should have done the same. But I never learned to until I learned to love the power of the bull.

* * *

Karen Harding struggled to sit up and fill her lungs. There was nothing more substantial to fight than a thin sheet and plenty of clean air when there had been nothing but muddy water pouring in. She looked around as she gathered up the sheet to her body. What she saw in the room is what she should have expected: green-painted walls and bright, diffuse light from the ceiling; strange machines that made no sense to her but were vaguely threatening in their stainless-clean forms; a bed beneath her with rails to catch her before she fell out; and, waiting patiently with concern on her face, a brown lady in a white coat.

Is Don OK? she asked. She realised that the doctor might not know. Don is my husband.

He will be fine, said the doctor. For now he is sleeping. He will wake soon but first I wanted to talk to you. She extended her hand. I’m Sonia Booth.

Karen smiled her relief as she took the doctor’s hand. How long have I been… I mean, how long has it been?

Longer than you expect, Mrs. Harding, said Sonia. That is what I wanted to talk to you about.

Is there a problem?

Well, I hope not. But there is some unexpected news and I wanted to talk to you about that before your husband woke up.

What unexpected news? Is everything OK?

Well, I suppose the unexpected news is that you are alive.

Because I drowned? Karen remembered the accident.

You both drowned.

So we’re one of those cases you read about where we died and came back? Karen didn’t feel dead. If anything, she felt better than she had in years.

Not exactly, said Sonia. Do you remember that Don signed you up for the Eternity Program?

Karen laughed. That thing? Don has stupid ideas sometimes. But we can afford to waste the money. When you have been married as long as I have you end up with a choice: indulge the boy you married — or divorce him.

I know you indulge him, Mrs. Harding. I think you have great patience. But… why do you think the Eternity Program was a stupid idea?

Because it’s science fiction nonsense. Look, have you ever found a chicken wing at the bottom of the freezer, fallen out of the bag? After a few months it’s dried out at the edges, covered in frost, and it smells of freezer, not chicken. Now imagine it was left there for years. How could that ever live again?

Doctor Booth relaxed. So the problem with it is that you never believed it would work? You wouldn’t mind if it did work, then?

I never thought about it. It’s stupid. If I want to play ‘let’s pretend’ I’d rather be a princess.

I’m sorry, smiled Sonia. I can’t make you a princess.

Well, neither can anyone else. There was a moment of awkward silence. Then she realised. What is the date? she asked.

It’s Fourth August 2208, Mrs. Harding. It’s been two hundred and sixteen years.

No, I don’t believe it.

I know this is hard…

No, it’s not hard. It’s stupid. I don’t know what your game is but I won’t play.

Please, Mrs. Harding, said the doctor, getting up. Come to the window and see.

I’m not dressed.

This is a hospital. The window is a one-way.

Karen wrapped the sheet around her and allowed Sonia to lead her across the room. She looked down into the car-park. What are those?

Cars, replied Sonia.

Can they really fly?

Sure they can.

She looked up along the length of the building opposite and to the skyline. It wasn’t like the covers of any of Don’s magazines, but it hardly looked like New Orleans either. If anything they were even more strange. But they were also dirty and worn in spots, with different coloured blinds and curtains in the windows, where the pictures in Don’s magazines had always been clean and shiny and perfect.

Her eyes kept going up, beyond the skyline and the flying cars. Among the fluffy clouds and a rather lonely airship she saw the Moon. Instead of the familiar face of the Man in the Moon she saw a pattern of bright specks, swirled around into eddies. What did you do to the Moon? she asked.

Sonia Booth frowned. Oh, you’re from… The Moon was terraformed in the Twenty-First Century.

Terraformed?

They brought ice in from mines in the Oort Cloud and put oceans on it. I took the family there last Spring Break. My middle daughter loves to birdman. We have cousins in Copernicus and—

Birdman?

It’s a sport. You strap wings on your arms and—

Stop! Karen staggered back to the bed and sat down. I don’t want to hear about your crazy sports. Everyone I know is dead and all you can talk about is your cousins in Copernicus.

I’m sorry, said Sonia. Then she smiled. But not everyone you know is dead, Mrs. Harding. Genetic modification ended ageing in the Twenty-First Century too. Many of your friends from 1992 are still alive. Lyndon Reiss is—

Lyndon is more Don’s friend than mine these days, Karen answered. I haven’t had friends since I was married. What about the children?

Tom and Mathilda are still here in Louisiana. Bartholomew and Megumi emigrated to Maia.

Where is Maia? Japan?

The Pleiades. It’s an open cluster about four hundred—

When can I meet them?

We encourage our clients to stay in the facility for a few weeks before meeting old friends. A lot has changed in two hundred years and we want to make sure that you can fit in.

I suppose.

And often our clients take it as an opportunity to make a new life. Do you want a new life, Mrs. Harding?

What do you mean?

We talked about patience, Sonia said. Do you still want to be married?

I never thought of that. Am I still married?

You promised ‘’til death us do part’, right? But you died, so you are free. If you wanted to not be married, we could make other arrangements for you.

Other arrangements?

You could go and build a new life, if you wanted. We would support you and make sure you settled down and were happy.

How could you make sure of something like that? Is life really so ordered now?

Karen, we are therapists. I have a chart of your motivations and I can compare them to others. I can introduce you to people who would be your best friends ever.

So you manipulate people’s lives? Is that even ethical?

Doctor Booth looked puzzled. Why wouldn’t it be? We can prove how much more happy they are. We do it all the time. Often people don’t even realise.

Karen shrugged. Let me try with my old husband first before you rip my life apart and re-build it from the ground up. So, what’s the legal situation? Has death parted us?

That is up to you, Karen.

* * *

The autotaxi descended into the Meadows and landed in front of the house. The door opened and a thin blonde woman in comfortable clothes looked out. She looked tired, as if she had travelled far further than an autotaxi ride. She authorised the cred with her perse and stepped out onto the path. She got out, went around to the trunk… No, she thought to herself, it’s the boot now. I’m back in Britain. She lifted her bag and put it down on the… pavement. The bag orientated itself until it could see her and then followed her to the drive. She showed it through the gate and then went to the front door. The wind as the autotaxi took off ruffled her short hair.

The front door opened. Welcome home, Janis, the house said. At least it recognised her. She hadn’t been home for years. Sure, they had been busy, especially after Frances and Olivia had been delivered. But she also knew that part of the problem was the nervousness that she felt. Would her family still accept her after all that had happened?

Of course it was easy to make excuses and to put things off. But, however easy it was, putting things off would not help. The delay came at a price.

Who is home? Janis asked the house as she walked into the hall.

Your dad, Miss Janis, the house replied. He’s in the kitchen.

Janis went through. The hallway had been redecorated and the kitchen floor was new. Paul Clarke was standing at the sink, preparing vegetables the old-fashioned way. The maid was helping. Janis hesitated a moment, feeling the dryness of her mouth and the tightness of her throat. Hello, Dad, she croaked.

He looked around and saw her. She saw his face blank a moment. Jae? he asked. Then he turned towards her and reached out his arms. She ran over and, as quickly as that, she was in his embrace. As she held him she felt the tears come. She turned her face away: he hadn’t seen her cry since she was nine years old.

But he seemed to know. He held her while it passed and didn’t try and expose her shame. When her breathing had settled down she wiped her eyes and then, at last, she looked up. She watched his eyes waiting to see what he would say.

Where are Franny and Livvy? he asked.

Lorraine… she began. They threw me out.

So that is it, then? he asked. They just throw you out and that is it?

Dad, I don’t know what to do. I’ve no home, no job, nothing. The campus therapist has ruled in their favour and…

Isn’t that the campus therapist that got you into this?

I think so. I don’t understand it.

Well, if one therapist can get you into this another one can get you out. We can speak to Doctor Churchill and make a fight of this. If all else fails we can always Appeal.

Dad!

No, we can. You have the right of this, kiddo. Don’t let them push you around.

Dad, can you imagine me meeting the Administrator after all that has happened?

I don’t see why not. A citizen who is genuinely wronged by their therapist has nothing to fear. He smiled at her. And, anyway, they say he has an eye for a pretty girl.

Dad! Janis exclaimed. How can you say that?

It’s easy. I only need to look at you.

I can’t, Dad. I’m not ready to think like that.

I’m sorry, Jae. This is all new to me.

It’s new to me too, Dad.

I thought you had two years to get used to it.

Nearer eighteen months. But that was in New Orleans. It’s not the same here at home.

I suppose not. Paul looked down at Janis. We’ll sort this out. I’m not going to give up my grandchildren without a fight.

Me neither, Dad.

* * *

Doctor Booth had shown Karen to a suite of rooms. A wardrobe was full of clothes which fitted and a bathroom offered her a chance to make herself presentable. Then she had come back to take Karen back into the hospital ward. She saw Don lying on some sort of gurney, under one of those machines. The appearance of him still took her breath away: six feet and more of towering football jock.

Are you OK? asked Sonia Booth.

It’s fine, Karen replied. You’ve turned my balding professor back into the athlete I married. If I haven’t looked this good in thirty years, he should be the same. It just… it brings back memories.

You will bring back memories in him, too. That is quite normal when our clients were older.

Will we be able to get younger again in the future?

You won’t age anymore. Ageing was fixed in the Twenty-First Century, remember?

Karen smiled. I remember.

Shall I wake him up now?

Sure. Why not?

Sonia Booth fiddled with the machine for a few moments then took the helmet off his head. Don’s eyes opened. He looked up at Doctor Booth. Well, he said, You are a sight for sore eyes, doc. How long was I out for?

It’s been two hundred and sixteen years, Professor Harding, Sonia replied. Today is the Fourth August 2208. She looked down at his face and saw that he was not looking up at her. Your wife is here, she added.

Don looked around then stared at his wife. Karen? he asked.

Who do you think I am, then?

They made us young!

They made us immortal, the doctor said. You and your crazy ideas.

Karen, sweetie, if it’s crazy and it works, it’s not crazy.

You always said that. I still think you’re wrong.

I’ll give you two some time alone, said Doctor Booth. If you want me call out.

What do you mean? asked Karen.

Speak to the hospital. Give it a message or ask it to let you talk to me.

I still don’t understand, said Karen.

Sonia raised her voice slightly. Hospital, speak to me.

A soft contralto voice spoke apparently out of nowhere. Certainly, Doctor Booth. What would you like me to say?

These two are Karen and Don Harding, as you know. Please help them if they want to communicate with me.

Certainly, Doctor, the voice replied.

I’ll leave you two, then, said the doctor.

She’s a cute thing, said Don, after the door had closed behind her.

Hush, said Karen. We’re being watched.

Only by the computer, said Don. Computer, can you see us?

Yes, Professor Harding, said the voice.

And will you respect our privacy?

Unless it threatens your health, yes.

I see. Do you use Asimov laws?

I do.

Then I’m happy.

Wait a moment, said Karen. What are these Asimov Laws? And how come my husband, who has just woken up after two hundred years asleep, knows the legal situation with computers?

It was the hospital that answered. The Asimov Laws were named for a writer who lived during the Twentieth Century. The first law forbids an artificial intelligence from causing or allowing harm to humans; then the second law forbids an artificial intelligence disobeying its owners; and finally the third law forbids it from harming itself or allowing itself to come to harm. My owners, the Hospital Board of the Catherine Howard Medical Center in New Orleans, have instructed me to obey the instructions of all clients where it does not contravene their therapist’s orders or Board policy.

So this is science fiction stuff?

Engineers read science fiction, said Don. What else would they do?

And what else would you do?

What do you mean?

You know… I saw you staring down that poor doctor’s blouse.

Karen, sweetie, look at me. Don got up off the bed. He didn’t bother gathering the sheet with him. They’ve made me like a teenager. They’ve made me feel like a teenager. They’ve… Don stopped, looking down at his arm. Hey! They’ve stolen my tattoo!

Good thing, too, replied Karen. It was a stupid thing to do. You know that none of you would have done it if you hadn’t been so drunk. She came over to him. Put some clothes on, she said. "Just because you feel like a teenager doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten your years of experience. You’re fifty-seven.