“It’s an old pattern,”Alva explained, “but I thought you might like it.”
Ellis had been hesitant to eat rocks, no matter what magic trick had been done. After three bites he was a convert. “How can rock become food? Wouldn’t you need organic material?”
“ Everything in the universe is made of the same thing when you break the components down far enough,” Alva explained. “Then it’s all in the way you rebuild and recombine aspects that make them organic, inorganic, liquid, and solid. Humans, after all, are made from the same material as stars.”
“Interesting. So if I put more rocks in, can I get coffee?”
“Sure! Classic, sweet, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, guava, Tantuary, cinnamon-honey, maple, blackberry, latte, core-style, litho-roast—”
“Classic—black.”
“ Use one of the small bags.”
He drew one out of the drop-down dispenser. Extremely thin, the bags were see-through and plastic-like. He placed the opening over the chute mouth and noticed the drink symbol on the lever. A quick tap and the bag filled with about a cup of the gravel, consisting of different types of uniformly distributed rocks. A bing later and he had his coffee, complete with a white ceramic mug.
The house was quiet, and Ellis took his meal to the social room. As Alva had predicted, he loved the balcony and continued to be mesmerized by the view. The quality of light was constantly changing, perpetually altering and revealing new, previously hidden surprises. That morning the sky was a pale pink, blending toward a yellow sun that had yet to show its face. The predawn light worked like a shadow play, creating silhouettes out of the trees and rock formations that were obviously designed to be seen as such. Ellis spotted a shadow-puppet tiger and across from it a bird. As the sun rose, the outlines changed so that the tiger crept forward, inching up on the unsuspecting prey.
Ellis pulled over one of the soft chairs and sipped his coffee as he watched this sliver of Hollow World waking. The coffee, unlike the omelet, did not thrill him. He liked his coffee strong, and this tasted like hot coffee-scented water. Maybe he should have gone with core-style or litho-roast.
Distant voices echoed from below, and he peered over the rail to see a group of early risers starting to play a game of some kind on the open lawn of the garden. A moment later Ellis heard music and thought it might be coming from one of the other homes, but then he discovered a quartet playing in a sheltered grove across from where the others were setting up their game. The music was soft, gentle—rising strings growing steadily stronger, plainly illustrating the rising of the sun.
Ellis saw others appear on the walking paths below, some alone and others in pairs. Two different walkers had dogs. They were the first pets he’d seen, and he was pleased to know man’s best friend had survived the years. Across the open expanse, he saw others like himself on balconies with steaming cups, faces turned toward the light. Below, the music grew louder and louder, a beautiful melody. The game players paused to watch the rising sun, as if it were a flag raising and the little quartet was playing the national anthem.
As the yellow ball peeked above the horizon and spilled its first rays of golden light, the outline of the tiger leapt for the bird, but the bird had flown away. As the falselight sun rose and the atrium illuminated, Ellis saw that the bird and tiger were only fountains, tree branches, and the edge of the cliff. Illusions given life for those few seconds, a secret show provided by the artists for those knowing where and when to look. Ellis wondered how many other Easter eggs were hidden, and if they were different for balconies with other views.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Ellis turned to find Pax behind him, the glow of the morning sun bathing the familiar face. He had expected a robe or something, but like him Pax was dressed in the same set of clothes as the night before, only this suit failed to show a wrinkle, so Pax must have more than one.
“Gorgeous.”
“Maybe you can understand now why we value our artists so much.” Pax sat beside him. “And I see you’ve been introduced to the Maker.”
“Alva showed me. The omelet was great. This coffee on the other hand…” He made a face.
“I drink Frizlana—it’s a pattern of tea, but I know a great many people who like litho-roast.”
Ellis could hear the faint shouts as the game began. Several of those on balconies leaned over to watch.
“Mezos are playing the Brills this morning,” Pax said. “Each section of the community has its own team. I used to play on the Mezos about…sixty years ago, I guess. We were never very good. Lost almost every game. People still cheered for us.” Pax sighed. “I’m sorry I abandoned you last night. I felt awful. Didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’m sorry I upset you.”
Pax stared at him with that same bewildered expression. “You are just so…”
Ellis braced himself. He was expecting irritating or frustrating. Those were the words Peggy and his mother had used most often, and Warren had dubbed him an asshole most of the time and a prick on occasion.
“…just so amazing. I wish I could be like you.”
Certain that Pax was joking, he laughed. Pax didn’t laugh with him, and, realizing Warren had been right about him being an ass, he stopped. “I’m a miserable old man who’s dying of an incurable sickness. You don’t want to be me.”
“Are you joking again? I can’t always be sure, you know. Your humor is so…unusual. You must be, though, because…because, well look at you. You’re unique—truly unique. You have hair—and it’s twocolors. Your skin sags, and has all those great creases, like a beloved knapsack that has been taken everywhere and shows evidence of every mile. No one else has that. And no one else has invented a time machine and ridden it two thousand years into the future or saved someone else’s life by stopping a murderer. But…it’s more than that. It’s you. The way you act. The way you don’t just look, but actually see—see things everyone else misses. The wear marks of glasses and…well… me. I feel special just being with you. It’s a gift you have, this ability to hand out inspiration and kindness without any trace of motive. You’re amazing.”
Pax’s eyes had that glassy, wide-eyed appearance again. “In Hollow World we all try to be different, try to stand out as original, but only you truly are.”
No one had ever looked at him that way before. No one had ever accused him of being amazing, not even when he had opened his acceptance letter to M.I.T. There had been pats on the back and congratulations, but not even his own mother had showed such awe. Ellis didn’t know what to do or say. He took a long sip from his coffee cup and discovered he had a little trouble swallowing.
“I realized last night I shouldn’t be keeping you here,” Pax went on. “I should make certain the GWC knows about the killings and about you. I’m sure they will have all sorts of questions, and they will take you to the ISP to fix your health.”
“You think they could?”
“The ISP can do just about anything except bring you back from the dead, and you can be certain they’re busy working on that. If it’s only your lungs, they’ll just outfit you with a new pair. That sort of thing is no big deal, just a port-in procedure.”
“Seriously? Oh…ah…what about cost?” Ellis knew Pax said there wasn’t money anymore, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a cost.
“Cost?”
“What would I have to do or give to get these new lungs?”
“See—I can’t really tell if that’s a joke. You don’t even smile when you say it.”
“That’s because I’m not joking. I want to know what will be demanded of me in return. I don’t want to agree to anything without knowing what I’m getting into first.”