Inherit the Earth - Brian Stableford [127]
“We split up,” Damon told him. By way of retaliation he asked: “How’s Cathy?”
“She thinks I’m dead. I haven’t decided yet whether to let her in on the secret.”
“But you’re going to keep it from the rest of the world?” Damon asked, with one eye on the third party who had just reemerged from the bathroom.
Silas shrugged as he accepted a tumbler of water from Frederick Gantz Saul’s steady hand; his own was trembling slightly. “Between them, PicoCon and Karol haven’t left me a lot of choice, have they? I’m flattered that Eveline wants me back, but it would have been nice to have a less pressured decision to make.”
“Is it just Karol and Eveline?” Damon asked. “Or is there someone else jerking their strings?”
It seemed that Silas couldn’t quite meet Damon’s eye, so he looked sideways at Saul, as if to say that there were secrets that still needed to be kept.
“He’s been told a thousand times,” Saul said, “but he still won’t believe it. He even tried to imply that it was you he was rebelling against, because you were the only real father figure he had. You’re the one who owes it to him to explain that flesh and blood do not a father make.”
“Clever bastard, isn’t he?” Silas said to Damon. Then he sighed theatrically. “We lied to you, Damon. We lied to the world. Conrad’s alive. Not on Earth, mind—but he is alive. I didn’t want to lie to you, but by the time I was ready to break ranks I wasn’t sure I could tell you without also telling the world.”
It was no longer a surprise, but it was a shock of sorts. Damon had to sit down again, and this time he looked into the fire, at the glowing ash flaking from the half-consumed logs.
Silas took the seat next to him: the seat that had been reserved for him all along. “What else do you want to know?” he said quietly. “Saul knows it all by now, I suppose—but he might not have given you a straight account of it. I’m not here to negotiate with him, or to set the seal on any agreements. I’m just here to acknowledge that we’ve taken note of his concerns.”
“So he really is playing God,” Damon said, meaning Conrad Helier. “Even to the extent of moving in mysterious ways.”
“We’re not interested in playing God,” Silas countered. “That’s Saul’s way of looking at the world. The man who taunted me while he made up that fatuous tape mistook the meaning of that quote he flung in my face. We never aimed to occupy the vacant throne of God—we just decided that we had to do our bit to help compensate for its vacancy. We’re not interested in moving into Olympus—we never have been.”
“You’d be happier in the palace of Pandemonium, no doubt?” Damon suggested sarcastically.
“Damon, I don’t want to be a god and I certainly don’t want to be a devil. I’m a man, like other men. So is Conrad.”
“Except that you’re both supposed to be dead. I couldn’t believe that my father had faked his death, even though the Mirror Man seemed so very sure. Even after the Mirror Man had shown me that if anyone in the world had the technical resources to make sure, it was him, I wouldn’t concede. I couldn’t believe that Conrad Helier could be so hypocritical—to preach the gospel of posthumous reproduction as forcefully as he did, and then go into hiding while his friends brought up his own child. If you and he are men like other men, how come there’s one law for the rest and another for you?”
“Conrad did back himself into a corner,” Silas admitted. “Sometimes, when you change your mind, you have to figure out how best to limit the damage. Being men like other men, Conrad and I don’t always get things right. If you live as long as you might, Damon, you’ll make plenty of errors of judgment along the way.”
“Like designing the viruses which caused the Crash? You did that too, I suppose?”
“We designed one of them. To this day, I don’t know for sure who designed the others, although we always suspected that Surinder Nahal must have made at least one—and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Frederick G. Saul had a hand in it somewhere, even if the hand