The Machine's Child (Company) by Kage Baker

registered. He went to his kitchen alcove and found a bottle of water, drank thirstily; found a bar of granola, ate ravenously. When he’d finished he walked deeper into the mountain, as he always did, between the rows of vaults to Budu’s vault. All the sleepers still quiet in their dreams except for Budu, whose face was nearly recognizable now. Half-formed eyes swelled in their sockets like apples growing. But the blind face turned to him.
    “You Did Not Find Her,” the voice stated.
    “No,” Joseph said. “I found your time transport; it was just where youleft it. Worked all right, too. Took me straight to Options Research. And, boy, Father, Options Research was really—it was really—”
    “I Told You What It Was.”
    “And you weren’t kidding, either,” Joseph said. “Not about one godawful little detail. Except that Mendoza wasn’t there anymore, but you had no way of knowing that.”
    “Explain,” ordered Budu.
    So Joseph explained, stretching out on the floor as he talked because he was tired. Life had become very simple. It didn’t matter where he slept, what he ate, what he wore. He had an objective now and he had absolutely lost all fear or any doubts.
    “The one good thing,” he concluded, “was that Lewis wasn’t in there, at least. Him or that other guy, Kalugin. So what will we do now, Father? Tip off Suleyman’s people about that place? They’re on the side of the angels. If there are any angels.
    “I’m telling you, Father, I think the only serious competition we might face in 2355 is from Suleyman’s machine. I used to think there was a chance he might decide to defend the mortal masters. Once he’s seen Options Research, though, he might even go after them before we do—”
    “You’re Babbling. I Have Searched Company Records In Your Absence. Why Didn’t You Tell Me Your Daughter Was The Operative Who Had Gone Forward Through Time.”
    “Gee, didn’t I mention that? I can’t think why. Yeah, she did. It’s because she’s a Crome generator, apparently. I guess that was why they sent her to that place, huh?”
    “Stop Talking. I Need Time To Think. Plan. You Need Sleep.”
    “Sleep and dreams,” Joseph said. “Of Nicholas Harpole Edward Whatever-He-Is’s head on a pike. I knew, I
knew
there was a reason I hated his mortal guts from the moment I ever laid eyes on him. I know an Abomination when I see one, all right. You know what it is, Father? He’s everything I ever loved about you, but all turned inside out and changed. He’s a destroyer!
    “That’s all he does, all he ever does, and he always takes innocent people, not like you, he wrecked Lewis and he did it to my little girl over and over again, he’s doing it now, he’s dragged her poor screaming bodyoff somewhere and he can’t help her, he never helps her, he’s got some plan for her but he’ll only wind up hurting her worse because he always has, new Inquisitions, new coals, new dungeons—”
    “Stop Talking, Son.”
    “Yes sir!” Joseph said, and saluted. He curled up on his side and was silent a little while. At last:
    “. . . She was lying on straw in the dark, the tiniest thing you ever saw, and she weighed absolutely nothing when I picked her up,” he murmured. “Like an armful of flame. Only a baby. Why couldn’t I save her?”

FEZ, ONE MORNING IN 2318
    In a gracious old city a man sat in his garden, sipping tea. He might have been somebody’s dignified young father, and looked as though he ought to be reading his morning mail or a newspaper; but this was the year 2318, when neither letters nor papers existed, as such. What he was actually reading, or rather trying to read, was a volume of poetry in a text plaquette.
    On the other side of the garden a man stood under an arch, arms folded, leaning on a white stucco wall that contrasted pleasantly with the color of his skin. He looked like somebody’s young uncle, or possibly a fashion model, and there was a slight scowl on his lean