Stolen Faces, Stolen Names полностью

Nomun, transfixed by the glitter of his/her knowing eyes, could not respond. The light in the car seemed to dim, and the herman’s voice dropped to an intimate purr. “Irony, that is the true constant in life, don’t you agree, Great Nomun? You have made your lifework the freeing of slaves; but your competence at that work will generate a vast number of new slaves. And all of them will be you.”

Nomun stood abruptly, moved to the nearest port, looked down upon Dilvermoon’s steel surface. “I’ll guard my flesh. What you suggest won’t happen.”

The herman laughed. “Did you not feel the touches as you moved through the crowd? Show me your hands, Great Nomun.” Nomun raised his hands, looked at them. They trembled as he turned them over. Tiny red scratches marked both sides.

WHEN THE LIGHT faded, Nomun found himself lying under a heavy horizontal crystal, pressed back into the hollow, as if he hid from some enemy too terrible to fight. He lay there, heart pounding, examining his hands in the exhausted blue light. They were covered with scars, large and small. A thin white knife cut crossed the back of his left hand, two fingers and the thumb of the right hand bore ringscars where missing digits had been regrown. Inconclusive, he thought. His profession was evidently a violent one.

Eventually he got to his feet, moved on through the jungle. Within thirty meters, he came upon Young Nomun, leaning against a column of milky crystal, forehead pressed to the cool surface. In approaching, Nomun made some small sound, and Young Nomun whirled, wide-eyed.

“Just me,” Nomun said. “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” Young Nomun said, in a hoarse voice. “Yes, I can. You remembered Nomun’s first triumph?”

Nomun nodded.

“A hideous memory,” Young Nomun said. “I begin to understand the hatred the others bear for each other. But if we are clones, is it our fault?”

The answer stuck in Nomun’s throat. With an act of will, he forced it out. “No.” Why was that so difficult to say, he wondered. “Come. We should hurry. I’ll go first this time.” Nomun trotted away, and didn’t look back at Young Nomun.

They reached the next internode without further mishap, well before the rising of the red sun.

No one else was in the shelter when they went inside. The shelter seemed identical to the first, with its ten cots and its pile of provisions. Young Nomun lowered himself heavily to one and put his face into his hands.

Nomun fetched two canisters and a handful of food packets. “Here. Eat; then we’ll rest”

Young Nomun took a canister. “I’ve changed my mind. You cannot be the one. Why would you trouble yourself over me, if you were?” He took a long swallow, and Nomun was pleased to see that his color was better.

Young Nomun continued. “Let’s choose a name for the one who brought us here. First Nomun, perhaps? What do you think?”

Nomun shrugged, said nothing.

“Then that’s what I’ll call him. To him: First Nomun.” Young Nomun raised his water canister in a mock toast. He looked at Nomun, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me something. Do you find the similarity of our names as confusing as I do? I’ve made up names for each of us; it helps me to keep them straight. And you...?”

Nomun nodded, smiled.

“Ah....For example, I call the scarred one Bloody Nomun. Appropriate? And the mad fop? Sick Nomun. The frightened one? Not Nomun.” Young Nomun lay back on the cot, fixed his gaze on Nomun. “It would please me to know what you call me.”

Nomun hesitated for a moment, then answered. “Well. I think of you as Young Nomun. And so? What do you call me?”

“Young Nomun? Indeed? I no longer feel so young. As for you, why....” Young Nomun’s eyes dropped. “I mean no offense, but I think of you as Empty Nomun.”

Nomun turned away. In empty silence.

Young Nomun laughed, a not-entirely pleasant sound. “Let us discuss our captor. Would you agree that he has an obsessive focus on the children of his flesh? The cyborg mentioned a “prime memory,” did he not? I would guess that the next node will serve up yet another memory related to First Nomun’s horror of his clones. By the way, I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid the storm, no matter how carefully we move. I think that even if none of us are clumsy, the killmech will initiate the sequence. It’s obvious the memories are part of the entertainment.”

Something stirred at the entrance, and Nomun turned to see Jade Nomun stumble in and throw himself on a cot, breathing heavily.

“The others?” Young Nomun asked.

Jade Nomun replied with a wordless snarl. False Nomun came in, face drawn.

“Well, where were we,” said Young Nomun. “Oh yes. Clones. It appears now that we are all clones. I knew of course that children of my flesh–our flesh–exist. There must be many of them, on thousands of worlds. Too many to count. So why were we singled out for chastisement?”