Beyond the Farthest Suns by Greg Bear Page B

a huge shore. At one time they beat up against other waves, the works of other artists. But there are far fewer artists than when you were first alive. As we have streamlined our arts for maximum impact, competition has narrowed and variety has waned, and now, the waves slide in tandem; we serve niches which do not overlap. Mine is the largest niche of all. I am the master.”
    â€œIt’s all vague to me,” I said. “Isn’t there anything besides entertainment?”
    â€œThere is discussion of entertainment,” Roderick said.
    â€œNothing else? No courtships, relationships, raising children?”
    â€œArtists imagine children to be raised, far better than any real children. Remember how horrid we were?”
    â€œI had no children … I had hoped, here—”
    â€œA splendid idea! Eventually, perhaps we will re-enact the family. But for now …”
    I sensed it coming. Roderick’s friendship, however grand, had always hung delicately upon certain favors, never difficult to grant individually, but when woven together, amounting to a subtle fabric of obligations.
    â€œI need a favor,” Roderick said.
    â€œI suppose I owe you my life.”
    â€œYes,” Roderick said, with an uninflected bluntness that chilled me. Roderick drew me from the gossamer chamber, and as he was about to close the door, I glimpsed another play of lights, arranged into curved blades slicing geometric objects. A few of the objects—angular polyhedra, flushing red—seemed to try to escape the blades.
    â€œHalf of Central America,” Roderick confided, seeing my puzzlement.
    â€œWhat sort of favor?” I asked with a sigh as the door swung silently shut.
    â€œI need you to perform magic,” Roderick said.
    I brightened. “That’s all?”
    â€œIt will be enough,” Roderick said. “Nobody has performed magic of your sort for a hundred years. Few remember. It will be novel. It will be concrete. It will play on different strings. King Nerve has gotten demanding lately, and I feel …”
    He did not complete this expression. “Pardon my enthusiasm, you must be exhausted,” he said, with a tone of sudden humility that again endeared him to me. “There is a kind of night here. Sleep as best you can, in a special room, and we will talk … tomorrow.”
    Roderick led me through another of those helical halls, whose presence I keenly felt in every part of the house, and soon came to hate. I wondered if there were no real doors or halls, only illusions of connections between great stacks and heaps of cubicles, which Roderick could activate to carry us through the walls like Houdini or Joselyne.
    In a few minutes, we came to a small narrow door, and beyond I found a pleasant though small room, with a canopy bed and a white marble lavatory, supplying a need I was beginning to feel acutely.
    Roderick waited for me to return, and chided my physical limitations. “You still need to eat and drink, and suffer the consequences.”
    â€œCan I change that?” I asked, half fearfully.
    â€œNot now. It is part of your novelty. You are a lich. you subscribe to no services, move nothing by will alone.”
    â€œAs do the five?”
    Again he shook his head and frowned. “They are projections. To you, they feel solid enough, real enough, but there is no amusement in them. They can seem to do anything. Including make my life a torment.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œThey express the combined will of King Nerve,” he said, and answered no further questions on that subject, instead showing me the main highlights of the room. It was much larger than it seemed, and wherever I turned I beheld new walls, which met previous walls at square angles, each wall supporting shelves covered with thaumaturgical apparatus of such rareness and beauty that I lost all of my dread in a flush of professional delight.
    â€œThese can be your