Machines of Eden Read Online Free Page A

and it was crucial to find clean water. He was already
soaked in sweat, and his headache was worsening. He needed water
soon. Shelter could come later.
    It took him longer than
he’d anticipated to walk the kilometer. The going was slow and he
dared not hurry. One slip on the sodden mulch underfoot and he
could twist an ankle. He took the long way around fallen logs and
thick brush. The heat increased and with it the insects, which
buzzed in a frenzy around his neck and ears, settling into creases
in his flesh for the salt. They stung, whizzed , and fluttered, and he slapped his
neck until it was sore.
    Finally the ground began to
rise, and despite his thirst and growing fatigue he eagerly pushed
forward. There might be a breeze at the top to rid him of the
insect plague. The slope grew steeper, and he paused for breath.
Although his physical condition was by no means flabby, it was not
in peak operational capacity either. The exertion and heat brought
memories which he savagely pushed back down.
    After another twenty
minutes he reached the top of the nearest hill. The jungle was
thick but much lower, with fewer trees, and he could see in a wide
radius. The bright sun was arcing to his left and
behind him a bit, toward the beach he’d left. That meant that he was traveling north- east. He spun in a slow
circle, taking in every hill and valley. The re was a small gorge near him now, and he saw
a glint of sun on the bottom.
    A river. Water.
    The hills rose to a series of craggy heights ahead of him,
studded with greenery. They rolled away to his right, marching down toward the east where he
could s ee the ocean. To the west and north, beyond the hills and gorges, he could
make out nothing more than a blue haze of open water. He was on an island, about thirty kilometers
in length and not quite that far across in
the direction he had traveled. Probably volcanic, judging by the
central mountain heights and the way the top formed a semi-circular
ridge that suggested an ancient, crumbled crater.
    Then he noticed an anomaly
that set his heart racing. Rising from the
highest of the series of hills along the eastern edge of the
island was an antenna tower, poking up
from the trees like a beckoning finger. It was an XC-88 Commstack,
a type he recognized well despite the fact
that it was obviously in a state of disrepair. It looked shaggy and unkempt, draped with
something green that broke up its profile.
That brought memories and questions to his mind, but he pushed them
away. Probably just creepers – they gr e w freakishly fast in humid climates and
covered everything that didn’t move.
    He would have to travel
inland at least a klick or two to climb the slope that led up to the
tower.
    Fine; now I know
there ’s some vestige of civilization
here , I can afford an uphill hike. I'll probably meet
the access road to the antenna, and then I won't have to
bushwhack. With luck I’ll find a supply
cache or some people, if any are still around.
    Feeling substantially
relieved at the thought, he started toward
the distant tower, whistling a tune.
    So what if the antenna is
covered with camouflage netting instead of vines ?
    The war is
over.
     
     
     
     

3 .5
     
    Earth called to her
children and begged us to stop using her. We laughed at
her.
    We had Science, the Great
God.
    Science would save us and
save Earth, make it all right again. Science would feed our hunger,
would glut us with everything possible, and our appetites would
stretch to meet the stars. How we loved ourselves, our hunger,
the limitlessness of it.
    The U sed outnumbered the U sers more than twenty
to one, but what was that to us? We ignored them and cranked our
auditory implants even higher and licked the grease from our
fingers. When at last they rose against us in a swarm, bitter with
the years and bloody-muzzled like hyenas with eyes glowing in the night, we sent
Science to fight for us.
    Science failed.
    Science cannot kill
rage.
    Science cannot