"Oh, she'll be somewhere else by then. That's easy."

"Five billion years. The Milky Way collides with the Andromeda Galaxy and the whole neighborhood is full of high-energy radiation and exploding stars."

"That's trickier. She's going to have to either prevent that or move a few million light years away to a friendlier galaxy. But she'll have time enough to prepare and to a.s.semble the tools. I have faith that she'll prove equal to the task."

"One trillion years. The last stars gutter out. Only black holes remain."

"Black holes are a terrific source of energy. No problem."

"1.06 googol years."

"Googol?"

"That's ten raised to the hundredth power-one followed by a hundred zeros. The heat-death of the universe. How does she survive it?"

"She'll have seen it coming for a long time," the mech said. "When the last black holes dissolve, she'll have to do without a source of free energy. Maybe she could take and rewrite her personality into the physical constants of the dying universe. Would that be possible?"

"Oh, perhaps. But I really think that the lifetime of the universe is long enough for anyone," the granddaughter said. "Mustn't get greedy."

"Maybe so," the old man said thoughtfully. "Maybe so." Then, to the mech, "Well, there you have it: a glimpse into the future, and a brief biography of the first immortal, ending, alas, with her death. Now tell me. Knowing that you contributed something, however small, to that accomplishment-wouldn't that be enough?""No," Jack said. "No, it wouldn't."

Brandt made a face. "Well, you're young. Let me ask you this: Has it been a good life so far? All in all?"

"Not that good. Not good enough."

For a long moment, the old man was silent. Then, "Thank you," he said. "I valued our conversation."

The interest went out of his eyes and he looked away.

Uncertainly, Jack looked at the granddaughter, who smiled and shrugged. "He's like that," she said apologetically. "He's old. His enthusiasms wax and wane with his chemical balances. I hope you don't mind."

"I see." The young man stood. Hesitantly, he made his way to the door.

At the door, he glanced back and saw the granddaughter tearing her linen napkin into little bits and eating the shreds, delicately washing them down with sips of wine.

Freckled Figure

HIROE SUGA.

(Translated by Dana Lewis and Stephen Baxter) As far as I know, this is the only j.a.panese winner of the Seiun Award (the most important j.a.panese SF award) to appear in translation in English. It was translated by Dana Lewis, who has translated a number of other stories, and cut and polished by Stephen Baxter (who has won the Seiun Award for work translated into j.a.panese). This version, which the author states is somewhat shorter than the j.a.panese original, was first published in Interzone. Interzone, by the way, is to be commended for continuing to publish good SF stories from other languages in translation. SF is an international literary movement, and we need to encourage this. Suga's story certainly gives us some insight into what j.a.panese SF is like in the 1990s, what is popular and admired there in SF. But its primary virtue is that it is an effective story in English, as translated.

The four figurines were delivered to Kondo's room in the student boarding house. When Kondo saw the package had come from the His.h.i.tomo Daglian Saga Character Contest, he ripped it open immediately.

Illuminated by the late afternoon sun, Kondo and Yamas.h.i.ta fell on the contents, the fragmented figurines, talking excitedly, exploring.

Yasuko Miyata watched and listened, amused, baffled. Of course the prize was partly hers too. But she couldn't understand a word the boys were saying.

Yamas.h.i.ta pinched Princess Colleen's torso. "This stuff is pretty hard. They said it's a polymer, but it feels more like resin to me. And it has no joints. How's it supposed to move without any joints?"

Kondo-plump, delicate, cerebral-arranged the parts of the dragon. It looked like a dead lizard, dismembered. "It could almost be injection plastic. Oh, this overhang is perfect...Look. The upper and lower torso separate at the waist. That's how you remodel it."

"Yes, but there isn't any putty on the market for porous flexible polymers, at least not yet. Besides, aren't these figures supposed to be self-animating? No stop-go, none of that ha.s.sle with s.p.a.cers and filling in cracks..."

Kondo frowned. "Look at this. You have to hand-paint the eyes. Why not seals or decals?..." He glanced sharply at Yamas.h.i.ta. "d.a.m.n it! I told you not to touch them when you've been eating potato crisps!"

Yamas.h.i.ta gaped at him in mock horror. "Oh, sheesh. The princess is covered in oil. I suppose I'll just have to a.s.semble her, won't I?"

"You planned it that way-"

"Oh, come on, Kondo."Kondo gazed longingly at Colleen, beautiful star of the Saga, in Yamas.h.i.ta's hands. "So I get to make the dragon. As usual. Actually these wing and breast parts should be interesting..."

They talked on, exploring, joshing, visibly thrilled.

Yasuko thought they had come a long way since they saw the ad for the contest, run in the black-and-white pages at the back of a hobby magazine. And she certainly hadn't expected them to take first prize.

But maybe it had been team work. Kondo could draw machinery and monsters, but was hopeless with human figures, while Yamas.h.i.ta was fatally sloppy. So in the end, while she left the detailed design of the dragon to Kondo, all the work on the main characters-Prince Galba, Princess Colleen and Aerda, the village girl with the freckles-was Yasuko's alone.

And now, she thought, it was becoming real.

The Daglian Saga Character Contest had been the brainchild of His.h.i.tomo Inst.i.tute, an electronics parts manufacturer, along with Shinshu Chemical, a manufacturer of raw materials for kits and models, and Dux, a visual media company. All the applicants were sent the script of a new Daglian Saga scenario, and-the ad promised-Dux would make an animated film of the story using figures based on the winning character designs. Shinshu and His.h.i.tomo would market tie-in kits. The prize-winners would get to a.s.semble the figures themselves.

And the movie-made with these very figures-would be unlike any ever seen before.

"So," said Kondo, "what else? Who a.s.sembles Prince Galba and um, what's she called? The village girl with the freckles?"

"Aerda," said Yasuko.

Yamas.h.i.ta, clutching Colleen by her long legs, smiled at Yasuko.

Yasuko returned his look, and laughed. "You're joking."

Kondo was confused; he looked from one to the other. "What am I missing?"

"Look," said Yasuko. "I know I can paint and I can do calligraphy. But I've never made a model in my life!"

"Not 'models,'" said Yamas.h.i.ta. "These are 'kits.' Or 'figures.'"

Kondo traced the fine edge work on the dragon's wing. "Actually, Yasuko, you shouldn't have any trouble. At least, no more than the rest of us. I know they said it'd be like making a resin garage kit, but this is the first time that any of us have worked with this porous flexible polymer stuff. Look, they've even included special paint and putty. You can do it, Yasuko."

"Come on, Yasuko," Yamas.h.i.ta said. "It will be fun." He rummaged through the box beside him. He handed Yasuko a kit, resting on a sheaf of sandpaper.

She took it. It was the dismembered body of Aerda, the village girl. It was like holding the corpse of some tiny animal.

"Work hard," Yamas.h.i.ta said, and he grinned at her.

Yasuko, back in her room in the girls' dorm, spread Aerda's parts on her bed next to the window.

The indents for the girl's comic-book eyes covered half her face. Everything about Aerda, from her exaggerated proportions to the pleats of her flared skirt, was exactly as Yasuko had drawn her in her character design sheets.

She gently poked Aerda's nose, no larger than a grain of rice.

She meant to start a first rough a.s.sembly of the figure tonight. As a guide she had a beginner's article on garage kits in a j.a.panimation magazine Yamas.h.i.ta had lent her. But its obsessive jargon and detail dismayed her.

Somehow Yasuko had thought she would just need to stick the pieces together and the figure would be done. But it wasn't going to be that easy.

With a sigh she slid open the windowpane. Her dormitory room was on the second floor, and all she could see was a cinderblock fence with spikes, and a bit of narrow alley beyond. She used to gaze out of the window like this, unable to sleep, when her lovesickness for Doi had been at its height. Stoking envy for her rival, or indulging in sweet fantasies. Imagining Doi turning up beneath the window, smiling up ather, calling her name.

Maybe Aerda had waited at a window for Galba to come, too, she thought. And he hadn't either.

Bittersweet nostalgia. Indulgent, of course. But better than feeling nothing, she thought.

Reluctantly she turned her attention back to the kit.

Apparently Dux wasn't going to make the Daglian Saga movie using traditional stop-go animation; it was going to base it, somehow, on the autonomous movements of the figures themselves. And in that regard, the key part of the a.s.sembly was stapled inside a small packet, thick and puffy. The bag had warnings not to open the packet until the figure had already been prepped. Otherwise it said His.h.i.tomo couldn't guarantee that the figure would move as designed. The language was heavy, threatening.

Anxiety gnawed her, unreasonable, childish. What if she messed up?

If only it wasn't Aerda.

Yasuko had really thrown herself into creating this character. If her design for Princess Colleen encapsulated all her sense of ideal feminine beauty, Aerda was Yasuko's own little doppelganger-plain, but touched with inner beauty. It was as she liked to think of herself, anyhow.

And some day, according to the instructions, this little Aerda would walk and talk for herself. But only if Yasuko got it right.

What a responsibility.

She picked up the parts of the figure, Aerda's tiny limbs and hands, and began to work. Polish the pieces with sandpaper, paint them until the surface reeked of foul-smelling thinner, then polish them down again...

She worked into the night, using progressively finer sandpaper. The powder danced upward like smoke, drifting into her lungs, and her eyes itched uncontrollably.

By the time she was on No. 1500 sandpaper, she'd all but decided to skip the final finish with No.

2000.

But Aerda now seemed warm to the touch from Yasuko's body heat and the friction of all that sandpapering. The tiny figure seemed to look at her, with eyes that were still unpainted.

"I know, Aerda," Yasuko said. "I know."

Yasuko carefully tore the No. 2000 sandpaper into pieces small enough to handle, and went on working.

The next day Yasuko, heavy around the eyes, dragged herself to the university.

She was just in time for her third cla.s.s. Chinese literature was a required course for her major, and she was enjoying the unit on Chinese poetry. She was thinking about starting a fanzine on Chinese fantasy literature.

Today, though, she had trouble concentrating. She itched to get back to Aerda.

Maybe this is how the boys, Yamas.h.i.ta and Kondo, have been feeling all this time, and I never understood, she thought.

Fifteen minutes before the closing bell the side door of the amphitheatre cla.s.sroom swung slowly open. Toshio Doi tried to hunch his tall body over as much as possible as he slid quickly into an empty seat. Following him, clutching his shirt, was Masami Tsuda. The two students were a year ahead of Yasuko, and had clearly shown up just to meet their attendance requirements. When Masami spotted Yasuko, she gave her a cute smile, and quickly waved her hand. Yasuko forced herself to smile back.

Masami-with her broad shoulders, that long mane of luxurious black hair-sat in front of her.

Colleen and Aerda, she thought. Masami and Yasuko. The parallels were too obvious, a cliche.

But that didn't make it any less painful.

When cla.s.ses were done she avoided her fellow students, and hurried home, to Aerda.

Yasuko brushed off powdery residue with fingers made slippery, the tips worn smooth, by the hours of sanding.

Aerda's parts were now so finely polished they gleamed.In the Daglian Saga, Aerda was particularly ill-starred.

The girl saved a wounded dragon on the outskirts of her village. The dragon understood human speech, and was really a man named Galba, cursed and transformed into monstrous form by an evil demon. But Aerda had to leave home when her own people blamed her for bringing such a fearsome creature to their small community.

As they journeyed together across the land Galba saved Aerda from attack after attack by frightful monsters. And as she tended his injuries, she found herself drawn ever more deeply to the dragon's sterling heart. She swore to herself that she would stay by his side forever, even if the curse could never be lifted and he remained in dragon form the rest of his days...

It was time to open that intriguing last packet. Yasuko gingerly untied the fastenings.

There were three black objects that reminded her of c.o.c.kroaches, along with a small bag that rattled when she shook it, another that sounded as if it had sand inside, and a thin membrane barely a centimetre in diameter. The black objects looked like integrated circuits. But instead of the usual centipede-feet metal docking tabs these chips had a string of silvery snaps down their backs. Yasuko poked at the gadgets, bemused, faintly repelled.

In the story, Galba, it turned out, had already found the love of his life: the beautiful Princess Colleen.

The princess was imprisoned in a tower labyrinth. He'd been turned into this dragon, horrible to human sight, when he fell into the clutches of a demon during a failed attempt to rescue her. Even now, his resolve to save her remained unshaken, even if it cost him his life.

Aerda realized that Galba's will was unshakeable. But she worked even harder to help return him to human form, wanting to do whatever she could for him, even if that would only end up helping her rival.

Galba, oblivious, even asked her for advice about the workings of the princess's delicate heart.

Meanwhile, Aerda thought her own heart would break time and again...

The bag also contained a four-page instruction manual. Yasuko flipped through it dubiously...The multiple-value processor (MVP) a.s.signs multiple values to electric signals-four values, in the case of the His.h.i.tomo MVP ULSI. She turned to the index. A ULSI turned out to be an ultra-dense large-scale integrated circuit. His.h.i.tomo Inst.i.tute, the leaflet boasted, was the first chip maker to produce a truly practical multiple-value processor. In contrast to conventional signals rendered into the two binary markers 0 and 1, the His.h.i.tomo MVP ULSI is capable of differentiating and processing two additional signals. One "Qit" of data can carry one of four different values, enabling vastly more complex and sophisticated processing operations to be performed in record time...

And so on.

What it meant was that the little black objects were Aerda's brain.