Cloud Atlas Page #3

new day's consumers.

Welcome to Papa Song's.

For the next nineteen hours we input orders,

tray food, vend drinks,

upstock condiments, wipe tables, and bin garbage.

all done in strict adherence to First Catechism.

What is the First Catechism?

"Honor thy consumer."

After the final cleaning,

we imbibe one Soapsac, then return to our sleep box.

That is the blueprint of every single day.

Did you ever think about the future?

Papa Song servers have just one possible future.

You mean, Xultation?

Could you describe this annual Rite of Passage?

On first day, Seer Rhee would stamp a star

on each of our collars.

Twelve stars meant an end to our contract.

How did you feel when you watched one

of your sisters ascend?

Excitement.

I was happy for them,

but envious as well.

Did your sister servers feel as you did?

Most of them.

I would like to ask about the infamous Yoona~939.

If Yoona~939 woke you, who woke her?

Seer Rhee.

Why would a Seer wake a server?

Perhaps you should ask him, Archivist.

What's wrong with him?

He drinks Soap.

It makes him happy,

then he sleep like us in our box.

Do you ever think about... what it must be like...

up there with the consumers?

Third Catechism forbids such questions.

Yes... it does.

Come. Let me show you a secret.

(Platform four, Lost and Found.)

Now, Sonmia,

we are inside a secret.

Akino?

- We are not allowed...

- Sonmia, no one will ever know.

Come.

(This is a violation of the ruddy Incarceration Act!)

(I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.)

(This is a violation of the ruddy Incarceration Act!)

- I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.

- (I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.)

You could have been excised.

How did you justify such a risk to yourself?

She was my friend.

Please describe the events of September 18th,

from your perspective.

I was stationed at pedestal one.

I will not be subjected to criminal abuse.

Step away. Code yellow. The area is secured.

[Big Isle, 106 winters since the Fall]

Nay, this life of rotted luck

[Big Isle, 106 winters since the Fall]

ain't no smiles I'm yarnin'.

An' rear's time I ever first the secret

of Sloosha's Hallow,

Adam, my bro' by law, n' his son n' me be trekkin'

back from Honokaa Market.

It was Adam's custom to kowtow his ancestry

with offerin's n' honorin's.

Suddenwise, that fangy devil's eyes... I felt 'em.

Who there?

Ooh, a darky spot you're in, friend.

Old Georgie...

Ain't no blade can protect you from the true true.

Pa!

[Whispers]:
Jonas! Jonas, go. Go, go!

Zachry. Zachry!

Zachry!!

Stay here. Safe here.

Zachry!!!

- Kona will be feastin' on Adam n' his boy by sunup.

- Zachry!!

Zach! Zach! Zachry!!

Zachry!!!

You say all the time, yay?

"The weak are meat, the strong do eat."

Jonas!!!

The true true is what that is.

Whole valley whisperin' about the blood o' Adam

and his son on my hands.

But Rose an' Catkin never believed no humorin'

an' stood by me.

- Uncle Zach, look!

- Yeah, I see 'em.

Prescients come barterin' twice a year.

Their ships creep-crawlin' on the waves,

Just floatin' on the Smart o' the Old Uns.

Barter'll be startin' soon.

Yeah.

You must go find your ma.

What're you doin'?

Ma says you ain't been right since Sloosha's.

Say I gotta keep eye-wa's on ya.

You mindin' me while I mind the goats.

I see.

Stump is, who's gonna mind your ma at the barter?

She got no tongue for hagglin', not like you and me.

Sure you're all right?

Swear by't. Be home for suppin'.

Why words slink and slide off a tongue

when we need 'em most?

If my tongue been more bold,

could I o' stop all that diresomes about 'ta happen?

- Uncle Zach!

- This my big bro' I yarn ya about.

- Whats what, sis?

- Spesh guest hosting.

Thank you, for the kindsome host on my valley stay.

I ain't yay-soed this, Rose.

- Abbess say-so a gift of great honor.

- She can be hostin' then.

I bring you gift, Zachry.

Need no gift from a stranger.

Now kin n' Rose n' half-strangers, yay, even the Abbess,

all come knockin'

to gape in wonderment like Sonmi herself

was sittin' in our kitchen.

Questions about Prescients n' their woesome ship

poured thick n' fast.

How your ship slide n' glide so silentsome?

Fusion engines.

No one queried what "fusion engine" was,

cos they didn't want to look stoopit, front o' the gatherin.

Fusion engines.

True wordly was, Meronym answered 'he questions,

but no answer ever quenched your curio.

All o' that answerin' done was teach everyone

to not trust her,

nay, not a flea.

She is slyin' us.

Schemin' an' wormin' herself in.

Watch her. Watch her close.

She's got secrets.

- Zachry Baily.

- Sorrysome for wakin' you, Abbess.

I dream... sump'n' diresome's gonna happen.

Come in. Come in.

Ah, let Sonmi guide your heart.

[Abbess chants]

I prayin' for you.

Oh, it's Georgie's hungerin' for your soul.

Oh, I know'd it.

Spittin' an' cussin' your dreams.

I know'd it.

Bridge a broken, hide below.

Hands a bleedin', can't let go.

Enemy's sleepin', don't slit that throat.

An augurin'.

[Whispers]:
Oh, Zachry.

Trust Sonmi.

Keep her warnin' with you, nail it to your memory.

Thank you. Thank you, Abbess. Thank you.

Wait! Wait.

There's no reason to hide.

I know you are Sonmi~451.

My name is Hae-Joo Chang.

What has happened to Seer Rhee?

Soap overdose.

It is unfortunate that it had to happen

with everything going so well.

Because now it is probable that the enforcers

and the DNA sniffers will find out about you.

And if they do,

if they realize your connection to Yoona~939,

you will be excised.

But you have a choice.

You can remain here and risk being discovered.

Or you can come with me.

- Bear away, boy.

- Aye-aye, Captain.

Friday the 15th. We made sail with the morning tide.

Mr. Boerhaave had my cabin changed.

I have been quarantined to a storeroom away from the

other passengers and crew.

Henry argued in vain that the Polynesian worm

is not contagious.

Hardly matters.

All I want to do now is return home

and unburden myself with this responsibility.

My dear Sixsmith, I'm in desperate need of your help.

After my last letter, I'm sure you're rushing to

pack your bags,

but you needn't really.

Unless of course, you wish to witness the rebirth

of Robert Frobisher.

Is it not miraculous how one's fortune can turn

so quickly, so completely?

One moment, leaping from a hotel window, the next,

gainfully employed by one of the world's

greatest living composers.

My only problem is that I accidentally got hooked

on a journal

written in 1849 by a dying lawyer during the voyage

from a Pacific isle to San Francisco.

To my great annoyance, the pages cease mid-sentence.

Half the book is missing. It's completely killing me.

Could you be a mensch and when you're next foraging

at Otto's Books, make an inquiry?

A half finished book is, after all, a half finished love affair.

(...the Marshall and my chief engineers, and then

we will take some questions.)

(America loves oil.)

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