《爱，死亡和机器人第2季》第2集原著小说

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《爱，死亡和机器人第2季》原著小说E02

《冰》（Ice，2015）

作者：瑞奇·拉尔森（Rich Larson）

http://clarkesworldmagazine.com/larson_10_15/

【英文原文】

Sedgewick had used his tab to hack Fletcher’s alarm off, but when he slid out of bed in the middle of the night his younger brother was wide awake and waiting, modded eyes a pale luminous green in the dark.

“I didn’t think you were actually going to do it,” Fletcher said with a hesitant grin.

“Of course I’m going to.” Sedgewick kept his words clipped, like he had for months. He kept his face cold. “If you’re coming, get dressed.”

Fletcher’s smile swapped out for the usual scowl. They pulled on their thermals and gloves and gumboots in silence, moving around the room like pieces of a sliding puzzle, careful to never inhabit the same square space. If there was a way to keep Fletcher from coming short of smothering him with a blanket, Sedgewick would’ve taken it. But Fletcher was fourteen now, still smaller than him but not by much, and his wiry modded arms were strong like an exoskeleton’s. Threats were no good anymore.

When they were ready, Sedgewick led the way past their parents’ room to the vestibule, which they had coded to his thumb in penance for uprooting him again, this time dumping him onto a frostbit fucking colony world where he was the only unmodded sixteen-year-old for about a million light years. They said he had earned their trust but did not specify exactly how. Fletcher, of course, didn’t need to earn it. He could take care of himself.

Sedgewick blanked the exit log more out of habit than anything, then they stepped out of the cold vestibule into the colder upstreet. The curved ceiling above them was a night sky holo, blue-black with an impossibly large cartoon moon, pocked and bright white. Other than Sedgewick and his family, nobody in New Greenland had ever seen a real Earth night.

They went down the housing row in silence, boots scraping tracks in the frost. An autocleaner salting away a glistening blue coolant spill gledged over at them suspiciously as they passed, then returned to its work. Fletcher slid behind it and pantomimed tugging off, which might have made Sedgewick laugh once, but he’d learned to make himself a black hole that swallowed up anything too close to camaraderie.

“Don’t shit around,” he said. “It’ll scan you.”

“I don’t care,” Fletcher said, with one of those disdainful little shrugs he’d perfected lately, that made Sedgewick believe he really truly didn’t.

The methane harvesters were off-cycle, and that meant the work crews were still wandering the colony, winding in and out of dopamine bars and discos. They were all from the same modded geneprint, all with a rubbery pale skin that manufactured its own vitamins, all with deep black eyes accustomed to the dark. A few of them sat bonelessly on the curb, laid out by whatever they’d just vein-blasted, and as Sedgewick and Fletcher went by they muttered extro, extros den terre. One of them shouted hello a few beats too late.

“Should run,” Fletcher said.

“What?”

“Should jog it.” Fletcher rubbed his arms. “It’s cold.”

“You go ahead,” Sedgewick said, scornful.

“Whatever.”

They kept walking. Aside from the holos flashing over the bars, the upstreet was a long blank corridor of biocrete and composite. The downstreet was more or less the same plus maintenance tunnels that gushed steam every few minutes.

It had only taken Sedgewick a day to go from one end of the colony to the other and conclude that other than the futball pitch there was nothing worth his time. The locals he’d met in there, who played with different lines and a heavy ball and the ferocious modded precision that Sedgewick knew he wouldn’t be able to keep pace with long, more or less agreed with his assessment in their stilted Basic.

Outside the colony was a different story. That was why Sedgewick had crept out of bed at 2:13, why he and Fletcher were now heading down an unsealed exit tunnel marked by an unapproved swatch of acid yellow hologram. Tonight, the frostwhales were breaching.

Most of the lads Sedgewick had met at last week’s game were waiting at the end of the exit tunnel, slouched under flickering florescents and passing a vape from hand to hand. He’d slotted their names and faces into a doc and memorized it. It wasn’t Sedgewick’s first run as the new boy and by now he knew how to spot the prototypes.

You had your alpha dog, who would make or break the entry depending on his mood more than anything. Your right-hand man, who was usually the jealous type, and the left-hand man, who usually didn’t give a shit. Your foot-soldiers, who weathervaned according to the top three, ranging from gregarious to vaguely hostile. Then lastly your man out on the fringe, who would either glom on thick, hoping to get a friend that hadn’t figured out his position yet, or clam right up out of fear of getting replaced.

It was a bit harder to tell who was who with everyone modded and nobody speaking good Basic. They all came up off the wall when they caught sight of him, swooping in for the strange stutter-stop handshake that Sedgewick couldn’t quite time right. Petro, tall and languid, first because he was closest, not because he cared. Oxo, black eyes already flicking away for approval. Brume, compact like a brick, angry-sounding laugh. Another Oxo, this one with a regrowth implant in his jaw, quiet because of that or maybe because of something else.

Anton was the last, the one Sedgewick had pegged for alpha dog. He gripped his hand a beat longer and grinned with blocky white teeth that had never needed an orthosurgery.

“Ho, extro, how are you this morning.” He looked over Sedgewick’s shoulder and flashed his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Fletcher,” Sedgewick said. “The little brother. Going to feed him to a frostwhale.”

“Your brother.”

Fletcher stuffed his long hands into the pockets of his thermal and met Anton’s gaze. Sedgewick and his brother had the same muddy post-racial melanin and lampblack hair, but from there they diverged. Sedgewick had always been slight-framed and small-boned, with any muscle slapped across his chest and arms fought for gram by gram in a gravity gym. His eyes were a bit sunk and he hated his bowed nose.

Fletcher was already broad in the shoulders and slim-hipped, every bit of him carved sinew, and Sedgewick knew it wouldn’t be long before he was taller, too. His face was all angles now that the baby fat was gone: sharp cheekbones, netstar jawline. And his eyes were still reflecting in the half-lit tunnel, throwing light like a cat’s.

Sedgewick could feel the tips of his ears heating up as Anton swung his stare from one brother to the other, nonverbalizing the big question, the always-there question, which was why are you freestyle if he’s modded.

“So how big are they?” Fletcher asked, with his grin coming back. “The frostwhales.”

“Big,” Anton said. “Ko gramme ko pujo.” He pointed over to Oxo-of-the-jaw-implant and snapped his fingers together for support.

“Fucking big,” Oxo supplied in a mumble.

“Fucking big,” Anton said.

The cold flensed Sedgewick to the bones the instant they stepped outside. Overhead, the sky was a void blacker and vaster than any holo could match. The ice stretched endless in all directions, interrupted only by the faint running lights of methane harvesters stitched through the dark.

Brume had a prehensile lantern from one of the work crews and he handed it to Anton to affix to the cowl of his coat. It flexed and arched over his head, blooming a sickly green light. Sedgewick felt Fletcher look at him, maybe an uneasy look because they’d never been outside the colony at night, maybe a cocky look because he was making a move, going to ruin something for Sedgewick all over again.

“Okay,” Anton said, exhaling a long plume of steam with relish. His voice sounded hollow in the flat air. “Benga, benga, okay. Let’s go.”

“Right,” Sedgewick said, trying to smile with some kind of charm. “Benga.”

Brume gave his angry barking laugh and slapped him on the shoulder, then they set off over the ice. The pebbly gecko soles of Sedgewick’s gumboots kept him balanced and the heating coils in his clothes had already whispered to life, but every time he breathed the air seared his throat raw. Fletcher was a half-step behind the lot of them. Sedgewick resisted the urge to gledge back, knowing he’d see an unconcerned what are you staring for sneer.

Thinking back on it, he should’ve drugged Fletcher’s milk glass with their parents’ Dozr. Even his modded metabolism couldn’t have shaken off three tablets in time for him to play tag-along. Thinking even further back on it, he shouldn’t have had the conversation with Anton and Petro about the frostwhales where Fletcher could hear them.

Under his feet, the texture of the ice started to change, turning from smooth glossy black to scarred and rippled, broken and refrozen. He nearly caught his boot on a malformed spar of it.

“Okay, stop,” Anton announced, holding up both hands.

About a meter on, Sedgewick saw a squat iron pylon sunk into the ice. As he watched, the tip of it switched on, acid yellow. While Petro unloaded his vape and the other units circled up for a puff, Anton slung one arm around Sedgewick and the other around Fletcher.

“Benga, aki den glaso extrobengan minke,” he said.

The string of sounds was nothing like the lessons Sedgewick had stuck on his tab.

Anton shot a look over to Oxo-of-the-jaw-implant, but he was hunched over the vape, lips tinged purple. “Here,” Anton reiterated, gesturing past the pylon. “Here. Frostwhales up.”

He said it with a smile Sedgewick finally recognized as tight with amphetamine. He’d assumed they weren’t sucking down anything stronger than a party hash, but now that seemed like an idiot thing to assume. This was New fucking Greenland, so for all he knew these lads were already utterly panned.

Only one way to find out. Sedgewick gestured for the vape. “Hit me off that.”

Petro gave him a slow clap, either sarcastic or celebratory, while he held the stinging fog in his lungs for as long as he could, maybe because Fletcher was watching. There was only a bit of headspin, but it was enough to miss half of what Oxo-of-the-jaw-implant was saying to him.

“…is the area.” Oxo plucked the vape out of his slack hands and passed it on. “See. See there, see there, see there.” He pointed, and Sedgewick could pick out other pylons in the distance glowing to life. “Fucking danger, okay? Inside the area, frostwhales break ice for breathing. For break ice for breathing, frostwhales hit ice seven times. Den minuso, seven.”

“Minimum seven,” the other Oxo chimed in. Anton started counting aloud on his gloved fingers.

“Got it,” Fletcher muttered.

“So, so, so,” Oxo-of-the-jaw-implant went on. “When the frostwhales hit one, we go.”

“Thought you’d stay for the whole thing?” Sedgewick said, only halfway listening. The cold was killing off his toes one by one.

Anton gave up at twenty and sprang back to the conversation. “We go, extros,” he beamed. “You run. You run. I run. He runs. He runs. He runs. He runs. Here…” He gave the pylon a dull clanging kick. “To here!”

Sedgewick followed Anton’s pointing finger. Far off across the scarred ice, he could barely make out the yellow glow of the pylon opposite them. His stomach dropped. Sedgewick looked at his brother, and for a nanosecond Fletcher looked like a little kid again, but then his mouth curled into a smile and his modded eyes flashed.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m down.”

Sedgewick was a breath away from saying no you fucking aren’t, from saying we’re heading back now, from saying anything at all. But it all stuck on his ribs and instead he turned to Anton and shrugged.

“Benga,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The handshakes came back around, everyone hooting and pleased to have new recruits. Fletcher got the motion on his first try. When the vape made its final circle, Sedgewick gripped it hard and stared out over the black ice and tried to stop shivering.

Sedgewick knew Fletcher was faster than him. He’d known it like a stone in his belly since he was twelve and his brother was ten, and they’d raced on a pale gray beach back on Earth. Prickling fog and no witnesses. Fletcher took lead in the last third, pumping past him with a high clear incredulous laugh, and Sedgewick slacked off to a jog to let him win, because it was a nice thing, to let the younger brother win sometimes.

Occupied with the memory, Sedgewick was slow to notice that the eerie green pallor of the ice was no longer cast by Anton’s lantern. Something had lit it up from underneath. He stared down at the space between his boots and his gut gave a giddy helium lurch. Far below them, distorted by the ice, he could make out dim moving shapes. He remembered that frostwhales navigated by bioluminescence. He remembered the methane sea was deeper than any Earth ocean.

Everyone tightened the straps of their thermals, tucked in their gloves, and formed themselves into a ragged line that Sedgewick found himself near the end of, Fletcher beside him.

Anton waltzed down the row and made a show of checking everyone’s boots. “Grip,” he said, making a claw.

Sedgewick threw a hand onto Brume’s shoulder for balance while he displayed one sole and then the other. He leaned instinctively to do Fletcher the same favor, but his brother ignored it and lifted each leg precisely into the air, perfectly balanced. Sedgewick hated him as much as he ever had. He glued his eyes to the far pylon and imagined it was the first cleat of the dock on a rainy gray beach.

Under their feet, the ghostly green light receded, dropping them back into darkness. Sedgewick shot Oxo-of-the-jaw-implant a questioning look.

“First they see ice,” Oxo mumbled, rubbing his hands together. “They see ice for thin area. Then, down. For making momentum. Then, in one by one line…”

“Up,” Sedgewick guessed.

On cue, the light reappeared, rising impossibly fast. Sedgewick took a breath and coiled to sprint. His imagination flashed him a picture: the frostwhale rocketing upward, a blood-and-bone engine driven by a furious thrashing tail, hurtling through the cold water in a cocoon of bubbling gas. Then the impact quaked the ice and Sedgewick’s teeth, and he thought about nothing but running.

For two hard heartbeats, Sedgewick fronted the pack, flying across the ice like something unslung. The second impact nearly took his legs out from under him. He staggered, skidded, regained his balance, but in that split second Petro was past him. And Anton, and Oxo, and Oxo, Brume, Fletcher last.

Sedgewick dug deep for every shred of speed. The ice was nowhere near smooth, scarred with pocks and ridges and frozen ripples in the methane, but the others slid over it like human quicksilver, finding the perfect place for every footfall. Modded, modded, modded. The word danced in Sedgewick’s head as he gulped cold glass.

The green light swelled again, and he braced before the third frostwhale hit. The jolt shook him but he kept his footing, maybe even gained half a step on Oxo. Ahead, the race was thrown into relief: Brume’s broad shoulders, Anton’s thrown-back head, and there, sliding past gangly Petro for the lead, was Fletcher. Sedgewick felt hot despair churn up his throat.

His eyes raised to the pylon and he realized they were over halfway across. Fletcher pulled away now, not laughing, with that crisp bounding stride that said I can run forever. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, for what, Sedgewick didn’t know, and in that instant his boot caught a trench and slammed him hard to the ice.

Sedgewick watched the others vault past, Anton pausing to half-drag Fletcher back upright on the way by. “Benga, benga, extro!”

The fourth frostwhale hit, this time with a bone-deep groaning crack. Everyone else had overtaken Fletcher; Sedgewick would in a few more strides. Fletcher was just now hobbling upright and Sedgewick knew instantly he’d done his ankle in. His modded eyes were wide.

“Sedge.”

All the things Sedgewick had wished so savagely in the night—that the doctor had never pulled Fletcher out of his vat, that Fletcher’s pod would fail in transit to New Greenland—all of those things shattered at once. He swung Fletcher up onto his back, how they’d done as kids, and stumped on with lungs ragged.

The fifth impact. Sedgewick’s teeth slammed together and fissures skittered through the ice. He spared only a moment to balance himself, then stumbled forward again, Fletcher clinging fierce to his back. At the far pylon, the others hurtled to the finish, whooping and howling from a dozen meters away now, no more.

They all seemed to turn at once as the sixth impact split the world apart and the frostwhale breached. Sedgewick felt himself thrown airborne in a blizzard of shattered ice, felt himself screaming in his chest but unable to hear it, deafened by the shearing boom and crack. Some part of Fletcher smacked against him in midair.

Landing slammed the wind out of him. His vision pinwheeled from the unending black sky to the maelstrom of moving ice. And then, too big to be real, rising up out of the cold methane sea in a geyser of rime and steam, the frostwhale. Its bony head was gunmetal gray, the size of a bus, bigger, swatched with pale green lanterns of pustule that glowed like radiation.

Cracks webbed through the ice and something gave way; Sedgewick felt himself slanting, slipping. He tore his gaze from the towering bulk of the frostwhale and saw Fletcher spread-eagled beside him, a black shadow in the burning lime. His lips were moving but Sedgewick couldn’t read them, and then gloved hands gripped the both of them, hauling them flat along the breaking ice.

Oxo and Oxo made sure they were all pulled past the pylon before anyone got up off their belly. Sedgewick, for his part, didn’t even try. He was waiting on his heart to start beating again.

“Sometime six,” Anton said sheepishly, crouching over him.

“Go to hell,” Fletcher croaked from nearby, and in a moment of weakness Sedgewick choked up a wavery laugh.

They washed home on a wave of adrenaline, caught up in the rapid-fire conversation of the New Greenlanders who still seemed to be rehashing how close Sedgewick and Fletcher had come to getting dumped under. Every single one of them needed a send-off handshake at the living quarters, then they slunk off in one chattering mass.

Sedgewick couldn’t keep the chemical grin off his face, and as he and Fletcher snuck through the vestibule and then ghosted back to their temporary shared room, they talked in a tumble of whispers about the frostwhale, about the size of it, and about the ones that had surfaced afterward to suck cold air into massive vein-webbed bladders.

Sedgewick didn’t want to stop talking, but even when they did, climbing into their beds, the quiet felt different. Softer.

It wasn’t until he was staring up at the biocrete ceiling that he realized Fletcher’s limp had swapped sides on the way back. He swung upright, unbelieving.

“You faked it.”

“What?” Fletcher was rolled away, tracing the wall with his long fingers.

“You faked it,” Sedgewick repeated. “Your ankle.”

Fletcher took his hand off the wall, and the long quiet was enough confirmation.

Sedgewick’s cheeks burned. He’d thought he had finally done something big enough, big enough to keep him on the greater side of whatever fucked-up equation they were balancing. But it was Fletcher feeling sorry for him. No, worse. Fletcher making a move. Fletcher manipulating him for whatever kind of schemes floated through his modded head.

“We could have both died,” Sedgewick said.

Still turned away, Fletcher gave his perfect shrug, and Sedgewick felt all the old fury fluming up through his skin.

“You think that was a hologame?” he snarled. “That was real. You could have deaded us both. You think you can just do anything, right? You think you can just do anything, and it’ll fucking work out perfect for you, because you’re modded.”

Fletcher’s shoulders stiffened. “Good job,” he said, toneless.

“What?” Sedgewick demanded. “Good job what?”

“Good job on saying it,” Fletcher told the wall. “You’re ashamed to have a modded brother. You wanted one like you.”

Sedgewick faltered, then made himself laugh. “Yeah, maybe I did.” His throat ached. “You know what it’s like seeing you? Seeing you always be better than me?”

“Not my fault.”

“I was six when they told me you were going to be better,” Sedgewick said, too far gone to stop now, saying the things he’d only ever said alone to the dark. “They said different, but they meant better. Mom couldn’t do another one freestyle and to go off-planet you’re supposed to have them modded anyway. So they grew you in a tube. Like hamburger. You’re not even real.” His breath came lacerated. “Why wasn’t I enough for them, huh? Why wasn’t I fucking enough?”

“Fuck you,” Fletcher said, with his voice like gravel, and Sedgewick had never heard him say it or mean it until now.

He flopped back onto his bed, grasping for the slip-sliding anger as it trickled away in the dark. Shame came instead and sat at the bottom of him like cement. Minutes ticked by in silence. Sedgewick thought Fletcher was probably drifting to sleep already, probably not caring at all.

Then there was a bit-off sob, a sound smothered by an arm or a pillow, something Sedgewick hadn’t heard from his brother in years. The noise wedged in his ribcage. He tried to unhear it, tried to excuse it. Maybe Fletcher had peeled off his thermal and found frostbite. Maybe Fletcher was making a move, always another move, putting a lure into the dark between them and sharpening his tongue for the retort.

Maybe all Sedgewick needed to do was go and put his hand on some part of his brother, and everything would be okay. His heart hammered up his throat. Maybe. Sedgewick pushed his face into the cold fabric of his pillow and decided to wait for a second sob, but none came. The silence thickened into hard black ice.

Sedgewick clamped his eyes shut and it stung badly, badly.

【译文】

塞奇威克用他的标签关掉了弗莱彻的闹钟，但当他半夜从床上爬起来时，他的弟弟完全醒着，等待着，他的眼睛在黑暗中变成了淡绿色。

弗莱彻犹豫不决地笑着说：“我没想到你真的会这么做。”

“我当然会这么做。”塞奇威克言简意赅，就像他几个月来所做的那样。他的脸一直很冷。“如果你要来，就穿上衣服。”

弗莱彻的笑容换成了往常的怒容。他们默默地戴上暖气、手套和口香糖靴子，像一块滑动的拼图一样在房间里走来走去，小心翼翼地避免住在同一个正方形空间里。如果有什么办法能让弗莱彻不用毯子闷死他，塞奇威克一定会接受的。但是弗莱彻现在14岁了，仍然比他小，但比他小不了多少，他那结实的假臂就像外骨骼一样强壮。威胁已经不再有用了。

当他们准备好后，塞奇威克领着他们经过父母的房间来到前厅，他们用大拇指对他进行了编码，以忏悔再次将他连根拔起，这一次他把他扔到了一个他妈的霜冻的殖民地世界，在那里，他是唯一一个在大约100万光年内没有被改造的16岁少年。他们说，他赢得了他们的信任，但没有具体说明是如何赢得的。当然，弗莱彻并不需要赚到钱。他能照顾好自己。

塞奇威克清空了出口日志，这更多的是出于习惯，然后他们走出寒冷的前厅，走进了更冷的上街。他们上方的弧形天花板是夜空的全息图，蓝黑色的，上面有一个大得令人难以置信的卡通月亮，布满口袋和明亮的白色。除了塞奇威克和他的家人，没有人在新格陵兰岛看到过真正的地球之夜。

他们默默地沿着房屋排走去，靴子在霜冻中刮擦着脚印。当他们经过时，一家汽车清洁工将闪闪发光的蓝色冷却液溢出的盐渍洗掉，疑惑地朝他们闪了一眼，然后又回到了工作岗位上。弗莱彻滑到它后面，哑剧般地拉走了，这可能会让塞奇威克笑一次，但他已经学会了把自己变成一个黑洞，吞噬任何与同志情谊太近的东西。

“不要到处拉屎，”他说。“它会扫描你。”

“我不在乎，”弗莱彻说，他最近完善了一个轻蔑的小耸肩，这让塞奇威克相信他真的不在乎。

甲烷采集器是不循环的，这意味着工作人员仍然在殖民地徘徊，蜿蜒进出多巴胺棒和迪斯科舞厅。他们都来自同一个经过改造的基因，都有橡胶般的苍白皮肤，可以制造自己的维生素，都有习惯于黑暗的深黑眼睛。他们中的几个人骨瘦如柴地坐在路边，用他们刚刚炸过的任何东西铺开，当塞奇威克和弗莱彻走过时，他们喃喃地说着额外的话。他们中的一个喊了几声“你好”，但为时已晚。

“应该参选，”弗莱彻说。

“什么？”

“应该可以慢跑。”弗莱彻揉了揉胳膊。“天气很冷。”

“你先走吧，”塞奇威克轻蔑地说。

“随便吧”

他们继续往前走。除了酒吧里闪闪发光的Holos外，上街是一条由生物混凝土和复合材料组成的长长的空白走廊。下街大体上是一样的，再加上每隔几分钟就会喷出蒸汽的维修隧道。

塞奇威克只用了一天的时间就从殖民地的一端走到了另一端，并得出结论，除了足球场，没有什么值得他花时间。他在那里遇到的当地人，他们打着不同的线条和一个沉重的球，以及塞奇威克知道他跟不上长时间的猛烈调整的精确度，或多或少同意他在他们生硬的基础上的评估。

在殖民地之外则是另一回事。这就是为什么塞奇威克在2点13分从床上爬起来的原因，也是为什么他和弗莱彻现在正沿着一条未密封的出口隧道前进，隧道上有一块未经批准的酸性黄色全息图。今晚，霜鲸正在突破。

塞奇威克在上周的比赛中遇到的大多数小伙子都在出口隧道的尽头等待，懒洋洋地躺在闪烁的花朵下，从手到手传递着蒸汽。他把他们的名字和面孔塞进了一个医生，然后记住了。这不是塞奇威克作为新男孩的第一次奔跑，现在他知道如何识别原型了。

你有你的阿尔法狗，它会根据自己的情绪决定条目的成败。你的左撇子，他通常是吃醋的类型，而左撇子，他通常不会给狗屎。你的步兵，根据前三名的排名，他们的风化程度从合群到含糊的敌意不等。最后，你的男人处于边缘，他要么幸灾乐祸，希望得到一个还没有弄清楚自己位置的朋友，要么因为害怕被取代而保持沉默。

很难辨别谁是谁，因为每个人都被改造了，没有一个人能说好基本的东西。当他们看到塞奇威克时，他们都从墙上爬了下来，冲进来和他握手，奇怪的口吃不停，塞奇威克来不及跟他握手。彼得罗又高又懒，首先是因为他离得最近，而不是因为他在乎。奥克索，黑眼睛已经闪过了，等待批准。浓黑的墨水，紧凑得像砖头，听起来很愤怒的笑声。另一位OXO，这位下巴上植入了再生的植入物，因为这个或者可能是因为其他什么原因而安静下来。

安东是最后一个，塞奇威克认为是阿尔法狗的人。他握住自己的手又长了一拍，露齿而笑，洁白的牙齿根本不需要整形手术。

“喂，临时演员，你今天早上好吗？”他越过塞奇威克的肩膀看了看，眉毛一闪。“谁？”

“弗莱彻，”塞奇威克说。“那个小弟弟。准备把他喂给一头霜鲸。“。

“你的兄弟。”

弗莱彻把他的长手塞进热水器的口袋里，与安东的目光相遇。塞奇威克和他的兄弟有着相同的后种族时代的黑色素和油烟色头发，但从那以后他们就分道扬镳了。塞奇威克一直身材瘦小，骨瘦如柴，胸口上的任何肌肉都会拍打着，在重力健身房里，手臂一克接一克地搏斗。他的眼睛有点凹陷，他讨厌他的低垂的鼻子。

弗莱彻肩膀宽阔，臀部苗条，全身上下都刻着肌腱，塞奇威克知道用不了多久，他也会长得更高。婴儿脂肪消失后，他的脸变得棱角分明：锋利的颧骨，Netstar的下巴线条。他的眼睛还在半明半暗的隧道里反光，像猫一样投射光芒。

当安东把他的目光从一个兄弟转向另一个兄弟时，塞奇威克可以感觉到他的耳尖在升温，他没有用语言表达一个大问题，一直存在的问题，那就是如果他做了模特，你为什么要做自由式。

“那么它们有多大呢？”弗莱彻问道，他的笑容又回来了。“霜鲸”

“很大，”安东说。“Ko Grame Ko Pujo.”他指着OXO-OF-JOW植入物，打了个响指，以求支撑。

“他妈的大，”奥克索喃喃地说。

“他妈的很大，”安东说。

他们一走出家门，寒冷就把塞奇威克冻得骨瘦如柴。在头顶上，天空是一片空虚，比任何全息影像都更黑暗、更广阔。冰层向四面八方无边无际地延伸，只被黑暗中缝合的甲烷收集器微弱的运行灯光打断。

布卢姆从一名工作人员那里拿了一个可抓牢的灯笼，他把它递给安东，让他把它系在大衣的罩子上。它在他的头顶上弯曲和拱形，发出病态的绿光。塞奇威克感觉弗莱彻看着他，也许是一种不安的眼神，因为他们从来没有在晚上离开过殖民地，也许是因为他正在采取行动，可能会再次毁掉塞奇威克的某些东西。

“好的，”安东说，津津有味地吐出一股长长的蒸汽。他的声音在平淡的空气中听起来很空洞。“本加，本加，好的。我们走吧“。

“对，”塞奇威克说，试图带着某种魅力微笑。“本加。”

布卢姆愤怒地狂笑着，拍了拍他的肩膀，然后他们越过冰面出发了。塞奇威克口香糖靴子的鹅卵石壁虎鞋底让他保持平衡，他衣服上的暖气线圈已经在低声呼唤着生命，但每次他呼吸空气时，他的喉咙都会被灼伤。弗莱彻比他们中的许多人落后了半步。塞奇威克忍住了回敬的冲动，他知道他会看到一个无关紧要的东西，你在盯着他嘲笑什么。

回想起来，他应该把弗莱彻的奶杯和他们父母的Dozr一起下药。即使是他的新陈代谢也不可能及时甩掉三片药片，让他跟着玩。再往前想一想，他就不应该和安东和彼得罗谈论弗莱彻能听到的霜鲸。

在他的脚下，冰块的质地开始发生变化，从光滑光滑的黑色变成了伤痕累累、波纹丛生、破碎并重新冻结。他差点被一根畸形的木梁绊住了。

“好了，别说了，”安东举起双手宣布。

大约一米外，塞奇威克看到一个矮矮的铁塔沉入冰中。当他看着的时候，它的尖端打开了，呈酸性的黄色。当彼得罗卸下他的蒸汽，其他部队围起来吸一口烟时，安东一只胳膊搂着塞奇威克，另一只胳膊搂着弗莱彻。

“Benga，aki den Glaso extrobengan minke，”他说。

这串声音和塞奇威克记在帐单上的课程完全不同。

安东看了一眼下巴植入物，但他弓着身子看着烟雾弹，嘴唇微微泛着紫色。“在这里，”安东重复道，指着塔架。“这里。冰冻鲸鱼站起来。“。

他笑着说，塞奇威克终于意识到安非他明与他的关系很密切。他曾以为他们不会吞下比聚会杂碎更烈的东西，但现在看来，这似乎是一件愚蠢的事情。这是他妈的新格陵兰岛，所以据他所知，这些小伙子已经被彻底打得精疲力竭了。

只有一个方法知道。塞奇威克用手势指着汽水。“把我打得落花流水。”

彼得罗给了他一个缓慢的掌声，要么是讽刺的，要么是庆祝的，而他尽可能长时间地把刺痛的雾气藏在肺里，可能是因为弗莱彻在看着他。虽然只有一点头晕目眩，但这足以让他听不到一半令人惊讶的植入物对他说的话了。

“…。就是这个地区。“。奥克索从他松弛的手中掏出汽水，把它传了下去。“你看。看到那里，看到那里，看到那里。“。他指了指，塞奇威克可以辨认出远处的其他塔架焕发出生机。“他妈的危险，好吗？在该区域内，霜鲸破冰呼吸。为了打破冰呼吸，霜鲸撞冰七次。Den minuso，七个。“

“最少七个，”另一个乐团成员插话道。安东开始用戴着手套的手指大声数数。

“明白了，”弗莱彻喃喃地说。

“好了，”下巴植入的Oxo-Of-Plantage继续说。“当霜鲸撞到一头时，我们就出发。”

“你以为整个过程你都会留下来吗？”塞奇威克说，只听了一半。寒冷使他的脚趾一个接一个地冻死了。

安东在20岁时放弃了，又回到了谈话中。“我们走，外星人，”他笑容满面地说。“你跑吧。你跑吧。我在跑步。他跑了。他跑了。他跑了。他跑了。在这里…“。他重重地踢了一下塔架。“到这里来！”

塞奇威克跟着安东的手指。在远处伤痕累累的冰面上，他几乎看不清对面塔架发出的黄色光芒。他的胃沉了下来。塞奇威克看着他的弟弟，一瞬间弗莱彻看起来又像个小孩子了，但随后他的嘴巴卷曲成一个微笑，他那双变形的眼睛闪闪发光。

“好吧，”他说。“我输了。”

塞奇威克几乎不会说不，你他妈的不会，不会说我们现在要回去，什么都不会说。但这一切都卡在了他的肋骨上，他转身对安东耸了耸肩。

“本加，”他说。“我们走”

握手声又回来了，每个人都欢呼雀跃，为有了新成员而高兴。弗莱彻第一次尝试就得到了动议。当蒸气绕了最后一圈时，塞奇威克紧紧抓住它，凝视着外面的黑色冰层，试图停止颤抖。

塞奇威克知道弗莱彻比他快。从他12岁和他哥哥10岁起，他就对它了如指掌，他们在地球上的一片浅灰色海滩上赛跑。浓雾刺骨，没有目击者。弗莱彻在最后三分领先，带着一声高高的、清晰的、怀疑的笑声从他身边经过，塞奇威克懒洋洋地慢跑，让他赢了，因为有时让弟弟赢是一件好事。

塞奇威克沉浸在记忆中，慢慢地注意到，安东的灯笼不再投下冰块那诡异的绿色苍白。有什么东西从下面把它照亮了。他低头凝视着靴子之间的空隙，肠子里出现了一阵头晕目眩的氦气晃动。在它们下面很远的地方，被冰层扭曲了，他能辨认出模糊的移动的身影。他记得霜鲸靠生物发光导航。他记得甲烷海比地球上的任何海洋都要深。

每个人都系好暖气的带子，戴上手套，排成一条参差不齐的队伍，塞奇威克发现自己快走到队伍的尽头了，弗莱彻就在他身边。

安东大摇大摆地走下一排，摆出一副检查每个人靴子的样子。“抓紧，”他一边说，一边做了个爪子。

塞奇威克把一只手放在布卢姆的肩膀上保持平衡，同时他先展示了一只鞋底，然后又展示了另一只鞋底。他本能地想帮弗莱彻同样的忙，但他的兄弟没有理会，把每条腿准确地举到空中，完全保持平衡。塞奇威克和他以前一样恨他。他目不转睛地盯着远处的塔架，把它想象成是阴雨灰色海滩上码头的第一条裂缝。

在他们的脚下，幽灵般的绿光退去，把他们又扔进了黑暗中。塞奇威克不假思索地看了一眼。

“他们首先看到的是冰，”奥克索一边揉着双手，一边喃喃地说。“他们看到的是薄薄地区的冰。然后，向下。因为它带来了动力。然后，在一行接一行的…中。

“向上，”塞奇威克猜想。

就在这时，灯光再次出现，升起的速度快得令人难以置信。塞奇威克吸了一口气，盘绕着冲刺。他的想象力向他闪现了一幅画面：霜鲸向上飞翔，一台血肉相连的发动机被一条猛烈拍打的尾巴驱动，在一层冒泡的气体的茧中疾驰在冰冷的水中。接着冲击力震撼了冰层和塞奇威克的牙齿，他只想着跑步。

在两次剧烈的心跳中，塞奇威克走在队伍的前面，像什么东西一样飞过冰面。第二次撞击几乎把他的腿从他脚下撞断了。他摇摇晃晃地滑了一下，又恢复了平衡，但在那一刹那，彼得罗超过了他。安东，奥克索，奥克索，布鲁姆，弗莱彻最后。

塞奇威克为了每一丝速度都挖得很深。冰面一点也不平坦，布满了坑坑洼洼的伤疤，甲烷中的冰冻涟漪，但其他冰层却像人类的水银一样滑过冰面，为每一个脚步找到了完美的位置。修改过的，修改过的，修改过的。塞奇威克大口吞下冰冷的玻璃杯时，这个词在他的脑海里跳跃。

绿灯又亮了起来，他在第三头霜鲸来袭前做好了准备。颠簸震撼了他，但他站稳了脚跟，甚至可能比奥克索快了半步。在前面，比赛变得轻松起来：布卢姆宽阔的肩膀，安东后仰的头，在那里，滑过瘦长的彼得罗取得领先，是弗莱彻。塞奇威克感到强烈的绝望情绪激起了他的喉咙。

他抬起头看着塔架，他意识到他们已经过半了。弗莱彻现在离开了，没有笑，迈着轻快的跳跃的步伐，说我可以永远跑下去。然后他回头看了一眼，塞奇威克不知道是为了什么，就在那一刻，他的靴子碰到了一条战壕，把他重重地摔到了冰上。

塞奇威克看着其他人跳过，安东在经过的路上停下来半拉弗莱彻直立起来。“Benga，Benga，Extro！”

第四头霜鲸撞上了，这一次发出了一声骨头深的呻吟声。其他人都超过了弗莱彻；塞奇威克还会再迈几步。弗莱彻刚刚一瘸一拐地直立着，塞奇威克立刻知道他的脚踝受伤了。他那双变形的眼睛睁得大大的。

“赛奇”

塞奇威克在夜里强烈希望的所有事情--医生从未把弗莱彻从他的大桶里拉出来，弗莱彻的吊舱在运往新格陵兰岛的途中失败--所有这些都一下子碎了。他把弗莱彻背起来，看看他们小时候是怎么做的，然后带着破烂的肺蹒跚前行。

第五个影响。塞奇威克的牙齿砰的一声咬在一起，裂缝在冰面上飞驰而过。他只花了片刻时间使自己保持平衡，然后又跌跌撞撞地向前走去，弗莱彻狠狠地抓着他的背。在远处的塔架上，其他人都冲到了终点，从十几米远的地方尖叫着，再也没有了。

当第六次撞击将世界撕裂，霜鲸破裂时，他们似乎都立刻转向了。塞奇威克感觉自己被抛在一片碎冰的暴风雪中，感觉自己在胸前尖叫，但听不见，被剪切声和爆裂声震耳欲聋。弗莱彻的某个部位在半空中撞了他一下。

着陆使他喘不过气来。他的视线从一望无际的黑色天空转到了流动的冰的漩涡中。然后，大得不像真的，从冰冷的甲烷海中冒出雾气和蒸汽的间歇泉，出现了霜鲸。它骨瘦如柴的头是青铜灰色的，有公交车那么大，更大，点缀着淡绿色的脓疱灯笼，像辐射一样发光。

冰面上布满了裂痕，有什么东西坍塌了；塞奇威克感觉自己在倾斜，在往下滑。他把目光从高大的霜鲸身上移开，看到弗莱彻在他身旁展翅高飞，在燃烧的石灰中形成了一个黑色的影子。他的嘴唇在动，但塞奇威克看不懂，然后戴着手套的手抓住了他们两个，沿着破碎的冰面把他们拖得平坦。

奥克索和奥克索确保在有人从他们肚子里爬出来之前，他们都被拉过了塔架。塞奇威克则连试都没试过。他在等待自己的心脏重新开始跳动。

“大概六个人吧，”安东不好意思地说，蹲在他身上。

“见鬼去吧，”弗莱彻在附近尖声喊道，塞奇威克一时软弱无力，哽咽了一声，笑得前仰后合。

他们激动不已地回家了，陷入了新格陵兰人的快速交谈中，他们似乎仍在反复谈论塞奇威克和弗莱彻离被甩有多近。他们中的每一个人都需要在起居区握手送行，然后他们一起偷偷溜走。

塞奇威克忍不住咧嘴笑了起来，当他和弗莱彻偷偷穿过前厅，然后鬼鬼祟祟地回到他们临时合住的房间时，他们低声谈论着霜鲸，谈论着它的大小，以及后来浮出水面将冷空气吸入巨大的脉络膀胱的那些鲸鱼。

塞奇威克不想停止说话，但即使他们这样做了，爬上床，安静的感觉也不一样。再柔和一点。

直到他抬头看着生物混凝土天花板，他才意识到弗莱彻的跛行在回来的路上改变了立场。他直起身子，不敢相信。

“你是装出来的。”

“什么？”弗莱彻被卷走了，他用长长的手指摸索着墙壁。

“你是假装的，”塞奇威克重复道。“你的脚踝。”

弗莱彻把手从墙上拿开，长时间的安静足以证实这一点。

塞奇威克的脸颊烧焦了。他本以为自己终于做了一些大的事情，足以让他站在他们正在平衡的任何乱七八糟的方程式的更大的一边。但那是弗莱彻为他感到难过。不，更糟。弗莱彻开始行动了。弗莱彻操纵他，不管他的头脑里浮现出什么样的阴谋。

“我们可能都会死，”塞奇威克说。

弗莱彻仍然转过身去，他完美地耸了耸肩，塞奇威克感到所有旧日的愤怒都涌上了他的皮肤。

“你觉得那是全息照片吗？”他咆哮着。“那是真的。你可能会害死我们两个。你认为你可以做任何事，对吗？你认为你可以做任何事，而且它会他妈的对你完美无瑕，因为你已经改头换面了。“。

弗莱彻的肩膀僵硬了。“干得好，”他语调平淡地说。

“什么？”塞奇威克问道。“干得好什么？”

“说得好，”弗莱彻对“墙”说。“你为有一个改过自新的兄弟而感到羞耻。你想要一个像你这样的人。“。

塞奇威克支支吾吾，然后逗自己笑。“是啊，也许是我干的。”他的喉咙痛。“你知道见到你是什么感觉吗？看到你总是比我强吗？“。

“不是我的错。”

“他们告诉我你会好起来的时候，我才六岁，”塞奇威克说，他说的话太离谱了，现在停不下来了。他说的话是他只对黑暗独自说过的话。“他们说的不一样，但他们的意思更好。妈妈不能再做一次自由泳了，要想离开星球，无论如何你都应该把它们改一下。所以他们把你培养在试管里。就像汉堡一样。你甚至都不是真的。“。他的呼吸被撕裂了。“为什么我对他们来说还不够呢？”为什么我做爱还不够？“。

“去你妈的，”弗莱彻用沙砾般的声音说，塞奇威克直到现在才听他这么说，也没听过他是认真的。

他扑通一声回到床上，抓住在黑暗中慢慢溜走的愤怒。羞耻反而来了，像水泥一样坐在他的屁股上。几分钟在沉默中滴答滴答地流逝。塞奇威克认为弗莱彻可能已经睡着了，可能根本不在乎。

然后传来一阵抽泣声，一种被手臂或枕头闷住的声音，塞奇威克已经多年没有听到他哥哥的声音了。噪音卡在他的胸腔里。他试着不去听，试着原谅它。也许弗莱彻脱掉了体温，发现了冻伤。也许弗莱彻正在采取行动，总是另一个行动，把诱饵放在他们之间的黑暗中，并磨砺自己的舌头以备反驳。

也许塞奇威克需要做的就是去把手放在他哥哥的某个部位，一切都会好起来的。他的心跳得喘不过气来。也许吧。塞奇威克把脸塞进冰冷的枕头里，决定等待第二次抽泣，但没有人来。寂静变成了坚硬的黑色冰层。

塞奇威克闭上眼睛，刺痛得很厉害。

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