She shook her head. The brown locks tumbled within her helmet. "No, then it wouldn't be mine. I mean, that'd be like ... having a robot take care of my children—only it'd need to be a sophotect, to cope with the deviltries they'd surely invent. The sweetest machine, with the warmest, fuzziest fur coat, wouldn't be me."
Deviltries, yes, no doubt, he thought. Children of hers will be almighty bright and lively, if she picks the right man.
An object appeared on top of a bluff. It shone in gaudy enamel hues. For an instant it poised before it sprang, landed on a terrace, bounced up, and bounded toward the humans. It slightly resembled a grasshopper, standing about forty centimeters high on the hind limbs, but with a big head, enormous eyes, and gauzy metallic wings.
"Why, here's Taffy!" Kinna cried. "Welcome, dear! Come to Mama!" She spread her arms. The leaper jumped into them. It wriggled gleefully. Wings quivered, hands on forelimbs clutched at her skinsuit. Fenn heard its radio voice trill. Kinna caressed it and crooned back.
After a moment she lifted her face toward him. "I'm forgetting my manners," she laughed. "Fenn, meet Taffimai Metallumai. She's good people in her skittery fashion. Taffy, meet Fenn. He's good people in his gruff fashion."
"Uh, hola," the man greeted as solemnly as he could manage. "That's an unusual name."
"I came on it in a playback of an ancient book,"
Kinna explained. "It means 'Small-person-without-any-manners-who-ought-to-be-spanked.' ''
"A robot?"
"Yes, of course. No animal this big could survive outdoors. Not yet."
Fenn nodded. The "eyes" were optics and the "wings" energy collectors. He supposed that mostly the pseudo-creature lay dormant while its accumulators charged. Or did it also tap the power center in the fields, or graze certain of the plants to feed fuel cells? The demands of a solitary specimen would be negligible. In any case, the algorithms that ran it could not be simple; they must be capable of learning and of flexible response to situations. There might actually be a nonalgorithmic, quantum element—which would make it technically a sophotect, though an electrophotonic system this size couldn't be smarter than, say, a dog.
"You've probably heard about the wild robots that some of the Lunarians produce and release to hunt," Kinna went on. "I mentioned to Uncle Chuan how nice it would be to have a little and good-natured one, to keep me company when I'm out here where our cats can't go ... well, they could, but they'd hate skinsuits. He had this made for me, for my birthday."
She doesn't need company, she needs to give love, Fenn thought. She has so much of it.
Taffimai Metallumai stirred restlessly. "All right, run along," Kinna said, and let it go. It hopped off, back onto the terrace, to sit watchful—curious? She smiled, then paid it no further heed.
She doesn't gush over this machine, Fenn thought, any more than I will over that spacecraft I will take to Deimos and back. "That was kind of Chuan," he said.
"He is a dear, you know," Kinna murmured.
"M-m, you know it. To me—well, never mind."
Her gladness diminished. "He has to do his duty as he sees it," she said anxiously. "Don't we all?"
"Some people choose the wrong set of duties, “ he snapped, and at once regretted his impulse.
"Oh." She was mute for a second. "You're thinking of those fanatics—" She half reached toward him. "Fenn, I never was able to say how sorry I was when I learned about your friend being killed. How sorry I am. I'm still not able. I cried, but what help is that?" She blinked hard. Sunlight splintered off the drops suddenly caught in her lashes.
"Thanks anyway." How stiff that sounds. "I understand what you mean." I think. "You're very kind."
"Not really. But I do care. I care a lot." Now the silence was long, until she mustered a smile and a brighter tone of voice. "I ought to, after everything you and your people are going to do for us."
His own mood, so abruptly dashed, was less ready to rise. "If we're allowed to."
The big gray eyes dwelt sadly on him. "It's back to Chuan, then, isn't it?"
"Not him personally," Fenn made haste to answer. "The system, which wants to keep us inside itself."
She did not take the detour he offered. Standing erect, she declared, "He serves the system. He's an integral part of it."
"I didn't want to belabor that."
"But I don't want lies or evasions between us."
"Nor I."
They fell silent again, into a mutual confusion and, also for him, shyness.
Thereafter she spoke quickly. "Let's talk straight and get it over with. Have you considered the possibility that we, our side, our ambitions, may be wrong? That we're irresponsibly bent on a fearful gamble with millions and millions of lives, people who haven't asked to be the stakes in our game?"
Fenn weighed his words. He'd better not say outright, "Flap them." Indeed, he'd be ashamed to, here, with her. "I might be readier to accept that if the rules of the game got spelled out for me," he stated.
"You mean—Oh, of course. You think we're entitled to more information and better arguments than we've been given."
"We're told to take on faith that the cybercosm—Not the Synesis. Our human trustees and councillors and administrators, they are what they are because they take it on what amounts to faith. We're told the cybercosm knows best. Its data processing, its analyses, its built-in reasonableness, and up on top, its all-knowing, all-good Teramind—we organics can't match any of this. We should stay put in our cozy playpen and let it do everything that matters."
"No. We should grow into maturity."
Fenn squinted at her through the chill, brilliant light. "You don't believe that yourself, do you?"
She lowered her gaze. Her fingers twisted together. "I don't know," she whispered. "I can't be sure. Uncle Chuan, he's told me about past history and our present metastability—"
"He hasn't told enough."
She met his eyes again. "Do you mean the ... confidential information?"
He nodded violently. "For a start, yes. More's involved than just data, but we can begin with the data. Like on the field-drive ships or this mysterious discovery a solar lens is supposed to have made."
Four tears escaped to course down her face. "Fenn, I've said it to you before; something about that grieves him—Sometimes I'm terrified."
The fists doubled at his sides. “Isn't it better to have our horrors out in the open? Then we can deal with them ... ourselves."
"Yes." Once more she looked away from him. Her glance fell on Taffimai Metallumai. As if the garish sight rekindled will in her, she smiled a bit, turned back to Fenn, and said, "Don't get me wrong. I've argued and argued with Chuan. I'd've done it more, but I can't stand to hurt him, and so we generally soon go to talking about pleasant things or share a piece of music or whatever. He's made me wonder, but he hasn't convinced me. I'm with you."
"You would be," he said low.
She flushed. "Thank you." Hurrying onward: "The problem, you know, the danger, if there is a danger, that's not from the cybercosm. It isn't a dictator over us or anything. The real opposition—enemies, maybe—they're humans."
"Probably," he half yielded. "Including those who hate the cybercosm."
She laid a gloved hand in his. They stood remembering He'o.
"Flame it," he said at last, "Chuan is right, as far as that goes. We humans are experts at making trouble for each other. Like the Proserpinans and your Threedom." Immediately he cursed himself for having uttered it.
She flinched; but she did not let go of him, and she spoke levelly. "Yes, now Dad and I are at odds too. Though we don't fight."
"You agree to disagree." That was obvious, from what he had seen in their home. “I gather you personally don't think the Threedom should be, uh, brought into a proper orbit?"
"No. How would we like it if they hauled us into theirs?"
"You don't condone destruction and robbery, do you? I've heard of killings too."
She drew her hand back from
his. "Of course I don't!" she protested. "Who does? It's been provoked,. but even the Inrai themselves—except a few who're naturally wild—they don't like it, and Scorian keeps those few pretty well under control—"
He nodded stiffly. As a police officer, he had known such. Pedro Dover wasn't unique. Some people didn't take to being civilized; their DNA wasn't right for it.
He thought briefly that maybe to some degree he was in that class. But he'd turned those impulses elsewhere.
Hadn't he? The trick was to keep minimized the sort of situations that could upset whatever balance the born savages had, and to maintain the kind of watchfulness and strength that discouraged losing that balance.
"No, I don't want Elverir, my trouvour, leaving his bones in the desert," Kinna said.
Fenn felt he wouldn't be too sorry if that happened, then saw how senseless the feeling was. What claim had he?
She calmed. "The real Inrai and their supporters are only after what they see as freedom," she finished. "It could take a completely new form from anything that's been seen before. If we can somehow make peace with them, well, I've told you how the Tharsis seigneurs are as interested in your project as other Lunarians are, and how they might bring the Proserpinans back to us."
He hated to quench that reviving enthusiasm, but for an obscure reason—maybe, he thought afterward and winced, a lingering pique—he said: "With unpredictable consequences if it can happen at all. The cybercosm doesn't like it. The Synesis won't."
Her head sank. "I don't know, Fenn, I don't know. I keep hoping, but everything's so tangled and, and ambiguous. Politics—we thought our different societies had outgrown politics, didn't we? Outgrown government and all those other primitive things. But they're coming back."
"If they ever left us."
"Enough of this. Please."
Contrition washed over him. "Sure. I'm sorry. I didn't intend to bring up nasty stuff and ... and spoil our outing."
"And I didn't intend we should hide from it." Brightness broke through. "Today, though, Fenn, why don't we think instead about how wonderful everything can become?"
Relief blossomed, and joy. "Great idea!"
They linked hands again, to shake them up and down and sideways. The robot hopped back to join in the fun. With no rational cause for it, Fenn and Kinna began to laugh till their helmets rang.
Later he said, “If things work out the way they should, I'll be back on Mars fairly soon, maybe to stay."
"I'll look forward to that," she answered. "I'll wait."
15
FROM THE HIGH building on the shore of Walvis Bay, vision ranged westward over the South Atlantic Ocean, blue, green, white-foamed, restlessly asheen and aglitter beneath the sun. A breeze off those waters carried a benison of coolness and, even this far up, a salty tang. The bay itself lay broad and quiet from Pelican Point to the settlement at its south end: this great tower for homes and offices, the lesser auxiliary structures softly pastel-hued in their parkscape. Pleasure boats danced like drag-onflies. Two large freighters rested at the docks, robots attending to their cargoes. Grass, trees, flowers reached inland beyond sight, metamorphic conquerors of ancient desert. The nerves that radiated from here across half a continent were invisible, impalpable—communication lines, data exchanges, a subset of the global network, of the cybercosm.
Fenn's gaze was elsewhere, either on the man with whom he was talking or on the spectacle before them. Here atop the tower, he and Maherero sat beneath an awning, a table and refreshments between them, ten meters of open duramoss in front. Beyond that space, drums thuttered and whistles keened. Lithe black bodies, gorgeously plumed and skirted and bejeweled, sweat-gleaming as if polished, danced measures now stately and intricate, now swift and feral. Birds bred for it flew among them, over them, a whirl of colors, scarlet and yellow finches, lightning-blue kingfishers.
The show had started when the two men arrived and went tirelessly on. It did not interfere with their conference, but enhanced it. Fenn, guessed that the leader had directional sonic plugs in his ears, followed the discussion keenly, and signaled his troupe accordingly. When conversation grew intent, sound died down to a whisper and the dancers barely swayed; when it turned light or .cheerful, tempo picked up; when it fell into silence, furiousness exploded, as if to engulf it in life.
To this folk, entertainment for honored guests was a custom as strong as law. Ranking Lahui who had been here earlier, one at a time, had described it to Fenn, adding that no vivifer could convey the real experience. He was delighted when an invitation came also to him, and promptly took flight for Africa. What he was witnessing did not disappoint.
Of course, most of his attention stayed with Maherero. Slender, his face looking almost youthful despite the woolly gray above, casually dressed in a loose robe and sandals, this high councillor of the Southern Coagency had received him like an equal and discoursed easily, affably. Nevertheless, Maherero spoke for the allied commerce of a dozen polities, whose interests spread around Earth and out to Luna.
After the polite sociabilities, he had gotten to the subject.of Mars and what Fenn had learned there. He seemed to care less about the specifics, which he could take from the databases, than about personal events and impressions—tiny, jagged Deimos; Mars huge in its sky; silence, stars, a meteoroid strike; the companionship only of machines; towns, fields, wildernesses on the planet; people.
"And the growing factionalism, possible civil strife, how do you think it may affect your undertaking?" he asked.
"I've reported my knowledge and my opinions about the engineering," said Fenn. "I'm no socioanalyst." A translator on the table converted the language of either speaker to that which the other had chosen. However well synthesized, its voice sounded flat to him above the richness of Maherero's tones.
"I did not request a logico-mathematical abstraction, but a human judgment."
Fenn smiled. More than ever, he liked this man. After a sip of gin and tonic, he replied, "Well, then, I'd say ignore the whole Threedom problem."
"Even if it becomes a crisis?"
"Balloon-puff word, 'crisis.' Look, the Deimos operation will start small, and remain small for years. A single base on Mars, which can be at the antipodes of Tharsis if we want. A few scattered mines and processing plants, but mostly the established Martian industries would love to contract for the jobs we need done, the stuff we need built. So who cares if there's a spat of fighting somewhere else? How can it touch us? By the time we're .ready to commence on the moon, everything will be long since settled and half forgotten."
"Hm." Maherero stroked his chin. "I had the emotional factor more in mind. Your Lahui will be working in dangerous environments totally strange to them. Rage, grief, pity are apt to cloud reason and drag down alertness. How stressful will they find it to be on a world where organized violence is taking place? Yes, none will happen in their vicinity, but it will be on the news and in every consciousness."
"The Lahui aren't tender-gutted. Oh, sure, nobody will enjoy the situation, if it hasn't been resolved well before they get there. But they're fishers and herders; they live close to nature, where everything feeds on something else. And those who go will be picked for ability to concentrate on their work, among other traits. Likewise the Martians they'll be dealing with."
"But what if events spill out beyond the volcano land, perhaps into space itself? Suppose, for example, those mysterious Proserpinans decide to take a strong hand?"
"Suppose they don't. They're few, and a long ways away, and have plenty to keep them busy closer to home. Anyhow, you people won't have to cope with it. You'll be here on Earth, developing your seas." That was the bargain for which the Lahui Kuikawa leaders hoped, their expertise and guidance in oceanic enterprises as the condition of Coagency support for their Mars endeavor.
"We have to be reasonably careful," Maherero said. The mildness of his words did not deceive Fenn. The dance leader understood too, and the drumbeats slowed to a surflike growl. "The investment
you want from us is very substantial." He leaned partly across the table. His dark eyes probed. "Given the fact that the Synesis generally disapproves of your scheme, how much help can you expect in an emergency? We are not the members who could provide it. How well could your teams do by themselves, thrown on their own resources?''
"I think they'd manage. But I've told you, sociodynamics is outside my scope." Fenn stiffened. "I will just say this. Nobody can forecast the future. If somebody isn't willing to meet it as it comes, he should get out of the way of those who are."
Maherero sat motionless. The drums and whistles went silent, the dancers froze, the birds fluttered down onto their shoulders. Dismay stabbed through Fenn. What offense had he given?
Then Maherero threw back his head and laughed aloud. "Bravo!" he cried.
Fenn stared. “Sir?''
The African sobered. "Forgive me," he said. "I have not been playing games with you. My task has been to meet with the chief actors in this affair and try to gauge what kind of human beings they are. That information was to enter into our decision, a subtle but real factor."
So that's how this society thinks, Fenn reflected at the back of his mind. "And—?"
"The factual analyses were already favorable. Quite possibly we would have agreed in any case. But now I can declare to you that we certainly will." Maherero smiled. "I trust you will find us good partners."
"Why, this—this is the last boost stage we needed— we're going to launch!" Fenn shouted.
Drums, whistles, flying wings and flying feet went into a triumphant crescendo.
A hurricane formed in tropical mid-Pacific. Weather Control monitored the birth, analyzed a torrent of data, and took action. There was no attempt to abort it. Giant storms were as vital to Earth's heat balance, the health of the planet and the life thereon, as the steadiest current through air or ocean. But while it was in embryo, carefully directed energy beams from space helped determine its course. It would probably swing wide of places where it could do serious damage.
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