They sweat, Josif said.
You're too immaculate, Kyaren answered crossly.
They sweat and they step on your feet. I see no reason to be in a crowd any more than is unavoidable.
I like the sound of them.
And that's the worst of it. Largest city in the world, and they insist on speaking Mexican, a language that has no reason to exist.
Kyaren only scowled at him. Why not?
They're only five thousand kilometers from Seattle, for heaven's sake. We managed to talk like the rest of the empire. It's just vanity.
It's a beautiful language, you know, she said. I've been learning it, and it opens your mind.
And makes your tongue fall out of your mouth.
Josif had no patience with the eccentricities of his native planet.
Sometimes I'm embarrassed as hell to be from Earth."
The mother globe.
These people aren't real Mexicans. Do you know what Mexicans were? Short and dark! Show me a short dark person out there!
Does it matter if they can trace their pedigrees back to the number one Mexican and her husband? Kyaren demanded. They want to be Mexican. And whenever I come here, I want to be Mexican.
It was a friendly argument that always ended either with them going outside-Kyaren to wander and talk to storekeepers and shoppers, Josif to prowl along the shelves, waiting for a title to make a sudden move so he could pounce-or in bed, where their pursuits more nearly coincided.
It was on a weekend in Mexico that they decided to take over the world.
Why not the universe?
Your ambition is disgusting, Josif said, lying naked on the balcony because he liked the feel of the rain, which was falling heavily.
Well, then, we'll be modest. Where shall we start?
Here.
Not practical. We have no base of operations.
Tegucigalpa, then. We secretly twist all the programs of the computers to follow our every command. Then we cut off everybody's salaries until they surrender.
They laughed; it was a game. But a game they played seriously enough to do research. They would hunt for possible weaknesses, places where the system could be subverted. They also worked to get an overview of the system, to understand how it all fit together. Josif knew his way around the government library in Mexico, and they both spent time punching up readouts on the establishment of Tegucigalpa only three hundred-odd years before.
The thing's relatively new. Half the functions have only been installed in the last ten years. Ten years! And most other planets have been fully computerized for centuries.
You're too down on Earth, Kyaren chided him, poring over minutes of meetings, which were so heavily edited at their level of clearance that it was hard to get anything coherent out of them at all.
But it was not in Mexico that they found the scam. It was at home.
Kyaren had been reading a book on demographics, one that she had only been able to skim at Princeton. It set norms for age distributions on a planet; she found the information fascinating, especially the variations that depended on local employment, climate, and relative wealth. She amused herself by plotting the demographic distribution of ages for Earth, based on the easily obtained statistics on employment and the economy. Then she took a few minutes of break time at work to check her figures.
They were wrong.
From birth to retirement age at 80, her figures were actually quite good. It was from 80 to 100 that things didn't work.
Not enough people were dying at those ages.
In fact, she realized, almost no one was dying, compared to the normal mortality rates. And then, from 100 to 110, they died like flies, so that from 110 on the statistics were normal.
Surely someone would have noticed this before, Kyaren thought. Certainly the Earth would have gained a reputation for unusually low mortality rates. It had to be common knowledge-the food distribution must certainly be affected by it, and pension expenses must be unusually high. Scientists must be trying to discover the reason for the phenomenon.
And yet she had never heard of it at all
In the programming manuals they had looked at in the library in Mexico, Kyaren had found some little-known programs that allowed an operator to check a program rather than use It to find and process data. Kyaren talked to Josif about it that night, which they spent at his place because it was larger and had room for both of them without having to petition for extra furniture, which would have made their arrangement public knowledge.
I've checked my figures again and again, and they're not wrong.
Well, the only way to solve it is go kill some old people, I guess, Josif said, reading a twenty-third-century mystery-in translation, of course.
Josif, it's wrong. Something's wrong. Kyaren, he said, impatient but trying not to sound like it, this is a game we were playing. We really don't have any responsibility for the whole world. Just for dead people and the not-quite-dead. And then just as numbers.
I want to find out if the figures on death are right or not.
Josif closed the book. Kyaren, the figures on death are right. That's my job, isn't it? I do death.
Then check and see if my figures are right,
He checked. Her figures were right.
Your figures are right. Maybe the book's wrong.
It's been the bible of demographics for three centuries. Someone would have noticed by now.
Josif opened the book again. Damned Earth. The people don't even know when to die.
You must have noticed it, Kyaren said. You must have seen that most of your deaths were grouped between a hundred and a hundred and ten.
I've never noticed anything like that. We deal with individuals, not the aggregate. We terminate files, you know? We don't watch trends.
I just want to check some things. You know that program we found on checking entries? The error-finder?
Yeah.
Remember the numbers?
Kyaren, you're not being very good company.
Together they figured out the numbers and codes; Kyaren left for a few minutes and verified them on the local library terminal by hunting up her last library use. The program worked fine; it was quite simple, in fact, which was why they were able to remember it.
The next day, during a break, Kyaren punched in a date-of-entry query on the solitary death in Quong-yung district-she figured a single death would be simpler, would give her a single readout. What should have flashed on her screen was the date of entry, the name of the operator who entered the death information, the vital statistics entered on that date on that person, and the operation number.
Instead, what flashed on was the bright RESTRICTED sign and what sounded was a loud buzzer at Warvel's desk.
Everyone looked up immediately, watched as Warvel got up quickly, looking alarmed. Kyaren knew that on his desk her area was flashing;-sure enough, when he located the culprit he slammed his hand on the desk and charged furiously over to her.
What the bloody hell are you doing, Kyaren! he bawled as he came over.
What should she tell him-that she was playing a game of plotting to take over the world? That she was double-checking the figures because they didn't jibe with her own calculations?
"I don't know, she said, letting herself sound as surprised and flustered as she felt. I was just playing with the thing. Just punching in random numbers and words, I don't know.
Which random numbers and words? he demanded, leaning over her terminal.
I don't remember, she lied. It was just whimsical.
It was just stupid,' he said back to her. There are programs here that if you just randomly and whimsically happened to stumble on them, they'd freeze the whole operation until the stinking police came to find out who's trying to jury the system. You understand? This system is foolproof, but we don't need any extra fools trying to prove it!
She apologized profusely, but as he returned, unmollified, to his desk, she realized that he had seemed
not so much angry as afraid. And the others in the room, as Warvel returned to his desk, looked at her sullenly, angrily-and, also, fearfully.
What had she done?
Kyaren, Warvel said as she left the office at the end of the working day. Kyaren, your four-month report is coming up in a few days. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you a negative report.
Kyaren was stunned. Why? she asked.
You haven't been working. You've been obviously loafing. It's bad for morale, and it's downright dishonest.
When have I loafed? she asked. A negative report now, on her first job-especially one this easy-could destroy her hope of a government career.
I have complaints from fourteen people. Every single person in this office except you and me, Kyaren. They're tired of watching you playing games. Studying up on ancient history and playing computer games when you should be trying to help old people cope with inflation and the fluctuations of the economy. We aren't here for fun, Kyaren, we're here to help people. Do you understand?
She nodded. That's what I'm trying to do.
I'll give you a negative report, but I won't fire you unless there's any more trouble. You understand? Three years of perfect work and you get the negative report taken off your record. It's something you can live down- if you just stick to business in the future.
She left. At home Josif was appalled.
Fourteen complaints?
That's what he said.
Kyaren, you could have an intimate sexual relationship with a lamp in the middle of the lunchroom and you'd have a hard time getting three complaints!
What do they have against me? she asked.
Josif's face grew somber. Me, he said.
What?
Me. You had problems enough. Adding me to them- do you know how many women have tried to get me into bed? There's something about a known homosexual that's irresistible to a certain kind of woman. They regard him as a challenge. Me as a challenge. And then you come along and suddenly we're spending weekends together. The ones that aren't jealous are probably revolted to think of what perverted things I must be making you do.
It isn't you.
Then what is it?
They're afraid.
Of what?
How should I know?
Josif got up from the bed, went to the door, leaned on it. Kyaren, it's me. We've got to stop. When you leave tonight that's it.
He sounded sincere. She wondered why even the thought of leaving him and not coming back made her feel as if she were falling from someplace very high.
I'm not leaving tonight, she said. I'm leaving in the morning.
No. For your own good.
She laughed incredulously. My own good!
He looked at her from the door, his face very serious.
My own good is to stay right here.
He shook his head.
Do you really mean this? she asked, unbelieving. Just like that, you decide I'm supposed to go because you think it'll be better for me?
Sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it, he said.
And they started laughing and he came back to the bed and suddenly they weren't laughing, just holding each other and realizing that this wasn't something they could simply end when it became inconvenient.
Josif, she said.
Mmm? His face was buried in her hair, and he was sucking on a strand of it.
Josif, I frightened them. They're afraid of something.
You're a pretty mean-looking woman.
There's something pretty funny about it. Why should death-entry information be restricted?
They couldn't think of a reason.
And so the next day at lunch Josif had a sheet of paper -something little used in the computer center-and on it were ten names and tea numbers. Can you use this? he asked.
What are they?
Dead people. Today's first entries. They should be in your computer by now, since I punched them all in. That's their identification numbers, and date of entry is a few hours ago. That's basically all the date-of-entry code would have told you anyway. Can you do anything with them?
Kyaren didn't dare bring the paper with her to the office-anything as unusual as paper would attract attention, and that was not what she needed. So she memorized the first three and left the list in the lavatory on the floor below. On her first break she came down, but instead of getting three more names she went to Josif.
Are you sure you copied these down correctly?
Josif looked at the names and numbers, punched them into his terminal, and the vitals showed up. All definitely dead.
On my terminal, she said, they're still very much alive.
Josif got up from his terminal and she followed him to the corridor, where Josif spoke softly.
We should have guessed it immediately. It's a scam, Kyaren. They're paying those pensions to somebody, but not to these people. Because they're dead.
Kyaren leaned against the wall. Do you know how much money that is?
Josif was not impressed. Come on, he said.
Where?
Out of this building, immediately.
He started pulling her along. She came willingly enough, but completely confused. Where are we going?
He wouldn't answer. They did not go to either of their rooms. Instead they headed for the airport, which was on the eastern edge of the complex. This isn't the time for a weekend in Mexico, she said.
Just punch in sick. They stood before the ticket terminal and she did as he said, using her office code. Then he stood to the terminal and punched out two tickets for himself, charging them to his own account.
I can pay for my own, she said.
He didn't answer. He just took the tickets and they boarded the flit headed for Maraketch. It was when they were in flight that he finally began explaining.
It isn't Just your office, Kyaren, he said. It's mine, too. This thing has to involve a lot of people, in Death, in Disbursements, in Pensions, who knows where else. If they caught you on a simple query, they surely have a program to notice that you just queried the names of three people whose deaths were registered today, and that immediately afterward I queried the same names. The computer knows that somebody knows there is a discrepancy. And I don't know how long we'd live if we stayed there.
They wouldn't do anything violent, would they? Kyaren asked.
Josif only kissed her and said, Wherever you grew up, Kyaren, must be paradise.
Where are we going? she asked again.
To report it, of course. Let the police handle it. Let Babylon do it. They have the power to freeze everything and everyone there while they investigate. We don't have any power at all.
What if we're wrong?
Then we go looking for jobs about a billion lights away from here.
They told their story to five different officials before they finally found someone who was willing to take responsibility for a decision. The man was not introduced to them. But he was the first to listen to them without fidgeting, without looking uncomfortable or worried or distrustful
Only three names? he finally asked, when Josif and Kyaren had explained everything.
They nodded. We didn't think it was safe to wait around looking for more.
Absolutely right, the man said. He nodded, as if in imitation of their nods a moment before. Yes, it warrants an investigation. And they watched as he picked up a phone, stroked in a code, and started giving orders in a jargon that they couldn't understand.
His face fascinated Kyaren, though she was not sure why. He looked unremarkable enough-not a large man, not particularly handsome, but not unusually ugly, either. His hair medium length, his eyes medium brown, his expression medium pleasant. Kyaren was aware of a constant change, not so much in his face as in her perception of his face; like an optical illusion, his face kept switching back and forth between absolute trustworthiness and cold menace. No one had told them his title or even his name- he was just the one they passed a knotty problem to, and he didn't
seem to mind.
Finally he was through with his call and turned his attention back to Josif and Kyaren. Very good work, he said.
Then he began to talk to them, very quietly, about themselves. He told Kyaren things about Josif that Josif had never mentioned: how Josif had attempted suicide twice after Bant left him; how Josif failed four classes at his university in his last term, yet turned in a dissertation that the faculty had no choice but to vote unanimously to accept; how the faculty thereupon booted him out of the school with the worst possible recommendation letters so that it was impossible for him to get work in his field.
You don't get along well with authority, do you, Josif? the man asked. Josif shook his head.
The man promptly started in on Kyaren, talking about her upbringing in the Songhouse, her failure to meet even the most minimal standards, her flight from that place where she was known to be inferior, her refusal to even mention the Songhouse to anyone else since then. You are determined not to let anyone see you fail, aren't you, Kya-Kya? he asked. Kyaren nodded.
She was acutely conscious of the fact that there was so much that Josif hadn't told her about himself-important things, if she was to understand him. And yet it came more as a relief than as a letdown. Because now he also knew the things she had been deliberately hiding from him; they had no secrets of any importance now.
Was that what the man had been trying to do? Or was he merely being nasty, pointing out to them that their friendship wasn't all they had thought it was? It hardly mattered. She looked at Josif furtively, saw that he also was avoiding her gaze. That would not do. So she stared at him until the very intensity of her gaze forced him to look back at her. And then she smiled. Hi, stranger, she said, and he smiled back.
The man cleared his throat. You two are a little better than the average. You've been artificially, for various stupid reasons, kept in places where you couldn't accomplish all that you are capable of. So I'm giving you an opportunity. Try to use it intelligently.
Songmaster Page 21