James P. Hogan

by Migration

  “Would you expect to find ‘is robots working in places like this?” Bahoba asked.

  “You never know. One of the big problems they still haven’t really solved is giving them the knowledge of everyday life that people start absorbing from the moment they’re born. So they get sent to all kinds of places to widen their experiences.” Korshak gestured vaguely, indicating the surroundings outside. “Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me. I was just curious.”

  Bahoba emitted a single reflective puff from his pipe and nodded. “Yep. ‘E’s the one. Been ‘ere about two weeks or so, I’d reckon. Doesn’t do a bad job, either. Follows just what ye tell ‘im, which is more than I can say about some people that I’ve known. Mind you, that can ‘ave its drawbacks, too, on occasion. You learn to be real careful about exactly what you do tell ’im. Gets some strange meanings into his ‘ead sometimes, does Tek. Like, if I was to ask you to put the fire out, you’d know what I meant, wouldn’t yer? But ask ‘im the same thing, and he’d likely chuck it through t’ window, heeh-heeh-heeh!” Bahoba cackled wheezily.

  “So, how did it get here?” Korshak asked.

  “Come knockin’ on t’ door, askin’ fer a job, same as you did – except at least ‘e were able to find it. ’T were Dari who sent ‘im up as well. She probably didn’t know what ‘e was, though. All wrapped up in a big cloak, with an ’at, an’ a beard the size of an ‘orse’s tail – like some kind of villain from those horror movies that the kids like.”

  “Did it say why? Where it was from? What it was doing here?”

  “Didn’t figure it was any o’ my business. Two ‘ands is two ’ands. And to tell you the truth, I were a bit intrigued meself.” Bahoba watched and waited awhile. “Will you ‘ave something to drink, anyroad?” he asked at last. “There’s good coffee on the stove. Grown right ‘ere, just down a little ways.”

  “Sure… thanks,” Korshak replied, grateful for the break while he digested the information. Bahoba got up, took two mugs down from the dresser, and turned to fill them from a pot standing on the range.

  “I just take mine black with nothin’, the way the Maker intended,” he said over his shoulder. ‘Ow does yours go?”

  “What? Oh, the same will be fine.”

  Bahoba turned back, handed one of the mugs across, and sat down again with his own. He treated Korshak to a long, thoughtful stare while he tasted it. “That weren’t no coincidence, you working with the scientist who built Tek,” he said. “You came ‘ere lookin’ fer ‘im, didn’t yer? That’s why ye were prowlin’ around at back an’ gettin’ all tangled up out there.”

  Korshak sighed and nodded. “Yes. Tek went missing on a trip from Aurora, and nobody knows why. They asked me to try and find it.”

  Bahoba picked up his pipe again and considered the statement. “From the way ‘e were all dressed up, I’d say ‘e didn’t want to be found. Anyroad, what right does anybody ‘ave to say ’e can’t go where ‘e wants, the same as you and I can? I mean, it’s not as if ‘e were the same kind o’ thing as a gearbox or an ‘arvesting machine over in Evergreen, is it?”

  AI’s rights was a subject that Masumichi talked about frequently, and as far as Korshak was aware there seemed to be as many opinions as specialists. It wasn’t something that he especially wanted to get hung up on now. He replied, “Some people argue that they’re like children, and you can’t let them just go wandering all over the place. It’s not really a side that I get involved in. I was just trying to do a favor for a friend.” And then, to change the subject, “Do you have any idea what it’s up to?”

  “Tek’s future plans, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m not sure. ‘E asks a lot o’ questions about funny things… you know, them strange groups they’ve got goin’ all over Etanne, and the daft things they believe.”

  “The cults and churches.”

  “Aye. Only Tek takes it all seriously. I don’t mind so much when it’s things like thinking that dead people or aliens out there somewhere can talk to you inside yer ‘ead. That’s their lives and their business as far as I’m concerned. But it’s the ones who make other people’s lives their business that I worry about. You know what I mean? The kind who think the world would be a better place if more people were like them, an’ they’re so sure of themselves that they want their own likes and dislikes to be forced on everyone else. That’s what they call fanatics, in’t it?”

  Bahoba took his pipe from his mouth for a moment and gestured with it. “If some of ’em ‘ad their way, I wouldn’t be allowed to do this. Fer me own good, mind you. Bad fer me ‘ealth, they say. Shortens yer life. So what if it is? It’s my ‘ealth and my life, in’t it? I’d rather live a shorter life that’s me own than one where other people ‘ave more say over it than me. And there’s others with ideas about drugs and medical stuff that they think everyone should be made to take —’fer their own good.’ Then you’ve got the scares going around about ‘ow there’s goin’ to be too many people, an’ everythin’s goin’ to run out, an’ we ‘ave to be told ’ow much we can use, an’ what way to live. I mean, where would it stop if people like that ever got in charge of things?”

  “You seem to know quite a bit about them, Mr. Bahoba,” Korshak remarked.

  “Aye, well, we get a lot of ’em coming though ‘ere, on Plantation. Some kind of ritual they go through, to do with getting free from the influences of artificial places like Aurora and the rest before their minds can open to whatever great wisdom it is they think they’re goin’ to find. I think it’s more a case of gettin’ ’em away from anyone who might talk some sense into their ‘eads.” Bahoba sucked at his pipe reflectively. “There’s some crowd over on Etanne that calls ‘emselves the Dollarians. Them’s the ones that Tek asks the most about. They’re to do with some kind of mad god that was worshipped all over the old world before it blew itself up. From some o’ the things I’ve ‘eard, that ’ad a lot to do with why it ‘appened.”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know much about them,” Korshak said.

  “Me, neither. I’ve got better things to do than worry meself about them kind o’ carryin’s on.” Bahoba took his pipe from his mouth and gestured with the stem. “But if ye go about ‘alf a mile north from ’ere along the ridge, ye’ll come to an animal reserve with a fence around it, because there’s some there that can be dangerous. The warden’s name there is Jor-Ling. ‘E’s got a feller workin’ there who’d be able to tell you more about the Dollarians than I can. My understandin’ is that ‘e’s meanin’ ter join ’em before very much longer.”

  “Do you think that’s what Tek’s doing, too?” Korshak asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t really know. I’ve never ‘eard of a robot doin’ anythin’ like that before. Ye’d be better off askin’ Tek.”

  Which they didn’t appear any closer to being able to do. Korshak braced a hand on his knee, looked behind him first to one side, then the other, then turned back. “I’d like to. So, where is it?”

  Bahoba frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ee, it’s right funny, that. ‘E were ’ere, workin’ away one, maybe a couple o’ hour ago. Then I realized it ‘ad all gone quiet out there, and when I went out, there were no sign of ’im. I ‘aven’t seen ‘im since. The only thing I can think of is, ’e might be up in ‘is room.”

  “The robot has a room?”

  “I know, it sounds funny, don’t it? But I just let ‘im ’ave the same one that all the others who come to ‘elp ’ere use. Didn’t seem right, somehow, not to. Better than ‘avin ’im ‘anging around down ’ere all the time, too. Anyroad, come on. We’d better go up and ‘ave a look.”

  Bahoba set his mug down on the table and got up to lead the way through to the house. “That’s a fine dog you have,” Korshak said as he followed into a small hallway at the foot of a flight of stairs. “Interesting that he didn’t make any noise when I was out there.”

  Bahoba began climbing with slow, heavy steps. “Well, ‘e
likes to see what people are up to before ’e lets ’em know ‘e’s there. No good yappin’ an’ makin’ a fuss an’ scarin’ ’em off, is there? That way yer never find out what’s goin’ on. I’ve known a few people who could learn from that. I think every animal’s there for a reason. They’ve all got something to teach, if we’d only take the time to get to know ’em…. Whew. When I was a young lad, runnin’ up ‘t stairs was as easy as runnin’ down. These days it’s as ‘ard to go down as it is to go up.”

  They had reached a landing with a hall stand and a couple of doors, and a short passage leading away to more doors. Bahoba stopped outside one, rapped on it a couple of times, and waited. There was no response. He rapped again, louder. “Are you in there, Tek? Ye’ve someone ‘ere who wants to talk to yer.” No answer. Bahoba and Korshak exchanged questioning looks. Then Bahoba shrugged, turned back to the door, and pushed it open.

  Inside was a small room with – incongruously, considering its present occupant – a bed, an upright chair and table by a window looking down over the wider track at the front of the house, an easy chair, a freestanding closet, and a few other basic furnishings. The walls were of board painted cream, and bare except for some pictures, a mirror, and a set of shelves in an alcove. There was no sign of Tek.

  Bahoba stood in the middle of the room, looking around for several seconds. Then he pushed the door closed to reveal some hanging hooks on the back of it, which were empty. Frowning, he moved to the closet and opened it to inspect inside.

  “It’s gone – all ‘is stuff,” he announced. “That cloak that ’e wore when ‘e come ’ere, ‘is ’at and the big coat – all of it.”

  “You mean Tek doesn’t wear any of it around here?” Korshak said, surprised. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “It goes around openly as a robot?”

  “There’s nobody to mind up ‘ere. Wouldn’t be able to work in that lot, anyroad. See fer yourself.”

  Korshak moved forward and peered inside. The closet was empty apart from some pillows, linens, and other oddments that obviously belonged to the house. He looked at Bahoba questioningly.

  “I suppose there’s a place for you ‘ere if you decide you want it,” Bahoba said. “But I don’t think that’s what ye really came for, is it? It looks as if Tek’s gone, Mr. Korshak. And if you want my opinion, don’t ask me ‘ow, but I’d say ‘e knew you were comin’.”

  TWENTY

  Korshak had nothing to gain by staying longer, and Bahoba had as good as said that he didn’t expect him to do so. Korshak left shortly afterward, carrying his bag slung across a shoulder. At this point he had formed no clear plan of what he intended to do next. His guess was that if Tek didn’t want to be found, as seemed to be the case, its first move would be to try and leave Plantation, which would mean getting to the ferry dock at the hub. However, six spokes connected the torus to the hub, three of which provided general access for anyone wishing to travel. Hence, the only way to keep a watch on who was leaving – assuming he could get there before the next ferry departure – would be to find somewhere suitable to wait at the dock itself. The next spoke continuing northward was now the nearest with a public-transit service to the hub, so instead of angling back through Forest the way he had come, Korshak took the wider track leading directly down to the valley floor.

  His thoughts had progressed that far, and he had gone only a short distance from the house, when, not far ahead of him, a figure who had been sitting on one of several cut stumps by the side of the track straightened up, looking in his direction. It was a woman in a light jacket and tan shirt worn open over casual pants. She gave every indication of having expected him and having been waiting. As Korshak drew closer, he recognized her as Lois Iles, the optical physicist from the Hub observatory on Aurora. Years previously, in the time leading up to Aurora’s launch, she had also been involved in identifying and recruiting likely candidates for the mission.

  It had been a while now since their paths had crossed. He had last seen Lois at a reception that Masumichi had held celebrating the first child to be born to one of his innumerable relatives. She was somewhere in her forties now, her shoulder-length hair still blond and wavy. The firm set to her mouth and features was relieved from harshness by a rounding of the nose and chin, and just at this moment softened further by an expression of amusement at Korshak’s obvious perplexity.

  “Hello, Korshak,” she said.

  It was a day of one weird thing after another. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Korshak replied simply.

  “I waited a little way farther up, nearer the house, where I thought I’d be able to catch you before you reached it, whichever way you came,” she said, as if that explained anything at all. “But I missed you somehow. The first thing I knew was when you and Bahoba were crossing the yard at the back. So I waited here. I had a feeling you’d probably come down this way – but it was close enough to see if you went back the same way you came.” She paused. Korshak just stared at her. “Did you talk to Tek? What have you told it?” she asked.

  Korshak’s mental gears began turning again and gradually came back up to speed. Since he hadn’t mentioned Tek by name to anyone other than Bahoba, Lois must have known about it already. And there was only one way she could have learned about his being directed here. “You’ve been talking to Dari,” he said. “I thought it wasn’t the done thing to broadcast other people’s business. What’s going on?”

  Lois’s manner lost the flippancy that she had been effecting. “There’s more going on than you’re probably aware of,” she said. “Really, Korshak, I need to know what was said. It’s important that Tek’s intentions not be interfered with. I was sent here to keep an eye on it.”

  Korshak could only show an empty hand. “I didn’t talk to it at all. I haven’t even seen it. It’s taken off. Gone. Sometime in the last hour or so.”

  Lois bit her lip, thinking rapidly for several seconds, then reached inside her jacket and produced a phone. Her gaze flickered over Korshak’s face, taking in his astonished expression while she spoke. “Priority bypass, code seven, seven three… nine-two… Message forward to Op C-Two. Subject has departed from last known location within last one to two hours. Whereabouts and destination unknown. Need to instigate immediate exit-port surveillance. Description remains as previously reported, as far as is known. Out.” She returned the phone to her pocket and turned her face fully toward Korshak for the inevitable gesture of protest at the phone. “Official business,” she told him before he could say anything. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. This isn’t the best place. There’s a spot lower down, off the track, by a waterfall. We can go there.”

  In the normal course of events, an individual’s movements were considered a matter of personal privacy. However, exceptions were made in cases involving the public interest. Lois’s help had been enlisted by Andri Lubanov, who, although not bestowed with any formal title to that effect, acted in one of his loosely defined capacities as Director in Chief Ormont’s political intelligence officer. Among other things, this meant being aware of undercurrents and developments likely to affect the stability of the governing executive. His office was taking a great interest in the activities of some of the cults that had established themselves on Etanne.

  “Most of them are as crazy as they seem, and nothing more,” Lois explained. “But some have political motives that go deeper.”

  They were sitting on corner bench seats in an open-fronted hut built as a rain shelter below the waterfall that Lois had mentioned. The gravity synthesizers beneath the creek bed were adjusted to enhance the flow downward from the ridge. Weather around Plantation changed in response to data from sensors monitoring air and soil conditions, which meant it was unpredictable – hence the usefulness of a shelter. A group of chattering day-trippers had been in occupation when Korshak and Lois arrived, but left soon afterward.

  “I thought you did lasers and optics, and played old-world music,” Korshak said. “How did you get mixed up with
Lubanov’s people? That doesn’t sound like your kind of world.”

  “Back in the recruiting days, I brought Marney Clure out of Tranth,” Lois replied. Korshak nodded. Clure’s name was generally known. He had a reputation for dynamism, directness, and radical views. Some even tipped him as a likely successor to Ormont in years to come. Lois continued, “He stuck around me as a kind of mentor while he was finding his legs on Aurora, and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. He still comes to me for opinions and advice.”

  “Okay.”

  “One of the cults on Etanne is called the Dollarians. Do you know much about them?”

  Korshak decided to play dumb and see where this was leading. He shrugged. “I’ve heard of them. It’s supposed to be based on some old-world religion or something, isn’t it?”

  “Not strictly a religion. More of a fanatical ideology that elevated buying, selling, and owning property above everything else in life. It was obsessed with numbers. People were judged on the basis of their possessions, and tried to measure the comparative worth of everything to ridiculous extremes.”

  “What they were and what they did weren’t important?” Korshak queried. Evaluating people by the worth of their contribution had become so taken for granted in Constellation that it was difficult to visualize any other way of doing it.

  Lois shook her head. “That didn’t matter. Business dominated just about all aspects of everyone’s lives.” She leaned down from the seat and used her finger to trace a wavy line in the sandy floor, and then drew two lines through it: $. “That was their sign – a sort of sacred symbol. You’ve probably seen it before.”

  “Is that what it means? I never knew. So, what does it have to do with Marney?”

  “The Dollarians are behind scares about resource depletion and the population getting out of control, stop Envoy, and things like that. The aim is to undermine confidence in Ormont’s administration and prepare the ground for an opposition movement to eventually challenge it. Spreading irrationality helps the cause by making people suggestible and manipulable. But underneath, there’s a hardcore agenda to get their people into the Directorate and eventually dominate it. The plan is to have things run their way.”