If I was off by even one space, it could ruin the whole thing. What'll I do if it doesn't work?
The answer was obvious. I'll just try again. What else is there to do?
The guards took away her tray and slid the bolt. Breathlessly, Maia got back to the game board and double-checked her transcription. She crossed her arms and tugged both earlobes for luck, then pressed the start button.
Swirling cyclones of pulsing Life forms instantly told her she was right. The nightly clickings had been meant for this! They were a recipe. A complex set of starting conditions for this weird game. Despite the variant rules, most of the patterns were once again recognizable. Two glider guns fired fluttering wedge shapes across a terrain strewn with microbes and eaters, beacons and dandelions. Scores of other shapes merged and separated. An "ecology" expanded to fill the entire fifty-nine-by-fifty-nine array. Maia poised over the board, pencil in hand, but the patterns were so enthralling, she was almost caught short when the chaotic forms coalesced suddenly into rows of rippling letters.
CY, TELL GRVS IMAT
49° 16' 67° 54'
NO DEAL W/ ODO!
LVIFNEC
Once more, the message began dissolving almost as soon as it took form. Maia hurriedly scribbled it down before it vanished, along with all other "living" remnants on the board. Soon the board lay pale and empty before her. She stared at the copied version of the four-line missive, reading it over and over again.
Clearly, it hadn't been meant for her, after all. Several of her favorite fantasies evaporated. No matter. There was more than enough here to keep her speculating about the sender's intent. Could "CY" stand for a friend or clanmate of the other prisoner? Is "GRVS" a group or clan powerful enough to come and set her free? Maia's imagination would come up with the wildest notions if she let it, so she firmly stayed down to earth. The other prisoner might be a business rival of the local Perkinites, perhaps kept here by the Joplands and their allies to coerce a better deal.
The last, self-sacrificial phrase in the message, demanding to be abandoned, if necessary, bespoke somber stuff. Or was she wrong assuming that it meant "Leave if necessary"?
Could it have to do with the drug that makes men rut in winter?
Possibly the other prisoner was no more virtuous than Tizbe or the Joplands, merely a competitor. That hardly mattered at this point. Right now Maia couldn't be choosy about her allies.
The strangest thing about this eavesdropped message, as opposed to the one Maia had read earlier, was that it seemed directed not at some random person who might later pick it up, as she had picked up the game board, but at a specific individual. Using resold games to send notes "in a bottle" could have been but a side venture. A backup plan. These nightly clicking episodes seemed aimed at something more immediate, as if the prisoner intended her messages to get through much sooner and more directly.
Maia recalled the metal plate in the wall. Sparks in the night.
The place must be wired for telephone, or some low-level commlink, Maia speculated. Having never been in a sanctuary before, she had no reason to be surprised by this, yet she was. Maybe men demand it in the design before they'll move in. I wonder what they need it for?
Whatever the cable's original purpose, the other prisoner was clearly using it for something . . . sending electrical pulses. But to where? As far as Maia could figure, the wires weren't attached to anything.
A possibility struck her. Is the other prisoner using the wire as ... an antenna? Trying to send a radio message? Maia knew in abstract that you generated radio waves by pushing electrons rapidly back and forth down a wire. But household comm sets and the ones used aboard ships—countless generations removed from their ancient origins —were grown in solid blocks out of vats, and sold in units smaller than the palm of your hand. Probably only a scattering of individuals in universities understood how they were, made anymore.
She must be a savant. They're holding a savant prisoner here!
Maia recalled the evening in Lanargh, when she and Leie had watched the news broadcast, and heard the mysterious offer of a "reward for information." Maybe it was about this!
I've got to get in touch with her. But how?
She decided. First I'll have to write a message.
There was no question of doing it the way the savant had, by coding starting conditions the Game of Life rules would turn into written words after a thousand complex gyrations. And with a little contemplation, Maia realized she didn't have to. After all, the trick of sending a message in a bottle, or a message by radio, involved coding it so that, hopefully, only the right recipient would decipher it. But Maia wasn't trying to communicate with anyone beyond these sanctuary walls. She could send regular block letters!
With the stylus, she blackened squares on the game board until it read
FELLOW PRISONER!
HEARD CLICKS IN WIRE
MY NAME IS MAIA
Regarding what she'd written, she reconsidered. The first line was obvious. As for the second, perhaps the savant didn't know she was making noise elsewhere in the citadel, each time she transmitted, but it would be apparent once Maia's reply got through.
There was another reason to simplify. She must translate her message into rows of dots and dashes, unraveling the words like peeling layers off a cake. Three lines of letters took twenty-one rows of game squares to produce, each fifty-nine squares wide, she calculated a total of 1,239 intersections that had to be labeled black or white with an on or off pulse. Over a thousand! True, the other prisoner had sent even more, but not with such long pauses as Maia's approach called for. Extend a pause for five beats or more and the recipient will surely lose count. Finally, she settled on a much simpler first effort.
I'M MAIA I'M MAIA I'M MAIA
It was still 413 pulses long, after the rows were unwrapped into a linear chain. That seemed manageable, though, especially since it would be rhythmical.
Now how to send it.
She had considered pounding on the walls, or perhaps the drainpipe..But those sounds probably wouldn't carry far. If they did, it would alert the guards.
I'll have to do it the same way, she concluded. Through the wire.
There was just one possible source for the electricity required, and one mistake would cut off her only contact with the outside world. Maia didn't hesitate. Gingerly, she turned the Life set over and pried open the cover to the battery case.
She decided to wait until this evening's midnight transmission was over. Huddled under unwrapped curtains, she watched the savant's message create a staccato of sparks against the wall, verifying that it was the same as before. The series of clicking arcs stopped at the usual time, leaving her to peer through dim moonlight, cast by the slit window. Expecting this, Maia had practiced her moves earlier. Still, it took several awkward tries to grasp loose wires extracted from the back of the game set and bring them to the plate in the wall.
Before her lay the message she planned to send. Maia had used big, blocky squares and spaces, intended to be read even by dim light.
Well, here goes, she thought.
Touching one wire to the nub on the wall had no effect. But placing one against the nub and the other on the plate caused a spark that startled her briefly. Setting her teeth, Maia leaned forward to better see the paper sheets, and started tapping—creating a spark for each black square and resting a beat for each white one.
She had no idea whether this was doing anything but draining the batteries. Theoretically, she should be able to restore them by putting the game board in the window, to absorb sunlight. But in fact, she might be ruining them for nothing.
It was hard keeping track of her place, staring closely at row after row of hand-blackened squares. Despite the cold, she soon had to blink away beads of sweat, and at one point saw that she had skipped an entire line! There was nothing to be done about it. One error like that ought to leave the message readable, but she could not afford to let it happen again.
Finally reaching the end of the last row, Maia sighed in relief and sat back, stretching her arms. A break in time would let the other party know a termination had been reached. But the savant probably had been taken by surprise. So after a short breather, Maia bent forward to repeat the entire exercise.
Is anything getting through? she wondered. I've forgotten what little I knew about voltages and such. Maybe I needed to make a resistor, or a capacitor. Maybe I'm just pouring electricity into the ground, without creating sparks anywhere else.
Click, click, pause, pause, pause, click . . . She tried to concentrate, keeping a steady rhythm as the savant had. This was especially important counting the long pauses making up margins on both sides of her simple message. Talking aloud seemed to help. Inside she kept hearing the message she was trying to send, as if part of her was broadcasting by force of will.
I'm Maia . . . I'm Maia . . . I'm Maia ...
This second time was much harder. Her fingers felt on the verge of cramping, her neck ached from leaning forward, and her eyes stung from sweat-salt. Still she kept at it stubbornly. Comfort held no attraction. What mattered was the slim chance of talking to someone.
Please hear me ... I'm Maia ... oh, please . . .
By the time she finished the second transmission, her hands were too numb even to let go of the insulated wires, so she just sat there, staring at the blank stone wall, listening to the tension in her spine slowly unwind. There would be no third attempt. Even if she and the batteries had the stamina, it would be too risky. The guards might be accustomed to one set of clicks in the night, like a friendly cricket. But too big a change in routine just wouldn't do.
A sudden spark made her jump. It took a moment to realize she hadn't caused it by misplacing the wires. No, it came from the wall! More sparks followed. Maia scrambled for her pencil and pad.
Each tiny arc illuminated her accompanying slash-mark. Darkness she noted with a dash. It was easier work than sending, though her eyes now hurt worse than ever. With rising excitement, Maia realized this was no repetition, but an entirely new message. She had gotten through!
Then, as abruptly as before, it ended, and she was left in silence, staring at several sheets of mysterious code.
Frustration made her already tense muscles quiver. Even if she carried the game board up to the window, there would not be enough light to reassemble it properly. Not until morning.
I can't wait till morning. I can't! Maia fought down a strangling wave of impatience. You can do whatever you have to do, she answered herself, and forced her taut body to relax, one muscle at a time. Finally, she was breathing evenly again.
Well, at least I can tidy this up, she thought, looking at her scrawled transcription. Standing, Maia took a few moments to stretch, then carefully climbed her pyramid of boxes toward the slit.
Durga was no longer in sight. A lesser moon, Aglaia, shone barely bright enough for her to work. Gradually, line by line on a fresh page, she drew each "click" as a black square. Each pause translated into a blank one. At the end of the first row of fifty-nine, she moved up to the next and began snaking backward again. This way, if she succeeded in repairing the game device tomorrow, she'd be able to load the starting conditions right away, and quickly set the game in motion to read the message.
It was hard work. After this she might even be able to sleep.
So intent was she on copying squares in long rows that she failed to notice the difference in the pattern for some time. Finally it occurred to her. Unlike before, the "clicks" seemed to come already clustered in tight groups. Blinking, Maia pulled back, and saw—
. . . m IVIAIM. rrauKU. - HCINIMM . . .
Of course. She answered the way I sent, without coding! I can read it tonight!
Maia quickened her pace. Two rows later, the message could be read.
... HI MAIA. T'MORO. - RENNA . . .
The wind picked up, riffling her papers, sending them tumbling down the makeshift platform like a flurry of discarded leaves. All but the single sheet she clutched in both fists, soon smeared by hot, grateful tears.
Some of our expedition's more radical members claim that I am not angry enough to lead this effort. That I do not hate or fear males enough to design a world where their role is minimized. To these accusations I reply—what hope has any endeavor which is based on hate and fear? I admit, I proudly avow, to having liked and admired certain men during my life. What of it? Although our sons and grandsons will be few, the world we create should have a place for them as well.
Other critics declaim that what really interests me is the challenge of self-cloning, and expanding the range of options for human reproduction. They say that if males were physically able to bear copies of themselves without machines, I would have given them the power, too.
That is possibly true. But then, what is a man whom you have equipped with a womb? A womb-man would necessarily take on other traits of woman, and cease being identifiable as male at all. That is not an appealing or practical innovation.
In the end, all of our clever gene designs, and corresponding plans for cultural conditioning, will come to nought if we are smug or rigid. The heritage we give our children, and the myths we leave to sustain them, must work with the tug and press of life, or they will fail. Adaptability has to be enshrined alongside stability, or the ghost of Darwin will surely come back to haunt us, whispering in our ears the penalty of conceit.
We wish our descendants happiness. But over time one criterion alone will judge our efforts.
Survival.
JL
12
Over the following days, Maia and her new friend learned to communicate despite the thick walls separating them. From the first, Maia felt stupid and slow, especially when Renna went back to sending coded, compacted messages designed to be deciphered by the Game of Life board. Maia could not blame her, since the method was more efficient, enabling a full screen to be sent in just a few minutes. Yet it made Maia's responses seem so clumsy in comparison. One line of text was all she could manage after a day's work, and sending it left her exhausted, frustrated.
. . . DON'T . . FRET . . MAIA . . .
. . . I'LL TEACH ANOTHER CODE . . .
... FOR SIMPLE LETTERS . . . WORDS . . .
Gratefully, Maia copied down the system Renna transmitted, one called Morse. She had heard of it, she was sure. Some clans based their commercial ciphers on variants of very ancient systems. Another item that should have been in the Lamatia curriculum, she thought grimly.
O=--, P= -++-, Q= ++
The code seemed simple enough, with each plus sign standing for a long stroke and each dash for a short one. It greatly speeded Maia's next effort, though she remained awkward, and kept making mistakes.
IF YOU KNOW MORSE WHY USE LIFE CODING ISNT IT HARDER
To this question, Renna answered,
HARDER. SUBTLER. WATCH
And to Maia's astonishment, the game board proceeded to shake her friend's letters into coruscating patterns, like a fireworks show on Founders Day.
Maia found even more amazing the next message Renna sent. Though compacted, it was long, taking up thirty-one rows by the time Maia finished laying down a snaking chain of black and white squares. Pressing the launch button set off a wild, hungry "ecology" of mutually devouring pseudo-entities that finally resolved, after many gyrations, into what looked like a picture ... a crude sketch of plains and distant mountains, seen through a narrow window. It was recognizably a scene looking out from this very stone tower—not the view from Maia's window, but similar.
The other prisoner followed this with
LIFE IS UNIVERSAL COMPUTER
CAN DO MORE THAN MORSE
& HARDER TO EAVESDROP
Maia was impressed. Nevertheless she answered I DID. WHY NOT OTHERS?
Renna's reply seemed sheepish.
NOT AS CLEVER AS I THOUGHT
The game board next rippled to show a slim face with close-cropped hair, eyes rolled upward in emba
rrassment, shoulders in the act of shrugging. The caricature made Maia giggle in delight.
Thankfully, she hadn't damaged the Life set during that first experiment. Over the following days, Renna taught her how to connect the machine directly to the wall circuit, so she could send messages directly, instead of laboriously and dangerously touching wires by hand. Renna still made transmissions at high power every midnight, attempting to use crudely generated radio waves to contact friends somewhere out there, beyond the walls. The rest of the time, they communicated using low currents, to avoid arousing the guards.
Renna was so friendly and welcoming, reinforcing Maia's sense of a warm, maternal presence. Maia soon felt drawn into telling her story. It all came spilling out. The departure from Lamatia. Leie's loss. Her encounters with Tizbe and involvement in matters far murkier than any young var should have to deal with, newly fledged from her birth clan. Laying it out so starkly brought home to Maia how unfair it was. She'd done nothing to deserve this chain of catastrophes. All her life, mothers and matriarchs had said virtue and hard work were rewarded. Was this the prize?
Brin, David - Glory Season Page 23