“Sweet of you. But you may have a couple of your own to pester you by then, you know.”
Eiko lifted a palm. “Scarcely.”
The hand dropped. A man had entered her view. Nero Valencia.
He was still haggard and slow-moving, pale beneath the olive complexion. Either his biojewel had died in the tank or he had chosen to have it removed before he left; the mark on his brow had not yet faded entirely away. He bent over Eiko, making it a bow. Warmth filled his tone: “Buenos días, Srta. Tamura. It is marvelous to see you again.”
Why should her heart skip a beat? “Gracias,” she answered. “I was glad … to learn … you came through well.”
Valencia straightened. “Buenos días,” Kyra said flatly.
He cocked an eyebrow, flicked a glance at her waist, and replied, “Buenos años.” Somehow it did not strike Eiko as impudent, though Kyra flushed a bit.
“How glad I am,” Eiko ventured quickly. “We have much to talk about … when I am stronger.”
“We’ll have more to learn about, I’d say,” Kyra answered.
The viewscreen went blank. It doubled as an annunciator. The image of a man formed in it, burly and reddish-haired. “Ah, yes,” Kyra observed. “The jefe. He addresses each new lot of us. Repetition, more or less; I suppose it’s recorded and reedited.” Just the same, everybody watched.
“Bienvenidos,” rumbled the simulacrum. “You know who I am. I hope soon to know who each of you is. We’re all Demetrians now.” The face went solemn. Eiko saw on Kyra and Valencia that what came next was news to them. “I deeply regret having to report a death. Rosa Soares did not revive. Hers shall be our first honored grave. There are going to be more.”
The generated countenance lightened. “But let me speak ahead. Those freshly roused haven’t heard anything but rumors yet, about how things are where you are bound. Bueno, I can tell you that we forerunners have done pretty well. On the whole, the work has gone according to plan.” A brief grin. “The plan allows for endless unforeseen problems, troubles, glitches, hitches, and outright disasters. In that, we have not been disappointed. You have no dearth of tasks waiting for you. Our crying need is for conscious intelligences, all-around human beings—in short, you. But when you get your legs back and come join us, you’ll find quite a pleasant little town.”
“This I have heard before,” muttered Valencia impatiently, beneath the ongoing speech.
“Me oftener,” Kyra said.
“But not I,” Eiko reminded them.
“You will, dear, you will,” Kyra told her. “Better if you don’t in a single chunk. He never was much where it comes to oratory.”
Valencia smiled at Eiko. “Language for heroes, that is your department,” he murmured.
“Give me time, please,” she protested. “And, I beg you, keep your expectations low. I am no Homer. … And even he first needed a story to tell.”
50
This communication deals mainly with the political compromise that has finally been negotiated. Luna will modernize its government, becoming another cybernetic democracy, and join the World Federation. However, the aging Selenarchs retain their properties, on which seigneural law shall prevail through their lifetimes. Elsewhere, global population continues to decline at a satisfactory rate, and the conversion of the Amazon basin to a biological preserve should soon be finished. Africa has begun the changeover to a distributive economy; a civilization being built from the foundations can more readily rationalize its institutions than can older ones. It anticipates guidance by the full artificial intelligences when they come into action. The new models are learning rapidly and showing not only consciousness but an analogue, as yet imperfectly understood, of human creativity.
THE DOOR SUMMONED Kyra to her porch. That was fine in itself. She had meant to step out soon and watch the sunset. Clear days were not quite a rarity any more at the high latitude of Port Fireball; vegetation was changing climates astonishingly fast as it burst across the continents, gulping down carbon dioxide and breathing forth oxygen, holding moisture in soil, tempering the thermal extremes of naked rock. But you didn’t take them for granted.
The street on which her house stood ran along a headland overlooking the town and the bay. Trees lined it, planted when the first Guthrie returned, pine and deodar grown tall in the decades after, broadleafs still young and requiring special care. The wind off the water soughed in them. Its coolness and tang cut through earlier heat like a sword. Blade-bright ran the waves to meet a sky where already an evening planet gleamed—Phaethon, but nonetheless beautiful. Southwestward A drew near the hills; haze turned its disc mellow golden. B was invisible, far-swung on its cometlike path and, at this time of this year, lost in the brilliance of its companion. A few gulls caught the light on their wings. Enough fish now swam or washed ashore to support them. And flowerbeds lay red, white, violet around the house. …
Kyra drew up short. Before her stood Nero Valencia. As if of itself, her hand reached behind to shut the door. “Oh,” she said. “Saludos. What brings you here?”
Did she really see wistfulness in his smile? “I came to say adiós,” he answered.
“You’re going away, then? For a fairish while?”
He nodded. “To Boeotia.”
“I, uh, I’m sorry. I’d like to invite you in, but between the baby and my other occupations—the place is a mess—”
She lied, and suspected he knew it. Why did she? That killing belonged to a dead past; to him it had been a duty; he had since ceased to be a gunjin; in spite of rebuffs none too subtle, he was always polite to her, yes, amiable, helpful on the couple of occasions she’d given him the opportunity; Eiko liked him well. But Kyra didn’t care to be alone with him.
“That’s all right,” he said gently. “I must hurry onward in any case.” She judged that was another lie. “I could not leave without seeing you. It has been too seldom.”
“Bueno, everybody’s busier than a one-armed octopus, learning our way around and settling into our work.”
“Still, I had hoped—” He shrugged. “No matter.” His eyes had caught hers and would not let go.
She was afraid of him, she realized. Afraid he’d charm her off her feet. Even if she hadn’t been sleeping single too damn long, memories lived. It was not an involvement she wanted. At least, it would be foolish. Besides, there was Eiko.
“I admit I haven’t been very sociable or kept close track,” she said hastily. “Not able to. You’re involved in ecological development, I know, and Boeotia must be ready for a higher stage. But it’s halfway around the planet. What exactly will you be doing?”
Valencia chuckled. “Nothing exact. We’re taking vertebrates, herbivores and carnivores, from exogenesis, to introduce there.”
“I see. They’re necessary for plant diversity, as well as desirable for their own sakes.” A cliché, schoolchild knowledge, conversational filler.
“It will be tricky.” He began to sound cheerful. “We expect countless failures, improvisations, frantic rescues and repairs.”
His tone made Kyra easier. “Sounds like fun,” she said. “Where do you fit in?”
“I like wilderness, especially where it’s becoming woodland. And it seems I have some talent for handling animals.”
“Moose, elephants, wolves, lions?”
He laughed. “Not for many years, if ever. Rodents, small birds, hawks.”
Yes, she thought, he would understand hawks. “Good luck,” she bade him quite sincerely.
“What have you been doing lately?” he asked. “I don’t imagine you can return to space before your baby has grown a little.”
“I couldn’t anyway, and knew it before I left Earth. It’ll take about that much time before they’ll have industrial capacity free to build enough ships of the right kinds.”
His regard suggested that to him this helped explain why she had chosen to have a child, but all he did was rephrase his question. “What are you engaged in, then, besides motherin
g? When last we spoke, you said only, ‘Miscellaneous troubleshooting.’”
“Bueno, I’ve persuaded Guthrie to set me designing windjammers that robots can use. You need a lot more fail-safes than for a human crew with conscious judgment. But fuel is still somewhat of a bottleneck, you know, and if we can save it on freight hauls where there’s no hurry, that’s useful all around. I’ll be testing a boat soon. We’ll work up to ships.”
“Very interesting. Something you can enjoy while you wait for your spacecraft.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I am glad.” Valencia hesitated. “Can we keep in touch? May I phone you now and then?”
Kyra’s pleasure dissolved. “I, I’m afraid I’ll be awfully busy.”
“I see.”
“We’ll meet again when you come back here, surely.”
“I hope so.”
Kyra mustered nerve. “Say hola to Eiko from me. I haven’t seen her in a while, either.”
It was a moment before he could reply smoothly, “Of course.”
“Good luck to you,” she repeated.
He bowed. “And to you, everything that is good.”
What could she do but take his hand? It lingered around hers, hard and warm. A giddiness swept through her. Almost, she opened the door. She pulled free. “Vaya con Díos,” she said.
He smiled, turned, and left her. She stood in the wind, looking after him, till he was gone from sight. The sun went below the hills. Eastward the sky deepened, making Phaethon shine the brighter. A powersat glimmered in the same quarter. At their distance, its kind were no more than added stars. Guthrie hadn’t wanted to ruin the night heavens that would be Demeter’s when the cloud cover had lessened.
Better glance at Hugh. Kyra went inside. The house was small and, except for standardized furnishings, nearly bare. It took years to accumulate the clutter of a home. Hers lay forever behind her. Bueno, time lay before her.
She had named the child for her father. He continued asleep in his crib, incredibly tiny and perfect. Who would stand father to him? A boy needed a male figure to adore, imitate, rebel against, reconcile with, and give grandchildren to. But damn, damn, damn—
A phone chimed. Every room had one; the colony was glutted with nanotech and assembly-complex wares, including robot workers. Kyra sometimes wondered if any commercial enterprise would evolve on Demeter. She touched Accept
No image appeared. “Buenas tardes,” greeted her voice. “Do you have a few spare minutes?”
“What is it?” Kyra asked.
“Got a piece of gab for you,” said her download.
Kyra grinned. “You know, you sound more like Guthrie every day.”
Did the tone go a bit defensive? “Bueno, we work hand in glove, don’t we?” It brisked. “This could wait, but I thought you’d appreciate hearing at once. A basic reanalysis of climate cycles has come to my attention. It draws on new data, growth rings in coraloids, isotope ratios in sea-bottom cores, you can study the details later. They give strong reason to believe the northern hemisphere is moving into a period of sudden and violent storms. Vegetation ought to moderate it in the interior, but not much at sea or along the coasts. You’ll want to take this into account.”
Kyra knotted her fists. “Bloody hell!”
“Nothing insurmountable for your project,” the download assured her. “Another factor.”
“I know. But—” Kyra stared into the window and the twilight gathering beyond.
“But what?”
Kyra made herself confront the facelessness in the screen, that it might better see her. “Look, you know we don’t have anything like a proper weather forecasting service thus far, let alone weather control.” Too many unknowns, too many variables swiftly changing. “What you’ve told me is that squalls or worse can jump essentially out of nowhere. I’d planned to take Hugh along on trial sails. Now I don’t dare. Who’ll look after him while I’m gone?” Not a robot, for sure, unless a trustworthy human was on hand as well; and who could spare the time?
“M-m, yes, a problem.” Kyra stood listening to the wind in the trees. After half a minute she heard, brightly: “How about me?”
“Huh?”
“In an appropriate body. I could have it rigged to be soft and cuddly.”
“But you, you’ve got more work than you can handle. Don’t you?”
“We all do. However, kids come first. They’re the future.”
Guthrie again, Kyra thought.
“These days there’s seldom any call for me to go out in the field,” the download went on. “Mostly I receive input, communicate, make decisions, issue orders. I can meanwhile play nanny. No, not always. But I’ll see about supplemental arrangements. With humans, especially.”
“Can that be done?”
“It has to be done, the sooner the better. We’ll be getting other children before long.”
“I’ve speculated on how we might cope with that,” Kyra said slowly. “Our population as small and overworked as this. I’m not convinced the entire situation was foreseen.”
“I daresay we’ll have to modify the rules. Kids deserve stable families, but we’ll probably give ‘family’ a new meaning.”
Extended? Communal? Kyra wouldn’t admit, even to this ghost of herself, what a tingle went through her loins. “Bueno, I, I have thought … we’re bound to become different from what we were.”
“When did things ever stay the same?”
“I s’pose.” Kyra drew breath. “Gracias for the information and the offer. Let me think about them. Anything else? No? Buenas noches, then.”
She wished her cutoff were less abrupt. But what could she do? Invite the download around for coffee and a girlish chat?
Though her breasts felt full, she shouldn’t wake Hugh. When he wanted to nurse, he’d let her know. Tomorrow she was just going to the lab and the boatyard. She’d take him along as usual. He enjoyed outings, wind in the hair that was black like Bob’s, light in the eyes that were brown like Bob’s, but something of her, she thought, in the face and the way his hands reached out. She looked forward.
Be that as it may, how to pass this evening? Make supper. She preferred to do her own cooking. Best was when she cooked for company, but those occasions had become rare. Her acquaintances were pairing off. She was welcome among them but shouldn’t risk wearing that welcome thin. Spacers were wise not to bind themselves to groundlings; when the bonds broke, they hurt. And, yes, Rinndalir yonder—
The room darkened. Rather than brighten it immediately, she went back out in search of light and air. The sea shimmered. More stars were blinking forth. She stood at her porch rail, it was like the bridge of a sailing ship, and let the wind sing, ruffle her hair, press blouse and kilt against her.
A man came walking past. The street was unilluminated, but by stars and sea and remnant sunset glow she knew him. Young Jeff Packer. “Buenas tardes, Pilot Davis,” he hailed.
“Buenas tardes,” she responded. Her gaze trailed him. What a handsome fellow he was, and a first-class human being. Not that she intended anything untoward. But her other self, who could be objective about such things, had in fact spoken of—not bonds, but something else, something new.
51
After intensive study, the Psychosociological Institute reports no cause for alarm in the upsurge of religious and primitivist movements and the founding of communities dedicated to their ideals. They remain minuscule, scattered, idiosyncratic, and frequently hostile to each other. While some derive from old-established societies, most are neoreactionary, their discontent with modern Earth purely emotional. Already their growth curves are flattening, and it is anticipated that they will soon turn downward, as younger generations mature in an increasingly rational civilization. However, the report recommends further research and development in means of satisfying, without compromising that rationality, those urges of prehuman origin for which the archaic label is “spiritual.”
THE NORTHERN HIGHLANDS of Argolis had beco
me Terrestrial temperate. Heather bloomed purple, gorse yellow, beneath cool winds that sent cloud shadows scudding over down and glen, burn and tarn. Rains rushed swiftly, then the sun broke through and a rainbow lifted above the ridges. Birch and willow grew widespread. In sheltered places leaves trembled on the first young aspens. Insects hummed, buzzed, went glittery aloft; spiderwebs glistened with dew. Birds winged in ever greater flocks, as large as grouse and duck; below them amphibians and small mammals ran, swam, burrowed; hawk and fox went hunting.
It was not an iteration of life’s reconquest after the glaciers withdrew, long ago on the mother world. That had gone by millennia and centuries, this moved by decades and years. What had fashioned these forms was not evolution but conscious will and skill. Their forerunners were not weather and water but chemicals, energies, machines of sizes from the monstrous to the molecular. Technology pervaded them, mostly invisible but always driving, guiding, guarding this that mortals had called into being.
Near the middle of the country rose Lifthrasir Tor. Specially planted and tended, a grove crowned it like a dream of the future, maple, poplar, oak, ash, thorn. Download Kyra landed on the airstrip at its foot and walked up a road that wound among crags, boulders, grasses, wildflowers, and shrubs. She had flown the vehicle today rather than wear it because she was using a humanoid body. Beneath a clear sky its metal answered the gleam of a distant lake. In her hands she bore Guthrie’s braincase. When she passed beneath the trees, they welcomed her with murmurs, dancing light-flecks, odors and mould and growth.
The biocybernetic laboratory in their midst was of modest size. Ivy covered the walls. Its people could draw on the findings of others around the globe, and their own work was too subtle for grandness. Director Basil Rudbeck had seen his visitors coming and stood in the main doorway to greet them, a middle-aged man, blond, stocky, and zestful.
“Bienvenidos, jefe and señora,” he said. “We’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”
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