Martian Knightlife

by James P. Hogan

  "Would you feel better if we sent your own atoms through as well as the information, and rebuilt you from them?" Sarda asked. "But that would be pointless. All atoms of a kind are identical. I feel just fine. Never better. I've no doubt that I'm the same person I was. You can check all the test results for yourself."

  "I'm sure you do. But you're through it. What would that other character that we just left downstairs say if we asked him?"

  Sarda answered without hesitation. "That form behind the door we've just left is just a mass of biological material now. It doesn't have any of the attributes that define a live personality anymore. They're all transferred here." He spread his arms and indicated himself with a gesture of his hands as they walked. "Think of it another way, Mr. Thane. A few years from now, your body won't contain any of the atoms that it's made from today. Every one will have been replaced as new material is taken in and old tissue lost. So all we're really doing is speeding up a little what happens naturally, anyway. Why should you feel any less a sense of continuity with the natural analog of yourself that will be walking around then, than you would for an artificial one created more rapidly? The personality that you insist is you will have moved from the molecular configuration that it resides in now into a different one no less in one case than in the other. Essentially, they're both the same thing."

  Before Kieran could take it further, they came to the open door of another laboratory, this time with sounds of voices and people visible inside. The R-Lab seemed to have attracted more visitors than the one downstairs. "Here he is!" someone called out. Then, "Leo, we need you to verify something here."

  Sarda observed the exchange of dubious looks between Kieran and June. "Don't worry," he told them confidently as they entered. "Fifty years from now it will be accepted as routinely as organ transplants. Nobody will think twice about it."

  "And it was just getting interesting," June said. Sarda spread his hands and indicated his situation with a helpless nod. "Maybe we could grab you for lunch tomorrow, Leo," June said on impulse. "How are you fixed?"

  "Nothing scheduled, I think . . ."

  "You have to try the new restaurant at the Oasis, out at the spaceport. Kieran and I were there last night. Come on. You need to get away from this insanity for an hour." She was doing it again. The dancing dark eyes, challenging him to rise above the mundanity of a planned routine, were irresistible.

  Sarda raised his palms in capitulation. "Okay, you've got it." He grabbed the arm of a frizzy-haired man wearing a gray lab smock. "Stewart, can you show Mr. Thane the reconstitution chamber quickly before he leaves?" He turned back to Kieran and June as the horde closed around him. "Say, twelve-thirty—if I don't have to cancel between now and then, I'll meet you there."

  * * *

  Afterward, they went down through the regular offices to the cubbyhole with a cluttered desk and multiscreen c-com layout that June used for work space, and met some of the other people that she knew. During one of the lulls, Kieran asked her, "Did you ever hear that old puzzle about the ship? I think it came from the Greeks."

  "Which one was that?"

  "If you replace a rotting piece of timber on a ship, is it still the same ship?"

  "Sure, I guess."

  "How about if you replace two pieces?"

  "Okay." June saw where he was going. "Then three, then four . . . So if you end up replacing all of them . . ."

  "Is it still the same ship?"

  June had to think about it. "There's nowhere to draw the line," she said finally. "So I'd have to say, yes it's the same ship."

  "And by his logic, so would Leo," Kieran agreed. "But now suppose you'd saved all the pieces of the original, and you put them together again. You've got two ships. How could they both be the same one?" He made an inviting gesture. "It's a good question to liven things up in a bar if things start getting dull. You see, even after a couple of thousand years, most people can't agree on that one. How are they ever going to figure out an answer to what we're talking about?"

  5

  Kieran had just completed a long, wearying trip. June had been embroiled in several days of frenetic activity at Quantonix. The next day, they agreed, should be devoted to some serious relaxation.

  They spent part of the morning at a pool near the inner end of Nineveh, where diving took on a slow-motion, soaring quality, and the water splashed twice as high as normal. Then June introduced Kieran to the dynamics of Martian tennis, which was something he hadn't tried before but mastered quickly. Afterward, they lay on a couple of recliners, sipping iced lemonades and basking under an artificial sun. "You should try zero-g football," Kieran said. "I got into some of the crew's games in the transport out to Urbek."

  "I'm not sure it would be my style."

  "It's wild. Three-D—literally bouncing off the walls."

  June turned her head to glance at him. He was sprawled back at ease, lean, supple, firmly muscular. A few yards away, Guinness was being idolized by two female admirers clad in bikinis that were more suggestion than actuality. "So what took you to Urbek Station anyway?" she asked. "What kind of place is it?"

  "Oh, another of these experiments in communal living—joy, love, peace to all. A religious sect who say that everything passed off as Christianity since Constantine has been a counterfeit created by Roman imperialism. They put their savings into recreating the world in a hollowed-out asteroid as a place to get it right." Kieran flicked away a fly that had settled on his arm. The variety of life-forms from Earth that had appeared on Mars somehow without being introduced deliberately was amazing. "But they were being targeted by Belt pirates who saw some easy slave labor that the market could use. When I did some checking, they turned out to be the same ones who hijacked the Far Ranger about a year ago—remember?—and wiped out all those people."

  "Ugh!" June made a face at the recollection.

  Kieran raised his eyebrows and shrugged in a way that said nothing could change it now.

  "So what were you able to do about it?" June asked.

  Kieran's expression was a masterful study in innocence. "Me? Nothing. But there wasn't any need, anyway. It seems the unlovely had an accident with some fuel that must have been unstable. Or somebody was very careless. But they won't be doing any more wiping out—or peddling cheap pickings around the exchanges."

  "How tragic."

  "Extraordinary, really. Can't understand how it could have happened."

  "I trust that the sect was suitably appreciative," June said.

  "Yes. The elders were happy to make a small donation to the KT retirement fund. But they really do need protection out there. I've put them in touch with some suitable people." Kieran looked away as Guinness came padding back with his latest conquests. "There's the biggest bandit in the Belt," he muttered.

  "He's just wonderful!" one of the girls exulted. "What's his name?"

  "You mean he didn't tell you?" Kieran looked at the dog reprovingly. "Stop acting dumb and giving the ladies a hard time." Guinness blinked and looked pained.

  "He's Guinness," June supplied.

  "Oh, you mean like the Irish beer," the other girl said.

  "Stout," Kieran corrected.

  "Who?"

  "Heavy, black Irish beer. It's called stout."

  "Oh, really?"

  Kieran gave them his standard line about Guinness being part doberman and part labrador, the doberman coming out in the coloring, the face and the temperament being all lab. The girls' names were Patti and Grace. Patti, it turned out, worked at the Oasis.

  "What do you do there?" Kieran asked her.

  "It's kind of a training program. You get moved around to do a bit of everything. Right now I'm working the bar."

  "I might just stop by and say hello sometime," Kieran mused. "I'm never averse to checking out a new bar."

  "We had dinner there last night," June put in. "The seafood bar there is good."

  "Yes, everyone seems to like it."

  "In fact, we're meeting somebod
y for lunch there later today," Kieran said. "Maybe we'll see you?"

  Patti shook her head. "Sorry. I'm off until tomorrow." She glanced at Grace, who was pointing at her watch and mouthing something. "Oh, too bad. I guess we have to go now."

  "See you there sometime, then," Kieran said.

  "Sure . . ." Patti looked back as the two girls walked away. "Make sure to bring Guinness."

  Guinness stretched out in the strip of shade along one side of Kieran's recliner and settled down contentedly, chin on paws, to watch the world going about its business. Kieran sank back into the cushions, abandoning himself to the feeling of warm rays soaking into his skin. It certainly felt like the real thing, anyway.

  "So what's your verdict?" June's voice asked through the euphoria. "Do you think Leo's crazy?"

  "Well, knowing what I know now, I'd never be seen dead going into a machine like that." Kieran laughed at the irony. "There—that just about says it all, doesn't it? . . . But I suppose, yes, he has to have a streak of something that would be judged crazy according to the standards that most of the world goes by. Maybe that defines it about as well as anything does."

  There was a short silence. Then June asked, "So do you think people like Consolidated Communications and the other big carriers really believe they're going to be able to get people to accept something like that? I mean, with all their market review committees, hard-nosed accounting scrutinizers . . . ?"

  "That's what I've been wondering too," Kieran said. "You'd think not, but then look at some of the crazy things that supposedly rational investors have thrown money away on in the past when a frenzy sets in." He opened his eyes and looked across at her. "Besides, people are being conditioned not to think about it. Do you really think all the popular stuff we're saturated with is coincidence? I'd never really thought about it myself until I got to talking to you the other night." He tossed out a hand. "Sure, with the size of the market they've got waiting out there, the boardroom won't find it too difficult to immunize itself from wanting to know how the sausages and politics are made. And if it's what enough people want to believe, they might well pull it off. I mean, if people are willing to accept unquestionable termination of their tangible existence here for unverifiable teleportation to some promised hereafter . . ." He shrugged and left it at that. As to the others who were directly involved, he could see the technical crew falling into the role of just being paid to do a job and not think too much about it—as had been pretty much the case with June herself. He wondered, though, who exactly was supposed to press the destruct button, or whatever was equivalent. Surely that would take some rationalizing away. And then, on the other hand, if whoever it was accepted, like Sarda, that what was left was just biological matter with all the attributes of personality extinguished, then maybe not.

  * * *

  "I talked to someone this morning who knows you, Mr. Thane," Sarda said across the lunch table in the restaurant at the Oasis. His manner was less brusque now that they were away from the workplace—more colorful, with a touch of flamboyance. Kieran sensed an impulsive personality that could alternate between extremes. "His name's Jason Moody," Sarda went on. "He makes documentaries about interesting people he digs up all around the Solar System. You know him?"

  Kieran thought, then shook his head. "I don't think so."

  "Well, he seems to know you—knows of you, at any rate. Maybe you're on his list and you don't know it." Sarda broke open a roll and scooped butter onto one of the pieces. "They call you the Knight, yes? I guess from the initials. You get into some strange things. June never told me half of it when she talked about you."

  "Kieran's so sensitive and introverted," June explained. "I try not to make him feel too conspicuous."

  "I like to get some variety out of life," Kieran agreed, ignoring her.

  Whatever Sarda had been told by Moody evidently intrigued him. "So how is the dragons-and-damsels business?" he asked.

  "The dragons take on all kinds of weird and wonderful forms these days." Kieran shot an affectionate look at June. "But the damsels are much the same as ever."

  "Is there an Arthur and a Camelot somewhere?" Sarda asked. "Are you part of some kind of organization?"

  "I don't really fit in with organizations. Let's just say I have a lot of friends."

  "Interesting friends," June put in. "If you ever need a strange job done, or an expert on something weird, Kieran probably knows just the right person."

  "I'll bear it in mind."

  Kieran had been observing a gray-haired man in a blue windcheater, who was hovering a short distance away, inside the entrance from the bar. He had been walking past in the direction of the lobby, seen them, and changed direction to enter. Now he was making tilting movements with his head, as if trying to draw attention without intruding. "Is that a friend of yours?" Kieran asked Sarda, inclining his head.

  Sarda looked across. "No," he said simply. But the gray-haired man apparently took Sarda's look as an invitation and came over.

  "Leo! Good to see you again. Hope I'm not interrupting anything. I was just leaving, saw you in here, and wanted to say hi."

  Sarda frowned. "I'm sorry. Do I know you . . . ?"

  "Well, sure . . ." The man looked puzzled. "Walter . . . Walter Trevany—the geologist. We met here a week or two back. I'm staying at the hotel."

  Sarda shook his head. "You must be mistaken."

  Trevany forced an uneasy smile, as if offering an out if Sarda was joking. "We were through there in the bar. You were with a woman, Elaine: tall, slim, curly black hair. . . ."

  Again, Sarda shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't know anyone of that name."

  "You're not exactly an easy person to get confused over. . . ." Trevany's words trailed away as he saw that Sarda was uncompromising. He looked appealingly at the other two. Kieran sympathized, but there was nothing he could do to help. "Well, excuse me. I didn't mean to crash in." Trevany turned and walked back toward the lobby entrance, pausing halfway to turn for a moment in the manner of someone who knew he wasn't mistaken. Then he disappeared. Sarda looked back at his two companions and shrugged.

  And Kieran knew that he was being absolutely honest also. Yet at the same time, he had caught a flicker of uncertainty in Sarda's eyes. June raised her eyebrows expertly in a way that could have meant anything and attended to her meal. Kieran sat back in his chair to muse on the situation. It was very odd. At the same time, he had no doubt that it was immensely significant. Just at that moment, however, he had no idea what to make of it.

  * * *

  He continued musing on the incident through the rest of the afternoon. If it was a first hint surfacing of some problem with the experiment, should the "deactivation" scheduled for midnight be postponed? But he wasn't going to put it to Sarda, who would hardly be thrilled at the idea. So should they go and talk to the Morches? On the other hand, Sarda might have had reason for covering up something personal, in which case interfering could result in no end of trouble.

  "I say we simply go along with them," June opined after they had talked it through for the umpteenth time. "If all their tests and experts say things are fine, and those are the standards they accepted to go by, who are we to argue? How much of the rest of the world's problems can you be expected to take on?"

  Kieran agreed, finally. They left it at that.

  6

  Kieran finished his coffee and looked across the kitchen area. It was the following morning, back at the apartment. "I really hope Leo doesn't go and have an accident or something now," he said to June, who was putting on her coat, filling Teddy's food dispenser, and trying to unglue Teddy from her feet, all at the same time. "I mean, with his bridge burned, so to speak, it would be a bit unfortunate, wouldn't it?" Sarda had rushed back to Quantonix after lunch the previous day, since things there were apparently still hectic. Kieran and June had continued with their day of relaxation. As far as they knew, the "deactivation" of the original had proceeded at midnight as scheduled.

&
nbsp; "Trust you to find a grotesque angle . . . Wait, you stupid animal!"

  "So what happens when they make a travel machine?" Kieran went on, intrigued by the line of thought. "Do they have it de-ex the original as soon as they press the button, and hope for the best? Or would it wait for a signal back from the receiving end first, confirming that everything there had gone okay? Otherwise, it would be just too bad for the trusting traveler, wouldn't it?" He paused while a new ramification formed in his mind. "You know, I think I've just realized why the spacelines try to get you to buy the round trip up front."

  "I thought it was just so they'd have your money in the bank for the duration. Anyway, I've got to go."

  "I'll ride in with you," Kieran said. "I thought I might start looking at what the real-estate business has to offer—maybe check out a couple of the offices around the Trapezium." That was the central area of Lowell, where the two canyon arms of Gorky Avenue from the northeast and Nineveh from roughly east, came together—named after the shape of the original structure from which it had grown. The western side of the Trapezium contained the administrative and civic district.

  "Sure," June said. "But we need to leave now. I've got a meeting."

  Kieran collected his coat along with Guinness's leash and whistled through his teeth. Guinness sprang to alertness and came through from the living room to the front door, where he waited, wagging his tail with uncomprehending trust. "Maybe a stroll around town sounds like a good idea for both of us," Kieran told him.

  * * *

  The real-estate agent's name was Yinge. He had a rounded, pinkish face with babylike features, and a manner that was candid yet genial, inspiring confidence by its suggestion that even if the profession could be guilty of a little overeagerness at times, he had already read this prospective buyer as too astute to be influenced by it. Kieran hadn't made his mind up yet if it was genuine or an art perfected over years.