Sheri Tepper - The Fresco

by The Fresco(Lit)

  While the machines worked at that, we put the selectors through our memory drain, using a standard NB primary association identifier (Type 9Zwok) to strain childhood memories into a Tressor-Hines multibank synaptic synthesizer where they were stored while we went on to wipe all later memories clean, leaving their minds utterly blank. We then used the newest Bertrani omni-feed to restore only the childhood memories, stripped of all later associations. The former selectors were thus stopped at age twelve, when they had been undifferentiated. Then, we reselected them, most of them as campesi. Though many lacked the musculature of true campesi, with proper hormonal treatment they bulked up to a satisfactory level, and as soon as the accelerated process was complete, we set all of them to continuing the sewage system, though we pulled out any who showed managerial talent to receive further education in waste management or hydropower systems.

  We then examined the records of all those misselected proffi and contempli, all those artists, sculptors, doctors and what have you, applying the Fynor-Noot allied skill analysis system. Failed sculptors, those who had actually liked stone, became masons, foundation layers, aqueduct builders. Failed artists, those who enjoyed color, became painters of rooms, houses and barns. Those who had fancied themselves doctors because of a desire to help and care for others were assigned as creche managers, animal tenders, and the like. Most of these people did not need regression. Doing work they could succeed at would in time erase any longing for a time when things were otherwise. In very short order virtually all of them were doing well and taking pleasure in their work. Those few who fancied specialized caste for reasons of power or prestige and who might, therefore, harbor resentments and unfulfilled ambitions were treated as the selectors had been: memory removal and regression to age twelve.

  This was a long, tiring process. There were fewer than a hundred to be regressed each period, but they scream so when the memories are drained, and they must be conscious for it to be done correctly, leaving their psyches intact. Both Vess and I became weary and depressed, for there was no relief in the settlement, nothing attractive on which one could rest one's eyes, nothing amusing, nothing soothing. Everything and everyone was at war with everything and everyone else. When we began, only a tiny fraction of the persons were doing work they were suited for, and even they were constantly frustrated by interdependent workers who did not function properly. Still, day by day, we pulled a bit farther out of the morass. Day by day we saw people doing work they liked and doing it well, even the regressed ones who had been reselected.

  One morning, leaving the ship, I came across a small garden tended by a child who was singing a hymn to Mengantowhai as te pulled weeds from among the flowers and fed them to a nearby flock of flosti who gabbled and stretched their long mouthparts to receive a share while the flost-herd stood contentedly by with his noose. It was so... right! So interdependently lovely. As I gazed at child/ garden/flosti, my vocal sac filled with fluid and I turned away, gargling, deeply moved. Vess patted toner on an appendage and uttered comfort words, I suppose the Pistach equivalent of your Earthian, "there, there." (Which, by the way, confuses us greatly. What is there? And why two of them?) This little garden was the first functionality, the first real sign of emerging order, the signal to bring new selectors into the mix.

  By that time, as we had been on Assurdo for well over a year, a number of undifferentiated ones awaited selection. In our role as athyci, Vess and I prayed for Mengatowhai's intercession in granting us a small miracle, which was, wondrously, granted. At least a ten of the undifferentiated ones had the proper tendencies to become selectors. We double-checked ourselves during the selection process and spent more time than usual in training. At the end of another year, Assurdo was, so to speak, on its feet. The new selectors had been shown the ugliness and disfunctionality caused by the errors of their predecessors, and they had been supervised through selection after selection, learning that they must never, never select someone for a more specialized life simply because that person wants to try it or envies the prestige of those who do it or think it might be interesting. "Num g'klum, num b'flum, humnum te des ai," we said. "Where there is no affinity and no skill, you cannot make an ai out of a te." Your people, dear Benita, have the same saying, about the ears of swine, or pearls before pigs, or silk billfolds, or something of the kind.

  All that was left for us to do was clean up the loose ends. As I've mentioned, of the people we had simply reselected without regression, virtually all had worked out well and were contented in their tasks. A few, however, who at first had seemed to be doing well had in fact had been spoiled by the earlier selection, and their moods and angers affected their work-mates adversely. By the time this was known, both Vess and I were fatigued. We did not wish to take the time for memory wipe, regression, and reselection, so we told the unhappy ones to choose between going to a long-established colony where they might return to specialized caste if they chose, or returning to Pistach-home for regression, conditioning and reselection.

  Two chose the colony, so on the way home we made a detour to our detention settlement on Quirk, which was then celebrating its tricentennial. Quirk was designed to serve as a settlement for those of our people who cannot find satisfactory roles in the normal Pistach way. Dissatisfaction happens from time to time, and we take no pleasure in the pain and frustration of those who cannot fit in. Therefore, Quirk: a subtropical planet with a dozen or so towns sprawling across pleasant valleys near the sea. There is food for the picking, water for the drinking, no power needed for warmth, and the sanitation systems are self-repairing. The towns are not particularly pleasing in an aesthetic sense, as they have neither order nor discernable functionality, but Pistach-home provides ample equipment and supplies for its free-spirited population. Naturally, there are no functioning inceptors or receptors among the inhabitants, any of these castes who are sent there are sterilized though not otherwise altered. Lar-vabots and childbots are provided for nootchi. Except for actual reproduction, persons on Quirk may play any roles they like.

  One of the persons we set ashore on Quirk was a former proffe, T'Fees, a handsome person, stalwart and strong, who had been reselected as a seemingly perfect campes, but was unhappy in that role. He had been selected originally as an artist, though te had no real talent. Though te could not create art, te had well-formed opinions concerning it and insights that I found remarkably fine. Perhaps if te had been selected to teach art, he would have been content, but his ambitions did not reach in that direction. Or, if we Pistach allowed the role of critic, T'fees would have fulfilled that role. We do not critique the works of others for public edification, however. To question the value of others' works publicly would be to denigrate them in our society.

  I think of T'Fees often when I learn of Earth people who fail at their chosen lives, or those like your Van Gogh, who become a success only after they are dead. On Pistach, we do not change our opinions of former persons. What good does it do an unhappy man to become a genius after his death? Or a living person to be a failure at his dreams? Among Pistach, all except glusi are successful, and even glusi are encouraged to believe they are. All must believe in their success,- otherwise meager aptitudes breed great rancor.

  During the voyage from Assurdo to Quirk, I spent many pleasant hours with T'Fees, usually playing sheez or bactak. I remember well the occasion, toward the end of one day shift, when T'Fees asked by what right Vess and Chiddy had disrupted teros life and the life of others on Assurdo.

  I asked if te had ever seen the Fresco. Te replied that te had not. Te had never been on Pistach-home. The ceremonial buildings on ter homeworld did not, of course, contain a copy of the Fresco. Te had, however, seen the Glumshalak Compendium with the sketches drawn shortly after the Fresco was finished. The ship carrying the Compendium had stopped on Assurdo for refueling, and for some inexplicable reason had, while there, allowed the local populace to file past the revered book.

  "You ask what gives us the right," I said. "Panel fifte
en of the Fresco, The Blessing of Cantborel, shows us Mengantowhai, foreseeing the martyrdom that would give him divine authority, passing this authority to Canthorel. When Canthorel came to Pistach-home, it was passed to aisos successors through the holy Fresco. Mengan-towhai's holy authority has descended to the athyci of Pistach down the centuries, each receiving it from those who have received it before in an unbroken line."

  "And who gave it to Mengantowhai?" te asked.

  "Universal Purpose," I replied. "This Purpose was made manifest when Mengantowhai first came into contact with the Jaupati. Panel one of the Fresco, The Meeting, shows us they were a primitive race. They warred among themselves. It is even said the Jaupati were per-sonophagic, though the truth of that assertion is unproven. In panel two of the Fresco, The Steadfast Docents, we are shown teachers, appointed by Mengantowhai, asking the Jaupati if they desire peace and freedom from want and pain, and they are crying as with one voice that they do. The Jaupati put themselves in his hands, and he worked with them for many years."

  "What did he do to them?"

  "He did nothing to them. He did a great deal with them. He taught them how to differentiate their young toward ultimate contentment. He taught them how to structure an economy so there would be work for all. He taught them how to breed one offspring at a time instead of litters, like pflggi, for it is absolutely true that no nootch, or parent, can civilize a litter! He taught them how to educate their young in order to avoid being glutted by whole families of glusi. And they were grateful. In panel six, The Offerings, we see the Jaupati bringing gifts to Mengantowhai."

  "Yet I have heard Mengantowhai died a martyr's death at their hands."

  "That assertion is heretical. Mengantowhai was not killed by the Jaupati but by the Pokoti. In panel nine, Evangelism, we see the Jaupati leader, Kasiwees, raising a force to defend Mengantowhai against the Pokoti. In panel ten, The Envious Pokoti, we see the Pokoti plotting against the Jaupati. In panel eleven, The Attack, we see the abduction of Mengantowhai by the Pokoti. The Pokoti tried to force him to tell them the secrets of selection, the skills of economic design, the way to have one offspring at a time. These are not things one can tell, like a recipe for flosti-gut pate! They are not things one should communicate except by example. Mengantowhai was badly wounded during his abduction. In panel twelve, The Rescue, we see Canthorel arriving to save him. Mengantowhai did not die for some time following, for panels thirteen, fourteen and fifteen show him still alive."

  "And what are those panels called?" T'fees asked.

  "Thirteen is Mengantoivbai's Sermon, his teaching to his people. Then, The Fearful Faithless, the departure of the Pistach who feared another attack by the Pokoti, and finally, The Blessing of Canthorel, which I have already mentioned. This is followed by panel sixteen, Departure of Canthorel."

  "And what happened to the Jaupati?"

  "Maddened by Mengantowhai's passing, they locked themselves in a death-struggle with the Pokoti. Canthorel was unable to bring peace, as there was too much hatred on both sides, and ai departed from the world. Panel seventeen, the final panel of the Fresco, the one that lies between the left-hand doors, shows the last Jaupati, Kasiwees, kneeling in prayer before the shrine of Mengantowhai while the last Pokoti sneaks from behind him with a blade. We know from the associated Pistach symbols of renewal, flying flosti, bulbs, worm jars, that Kasiwees is praying for Mengantowhai's return. Kasiwees is our exemplar. When we enter the ranks of the athyci, we swear to respond to the Plea of Kasiwees. This Kasiwean Oath commits us to meeting the needs of others by bringing Mengantowhai's help, as set out in the Fresco of Canthorel."

  "Is the Fresco very beautiful?" te asked me, after a long, thoughtful pause. "Though I am now only a former artist, I judged that the Compendium was not very artistically done."

  Though it was painful for me to tell T'Fees it was virtually invisible behind its veils of grime, in the interest of truth I did so, explaining that its holiness prevented our cleaning it. "As for beauty, we know that Canthorel painted only beauty," I replied. I knew this had to be true, regardless of how it was conveyed in Glumshalak's Compendium.

  T'fees and I grew to be almost friends upon that journey. I was hurt by the look te gave me when ton'i parted on Quirk. By that time, of course, all those from Assurdo knew that only adults come to Quirk and no real children are ever born there. They also knew why: because the people of Quirk value their own individuality over the welfare of the whole, and Mengantowhai's rule allows no young to be brought into a world that has not prepared an orderly, safe and peaceful place for them.

  You will be sympathetic to this, I know, dearest Benita. Though not all human receptors or nootchi are good ones, you fulfilled those roles ably. You bore children, and you labored mightily to be sure they had an orderly, safe, and peaceful place. It is a sorrow that one of your children was unable to appreciate this. Some other races in the Confederation do not have our ways. They are like some of your people on Earth. They demand that children be born, even without a place for them or a good person to nootch them. If the children die, well, say they, it is the will of their gods. I do not like such ways,- certainly I would not follow such gods.

  I remember often what you said the night of our dinner with your people, about your people improving while your god stayed the same. I think of the races I have known who defined their gods when they were still savages, giving their gods the power and cruelty they themselves displayed. The gods of the Fluiquosm, for example, are invisible spirits of death. And the Wulivery carve their hungry gods into immortal stone, while the Xankatikitiki recite long sagas of their heavenly hunters. So they have gone on, generation after generation, unchanging, and in following them, their peoples have shut off all avenues to a better way of life. Would it not be a good thing if we could retire old gods, like old soldiers, to a peaceful place in the country? Let them live like retired warriors whose time of violence is past? Or like old politicians, perhaps, who have learned the wrong lessons in striving youth and have not had enough lifetimes to unlearn them.

  Pistach management-MONDAY

  On Monday, the Pistach Questionnaires were delivered by postmen to every household. They came in a plain brown envelope containing individual packets for various members of the family. Some were for adult women, some for adult men, some for children between eight and twelve, others for teenagers. The instructions specified that each person must first select the age and gender appropriate packet, affix his or her own thumbprint on the sticky patch at the top of each page, then answer the questions below, without help, in pencil or pen.

  "If the person filling out the questionnaire is someone other than the thumb printer, the questionnaire will self-destruct," said the instructions. "If the person filling out the questionnaire is under duress or being helped, the questionnaire will self-destruct. Please, do this individually and honestly."

  Benita, reading this, was most amused. They had found a use for old Mission Impossible technology after all.

  The questionnaires included several hundred questions about society, about people's positions in society, about behavior, work habits, morality. Even people who did not read at all, or at all well, found the questions easy to understand. Many questions asked that certain behaviors be ranked in order of preference or by degree of sinfulness, such as, "Is sex outside of marriage more or less sinful than a) not paying one's employees a living wage, b) cheating on taxes, c) passing laws to benefit the rich by further oppressing the poor?"

  Millions of thumbs were pressed onto waiting sticky patches, and in each sticky patch a hundred thousand Pistach nanobots waited, quiescent. At the moment of pressure, chemical restraints dissolved, allowing the nanobots their freedom. Chemical sensors detected warmth and blood and crawled upward, following microfi-bers that had already penetrated the skin to obtain blood and DNA samples. When the hand was pulled away from the sticky patch, a hundred thousand nanobots tunneled rapidly into the flesh, where they began harvesting atoms from the surro
unding flesh, assembling more of themselves until they totalled several millions and had spread to all parts of the body.

  Millions of questionnaires were puzzled over and answered. By the time each person had finished the first dozen or two innocuous questions, his or her body was completely colonized. During the answering of each successive question, nanobots measured blood pressure, respiration, endocrine function, brain waves, and subvocaliz-ations to determine if answers were true or not. If any answer was false, it was ignored.

  Some of the nanobots migrated to the palm of the hand and emerged at the surface of the skin as a complicated dark red ideogram. Cheaters, parents who had tried to fill out their children's forms, or family members who had taken it upon themselves to speak for other family members, plus those who had discarded the questionnaire or simply ignored it, received on the following day a stern note and a new questionnaire. Though the questionnaires were in fact returned to a central depository, from which they subsequently disappeared, the work of tabulation had already been done. Newly assembled nanobot structures inside each person now identified that person. Roving structures migrated throughout each person's body, correcting minor physical problems as they went. Crippling diseases were ameliorated. Incapacitating pain was relieved, but fatal diseases were let alone. No attempt was made to reduce drug addiction, alcoholism, smoking, or any other self-destructive behavior.