by Greg Bear
The original Library of Congress had been sealed in helium and was accessible now only in pressure suits. We were not offered the chance to go in. Arbeiters roamed its halls, guarding and tracking its countless billions of paper books and periodicals. It had stopped accepting paper copies in 2049,- most research was now conducted out of the electronic archives, which filled a small chamber several hundred feet beneath the old library. Alice absorbed as much of the library as she needed, but even her immense reserves of memory would have been taxed by absorbing all.
At the Air and Space Museum, we stood for pictures at the foot of a full-size replica of the first Mars lander, the Captain James Cook. I had seen the original as a preform schoolgirl. To me, the replica seemed larger beneath its dome than the original, sitting in the open air of Elysium.
Earth had too much to show us. We were in danger of becoming exhausted before our most important day arrived . . .
We entered the hearing chamber, stately stone and warm dark wood, seats upholstered in dark faux leather, Bithras, Allen, and myself, deliberately dressed in conservative Martian fashions, Alice on her freshly polished carriage.
With our synthetic clothing and unaltered physiques, we must have resembled hicks in a LitVid comedy. But we were greeted respectfully by five senators from the Standing Committee on Solar System and Near-Earth Space Affairs. For a few minutes, we gathered in light conversation with the senators and a few of their staff. The air was polite but formal. Again, I sensed something amiss, as did Bithras, whose nostrils flared as he took his seat behind a long maple table. Allen leaned over and asked me, "Why aren't we testifying before the whole committee?" I did not know.
I sat to the left of Bithras in a hard wooden chair, Allen sat to his right. Alice was connected to the Senate thinker, Harold S., who had served the Senate for sixty years.
The gallery was empty. Obviously, this would be a closed hearing.
Senator Kay Juarez Sommers of New Mexico, chair of the committee, gaveled the hearing into order. "I welcome our distinguished guests from Mars. You don't know how odd that is for an old Terrie like myself to say, even today. Maybe I need some enhancements to the imagination. Certainly some of my colleagues think so ..." She was in her mid-seventies, if I could judge age when appearance seemed an arbitrary choice, small and wiry, clean simple features, smooth-voiced, dressing hard in blacks and grays. Senator Juarez Sommers had not chosen any easy roads in her life, and she had eschewed obvious transform designs.
Also attending the hearing today were Senators John Mendoza of Utah, tall, chocolate-skinned, severely handsome and stocky, Senator David Wang of California, white-blond with golden skin, a fairly obvious transform, and Senator Joe Kim of Green Idaho, of middle height, gray-haired, wearing an expression of perpetual suspicion. Or perhaps it was discernment.
"Mr. Majumdar, as you can see, this is a closed hearing," Juarez Sommers began. "We've chosen key members of the standing committee to hear your testimony. We'll speak directly, since our time is limited. We're curious as to how much progress Mars will make toward unification in the next five years.
"We face major obstacles," Bithras said, "not all of them caused by Martians."
"Could you elaborate, please?"
Bithras explained the complex interactions of Binding Multiple finances and politics. Martian resources were about two percent developed. Earth-based corporations with BM subsidiaries and Lunar-based BMs controlled fifteen percent of Martian capital and ten percent of developed resources. Mars-based BMs frequently sought capital from Triple sources off Mars, establishing temporary liaisons, even giving the outside sources some say in their internal affairs. It seemed everybody had a finger in the Martian pie. Organizing so many disparate interests was more than difficult, it was nightmarish, and it was made worse by the reluctance of healthy and profitable BMs to submit to central authority.
"Do Martian BMs feel they have inalienable rights, corporate rights as it were, no matter what the needs of their individual members?" asked Senator Mendoza of Utah.
"Nothing so arrogant," Bithras said. "Binding Multiples operate more like groups of small businesses and families than worker-owned Earth-style corporations. Family members are all shareholders, but they cannot sell their shares to any outside concerns. Entry to the family is through marriage, special election, or birth. Transfer through marriage or election removes you from one BM and places you in another. Within the family, there is exchange of work credits only, no money as such . . . All investments outside the family are directed by the syndic's financial managers." The senators appeared bored. Bithras concluded quickly. "I'm sure you're familiar with the principles . . . They're the same on the Moon and in the Belts, as well."
"Being aware of a pattern should imply being able to change it," said Mendoza.
"Our witness has just admitted to us that there is reluctance," said Senator Wang of California, glancing at his colleagues with raised eyebrows.
"Mr. Majumdar's own Binding Multiple has been reluctant to cooperate with attempts to unify," said Juarez Sommers. "Perhaps he can give us insight into both the reluctance, and the proposed nurturing of a new social pattern."
Bithras tilted his head to one side and smiled, acknowledging the sudden characterization as a reluctant witness. "We have worked long and hard to determine our own destiny. We behave as strong-willed individuals within an atmosphere determined by mutual advantage. We are naturally not inclined to place our destinies and lives in the hands of agencies who do not answer directly to us."
"Your Binding Multiples have lived under this illusion for decades," said Senator Joe Kim of Green Idaho. "Are you telling us this is truly how Mars works — each individual interacting directly with family authorities?"
"No," Bithras said.
"Surely you have a system of justice that all BMs subscribe to. How do you treat your untherapied, your ill-adapted?"
"Haven't we strayed from the subject a bit, Senator?" Bithras asked, smiling.
"Humor me," Kim said, looking down at the slate before him.
Bithras humored him. "They have rights. If their maladaptation is severe, their families persuade them to seek aid. Therapy, if that seems necessary. If their . . . ah . . . crime transcends family boundaries, they can be brought before Council judges. But — "
"Martians are not enamored of therapy," Mendoza said, staring at us one by one. "Some of us in Utah share their doubts."
"We don't embrace the concept as a fashion," Bithras clarified. "Neither do we oppose it on principle."
"We think perhaps an improvement in the mentality of Martians as individuals might lead to a greater acceptance of more efficient social organization," Juarez Sommers said, glancing at Mendoza with some irritation.
"The Senator is privileged to think that," Bithras said quietly.
That line of questioning was dropped. The senators paused for a few seconds, tuning in to Harold S. perhaps, then resumed the questioning.
"You're no doubt aware that the major alliances of Earth have expressed unhappiness with Martian backwardness," Juarez Sommers said. "There's even been disgruntled talk of economic sanctions. Mars relies heavily on Earth, does it not, for essential goods?"
"Not entirely, Senator," Bithras said. She must have known we did not, she was working toward some point I could not see.
"Do your Binding Multiples conduct business with human brainpower alone, or do they use thinkers?"
"We rely on thinkers, but make our own decisions, of course," Bithras said. "As you do here ... in Congress. I believe Harold S. is merely a revered advisor."
"And these thinkers are grown on Earth," she continued.
"We have a few more years before we can grow our own Martian thinkers." Bithras looked down at the table, rubbing the edge of his slate with a finger. His face reddened ever so slightly at what might have been an implied threat.
"Martian nanotechnology is acknowledged to be a decade behind Earth's, and your industrial facilities are
likewise less efficient."
"Yes."
"Earth corporations and national patent trusts are reluctant to release designs for better nano to a society with few central controls."
"Martians have never smuggled designs and never sought to infringe patents. We have stringent oversight within all BMs on patent permissions and compensation. We also allow Earth inspections of facilities using patented or copyrighted designs."
"Still, the perception exists, and it hurts Martian industry and development, correct?"
"In all humility," Bithras said, "I must say we take care of our needs."
What Bithras did not mention was the widespread Martian perception that Earth preferred our economic development to be stunted, kept tightly in Earth's control.
"Doesn't Mars wish to grow?" Mendoza asked, wide-eyed with astonishment. "Don't Mars's leaders — the syndics of the various BMs and the governors of resource districts — wish to join the greater efforts of the Triple?"
"To the best of our poor abilities, yes," Bithras said. "But Earth should never expect Mars to sell out her rights and her resources, to give herself up as somebody's whim property."
Mendoza laughed. "My colleagues and I wouldn't dream of that. We might hope for a place where we can flee, if our own re-elections fail ..."
"Speak for yourself, John," Juarez Sommers said. The discussion settled into specifics, and trivial ones at that. For ten minutes, the senators asked Bithras more questions whose answers it seemed obvious they could already find within their slates.
The exercise quickly irritated and bored me.
That first hearing, which reached no conclusions, lasted forty-seven minutes.
The next, on the next day, with the same senators, lasted fifteen minutes. We were given a week's reprieve before the final hearing, and no indication we would ever meet with the full committee.
So far, Bithras had not been asked to present his proposals. It did not seem to matter. We had made the crossing to listen to polite but unpleasant banter, mild implied threats, and remarkably soft questions.
Allen shared a bichem refresh and some beer with me on the evening of the second hearing, Bithras slept in his room.
"What do you think they're up to?" I asked.
Allen closed his eyes wearily and lay back in the chair, legs stretched full length. "Wasting our time," he said.
"They don't act as if they have a plan," I said.
"They don't act like much of anything," Allen said.
"It's infuriating."
"No, it's cover," Allen said. "Diversion."
"What do you mean by diversion?" Bithras entered in his pajamas, hair tousled, rubbing his eyes like a little boy. "Give me some of that," he said, flicking a finger at the bichemistry supplement. "My joints ache."
"Did we wake you?"
"Behind these walls? It's quiet as a tomb in there. I had a damned nightmare," Bithras said. "I hate sims."
We were not aware he had experienced any sims. He sat and Allen poured him a cup, which he slugged back with some drama. "Yes, all right," he said, "I let Miriam talk me into sharing a sim with her last night. It was awful."
I wondered what sort of sim they had shared.
"We were talking about the hearings," Allen said.
"You mentioned a 'diversion,'" Bithras said. "You think these hearings are a sham?"
"I have my suspicions."
"Yes?"
"GEWA."
Bithras scowled at Allen. "We've no scheduled meetings with representatives of GEWA."
"Because we're not worth the bother?" Allen asked.
I was still lost. "What about — " I began, but Bithras held up his hand.
"Wang and Mendoza both act as representatives to GEWA for the Senate Standing Committee," Bithras said. "Majority party and minority."
Allen nodded.
"Gentlemen, you've dusted me," I said.
Bithras turned to me as if to a child. "It has been asserted by some that the United States is relinquishing its concerns in space to GEWA as a whole. Binding Multiples having contracts and trade relations with the United States will supposedly answer to GEWA authority, directly."
"What difference would that make to us?" I asked.
"GEWA as a whole is far more aggressive toward space exploration than the United States, and much more involved than any other alliance. But in the Greater East-West Alliance there are many smaller nations and corporations with no space holdings whatsoever. They want holdings. If Mars unites, we would have to establish new relations with GEWA . . . Their little partners would ask that we sell a share of our pie. And they would offer ..." Bithras pinched his nose and squinched his eyes shut, concentrating. "What . . . what would they offer?"
"Quid pro quo," Allen said.
"Quid pro quo. We provide them a greater share of our participation in Solar System resources ... in return for the alliance not absorbing Mars and its BMs completely."
"As happened to the Moon," Allen said.
"That's terrible," I said. "You're anticipating this, just because they haven't asked lots of hard questions?"
Bithras waved his hand. "Little evidences, certainly," he said.
Allen seemed energized by the frightful scenarios. "We couldn't win that kind of war," Allen said. "If we unite and are pressured to join any alliance, power in the alliance is based on population — "
"Except for the founding nations, such as the United States," Bithras said. "We'd be bottom of the totem pole." He finished his bichem supplement. Allen offered him a glass of beer and he accepted. "In fifteen or twenty years, maybe less, if Alice is correct, ninety percent of the Earth's nations, in every alliance, will be deeply interested in the Big Push. To the stars."
"Shouldn't we be interested, as well?" Allen said, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him like a supplicant.
"At the price of our planetary heritage, our soul?" Bithras asked.
"The whole human race . . . It's a noble goal," Allen mused.
Bithras took the challenge as if he were fielding a ball. "It would certainly seem noble, to a world desperate for progress, for growth and change. But we'd be eaten alive."
"What's the point?" I asked.
Bithras shrugged. "If this speculation is correct, and if our visit has any meaning at all, we will be speaking with representatives from GEWA, in private, before we leave," he said. "The closed Senate hearing is an excuse — no need to go public with policies not yet in place, but also, no need conducting long-term negotiations ignoring what the situation will be in the future. Mendoza and Wang are merely pickets. The reason we were summoned here may be a convenient fiction. We could be caught with our pants around our ankles. I've come here with a proposal . . . But they might try to force us to make a firm agreement."
He held out his hand and Allen grasped it firmly. "Good thinking, Allen. If I were them, that's what I would do."
Staring at the congratulatory handshake, I felt a burn of jealousy. Would I ever be able to think such convoluted and political thoughts, make such startling leaps into the unlikely, and impress Bithras?
I patted Allen on the shoulder, mumbled good night, and went to my room.
The next morning, as I shared coffee in the suite's living room with Bithras, talking about the day's schedule with Alice, our slates chimed simultaneously. Allen entered from his room and we compared messages.
All further Senate hearings had been canceled. Informal sessions with senators and members of congress from various states had all been canceled, as well — except for a single meeting with Mendoza and Wang, scheduled for the end of our third week.
Suddenly, we were little more than tourists.
The GEWA hypothesis had quickened.
I quickly tired of parties and receptions. I wanted to see the planet, to walk around on my own, free of responsibilities. Instead, we spent most of our time meeting the curious and the friendly, making contacts and spreading goodwill. Miriam, true to her reputation,
arranged for us to meet and greet some of the most influential people in North America.
She arranged a second lavish party — paid for by Majumdar — and invited artists, sim actors, business magnates and heads of corporations, ministers from the alliances, ambassadors — more famous and familiar faces than I had ever imagined meeting all at once. The LitVids were conspicuously absent, we were to be at ease, light chatter and fine food, and Bithras was to make his case for a variety of deals and proposals.
The party was held in Miriam's suite, all the walls and furniture rearranged for maximum space. We arrived before most of the others, and Miriam took me aside with a motherly arm around my shoulder. "Don't be too impressed by these people," she told me. "They're human and they're easily impressed. You're an exotic, my dear — and you should take advantage of it. There will be some very handsome people here." She gave me an unctuous smile.
I certainly wasn't going to harvest partners at a political function. But I returned her smile and said I'd enjoy myself, and I vowed to myself that I would.
The crowd arrived in clumps, flocking to core figures of some reputation or another. Allen, Bithras, and I separated and attended to our own clumps, answering questions — "Why have you come all this way?", "Why are Martians so resistant to the big arts trends?", "I've heard that over half of all Martian women still give birth — how extraordinary! Is that true in your family?", "What do you think of Earth? Isn't it a terrible cultural hothouse?" — and gently disengaging to attend to other clumps.
While I recognized many famous people, Miriam had managed to invite nobody I truly wanted to meet. None of the Terrestrial dramatists I admired were there, perhaps because I favored Lit over Vid. None of the politicians I had studied were there. The majority of the partygoers were high spin — Washington still attracted hordes of bright and beautiful people — and my tastes did not track the spin.
Bithras seemed in his element, however, fulfilling his obligations smoothly. For much of the party, executives from corporations with Martian aspirations surrounded him. I noticed four Pakistanis waiting patiently for a turn, two men in traditional gray suits and two women, one wearing a brilliant orange sari, the other a flowing gray three-piece set. When their turn came, Bithras spoke with them in Punjabi and Urdu, he became even more ebullient.
