Still Forms On Foxfield

by Joan Slonczewski

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, not looking up. The pan juices sputtered.

  “Um.” Allison dropped her notebook on the table and began to review her report for the Committee.

  “You’ll never believe what I saw in the transcomm today,” Dave said.

  “The calls I checked, you mean?”

  “Yes. There was this little girl, see, some weirdo Earth name—”

  “Japanese. Michiko Aseda.”

  “Anyhow, she says she runs a whole fleet of cargo ships, like a school project, you know. She showed me some of them.”

  “Um. Cargo, you say?” Allison flipped a page.

  “Yeah, they run everything from antigrav earth-movers to loads of ‘audiovisual apparel.’ She transports things for people, and then her credit goes up, since it’s socially useful, and then she goes to hunt lions in Serengeti. Real lions, like Daniel in the lions’ den.”

  “I see.”

  “She said I could do it, too, Mom. All I’d have to do is pass a System course and get enough credit to register a transport vessel.”

  “Sure you can, son. It’s your life.”

  “But then I visited this mobilist—that’s a kind of artist that makes all these amazing effects with sounds and images and moods. It’s like a painting or a song that goes on and on, filling the whole world with things you never thought you could imagine even…”

  She looked up and sniffed. “Dave, I know you like to surprise me, but what in heaven that concoction?”

  “It’s called Indonesian shrimp crackers.”

  “What crackers?”

  “Indonesia—some new planet or other.”

  “Country, an old country.”

  “Anyhow, I got the recipe from the Library of Cuisine.”

  Allison frowned. “I don’t recall checking any ‘Library of Cuisine.’”

  “Oh, no? Well, anyhow, you make this paste out of shrimp—that’s a kind of sea worm—then you just—”

  “Shrimp? Where’d you get shrimp?”

  “This frog-suit lady came and knocked on the door, and had all this stuff, and I got some.”

  “A traveling salesperson? All the way from Indonesia?”

  “Easy, Mom. I think she’s just from the ship; a frog-suit, like I said. I didn’t lose much credit; I checked first.”

  Allison made a grim note in the margin of her report. She glanced at the window, half expecting to see another ‘salesperson’ lurking in the shadows. Instead she saw a familiar silhouette, a figure climbing the hill.

  “Seth’s back!”

  She left the house and skipped over the matted fibers to meet him. They embraced tightly.

  “Seth, love,” she gasped, “you’ll crack my ribs one of these days.”

  “Never,” he said.

  She kissed his chin, then the eyelids, saving the lips for last. “I missed you so,” she told him.

  “I know, Sonnie.”

  “You’re lucky in one way, though; you missed all the trouble I’ve been getting into of late.”

  “I’ll hear soon enough.”

  “That you will. Come on in for supper,” she said, leading him to the house.

  “Sorry for the bad timing,” said Seth.

  “Never mind. It’s Dave’s night, and you know he always makes enough to feed an elephant.”

  “Elephant?”

  She laughed lightly. “Surely you know what that is. Don’t they school you at Coral Vale?”

  “We school in other things.”

  In the kitchen, Dave set down a platter heaped with what looked like bricks of browned Styrofoam.

  “That’s shrimp?” she asked.

  “Crackers,” said Dave. “They start out like little hard cakes and then blow up like a flat balloon when you fry them.”

  She broke off a corner and popped it into her mouth. It crunched and melted away, leaving a spicy taste. “Great,” she said. “Look, I’ll also whip up some eggs, since Seth is here.”

  “That’s extravagant, Mom,” he mocked.

  “Smart aleck. Why don’t you feed that stuff to Rufus?”

  “Aw, Mom.”

  “Dave,” said Seth, “sit down and I’ll tell you a Dwelling tale.”

  “Wow, a new one? What’s it about?”

  Allison thanked him inwardly.

  “It concerns the Great Migration, many planet-tours past, when the day was cold and the One young and without form…”

  Clifford spoke with Allison and Seth in the bustling Meeting House. “Quite a turnout, for a committee,” he remarked. “Allison, you look a bit peaked. Nothing wrong, eh?”

  “Not really,” she said, shifting her hair to the other side.

  “Overwork, I’m sure. I used to think machines were supposed to run themselves.”

  “Some do.” She glanced at his wrist. “Joined the citizens’ club, I see. Watch any Stargo lately?”

  “Not funny, Allison.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Just think,” said Clifford, “I’ve got a century’s worth of history to catch up with. Not that Foxfield has no history, but this is like opening an Egyptian tomb.”

  Allison shrugged. “Earth always did sound like an Egyptian tomb, to me. People would spend entire lifetimes collecting elaborate artifacts, while Earth itself was set to become a giant tomb at any moment.”

  “My, you’re cheerful tonight. Don’t tell me Seth’s got you down already.”

  “Of course not, Seth’s just fine,” she said, patting Seth’s arm. “It’s just that…Clifford, is it true that a creative culture has to be a violent one as well?”

  “Well, there’s a thesis you could write volumes on, and folks have. Would help to define your terms. But a couple of exceptions come to mind, right off: Pueblo native Americans, West Indian island groups…Such populations are small, as a rule, and tend to be overlooked. When they overcrowd, the violence sets in. How’s that for a thesis in a nutshell?”

  “You’re getting as good as the System.”

  Clifford groaned. “Thanks for nothing, sister.”

  Allison saw Kyoko and Casimir approaching.

  “Good to see you again, Allison,” said Casimir. “What do you think of us? The clothes, I mean. We took your advice and went to the sartorial establishment of one Jeremiah Crain, number four, Georgeville Road.”

  “Cas insisted,” added Kyoko.

  Allison said, “Why not? You both look perfectly gorgeous.”

  “It’s great,” said Casimir. “I haven’t felt this elegant since I left Mars.”

  “Is that your home?”

  “For generations. We Martians are perversely loyal to our homeland, perhaps because, next to Titan, Mars has the most undeserving of climates: Death Valley and Siberia rolled into one. My grandson’s family still lives there.”

  Taken aback, Allison raised her estimate of his age by a decade at least. “Excuse me,” she said, “you both know Seth Connaught?”

  “Yes,” said Kyoko, “I remember you well, with the commensals last week.”

  Seth nodded. “You were good at Transac,” he admitted.

  “Friend Seth,” said Casimir, “I’ve been hoping to run into you again. As you know, I hope to study the commensal Fractions in their natural setting and I wish to propose—”

  Allison motioned them to be seated, for the Hall had grown still.

  Martha rose. “The function of the Committee for Extraplanetary Concerns of the Georgeville Monthly Meeting is to address matters which involve visitors from worlds other than Foxfield, and to promote our relations with these worlds as Friends see fit. Yearly Meeting will convene an analogous committee this fall.”

  Allison shuddered. Yearly Meeting committees were notorious for inertia.

  Martha read the agenda. “Questions or additions?” she asked.

  “I’ve a concern,” called a man who rose in back. “Since all those wrist-antennas folks are starting to wear let people listen in and call in from anywhere, should they really be allowed
at committee meetings?”

  Martha considered this. “Conduct of monthly business has always been considered open to the public, and this is an open committee.”

  “But that was when the ‘public’ was only Friends. What about closed committees, like Ministry and Counsel?”

  “We may recommend a ban on credometers in closed meetings.”

  Noah rose and said, “I for one think this whole credometer thing needs looking into. They’re more than just another gadget, and some folks might’ve thought of the Meeting before accepting them.”

  Allison bit her lip.

  Martha only said, “These concerns come on the agenda under Technical Services. Anything else? John?”

  John Poyser rose and said, “In view of the evolution of sexual attitudes in modern society, I ask Friends to reconsider the question of homosexual marriage.”

  “The concern is valid,” said Martha, “but to my mind it is purely a Foxfield matter, and therefore outside the scope of this committee; Ministry and Counsel might be more appropriate.

  “Well, let’s put that on the agenda, then.”

  “Are Friends in accord? Very well. Anything else? Then we’ll hear from Casimir Stroem, biosphere analyst from the UNIS-11, who asks our help to study the commensals.”

  Casimir then rose to explain his interest in Foxfield’s native inhabitants. “I believe they are the most complex non-Terran life forms yet discovered,” he said. “In particular, the conjoining behavior is of great interest to UNI scientists, and we hope that it might be possible for us to observe a conjunction event. I bring this up now because I know that the season is short.”

  Some Foxfielders shifted in their seats. “Such a notion, indeed,” whispered one. “They’ll be peeping in my bedroom window next, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “The first thing,” said Edward Crain, “is to ask the One. I see Rashernu here.”

  “Comprehend?” signaled Martha. Seth was translating as usual, though Allison suspected that the Fraction often did not require it.

  “Yes,” the commensal signaled, while humans craned their necks to see. “No harm for One, within usual wave limits. Blood-sharer safety uncertain.”

  Frances spoke up. “The danger for humans is serious. Our leafy friends protect themselves well indeed throughout the mating process, which takes some thirty hours. They exude a battery of neurotoxins, some deadly within a hundred meters; the response is instinctive, so they can’t control it. And the composition is never the same, though we keep a long list by now; new compounds crop up all the time.”

  “We’ll protect ourselves, doctor,” said Casimir.

  “Seth,” Martha asked, “what do you think of the project? Can it be done safely?”

  Seth shrugged and stood up. “I often come across conjoining Fractions. Bring filters, and a chemical monitor. Bring common sense, too.”

  “Would you guide such an expedition?”

  “When?”

  “A week to prepare?” Casimir suggested.

  “All right. Might have to go north a ways by then; conjoining won’t occur this far south again, this season.”

  Martha said, “Why don’t the two of you work out your plans; if need be, we can always call a brief business session to approve. If no further comments—”

  But Rashernu signaled once more. “One invites new blood-sharers to Dwelling. One expects you soon.”

  “What was that?” someone asked.

  “The One,” said Martha, “would like to see our new friends visit Her at the Dwelling. That also should interest you, Casimir.”

  “Excellent; we’d be delighted to do so.”

  Kyoko asked, “Do they consider us ‘sharers of blood’ in the same sense as yourselves?”

  “Seth?”

  “Humans,” said Seth, “are assumed to be blood-sharers. The transaction must occur, for one to contact the Dwelling.”

  “Transaction?” asked Casimir.

  “An exchange of body fluids,” Frances explained. “The amount needed is small—a mil, or so—when it’s done with a Fraction, that is.”

  “Yes,” said Martha, “but there are psychological effects as well. That’s the whole point, is it not, Seth?”

  Casimir said, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Allison smiled to herself. He’d have a lot to work out—especially since nothing electronic, not even a finger-watch, could get within a kilometer of the Dwelling before the Guardians stopped you. What recorders would they use? Picture a UNI citizen trying to use a manual camera, or even a pencil and paper.

  “We’ll hear next from Technical Services,” said Martha. “Allison?”

  “Er, yes.” She collected her thoughts in a hurry as she stood up. “The first thing is that Kyoko Aseda and I have reviewed the various functions of our Tech Center—power storage, manufacturing, radiocommunications, and so forth—to make best use of the System facilities. The original concept was to try to interface our Deltron network with the System somehow, but frankly, we’ve come to see that that’s about as practical as to hook up an abacus.”

  She took a deep breath. “The fact is that UNI could absorb all our needs overnight almost, at little cost. In practice, of course, we’d prefer a gradual transition so that personnel can be trained; but with the new hypno methods…Frances?”

  The doctor was rubbing her glasses in vexation. “Allison, my dear, I hate to see us rush into a quantum leap here. These new gimmicks all look enticing, but it’s an old rule that any new operation tends to drag along with it at least as many weaknesses as that which it replaced. For example, last Sunday a perfectly healthy young man burst in on me scared to high heaven because his ‘credo’ assured him he’d just suffered a coronary.”

  Kyoko said, “Please, doctor, the defect was corrected immediately, as you know—”

  “Dam good thing, too. Nearly gave him a real one.”

  “You see, we usually set credometer units for infant metabolism. For Foxfield we had to modify the program for physically mature individuals—a delicate adjustment.”

  “I’m sure it is. But won’t some of these other ‘transitions’ prove even more delicate? What guarantee do we have against further slip-ups?”

  Allison asked, “What sort of guarantee do you expect, Doc? Heaven alone knows how many slip-ups I perpetrate each year.”

  “Now, now,” Frances demurred. “We’d not last a day without your work.”

  “That’s just it. From now on, we can’t get on without UNI, either.” She bit her lip; she hadn’t meant it to come out like that. “I mean, we’re all one world, right? Of course we’ll take care—a gradual transition, like I said,” she finished lamely. She chafed at the role of UNI apologist, but saw no alternative.

  “Noah Rowntree,” said Martha, after a pause. “Have you something to add?”

  He stood and folded his arms. “Something we’ve not considered as yet: the commensals, our relationship with them, our interdependence. What will become of it? Will we just replace our whole economy with an interstellar push-button dispenser?”

  Allison felt glued to her seat, and she avoided Seth’s eye. Long seconds passed, until Edward Crain rose.

  Edward stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I believe that our relations with the One include lasting, spiritual qualities beyond mere ‘economic’ exchange. If our friendship is distilled by time, it need not be weakened.”

  Martha nodded. “These are things for us all to think on,” she said.

  Then Friends seemed to feel a unified need for silence. Some minutes passed. Allison glanced at the commensal Rashernu in the aisle by Seth, her outer fronds half closed. It was nighttime, after all.

  At last Martha looked up again and asked Allison to continue her report.

  “All right,” she said, “about the credometers: a lot of folks have accepted them, now, and plugged into the System, but they should be clear on what they’re getting into. For one thing, UNI considers the deal permanent; the Syste
m won’t take back your ‘credo’ if you change your mind.”

  “Until death do us part?” said Clifford.

  “Well—that’s about it.”

  “What if you just pull it off?” demanded a woman from across the room.

  “After a few weeks, your credit level will decline and start to run negative—another point to beware of, by the way; perhaps Kyoko will explain—”

  A man’s hand shot up. “That’s right, I heard you on the ‘space news.’ First Foxfielder to go in the red, eh?”

  People muttered and clucked their tongues. Underneath her embarrassment, Allison was worried. Couldn’t they see the point of what was happening now?

  Kyoko rose to explain the Adjustment procedure which applied to credit problems. Some discussion of details ensued.

  Clifford leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s good old Earth, that’s all. Everyone likes to tell you what to do, and why it’s best for you, if you holler about it. It’s called ‘democracy.’”

  Noah rose quickly. “Clifford, I learned my history, too—from your own mother, right here in the Meeting House. Friends used to die in ‘prisons’ rather than obey laws which did violence to their Light. I remember what ‘prisons’ were, as well.”

  There it was. Stony looks appeared. With some hesitation, Kyoko rose. “I assure you that UNI no longer has ‘prisons,’ nor any similar incarceration facilities. They are unnecessary in the Age of Psychosynchrony.”

  “Thank you,” said Martha, “we’re all glad to hear that, I’m sure. Noah, do I hear a concern on your part that credometers violate Friends principles in some way?”

  He turned to Allison. “Why don’t you tell us, Allison? You know the nature of the beast.”

  “That’s just what I’m trying to do. The most serious risk, to my mind, is that children of any age can acquire regular, unrestricted credometers despite the fact that UNI considers them officially ‘undermature’ until certain tests are passed. Now, Special Status provides—”

  “Excuse me,” said Martha. “Question, Lowell?”

  “At what age do they take the tests?” Lowell asked.

  “I don’t think it’s specified…Kyoko?”

  Kyoko explained, “The tests are not formal examinations in your sense. They form a part of the System program base, and ‘testing’ goes on automatically, so long as the credo is worn. I understand that all Foxfield credo-wearers have ‘passed,’ so far.”