The rest of the room went dead silent. At last Lena Ligon ventured, “You mean—leave Ganymede?”
The last upheaval had been close to half a century ago, when Gonville Ligon had moved family and empire from the bustling metropolis of Buenos Aires to the stark caverns of Ganymede. That transition had taken place over the strenuous objections of everyone. Gonville, a true descendant of iron-man Alonzo Ligon, had refused to listen. He simply said, “The future of industrial development isn’t on Earth, or even on Mars. It’s in the Outer System. That’s where we’re going. Anybody who doesn’t want to come along, bugger them. They can stay behind and try to scratch out a living on Earth.”
The Great War had proved Gonville right in a way that he had never anticipated. Now Prosper allowed himself a dry little neigh of amusement. “No, no, not at all. I am not proposing relocation. Most of us will remain here. The Starseed operation will move out. As to our base there, I have examined the choices.”
His display control marked out the nine major Saturnian moons, ranging from Mimas to far-out Phoebe. “None of these. They are all, together with the co-orbiting companions of Tethys and Dione, either under development or subject to lease arrangements. They are also inconveniently distant from Saturn. My own first choice is this one. Its period is about half as long again as a Saturnian day, which will make for easy rendezvous with Von Neumanns arriving with helium-3 cargo.” The marker flashed onto a bright point that showed as the middle in distance of five small satellites. “The moon currently has a leaseholder, but every previous assay has indicated no useful resources. We should be able to make a tempting offer.”
So far as Alex knew, no member of his family had ever taken the slightest interest in the sprawl of the Outer System beyond Jupiter. That idea was confirmed when Great-aunt Cora glared at the illuminated point and said, “No offer for that thing could tempt me. What’s it called, and why do we need it? Why not build our own base of operations?”
“It is known as Pandora. As to why we need it, that is a most astute question.” The long donkey-head nodded appreciation at Great-aunt Cora. “We need Pandora because the current leaseholder is apparently a misanthrope of the most extreme kind, who has been dealing with a government official who is either a buffoon or a hater of corporate activity. The lease permits government activity closer to Saturn than Pandora, but the leaseholder has the right to prohibit industrial operations. Operations which are, of course, for us an absolute necessity.”
Lena Ligon smiled brightly at Alex, and said to the table at large, “Surely we’re not going to let some government pipsqueak stand in our way?”
“It is, Lena, a signed lease.”
“Breaking it—”
“Would be difficult, and at the very least time-consuming.” Prosper glanced along the table to his left. “I think that we must proceed otherwise. It is my thought that if the current leaseholder is a man, then you, Rezel and Tanya, have the perfect combination of talents to assure his compliance. I also expect every family member to do whatever is asked. Alex, for instance—”
* * *
“—stop right there.” Kate held up her hand. It was seven o’clock, and thinking that Alex might be back from his meeting she had dropped in on his tiny apartment. He, more nervous than he wanted to admit, had made strong drinks for both of them. They were sitting now at the little table in the bedroom alcove, while he tried to explain why he might need to make a quick trip out to the Saturn system. So far he was not doing well.
“Too many names,” Kate complained. She was wearing a low-cut dress that showed off her shoulders and breasts, and she tugged at it now as it slipped lower. “Too many names, and too fast. I can’t keep them straight. Weasel and who are supposed to meet with this leaseholder?”
“Rezel and Tanya. Second cousins of mine, a couple of years younger than me. They’re real party types.”
“Yet Uncle Prosper is willing to send them to negotiate a deal with someone nobody in the family has ever met? From what you’ve said I thought Prosper sounded like he knew where he was going, even if he’s a dried-out bag of bones. Now he sounds like he’s crazy.”
“Oh, Prosper knows what he’s doing. Rezel and Tanya have had diplomatic and psychosexual training, and in the past they’ve been very successful. They’re smart, they work as a team, and they’ll do absolutely anything to get results.”
“Anything?”
“Pretty much. Uncle Karolus calls Rezel and Tanya the nympho twins.”
“But you wouldn’t know about that? Never mind. Prosper said they might need you, too. Why not Cousin Hector, he sounds like he doesn’t do much.”
“He doesn’t. People won’t let him. He looks like a berserker hero, tall and blond and with a profile like a Viking. That’s where it stops. He’s Uncle Karolus’s son, but even Karolus says Hector would be better off with his brain removed and replaced with a bowl of fruit.”
“I still don’t see why they want you involved. You’re busy here.”
“I’m just backup. Uncle Prosper doesn’t know who the leaseholder is, but he asked around and got word from somewhere that it’s a kind of freak recluse computer-modeling type.”
“Just like you. But uphill work for Weasel and Stoaty.”
“I think that’s what’s worrying Prosper. No one else in the family will put their lily-white hands anywhere near a computer, so he sees me as a default option. That’s why I may have to hop out to Saturn.” Alex paused, stared at the table, then took in half of his drink in a single swallow. “But I haven’t got to the other part of the meeting—”
* * *
“ ‘The old order changeth.’ ” With phase two of the Starseed contract voted on and accepted, Prosper was moving on to new business. He was handing out printed sheets for distribution around the table. “With or without the effects of the Starseed contract, Ligon Industries has been losing ground. The printed columns summarize the combined assets for each of the top ten commercial enterprises in the solar system, as they were a decade ago and as they are today. You will observe that two of the current top ten were not present on the earlier list. Delop SA and Sylva Commensals are new entries, replacing Global Minerals and Turbide. Delop are engaged primarily in Saturn system development, and I do not have to describe Sylva Commensals to some of those here.” His eye glanced briefly at Lena Ligon as he went on, “We, I am happy to say, are still in the top ten. I am less happy to note that we have slipped from third to ninth place.”
Great-aunt Agatha Ligon, her hundred and ten years impossible to guess from the trim, youthful body and lively gray eyes, said sharply, “Ninth! Pah! I remember when we were number one.”
“So do several others present.”
“We should never have left Earth! It was a ridiculous decision. I told Gonville so at the time.”
“Possibly. But I would have you note that Global Minerals, which was formerly a top ten enterprise, elected to remain on Earth. It now occupies the thirty-fourth position on the list. Permit me to continue. My analysis suggests two possible futures for Ligon Industries. We can continue as we are, watching our relative size and influence decline over the next decade. Or we can seek merger with some other group, preferably one of the rising powers in the solar system. You may have your own suggestions. I, of course, also have my preference.” Prosper Ligon’s bony finger stabbed at the sheet. “I propose that we pursue alliance and merger with the burgeoning empire of Cyrus Mobarak.”
Alex was surprised, but less so than others around the table. Hector sat with his mouth open. Cora and Agatha muttered, “Upstart,” and “Charlatan,” in unison. Alex’s mother whispered, “The Sun King!” as though the phrase was original with her. Alex knew that it wasn’t. But his mother’s words were echoed in awed tones by Cousins Juliana, Rezel, and Tanya. Uncle Karolus gave a short bark of laughter and said, “Full marks for nerve, Prosper. But Cyrus Mobarak is riding high. Give me one sound reason why he would have the slightest interest in merger.”
&
nbsp; “I propose to do exactly that. Cyrus Mobarak has indeed been successful—”
“Damn right.”
“—and he is ambitious. At the same time, he is a self-made man who, although he would never admit it, yearns to be associated with old money and influence. Who, thirty years ago, had heard of the controlled-fusion Mobies, or of Cyrus Mobarak? Did someone here utter the word upstart when I mentioned his name?”
Karolus nodded across the table. “I think that was Agatha. But you’re missing the point, Prosper. Merging Mobarak’s operation with Ligon wouldn’t give Mobarak himself any status with the Inner Circle.”
“A simple business merger would not. But what if it was a union of the two families, through shared children? Cyrus Mobarak has two offspring of his own. The elder, his son David, is already committed to a union. However, his daughter Lucy-Maria is young, unattached, and eligible. Lena, we have already had discussions on this matter. If you would like to summarize—”
* * *
“Let me get this straight.” Kate had stopped fiddling with the top of her dress as Alex went on with his description of the meeting. Now she was sitting totally still. “All this talk about a ‘family union.’ Do they mean marriage?”
“I guess so.” When Kate stared at him, he added, “That is what they mean.”
Alex had been told a hundred times that he was the System’s least perceptive man when it came to reading women’s feelings. But when Kate still said nothing, he went on, “Are you against marriage?”
“No, no.” Kate’s blue eyes looked away. “I think that the whole marriage business is a bit, well, old-fashioned, especially if people haven’t lived together. But if someone wants to get married, it’s up to them. Maybe Mobarak’s daughter feels like that. But in your family—is this your mother again?”
“Of course it’s my mother again.” And then he was forced to make a correction. “No, it’s not just mother. It’s the whole damned family.”
“But what right have they to decide?” Now Kate could not sit still. She was rubbing her hand along the tabletop, spreading a ring of condensation from her glass. “It would be an arranged marriage. You’d think we were in India or Persia, a thousand years ago. Have you seen pictures of this Lucy woman?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“She looks nice.”
“Nice? That’s the best you can come up with? Strawberries and cream are nice. Is she pretty?”
“Yes, but I think she’s been worked over quite a bit.”
“I’ll bet. Mobarak can afford the best surgeons and splices. Have you met her?”
“Not yet. But Hector has, and he says she’s stunning.”
“Is Hector a candidate to marry her? Isn’t he the cousin with a turnip where his brain should be?”
“No one is talking about Hector.”
“They are talking about you. Right?”
“They want me to meet with her.”
“And are you going to meet her?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice.” Alex realized that wasn’t enough. “It’s hard to describe what the situation is like to somebody who has never been in one of the meetings. Family needs take precedence over everything.”
“Like hell they do. Family needs weren’t considered when your cousin Juliana opted to become a Commensal, with permanent sterility. Suppose that Mobarak’s second child had been a boy? Family needs didn’t make your mother become a Commensal, either.”
“I wish she hadn’t. I worry about that. Nobody really knows what being a Commensal can do in the long run.”
“But she did it anyway. And so did one of your great-aunts.”
“Agatha.”
“So they are allowed to choose multi-organism symbiosis and sterility, in exchange for guaranteed health and beauty. But you can’t. Let’s get back to the subject. To be a negotiable asset with Cyrus Mobarak, you have to be young, male, of adequate intelligence, and able to breed. Like you. It’s a miracle they let you come and work here in the first place. Who knows who you might sleep with? Who knows what diseases you might pick up? And there’s another thing.”
Here it came, the moment Alex had been dreading. Kate held her glass in front of her face, so he couldn’t see her mouth and chin as she said, “What about us?”
“Us?”
“Us. Do you want it spelled? U-S. You and me. I suppose all this pressure of important family business has made it escape your attention, but you and I have been sharing a bed for the past two months. I had the illusion that you were enjoying it. What happens if the great family union is achieved, you are the popular choice, and Lucy becomes Mrs. Alex Ligon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do.” Kate slammed her glass down hard, so that the sweet and sticky liquor splashed out onto the table. “I’m not a possessive person, but sharing a dick with somebody else—even if she’s the heir to the whole Mobarak fortune—isn’t my idea of a good time. You go fuck Lucy if you want to. And while you’re at it you can go fuck yourself.”
Kate stared at Alex, her eyes blinking rapidly. Then she stood up, tugged her dress higher so that it covered her to the neck, turned, and was gone.
Alex sat alone. He had hoped to share with Kate his concerns over his mother. He had examined Lena Ligon closely during the meeting at family headquarters, and believed he saw evidence that the Commensal his mother had become was profoundly different from the original person.
He wasn’t going to be able to talk about those worries tonight; nor would any bed he slept in have Kate Lonaker by his side. The evening stretched out in front of him, empty and barren.
He stood up and headed for his office. Should he run his computer models now, rather than waiting for the morning? Maybe not. So far, the glories of Seine-Day had not lived up to their billing.
6
Humans had been listening for messages from the stars for a hundred and fifty years. What were the chances that you, Milly Wu, would here-and-now discover the first one ever?
Milly told herself, all the time, that the odds were enormously against her; and yet, every morning, as she sat down in her little cubicle she felt an odd frisson of expectation.
It was her third week of work, and the routine was already familiar. Incoming signals from all wavelengths went first to the central “mill” of the station, for basic processing and reduction to a standard format. The mill was fully automated, and no human played any part in the operation.
Next came a series of computations and tests, again without human involvement, designed to discover deviations from randomness. There is a fine line between a signal that is unpredictable but well-determined, and one that is totally random. For example, the digits of such numbers as π or e or Euler’s constant, γ, form an infinite sequence in any number base you care to choose. You can calculate each element of that sequence, such as the number-string that begins π’s base-10 representation, 3.14159265358979323846 … for as long as you have time and patience. No matter where you stop, at the millionth or the billionth or the trillionth digit, there will always be a specific and unique next digit. The number π is therefore well-determined, with absolutely nothing random about it. At the same time, no matter how far you go, the next digit cannot be predicted from what you have already.
Of course, if you were to discover the first thousand or ten thousand digits of π, to any number base, in a signal received from space, that would be another matter. It would provide proof, without doubt and without the need for any other information, that an alien intelligence was broadcasting to the universe.
Milly had known all that, long before she applied for a position with Project Argus. It was also a safe bet that the Argus computers, billions of times faster and more accurate than any human, were screening for untold millions of digit sequences drawn from pure mathematics and physics.
So what did this leave for humans to do? Exactly what Milly was doing now: using the human ability, so far unmatched by any m
achine, to see patterns.
Every morning, the mill produced a variable number of signals with some element of strangeness. Every morning, eighteen humans in their separate cubicles were provided a quota of data sets for individual examination. No one in the analysis group knew how many signals the mill produced on any particular day for human inspection, and all assumed that on some occasions two or more people would be given the same data. In principle no data set was more than one day old, but Hannah Krauss had told Milly that new arrivals would often in their first weeks be given an old anomaly, to see what they made of it. Jack Beston calibrated and compared the quality of people as well as signals.
He was more than an Ogre, he was a paranoid Ogre. Milly and her fellow-workers at the Argus Station could eat together if they wished and interact socially as much as they liked. What they were not supposed to do, ever, was compare notes about their work. Anomalies were not to be advertised, nor were they a subject for group discussion. They were to be reported directly to Jack Beston.
The data for individual analysis were divided into what on the L-4 station were known as “cells.” As Milly pulled in the first cell of the day, she reflected that she too might as well be in a cell. Worse than that, she was in solitary confinement. The cubicle to her left was occupied by a mournful-faced woman in her middle fifties who apparently had no other existence than work. Lota Danes was never in the dining area, and no matter how early Milly came to her cubicle, the door of the neighboring cubicle was always closed and the red sign outside showed that it was occupied. The hyperactive man who sat on Milly’s other side was at the other extreme of behavior. Simon Bitters kept random hours, popped in and out of his cubicle all the time, stuck his head now and again into Milly’s own little partition, placed his right index finger on the end of his nose, then ducked out again without a word. He apparently spent the whole of his working days wandering the station. Milly wondered how he ever fulfilled his daily quota. But apparently he did, otherwise Jack Beston would have shredded him at the weekly review meetings.
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