Then, inexplicably, the Interdictors stood down.
Their weapons still primed, they melted away, into the darkness.
7 ∞ Equity
2056
Box regained consciousness, in a hospital room, with a soft breeze tugging at gauzy curtains through an opened window. The sky through the window was powdery blue. In the distance were towers, leaning crazily in on each other. She could see gardens, and strange folds where the gardens met at ninety degrees. She could hear children, laughing. A man in a suit was beside her. “Dr Box,” he said.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“Acadia, a corner of the Orbiter.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Praxis.”
“Where are my friends?”
“They’re safe. Your androform ship will come in a short while. First, I have to ask you some questions.”
“Do I have rights?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Can I call my lawyer?”
“Dr Box, you’re the victim of a crime.”
The Water Bear appeared, five minutes later, as Praxis had promised. She seemed in vivid good health, unlike Box, who felt like stretched-out cellophane.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You nearly died,” said the ship. “The city was locked as tight as a drum. It took them almost four hours to collect us from the vacuum.”
“These bruises?”
“I had to shut parts of you down.”
“The others?”
“All safe, but it was a near thing.”
“The ship?”
“Gone to finish her mission.”
“How are we alive?”
“This androform body can metabolize fat to produce breathable oxygen.”
“You’re not fat.”
“Not now,” said the Water Bear.
“Why are we still here?”
“You mean, why did the killing machines spare us? Someone pulling some strings, I suppose. A shame it took so long for the puppets to move.”
“What now?” asked Box.
The bank vault was empty.
Box was riding in the Water Bear’s sensorium, seeing what the Water Bear saw, experiencing her sensations. It felt good, after the recovering wreck of her body.
“I’m sorry,” said the urbane city avatar. “It looks like somebody stole all your money.”
“All of it?” asked Pax.
They were in a deep sub-basement of the bank, in the plane where the city kissed space. Box could see raw vacuum through membranes in the Orbiter’s skin. She recoiled at the thought of it.
In front of them was a wardrobe-sized container, made from vanadium steel [the ship’s wetware told her] with a twisted-open door.
The ship got the loot, she thought.
Then she remembered: the ship winking out of existence. Gone to finish her mission. Without them. Without the gold.
Now the bank vault was open.
Was that a good or a bad thing?
Even in the ship’s androform brain, she only seemed to have half her senses.
She didn’t care.
I’m happily anesthetized, she concluded.
“Military malware,” said the city. “Memories lost. Everyone terribly confused.”
“Fancy that,” said the Water Bear.
[Why is it broken?] asked Box.
“It struck the Orbiter with considerable force. How do you want to handle this?”
“This is Po business,” said Pax. “Do nothing.”
Praxis nodded. “One thing though,” he said. “A clue.” The city messaged a text string to their sensoria. A sequence of decimals appeared.
[A Hopf number,] said Box, gazing out through the ship’s eyes.
Now she knew how much the ship saw.
Maybe she had ship envy too.
“Yes,” said Praxis.
[Mine?] asked Box.
“No,” said the city, not missing a beat. “Not that one. It’s the spacetime address of the bank actual, several days from now. It was encoded in the crystalline structure of the vault. That’s extraordinarily sensitive information. We’ve checked. No other vaults have that feature.”
[What’s a bank actual?] she asked.
[Samppo,] said Alois, from somewhere beside her.
“Why was it there?” asked Pax.
“I don’t know,” said Praxis. “But you may want to go find out.”
“We have no ship.”
“I can help you with that.”
The Bat was a quarter the size of the Water Bear. A battered towing vessel, ugly as a warthog, with oversized engines, and bristling with surveillance gear. Its pilot was a small AI, about twice as smart as a bat, from which it was evolved.
The Water Bear declared herself satisfied.
“This is a good ship,” she said.
“And I have some good news,” said Praxis.
“Yes?” asked Pax.
“Your missing crewmember is safe.”
“What? Ito? How do you know?” asked Pax amid the rising clamor.
“I can’t say.”
“What can you say?”
“That he doesn’t exist. Now. Except as a young novice, on Polota. But the version you lost, the grown one, he’s safe.”
[You’re talking in riddles,] said Box.
“You’ll work it out.”
“City?” said Pax.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Navigator. Just please don’t come back for, shall we say, twenty more years?”
Progress inside the Bat’s warp bubble wasn’t as serene as the Water Bear’s. The smaller ship’s machines smelt of hot metal and lubricants, and made chuntering mechanical noises. Box thought it was just fine. Her mind was still recovering from her body’s ordeal. After the bone-chilling emptiness of space, the thumping made her feel solid.
“We’re the hand of the Bat,” said Kitou, delighted.
“Pax is the Bat,” said Brin.
“Silence,” rumbled Pax. “All of you.”
With news of Ito, came a blissful sense of release. Box saw that a weight had been lifted from all of them. Kitou and Brin were like different people. There was no longer the fear that they should be searching for him instead of pursuing their mission. Wherever Ito was, and what he was doing now, were anyone’s guess, but he could take care of himself.
Brin and Kitou taught her the Po of small spaces.
“This move is called the brainless monkey,” said Brin.
The girls assumed the Po starting position, floating within striking range, and then started hitting each other. There was nothing artful about it: it was a barrage of punches and blocks. They turned off the lights, and continued the fight by the lights of the instrument panels.
“The Earth art this resembles most is Wing Chun,” said Kitou, panting.
Box said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
They found handholds in the ship’s machinery, and swung from them. As they hurtled past, they threw punches and kicks at each other.
Thankfully, few landed.
“This move is about survival against a chaotic opponent,” said Brin, breathing heavily. “We fight to exhaustion. The nature of the attack is incidental. We use it to unwire reflexes.”
Box saw that while the striking was deranged, the blocking was a variation on Fibonacci spirals.
Maybe it was like Wing Chun.
The two girls stopped, exhausted.
“Now you,” said Brin.
Pax asked what happened to her face.
“Moving equipment starts without warning,” she recited.
“Well, this ship has a medibay. Please have it seen to.”
In the small hours before dawn, when Box was the only one left awake, she talked with the androform Water Bear.
“What’s it like, being two of you?”
“It has the potential to become distressful.”
&
nbsp; “In what way?”
“According to our customs, a divided person, over time, becomes two different people.”
“Like Alois?”
“Yes.”
“I can see how that might be distressing.”
“It’s like your transporter dilemma.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you make a copy of a person, for beaming them down in your space dramas, is it the same person?”
“Oh, that old chestnut. I never thought so. My dinner party opinion is that a copy’s a copy.”
“So, what becomes of the original?”
“That never gets shown on TV. I suppose they’re quietly disintegrated.”
“Thankfully, we lack transporter technology.”
“But I’ve seen it.”
“Where?”
“On Earth. The 6 transport political agitators.”
“That’s a sleight of hand.”
“What?”
“They move people using gravity drives, then edit your perceptions.”
“You’re shitting me?”
“No.”
“That’s awful.”
“Do you prefer the alternative?”
She talked at length with Pax. They were in the Bat’s snug common room. There was no luxury here, but it was a comfortable space for several people. Pax stayed up, consenting to be interviewed.
“Thank you,” said Box.
Pax nodded.
“I mean, really thank you. For everything.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said.
“You’re a wonderful leader.”
“I’m not quite Ito.”
“No, you’re not. But Ito’s not quite Pax.”
He smiled at that.
“I remember the lesson you taught me.” she said.
“In the mountain sim?”
“Yes. I’m starting to get it now.”
“We planted a seed,” he said.
“You know Pax, those questions...
“What am I scared of.”
“Ah yes.”
“It’s true. I’m brave. I know I’m brave. I’m the one who runs towards the fire. But when the real pressure’s on, I fold like a house made of sticks.”
“And you know this?”
“Yeah, but I can’t seem to help it.”
“Then accept it. That’s how your flight response intervenes.”
“You said you could train it out of me.”
“But I won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s there for a purpose.”
“What purpose?”
“Dr Box – Ophelia - you’re not a soldier. I don’t have the luxury of walking away from a problem that scares me, but you do. I have a lifetime of training. You don’t. Bravery combined with obstinacy will only get you killed.”
“So what, I run away?”
“Yes, you run away.”
“I’m allowed?”
“Yes.”
She sighed, and then nodded.
“What did Praxis mean about Ito?” she asked.
“He means Ito’s not in this universe.”
“How can that be?”
“Maybe it means he’ll arrive later.”
“Tell me,” she said. “Who’s this Samppo character?”
“A complicated person.”
“How so?”
“Samppo’s the bank.”
“He owns it?”
“No, he is it. I’ll try to explain. Have you heard of hyper-intelligence syndrome?”
Box shook her head.
“There’s a theory that intelligent machines can transcend our baseline reality, and pass into a higher plane of being. As well as being the front end of a supercomputer, Samppo’s a religious figure: the head of a cult, called the Cult of the Bicameral Mind.”
“Your financial system is run by a cult?”
“Yes. And our central bank exists permanently on the edge of madness.”
“This works for you?”
“Yes.”
The Cult of the Bicameral Mind was an accumulation of industrial garbage. On the largest piece of garbage was depicted a human skeleton, with a cleaved skull, an axe, and outsize male genitalia. The genitals were partly obscured by an accretion of more recent garbage.
A voice said, “Who the fuck are you?”
“We’re a special operations unit of the Po,” said the Bat. “Please welcome us on board.”
“Fuck.”
A second voice said, “It’s the Feds.”
Beam weapons swiveled to face them. Box saw them in her head-up display: Spidery things, behind layers of refuse.
“How can we dodge those?” she asked.
“I’ll know they’re powering up before they do,” said the Water Bear.
“What then?”
“The Bat will disassemble them in a shaped gravity pulse.”
“He can do that?”
“Oh yes.”
“Put the weapons down,” said the Bat.
“Or what?”
Pax broadcast, “This is Navigator Pax Lo. We’re here at your request.”
“We didn’t request no one,” barked a new voice.
“We come on business,” said Pax.
“This display of firepower is a ritual game,” said the Water Bear. “The precursor to a negotiation. Out here in the big empty, where force equals law, it’s expected. They’re showing us the size of their weapons.”
“Like baboons,” observed Box.
“Two armed parties can do business,” said Pax. “These oddballs appear to be armed about as well as a heavy warship.”
“Not afraid of little old us then.”
“On the contrary.”
Kitou, Brin and Box crossed over in the usual way, by jumping. Box was getting used to it. The Bat propelled them across the gap along three unpredictable courses.
Deep space, far from any world, was a strange, lonely place.
She shivered.
Kitou and Brin landed at the edge of a filmy membrane, in a relaxed military crouch. Box landed slightly less elegantly, but still on her feet, just behind them. Their skinsuits relaxed, until they were in combat versions of their Po uniform coveralls.
“What the fuck is this?”
A youth in a filthy monk’s habit was gabbling into an old-fashioned radio microphone.
“Space vixens!”
“You won’t need that,” said Brin.
“Broca transfer?”
“Yes.”
The young man put the microphone down.
“You Po have all the gadgets. Now please, tell me about your ship. I’ve never seen a Po tugboat before!”
The monk turned out to be an engaging conversationalist. He pulled off his habit, to reveal a cleaner one underneath. While he was busy with that, he sheepishly apologized for the previous profanities. “We have a brand to protect,” he said.
“How many of you are there out here?” asked Brin.
“Sixty, not including Samppo and the Engine.”
“What do you do?” asked Kitou.
“We’re a hedge fund,” he said.
“Or a bank.
“It depends on your theory of money.”
“I see you’ve met my boy,” said Samppo, grinning impishly. He was an old man, in rude good health, with a shock of white hair.
“He’s your son?” asked Kitou.
“We’re all sons here, young woman. Macro’s a clone, as am I. We’ve been happily cloning ourselves for thousands of years. When I expire, Macro will become Samppo. There’ll be a party, and we’ll get back to our models.”
Samppo wasn’t remotely as Box expected. Happy and avuncular, like everyone’s favorite uncle, he twinkled.
“You’re all men?” she asked.
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s safer that way.”
The interior of the scow was like an exclusive gentlemen’s club: smoked glass and waxy carbon fiber. Box felt intimi
dated. She smelt power and money. Old money. Maybe the oldest money of all.
“How do you like our island of warmth,” he said, “in the great sea of nothing?”
They were sitting in a cross between a board room and the control room on Threnody. Long curving windows looked out across what appeared to be a trading floor.
Samppo got to the point.
“Dr Box,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“Me?”
Samppo looked around. “Is there more than one of you here?”
She gathered her thoughts. She was at her worst, sparring with privileged men.
“What happened in Praxis?” she asked.
“You were going to steal my money.”
“That was our money.”
“Money belongs to the bank.”
“Bullshit.”
He smiled, and raised his hand.
“I’ve been a poor host,” he said. He opened a drinks cabinet, with a door that reminded Box of the bank vault on Praxis, and produced five heavy glasses.
“Macro,” he called.
“Look, Dr Box, we’re in a post-scarcity society here. You know what that means. You people can have all the things you want, but money is mine, unless I choose to give it to you.”
Macro arrived with a bottle of spirits. Samppo motioned him to sit, and poured five equal measures.
“The woman you were so kind to on Praxis,” he said. “My employee.”
“Gemma,” said Brin.
“Yes. Why was she there?”
“To make money,” said Box, remembering the girl, Sophie and her grand tour.
“Wrong. Money’s a game, a means of abstracting value. You can’t gargle money. Cash is only a position. She’d be just as comfortable, lounging at home, drinking strong liquor, consuming.”
“She wants more,” said Brin.
“Yes, but she doesn’t want money. Who the fuck wants money? You can’t hold it close in the long night of the soul. You can’t do anything useful with it, except buy things. She wants what it buys. That’s true. But more to the point, she wants to be busy. She wants to be a productive member of her society.”
He motioned them to consume. Kitou gagged, but made a decent fist of it.
“Also, she finds it interesting. The same reason you do your jobs. It fills up her life with distraction and puzzle. Last week she met a Po warship and its Lo Navigator. It was the greatest event of her life. There was a robbery, and somehow, now she’s the hero. Soon she’ll get to meet me. It’ll tickle her silly.
The Water Bear Page 12
