The Stars Are Also Fire

by Poul Anderson

  Perhaps no more than a gibe. She’d never drop a hint that might draw his attention toward a different machination of hers. Unless she did it in hopes that he would dismiss it as a misdirection and keep his focus on Earth.

  That would not be a fool’s idea. Earth was in fact where he and she had been playing their game. Alice Tam was entirely of this planet. Tracing back the movements of Tam’s volant, ransacking the records of phone calls she had lately made, checking on the recipients, had been a gigantic effort, savagely concentrated into a pair of days and nights. But it led to the Carfax house, and from there the trails might well branch out to every node of Lunarian conspiracy on the globe. Where then could Lilisaire turn but to space?

  Farther space, Mars, the asteroids, the outer-planet moons, folk of hers thinly scattered but in possession of spacecraft, nuclear generators, robots, unsentient but highly capable computers, instrumentalities potent for work or for harm. She would hardly cry rebellion. They would not heed if she did; they were not insane. But he could think of other possibilities. For example, if somehow she had gotten an inkling of the nature of the secret, a few Lunarians yonder might furtively commence an astronomical search. … He must organize a surveillance of them. That would be a lengthy and effort-costly undertaking in its own right.

  At the same time, he must not neglect Earth, the more so when Lilisaire and her bravos might yet be able to accomplish something here.

  Maintain a watch for Tam and Kenmuir. However, don’t let it employ a substantial force, which could better be assigned elsewhere. The odds were large that they were of little further consequence. They had broken into the Proserpina file, yes, and it had run through to the end before it stopped; but the record showed that that had been a straight playing, no skips forward, whereas they fled within minutes of starting it. So they lacked the critical data.

  It could be awkward if they made public what they did know—not unmanageable, but awkward. Best catch them soon. They had allies around the planet, Kenmuir his trothmates, Tam her metamorphs and their associates. No doubt they’d try to contact one or more. But the system was alerted, and how could amateurs evade it?

  Guthrie House, for instance—no, an unlikely destination, because Kenmuir wasn’t stupid—he’d know it for a dead end and a trap. Still, just in case, robots at appropriate locations were set to observe every vehicle that went in or out of the Fireball mansion. If anyone debarked at it who might be either of the fugitives, that person would not get far without being halted and identified. Places more obscure posed more difficulty, but Venator did not see how his quarry could run much longer.

  Lilisaire’s established agents were the interesting ones. Had Carfax been the single sophotect among them?

  He called for a connection to it.

  The technicians were introducing it to the cyber-cosm, gradually, gently. They requested that he wait till the end of this session. He agreed, and turned to other tasks. They were plentiful.

  When at length he talked with the machine, he got only a voice. What relevance had appearance? Carfax-that-was amounted now to sensors, effectors, micro-circuits, devoid of body language. Personality had been self-obliterated, leaving no more than the standard background. The new consciousness that was forming spoke slowly, hesitating as it groped for meanings or expressions. Had human emotions applied, Venator would have thought of it as shy.

  —“No, I … regret … I can say nothing about former … inputs or outputs. I search, but it is gone, all gone.”

  “Small loss,” said Venator grimly, “if you were so enslaved.”

  “I do not understand that word. I search. … The ramifications are many. What sense do you intend?”

  “Never mind,” he sighed. “You’ll learn quickly enough how to handle human vocabularies. I was hoping that some clue to what I’m after might remain in you, but if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.” Because to him the machine had a soul: “How are you doing?”

  “Idiom? … It has become evident that I am not adequately designed. I have various hardware deficiencies. They are to be remedied. Meanwhile I am guided as best I can go, into the cybercosm.” The former program had known how to utter feeling. Thus far, this voice could merely quaver: “It is … glorious.”

  For a moment, Venator almost envied the burgeoning intelligence. The hour of his somatic death and mental entry into the system lay decades ahead, if brute chance did not intervene. And it would be different from the sophotect’s.

  Better, though. His life would have prepared him. It should give him much for him to give the Unity.

  Even the earliest, most primitive downloadings were transfigurations. It had always seemed perverse to him how few of the subjects kept their immortality. With or without the promise of becoming one with the Teramind, he believed that he, like Guthrie, would have chosen to live on.

  36

  The Mother of the Moon

  To move in a robot body, sensing with robot senses, is a matter of skills, the mind growing into oneness with hardwiring and subroutines as its original was in oneness with nerves, glands, muscles, entirety. To generate continuously a holographic imitation of the living body—not old and feeble, but in vigorous middle age—is art. The download has not completely mastered it. She knows full well the stiffness of the face and the gestures in screen or cylinder, the times when she forgets and her image sits as if paralyzed, the frequency with which distractions cause her to let her timbre go flat, machinelike. Practice will bring improvement; but she has not had many opportunities to practice undisturbed.

  However awkward, the projection is better than appearing as a disembodied voice or a box with eyestalks or a shape suggestive of a man in armor. At any rate, it is better in emotional confrontations like today’s. It shows, or tries to show, that the download has not simply taken over Dagny Beynac’s role in counsel and captaincy, it repeats her wisdom and compassion.

  Or so she hopes. Expects? Computes as probable? Learning her own self is the slowest and hardest task of all.

  Before her, the rugged, square image of Stepan Huizinga, speaking from Port Bowen, scowls. “You know what we fear, madame. Don’t you?” Implication: he wonders whether she can.

  “I know several of your fears,” she replies. “Which is foremost?” Of course she has the answer; but lead him on, get him to open up, study him in action.

  “What they name independence,” he snaps. “Madame, we will not suffer it, We cannot.” Wherefore his Human Defense Union is seriously talking about arming itself, forming what it calls a militia; and Dagny has phoned him to discuss this on an encrypted line.

  “Quite a few of you Terran Moondwellers are eager for independence”: a redundancy she deems necessary.

  “Yes. They prate of liberty, property rights, restrictions taken off their enterprises—They are idiots. Some are lackeys of the Selenarchs, but most are idiots. Or else they do not give a curse for anything but their greed.”

  “You, though?” she challenges very softly.

  He lifts his head. “We live here, my people and I. We have our roots here, where many of us have spent most of our lives. You should sympathize, … madame,” he finishes hastily, clearly seeing he has let slip what could be offensive.

  She takes no umbrage, nor desires to pretend it. “Yes,” she says, “I do,” through memories reaching back over a lifetime. How deep into her do they go, now? She cannot tell. Will she ever find out?

  He is emboldened. “Pardon me, but perhaps you have a certain bias. You—your original—did choose to bear Lunarian children.” Again he retreats a step. Although he feels increasingly desperate, he is not a fanatic. “True, in those days you did not foresee, nobody did, how alien they would be.”

  “No more alien to me, in their ways, than a lot of Terrans I’ve known, in theirs,” she says, keeping to mildness. “We get along. Partnership, friendship, love were possible between us, and are.” Between living Dagny and them. The download is close to none but Guthrie, and that relationship t
oo has become something other than what binds him and the woman.

  Huizinga sighs. “It happens. If only it were always possible. Please believe me, the Human Defense Union is sincere about ‘human’ meaning everyone. This is not a matter of race prejudice.”

  She doubts that. Experience, observation, study of history, a look into her soul, decided living Dagny that Guthrie was right when he remarked once, “Xenophobia isn’t pathological in itself. A degree of it is built into our DNA, and is healthy. Not all men are brothers. The trick is keeping it under control, and setting it aside when it isn’t needed.”

  The download does perceive Huizinga as a man who would not wittingly insult or harm anyone merely for being different from himself.

  “It is a matter of survival,” he declares.

  She sharpens her voice. “Nobody threatens your lives.”

  “No,” he growls, “they threaten what we live for. Already Lunarians dominate the Moon.” Better fitted for the environment, they usually move into the better positions, and their numbers are rising faster. Some Terran couples still enter the genetic lab and come forth prepared to have Lunarian children. But it would be impolitic to remind the angry man of that.

  “Without the protection of Federation law, my people would soon be helpless against them.” He refers mainly to the equalization program, the special facilities and subsidies and hiring quotas and exemptions that lie at the heart of so much Lunarian resentment. “They do not want democracy, you know. Or anyhow, their powerful ones, their damned Selenarchs, do not; and it is the Selenarchs who would be in charge of a ‘free’ Luna.” She can hear the sarcasm. “They would take it entirely out of the Federation!”

  “You are reacting to a nightmare, not a reality,” she says. “Independence is by no means sure. In fact, at the moment its chances of passing the Assembly are practically zero. That won’t change soon. It may never change.”

  “Unless the Lunarians revolt. They have come close to it, more than once.” All too true. Single incidents, but how easily a spark could flare into wildfire, and who knows what conspiracies are brewing in hidden chambers and along sealed communication lines? “If they snatch command of the globe, the Federation may well yield,” rather than fight a war—a war—which could destroy the prize and for which the Peace Authority is in any case ill equipped.

  “You’re borrowing trouble, I tell you. Don’t.” She quotes Guthrie: “The interest rate is too God damn high.”

  He blinks in surprise, rallies, and says firmly, “We wish to forestall trouble, madame. If we are prepared, it is far less likely. A loyal militia, able in an emergency to occupy key points and hold them until Earth can act, that should deter any treason.”

  She fashions intensity for visage and voice. “Don’t you realize what you’d provoke? Counter-organization, and more among your fellow Earth-types, I’ll bet, than among Lunarians. They’re already making noises like this in the National League,” the Terran faction that wants independence and reform, though within the framework of a democratic republic and Federation membership. “Then more and more Lunarians will see no recourse but to give troth to the barons and accumulate arms for them. You must all stop it, now, before we start sliding downhill into a three-cornered civil war.”

  Huizinga thinks before he replies. “Allow me to suggest that you exaggerate, madame.”

  “You do it much worse, señor.”

  “Can you show me an alternative?”

  “Yes. First, as I’ve said, the current legal state of affairs will, under any halfway reasonable circumstances, last for years at least. Those years can be lived in. I hear you have three children in their teens. Grant them time to finish growing up.”

  “What sort of world will they grow up into, if the Selenarchs have taken it over?”

  “That is ifthe Selenarchs do. But let’s suppose it, for argument’s sake. Let’s imagine your worst case. How bad is it actually?”

  “We lose our freedom. After that they can take from us whatever they choose—everything—whenever they choose.”

  “Really? I say most people would find life staying quite tolerable. The Selenarchs are Lunarians. They can be ruthless, but they don’t have the temperament to be tyrants. Oh, they would end the special coddling.” Her image raises a hand to curb his response. “Those who couldn’t stand the new conditions would be free to leave. There’s no lack of berths and homesites in L-5, on asteroids, throughout the Solar System. Rather, there’s a huge need of able brains, and rich rewards waiting for them.”

  “Easy enough to say.”

  “You think of the average person, losing home and savings and hope? It doesn’t have to be like that. Your League is not the only group trying to anticipate the future. Quiet discussions have been going on in rather high quarters. No specific arrangements yet—remember, these are not certainties, they are contingencies—but we want to be ready to meet them if they come.”

  Huizinga stares long at her image, as if it were a human face. “What have you in mind?” he asks finally.

  “I can’t go into details, because nothing’s been decided so far, as hypothetical as it all is. But probably the basic principles will include—bueno, what would you say to a buy-out of everybody who wants to leave? No confiscations; fair market values paid for all property they don’t take with them. Transport and assistance in relocation, retraining, whatever is called for.”

  He catches his breath.

  She makes a smile for him. “It isn’t due any goodness of heart in the Selenarchs,” she explains. “It’s a cold-blooded calculation that something of the kind is considerably cheaper than fighting a war or containing a rebellious minority. Nor do you have to trust just them. Fireball can offer its own guarantee—as formidable, everywhere beyond Earth, as any by the Federation—and join in underwriting the project. Again, not altruism, though I hope you’ll recognize a desire to give a helping hand. But avoiding a destructive conflict and gaining a considerable addition to the labor force makes economic sense, don’t you agree?”

  He sits a while longer before he stirs and asks slowly, “Can you promise this?”

  “Obviously not, at present,” she replies. “The single thing I can tell you with absolute confidence is that if you go ahead with your militia folly, the option will evaporate. I can promise you, however, that I will work for it, and Anson Guthrie will, and assorted others who’re well placed to make it go, and that if you and your followers cooperate, the chances look pretty good.”

  “I must think,” he mumbles, “and confer and—”

  “Do,” she urges. “Don’t publicize it, please. We’re not keeping it a state secret, but we operate best without a spotlight on us; and remember, this is just planning for a situation that probably won’t come about for quite a few years, and possibly never will. Even so, we’ll want your input too. Let’s meet again, you and I. Meanwhile, contact me anytime you want.”

  That is what she exists for.

  They talk a little more, and go through formalities that are in themselves encouraging, and break circuit. She spends a while replaying the conversation, recorded with his knowledge, and thinking about it. Then she transmits it to Zamok Vysoki, requesting that Brandir call her back.

  Expectant, he is quick to respond. Again there are formalities, though of another kind and character. He is not altogether sure how to address this that is not altogether his mother. She can take advantage of that. She needs every slight advantage she can find.

  “What’s the latest word from you and your fellows?” she asks. “Any prospect of compromise?”

  His head, lean and dry after almost ninety years, shakes, an emphasizingly Earthlike gesture. “Nay, not in the ultimate, however much time may pass until then. While the Federation has power over us, it will never cease seeking to encroach,” on the sovereignty of the seigneurs in those demesnes they have taken for their own. “Unless Luna gain full freedom, our people must perish,” meaning his class. Not literal death; the end of t
heir prideful ways, of the whole culture that is growing up around them, shaped by them. But Lunarians are human enough to value some things more than life. “What we spoke of was strengthening our coaction.”

  Unsurprised, she does not pursue this. “Bueno, you’ve now listened in on me and Huizinga. What about his bunch? Did I propose more than yours would go along with?”

  “You proposed actually nothing,” he reminds her. “But should the eventuality arrive, and Fireball stand by its pledges, yes, I deem the policy sound. Belike the Nationals will pose a thornier problem.”

  “We’ll be working on that one too.”

  Fingers fan outward, a Lunarian shrug. “It presupposes that Earth will let us depart, peacefully or otherwise.”

  She doesn’t bother to make her image register earnestness, but concentrates on her voice and words. “That will require all of us working for the same thing, and organized to do it. Especially you Selen-archs. Unless you’ve been at it top-secretly, you have not yet given real, hard thought to how you’d deal with the Federation.”

  “Peace and trade will gain it more and cost it less than any nominal military victory and aftermath.”

  “Yes, yes, everybody says that, also on Earth. But the stick by itself won’t serve. You have to dangle the carrot as well. What specific offers would you be willing to make—grudgingly, no doubt, but willing?”

  “You have thoughts,” he foreknew.

  “I and some others have been hatching a few. For instance, take the helium-3 extraction works. A government monopoly, and not any national government’s, the Federation’s. The stuff is that important to fusion power, to Earth as a whole. You can’t simply expropriate it if you don’t have overwhelming force; and you won’t. That would mean war for certain.”

  “Nay. They are not insane yonder. Export to Earth would continue, on terms to be negotiated.”

  “You don’t grasp the psychology, Brandir. It isn’t your psychology. Any Federation government that condoned your seizure would fall. They’re in too much trouble already,” what with after-effects of the Dieback, the Avantist movement, a widening and seemingly unbridgeable gap between high-tech and low-tech societies, upheavals everywhere around the planet. “They can’t afford to look weak. Furthermore, under those circumstances they’d have Fireball’s support, at least to the extent of economic and transport sanctions against Luna. The company doesn’t want chaos on Earth.”