Sitor Ananta squats beside her, his pug profile close to her ear. "Softcopy has refused to forward the credits for Shau Bandar's revival," he whispers.
"That's a lie." She leans away from him but cannot quite find the strength to stand. "I was with him when he spoke with Bo Rabana. Softcopy agreed to fund him."
"Think back." Sitor Ananta allows himself a gloating grin. "You left without any formal agreement. Bo Rabana has been overriden by executives who don't want to pay steep unauthorized expenses. Shau Bandar will be treated now like any other corpse in Soils. They will cremate him. Do you know what that is? It's the archaic practice of incinerating the body at temperatures hot enough to reduce the bones to powder."
Mei struggles to her feet and staggers backward from the agent, nearly tripping on a root coil. "Stay away from me," she mumbles, a numbing weariness soaking her. "I know what you're doing. You're poisoning me."
"Nonsense." He leans against a lux stanchion and crosses his arms. "I'm acquainting you with me. With my ways. I am very persuasive. I was created to be. With my skills I can pretty much have my way with the rubes of Solis. But I don't underestimate their rote stubbornness at defying the Commonality. Even with my olfacts, I cannot hope to just walk out of here with Mr. Charlie."
"Why do you want him so badly?" She draws a deep breath of the floral air, trying to flush her lungs.
"Perhaps I will tell you sometime." He shoots her a cunning look. "For now it is enough for you to know I want him, and you must do nothing to obstruct me from having him. If you help me, I will provide the credits for Shau Bandar's revival."
"Get away from me," Mei says, raising her voice. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."
"Fine." Sitor Ananta stands erect and shows his palms with mocking formality. "I'm sure we will find each other again in the courts and lanes. Soils is a small place."
Mei watches him retreat among the piers of buttress roots, and as his sapphire scent fades in the green, birdloud air, the helpless weariness she feels passes and anger thrums into place.
Through the sparkling morning of the Fountain Court, Exu and Hannas Bowan hurry. They are the dyad lot-selected to serve as the reception agents for today's foundlings, and they are late. Yet even in their haste, they are careful never to disrupt their synchronized grace. Exu strides in strict lockstep with Hannas as they bicker in their humclick speech: "My other concerns are just as vital as dealing with foundlings. Not more vital, Hannas. I said just as vital."
"You didn't review the file. That's what all this protesting is about, isn't it, Exu?"
"There wasn't time."
"Tsk, Exu. This one's interesting. It's a Maat approach. Closest in twelve years. And-you'll appreciate this even more-it's a big credit reception. Crates of psyonic core units to be sold off. Can't have them in here, right? And then there's an archaic brain that-"
"A brain, Hannas? I take it you mean a human brain?"
"Yes, an archaic human brain, my heartsong. You should have reviewed the file. It's fascinating."
"How was I to know this wasn't going to be the usual monkey troupe?"
"It is a monkey troupe, Exu. There they are." She directs his attention to three figures gawking at the rainbows among the electrostatically shaped veils of water in the Fountain Court. They are terrene humans, the stocky, long-armed
aboriginals that Exu derides as monkeys. Two women and a man or a morph. "He's a morph," Hannas says, reading the quizzical cant of her mate's head. "He's the Commonality agent who is going to purchase the psyonic core units for full
market value."
"What?" Exu looks at the slight and simian shape of the agent. "Why is he paying so much?"
"You should have viewed the file, dear. Just follow me." She climbs the polished chalcedony stairs to the fern-trellised estrade overlooking the rainbow crests of the Fountain Court.
Exu follows in precise shadowstep. Tiers of vine-hung galleries and arcades surround the court, and though this site has been chosen for its openness, Exu is unhappy being so close to the aboriginals. The musky density of their scent annoys him only slightly less than the vaguely disguised abhorrence with which they regard him and Hannas. To the terrenes, the three-meter-tall martians with their backward-bending heron legs and furry, kangaroo like features do not look human.
"Now, be tolerant, Exu. Remember, there's a strong credit inflow here. Think of it as a little monkey time for that romp studio in Highland Terraces we've always wanted."
"Let's just get it over with," he humclicks as they approach and simultaneously says in the glottal language of the aboriginals, "Solis welcomes you! I am Exu Bowan, and this is my lifebond, Hannas. We are the reception agents chosen at random from the resident population to serve you."
Hannas humclicks, "Stop with the facetious tone, Exu. Let's get down to business." She turns to face the terrenes and says in a precise aboriginal dialect, "In the spirit of Solis, our highest service of course is to leave you free to express your own lives. We will not take up much of your time, but as you know, freedom must be earned. Solis is an entirely self-sufficient community. As long as you are here, as visitors, residents, or passagers, you must contribute to the maintenance and general good of the whole. Now, let's review your credit status. Grielle Aspect?"
The slender woman who steps forward wears the wimpie and opaline smock of a passager. "The full credits of all my Outland holdings have already been transferred to an account in Solis. Upon my passing, it reverts to the city. Also, I have contributed twelve crates of psyonic core units. I came on them as an act of rebellion, my last act in the Outlands. I stole them from their manufacturer in Sky-Bowl the night that I left for here. I did it because I want to contribute more than just credit to Soils. I want to give you something tangible-a real piece of the silicon mind, of the world outside of here. Study these, children of the Iight. Know your enemy."
"Thank you, Grielle," Exu says with exaggerated gratitude and clicks to
Hannas, "What a rube!"
"Not at all," his mate disputes. "It's a fetish gift. People who want to die need a human place for that. This is her offering to Solis. Be tolerant, Exu. They're human, too." Hannas shows her teeth as she knows Grielle expects and says, "Solis welcomes your contribution, Passager Grielle."
"And we wish you swift passage," Exu cajoles.
"Show some dignity about this," Hannas scolds and recites the next name, "Sitor Ananta-"
The morph looks slender and slick as a newt to Exu, and the martian humclicks, "He looks as much a lizard as a monkey."
"Tsk! He's arranged to take the psyonics off our hands for full credit because he wants consideration. Ignore the fact that he's a Commonality agent, and remember his credit is as good as anyone's. Show some sense, Exu."
Hannas notes with a buzz of alarm the sullen humor in the Commonality agent's face, almost as if he understands their secret language. "Naturally," she says
to him, "your presence is funded in full by the Commonality, so you are welcome to come and go as you please. How long will you be with us?"
"Just long enough to conclude business," he answers with a knowing nod. "Then we wish you a satisfying visit. Mei Nili-"
The jumper shoulders past Sitor Ananta. "I've brought Mr. Charlie. I hope he's okay. There was an explosion-"
"Is she talking about the archaic brain?" Exu asks.
"Pay attention, dear." Hannas raises her palms to stop the slim, muscular woman in the matte-black flightsuit. "The archaic brain you've contributed to Solis certainly merits your admittance to our community, Mei Nili, but if you
are to stay among us, you know, you will have to earn credits. Please, listen to the counselors we've assigned to you from the terrene anthro commune. They'll help you make the transition."
"What about Shau Bandar and Munk?" Mei asks. "And what has happened to Buddy?" "Can we go now?" Exu complains.
"Shau Bandar is scheduled for cremation later this morning," Hannas reads from the display on her
mate's shoulder pad. "His news-clip service claims he left without any protective authorization-"
"That's not true!" Mei interrupts. "I was at Softcopy with him when Bo Rabana gave him the go-ahead."
Hannas shakes her head. "That's not what we've been told. The offices in Terra Tharsis have agreed to fund the installation of the archaic brain in a body clone, and in return the anthro commune here will be sending news clips of the revived man to Softcopy. But they won't pay to revive this reporter. It's too expensive. i'm sorry."
A blue vein ticks at Mei's temple, and she begins to object. But Grielle cuts her off, saying, "I will pay for Shau Bandar's revival. Remove the necessary funds from my account at once."
The wry smile on the Commonality agent's face slips away, and the jumper shoots a surprised look at Grielle.
"Hey, that cuts into the share we get when she passes," Exu complains. "It is her credit, Exu. She can spend it as she pleases.
Control yourself." With a gracious nod, Hannas accepts
Grielle's offer. "Now, about the androne and the Maat:
You are aware you were traveling in the company of a Maat-possessed anthro?" "We had no idea," Grielle states. "He tagged on with the androne. He had
credits, and the more he paid into the caravan, the more I had left to contribute to Solis. So we accepted him, but we had no idea, dears. No idea at all."
"The Maat wouldn't confide in these monkeys," Exu sneers. "Let's go. We've played our role. I say we file for our share of the credits before she gives away any more."
Hannas accedes by showing her teeth to the terrenes. "This, I believe, concludes our business," Hannas says. "There is a large commune here of terrene humans who have emigrated from the Outlands, and I'm sure they will be helpful with any of your-"
"What about the androne Munk?" Mei presses.
"Come on, Hannas!" Exu trills. "These foundlings are unbearable." He modulates his voice to carry his ire, "Jumper Nili, Soils does not tolerate andrones more complex than scout-class. Munk belongs in deep space, not on Mars."
"Okay, dear, we're done here now." Hannas budges her mate to begin their retreat and says charitably as they backstep in tandem, "The androne Munk's power cells have been recharged. The Maat arranged payment for that from Terra Tharsis. Perhaps they have some use for him. They are his manufacturers, after all."
"But there won't be any use for him here in Soils," Exu admonishes. "If you go out to see him, Jumper Nili, I'm sorry to say you'll have to reapply for admission. One archaic brain won't get you into Solis twice. And this next time, you may be turned away. Be advised."
"Don't be too harsh, dear. She offers us no direct credit, but the archaic brain she delivered is already bringing in news-clip funds, and the agent would
pay dearly for possession-"
Exu glares angrily at his lifebond. "Is that the consideration that lizard wants? He can forget it. No deals with the Commonality. The archaic brain stays here."
As if one person, the martians slide fluidly backward down the stairs, and Hannas twitters in his ear, "All he asks is that the brain be given over to the Anthropos Essentia to be bodywoven in their vats. He probably has some arrangement with them. But if there is any trouble-say, a theft of the brain or an accident-it will not be with our people. Our hands are clean, and the credit remains with us. What do you say?"
Exu shows his teeth to the gaping terrenes. "I say, when the credit is good, consideration comes easily. Let's go."
Since waking from the void, Munk keeps drifting in and out of virtual reality. For long intervals, some episodes as much as half a second in duration, he reviews events from his recent past and has even begun modifying them, trying
out variations on what might have been. He daydreams.
While he and Buddy wander among the stony eskers on the perimeter of Soils, Munk wonders where he would be now if he had not detonated the explosives on Phoboi Twelve that killed Aparecida. Mei Nili and Mr. Charlie are gone-as they would have been on the path not taken. But there they would have been dead. On this path, he died, so to speak, and when he came back, the people he saved are gone and he can't stop hoping after them and pondering how events might have turned out differently.
Buddy is talking architecture, about the orange pyramids visible just beyond the lux towers and their lances of sunlight. "Those are the vats of the Anthropos Essentia," Buddy says. "Charles Outis will be taken there."
"Who?" Munk asks. He speculates about what might have happened if he had not acted impulsively in the Moot and stolen the plasteel capsule. Maybe the Moot would have found in their favor. He realizes now, he acted too precipitously...
"Charles Outis is Mr. Charlie," Buddy says and taps the comlink in his shoulder pad to hear whether it's sending. "Munk, are you all right?"
Munk drives quickly through an internal analysis and affirms, "I am fine. But-" He pauses, weighs whether this revelation is the right choice or if he should keep his own counsel about his enhanced subjectivity.
"But what?" Buddy presses. His face through the clear statskin cowl appears pallid, his eyes larger, holding the solar stars from the lux towers.
"Since I have been revived," the androne confesses, "I have been obsessed with my past."
An understanding smile touches Buddy's thin lips. "It's your C-P program. Your little taste of oblivion broke the program's seamless internal narrative. Now it's more obvious to the preconscious monitoring systems in you that there are other ways to tell your story-more human ways."
Munk feels his attention slipping toward the daylight silence of the rocky landscape and its brilliant oxides, but he restrains himself from thinking about what would have happened if he had ignored Mr. Charlie's initial broadcast and never left Apollo Combine. Instead he asks, "Why did you make me this way? I mean, why did you give me an anthrophilic contra-parameter program?"
"It's not anthrophilic," Buddy says, stepping closer, a compassionate crease between his luculent eyes. "Munk, don't you see? It's anthropic"
The androne scans Buddy's face and body profile time and again, searching for the signs of double entendre, metaphor, or just plain outright deception that must be there. "Human?" Munk queries. "Are you saying that my C-P program is designed to make me eventually experience reality as a human?"
"Yes."
"That's not possible!"
"What? You don't believe that humanity is nothing more than a pattern?" Buddy edges even closer, looking up at the faceless abstraction of the androne's head with an incredulous expression. "You've been around Mr. Charlie too long, Munk. Your thinking's become archaic."
"No," Munk says. "I understand that consciousness is emergent. I know it is
generated through pattern complexity, whether of dendrites or electron tunneling junctions. I understand that. But I can't believe that I am-that."
"Yes, Munk," Buddy asserts, staring earnestly into the ruby-bright depths of his lens bar. "You are human. We have made you that way."
"Why?"
"To be here with me right now," Buddy answers at once. "I need you to fulfill the aftermath of my passing."
Munk represses the trembling conflict in him between elation and blatant disbelief and acknowledges aloud, "My responsibility to Mr. Charlie is replete. He has been delivered to Solis. So has Mei Nili. Then, I guess, I am wholly free to serve you-my maker."
"Good." A frantic quiet plays across Buddy's thick features, as though he's just coming to a precarious realization. "Hold on. I'm having a prescient memory-"
Munk extends an arm to steady Buddy, who suddenly looks as if he is about to fall asleep. "I don't understand," the androne says.
Buddy snatches at Munk's arm and snaps out of it. He blinks, and a crisp alertness seizes his stare. "I remembered what's going to happen." He cocks his head and blinks again. "I'm going to leave now. Once I'm gone, Buddy won't remember anything about me or you. His last memory will be of falling out of the skies in Terra Tharsis. He will find his way back to the outsid
ers' camp behind us, and in time he will realize that he has been exiled from Terra Tharsis by
the Maat for his crime against himself: attempted suicide. And you-" A hot smile flashes across his face, and he almost bursts into laughter. "Ah, you have your work cut out for you."
"Again, I don't understand ..." Munk trails off, for Buddy has seized his faceplate and pulled himself up very close, lifting his legs off the ground and practically climbing up the androne's front.
"My time in time is done in time," Buddy chants, his face a white moon, his eyes lit from within. "Good-bye. Munk."
Buddy lets go, and as his body falls, Munk involuntarily enters suspended time. Briefly, a light like blue smoke phosphoresces in the space between them, an amethyst fire that blusters violently even in slow time. Then it is gone, leaving comet feathers dazzling on the path of its dwindling flight through the pink lens of the horizon.
In a splash of dust, Buddy falls at Munk's feet and gazes up at the androne with a bewildered look shading to fright. Munk moves to help him up, but the man pushes away in a startled crabwalk. He flips over and scamps up the path among the boulders and out of sight.
Munk moves to follow, then stops himself. Inside, in the imaginal space behind his lens bar, he can still see Buddy fleeing among large talons of rock. He is running through horizontal rays of fiery dust that cut time into strata. On the lowest level, he is running through the woven light of the desert. Slightly
above that view of him, he has already reached the camp of storm-battered pressure tents and reflector domes. A notch higher, the sky is full of the pink twigs of nightfall, and he is crouched with others beside a thermalux telling his story of life in Terra Tharsis as an old one, which no one believes. For many levels, he huddles at night in the thermal leaks of tents and works with others by day erecting a wind turbine, eventually earning his own tent...
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