“And what sort of art do you envision?” Karim asked.
“It’s hard to put it into words.” Pablo frowned. “I think what I’m looking for is a way to create a virtual world that doesn’t exist, that never existed, but that we might bring into being someday, that’s actually possible to create. That may sound like I’m just talking about an elaborate sort of modeling process, and that’s part of it, but maybe it would also inspire–”
Roberto was making surreptitious gestures at his brother with his hands. “Excuse me, sir ... ma’am,” Pablo murmured. “I’m taking up too much of your time.” Outside, there was the low rumble of thunder. “And I’d better help the others secure the boat before it rains.”
“When would you like your supper served, Mukhtar Karim?” Roberto asked.
“After you’ve finished whatever there is to do,” Karim replied.
“That’ll be about an hour, sir. I’ll bring it to you here.” Roberto went up the steps, his brother at his heels.
The storm was upon them by the time Karim and Greta were in bed. The boat rocked under them; the small porthole in the bedroom was suddenly white with light, and then a crack of thunder made his wife start and reach for his hand.
“It’s all right,” Karim said.
“I know.” As a girl, Greta had lived through having her childhood home destroyed by one of the fierce late spring storms that sometimes ravaged New York and Massachusetts; storms had made his wife nervous ever since.
He held her hand until he knew she was sleeping, then lay there listening to the thunder growing more faint. He thought of Pablo and his ambitions for mind-tour designing. The young man was the first person he had met in some days who actually looked beyond what was around him, who seemed hopeful.
Karim slipped from the bed and put on a robe over his long tunic, then went out to the sitting room and up the steps to the deck. The rain had already stopped; the air was still humid, but cooler. Two lanterns were on in the stern, where a man was folding up a tarp. Roberto, Karim thought; and then the man turned and he saw Pablo’s face.
“Salaam, sir,” Pablo said. “I told the others to get some sleep while I took care of this. Zack’ll get up in a couple of hours and have us on our way to Hudson.”
“Good.”
“Is there anything I can get for you? There’s some iced tea in the galley.”
“No, thank you.” Karim sat down in a deck chair while Pablo stowed the tarp in a large chest. “I would like to ask something of you, though.” He was silent for a few moments, choosing his words. “For a few years now, I have spent some of my spare time doing mind-tour designs myself. Not that I was able to do anything that would measure up to the efforts of a professional, needless to say.”
Pablo sat down in a facing chair. “I don’t suppose you can call any of us professionals,” he murmured, “not in the usual sense, with formal courses of study and certificates. It’s not anything anyone can train for except by actually doing the work, at least not yet.”
“In other words,” Karim said, “you serve an apprenticeship.”
“You could put it that way. And then you find out if it’s something you can do well or not, and if you can’t – well, you see why I got my degrees in engineering.” Pablo leaned back in his chair. “What sorts of mind-tours have you been working on?”
“This may strike you as odd,” Karim replied, “but my subject has been the planet Venus. I began with depictions of Venus as it is now, based largely on data from our probes.”
“Then I assume most of the data is a few decades old, since near-space exploration isn’t one of our higher priorities these days.” Pablo smiled. “I took an interest in space exploration at the university, but knew I wouldn’t find any work in that field.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right. Yet I persist in this notion that human beings aren’t at their best, aren’t going to accomplish anything worthwhile and lasting, until they look beyond themselves to something greater. It’s an idea that is somewhat at odds with the prevailing opinion of the other members of the Council of Mukhtars, who grow ever more concerned with more practical matters.”
Pablo nodded. “But why Venus? As the subject of your mind-tours, I mean.”
“There is much we can learn from Venus, and not only by sending more probes, although that is certainly something we should be doing. For some time now, I have been proposing to my fellow Mukhtars that we consider a detailed study of the feasibility of terraforming Venus – in other words, altering its biosphere and geology enough to make it an Earthlike world, God willing, one where our descendants might be able to live.”
The young man let out his breath. “You don’t dream small, sir.”
“I have presented a number of practical arguments for undertaking such an ambitious project, the primary one being that we might, in centuries to come, need the knowledge gained from terraforming to restore Earth to what it was before the greenhouse effect became so troublesome. But I also think that it’s necessary for other reasons, one of them being that need of human beings to look outward. We’ve become so preoccupied with this world, with sustaining its life and trying to keep things from getting any worse, that we’re in danger of forgetting that there’s anything beyond it.”
Karim had meant to tell Pablo only a little about his preoccupation. Instead, he found himself speaking of his growing conviction that a terraforming project might offer rewards that would far outweigh the huge cost in resources and the long-term commitment to an end that even their grandchildren would not live to see, a project that had to be measured in centuries, perhaps even in millennia if the obstacles along the way proved too great.
“I put together a number of mind-tours,” Karim concluded, “because I thought that perhaps they might be useful in presenting my case. At least that’s what I told myself, but I suspect that I was trying to convince myself as much as anyone else. And as it turns out, they’ve become a private pursuit of mine. Unfortunately the scenarios fail at some point – that’s the problem. And I keep thinking–” He paused, having little more to say.
“Sir,” Pablo said after a while, “would you mind if I took your Venusian tours?”
“Definitely not. I was going to ask you if you would take a look at them. I’ve tried to make them as detailed as possible, but they may seem crude to you, and they are personalized, since I tended to use people I know in certain of the roles. They don’t come anywhere close to capturing my vision.”
“Maybe you just need someone to take a fresh look at them.” Pablo folded his arms. “I’ll see if I can come up with any design of my own that might be what you want.”
“I would be most grateful. And now, I had better get some sleep if I am to be ready for my appearances tomorrow.” Karim got to his feet. For the first time in several days, he had no desire to escape into one of his virtuals.
In Hudson, Karim was scheduled for a meeting with the town council, a stop at the local train station, a question-and-answer session with several of the town’s merchants, and an afternoon picnic in a riverside park with schoolchildren. Apparently the people of Hudson were determined to get as much out of his visit as possible, since no Mukhtar had ever traveled there before. He heard much the same kinds of remarks as he had in other places, found himself repeating most of his earlier statements, and saw the same sorts of passive, resigned looks on the faces of the people.
Greta had been at his side throughout the day. The sun was setting behind the mountains to the west as they returned to the Beverwyck. Karim didn’t see anybody aboard the craft; the Beverwyck’s owners had spent the day in Hudson seeing old friends and had mentioned plans to have dinner with a few of them. Out on the wide river, he saw a lighted riverboat, decks crowded with passengers, gliding past the darkened hills. The pale blue sky was vivid with the streaks of purple and salmon-colored clouds.
“I’ll go to the galley and make us some supper,” Greta said to Karim.
“Don’t bother, my de
ar. I ate too much at the picnic. The people of Hudson were too hospitable. I didn’t expect them to serve us so much food.”
“I imagine that was largely for the benefit of the children. It’s probably the best meal most of them have had in a while.”
He followed her down the short staircase into the sitting room. Pablo was there, sitting at the desk, a band around his head and a pocket screen lying in front of him. Karim cleared his throat softly, so as not to startle the young man; but Pablo was still and seemed completely absorbed.
Karim sat down on the sofa, Greta at his side. At last Pablo took off his band and turned away from the desk. “I hope we didn’t disturb you,” Karim said. “I thought you might have gone into Hudson with the others.”
“I looked at your tours. I can come back to Hudson another time.” Pablo rested his arm on the desk. “For someone who calls himself an amateur, Mukhtar Karim, you haven’t done so badly. I’ll have to look at more documents on the subject of terraforming–”
“There aren’t that many,” Karim interrupted.
“Then it shouldn’t take me long to read them. Anyway, I’m beginning to think that your problem here isn’t in your depictions, but in your assumptions. You assume that most of the science and technology required for a project of this magnitude is at least within our grasp now, even if it doesn’t yet exist, that given enough time and resources, we could bring it into being and use it in terraforming Venus. What you haven’t done is anticipated new technologies and new knowledge and allowed for them in your scenarios.”
Karim frowned. “I thought of that, but I don’t see how I could create something at all plausible by factoring in unknowns.”
“And I don’t see how you can’t,” Pablo said. “You have to assume that each stage of any terraforming project is likely to yield something new.”
“Of course.” Perhaps he was too used to thinking of limits and of what could not be accomplished during his years on the Council of Mukhtars.
“What I suggest,” Pablo continued, “is that I sketch out a mind-tour by beginning at the end and working backwards from there.”
“What exactly do you mean?” Greta asked.
“I’d begin with a vision of Venus as an Earthlike world, already terraformed,” Pablo replied, “but while being rigorous about making sure that anything depicted in the scenario doesn’t violate any known physical laws. What that should give us is a vision of an actual possibility even if we can’t show exactly how it might come about at each stage. With mind-tour design, I’ve found, you have to have a strong sense of where you’re headed. You can’t just hope you’ll end up with something convincingly real.”
“I have a sense of where my scenarios should be headed,” Karim said. “The problem is getting there.”
“And I still think that’s because your assumptions are too limiting. But it’s pointless to talk about it this way. I’d like to see what I might do, but I don’t know how much time I’ll have.”
Greta glanced at Karim, then at Pablo. “We’ll be in Albany tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll be visiting my family while my husband puts in his appearances, but he’ll be staying aboard the Beverwyck for three days and then we’re to go over to Boston by airship. You’re free to stay here for that long. Will that be enough time for you?”
“I think so, ma’am. It’s worth a try.”
“Then try it,” Karim said, feeling the unfamiliar emotion of anticipation.
He did not expect Pablo to come up with a sophisticated virtual in so little time, yet Karim found himself buoyed by the young man’s absorption in his efforts. When he and Greta left the Beverwyck in the morning, she for her brother’s estate just south of the city and he for his scheduled events, Pablo had already been up for a while, gulping coffee as he called up documents on his screen, fiddled with the desk console, or accessed the Beverwyck’s mind. Karim had given him complete access to all of his records and had promised to cover any expenses out of his credit.
Probably nothing would come of it; at most, Pablo might be able to send Karim a rough of a Venusian tour later on. Even so, the interest Pablo took in the project had lifted Karim’s spirits. He would finish his travels in the Atlantic Federation and return to the New Islamic Nomarchy ready to demand that the rest of the Council reconsider his hoped-for Venus project, at least to the extent of funding a preliminary study. He would find ways to get more of the Mukhtars to support him, and if he failed at that, perhaps he could make enough of an impression during their deliberations to move a future Council member to take up the cause. And if he offended enough people or frightened enough of them into thinking that he was obsessed and mad enough to deserve exile, he would console himself with the thought that he had fought as hard as he could for his vision.
His more hopeful mood lent more eloquence to his speeches and brief remarks; his improved disposition seemed to elicit more friendliness and warmth from the people he encountered. Hiram Marcus, the governor of New York, a figurehead of little power who still maintained an office in the decaying rococo splendor of the State Capitol Building, gave Karim an impromptu tour of the tall buildings and marble expanse of the Empire State Plaza; soon the panhandlers and sellers of cheap goods who usually set up shop there were calling out greetings to the Mukhtar and governor. The curators of the New York Museum guided him through their library and archives, and he found himself encouraging them to develop exhibits that would look forward as well as back in time.
During the second day of his visit, Karim was taken on a tour of a few of Albany’s historic mansions, and soon collected a crowd of interested people who followed his driver and van from place to place. On the third day, more people were waiting for him on the pier when he left the Beverwyck. He offered a few lengthy remarks about the five-hundred-odd years of their city’s history, grateful for all the stories Greta had told him about her long lineage of Dutch, Irish, and South Asian ancestors who had settled here, while the city officials who had come to fetch him to a luncheon fidgeted and glanced at the timepieces on their fingers and wrists. “Too bad you aren’t running for mayor,” one of them said to him later. “You’d nail the election.”
Greta rejoined him that afternoon in Albany’s Washington Park, where they viewed tulips of various colors already in full bloom from an open trolley; the city was celebrating its annual Tulip Festival. “In the old days, long before my time, we held the festival in May,” the city council president explained to Karim and Greta, although they already knew that. “But of course the tulips bloom much earlier in the spring now.”
The day was warm, but not overly humid; a gentle and persistent breeze cooled Karim’s face. People strolled along the roads and walkways or sat on the grass near tulip beds; at the park’s small lake, children were feeding the ducks. Karim and Greta watched them from a small arched bridge, and he suddenly wished that he could remain here for a few more days.
They returned to the Beverwyck in the evening. The trolley carried them down the steep hill below the State Capitol, where men and women in Dutch costumes were sweeping the sidewalks, and let them off; they walked slowly along the riverfront toward the port, trailed at a discreet distance by three policemen. An old sailing ship was tied up at one dock; another old vessel, a twentieth-century battleship, was moored at another dock. The port was quiet, the day’s visitors gone. The Hudson River flowed past, dark gray in the evening light, and he imagined it becoming finally cleansed of the chemicals and wastes that had poisoned it for so long.
Lauren, Zack, and Roberto were waiting on the Beverwyck’s deck. Karim thanked them for their services and told them that a hovercraft would be there early in the morning to take him and Greta to the airship port.
“Glad to hear it, Mukhtar,” Lauren said. “We’ll have time to look at the tulips before we have to pick up our new passengers in Troy.”
“You’re free to wander around the city tonight if you like,” Karim said. “We won’t need anything this evening.”
“Thanks, sir.” Roberto offered a quick grin. “My brother’s still aboard. He says he’s finished with that job you gave him.”
The three left, hurrying down the dock; Karim and Greta went below. Pablo stood up as Karim reached the bottom of the stairs. “I think I’ve got something to show you, Mukhtar Karim,” Pablo said.
“I didn’t expect you to finish this soon,” Karim replied.
“Well, I’m not actually finished. There’s more I could do with the sound, and the details need more work. Plenty of detail adds to the verisimilitude, and I was very careful not to get caught in any contradictory assumptions. But I hope–” Pablo looked away for a moment. “The longer I worked on it, the more interested I got. I think – but maybe you should take part of my tour before I say any more.”
“I shall.” Karim sat down in an easy chair. Pablo made a few adjustments on the desk console, then handed Karim a band.
“Are you prepared, Mukhtar Karim?” the voice of the Beverwyck’s AI asked.
“Yes.” Karim slipped the band around his head.
Almost immediately he found himself gazing out at the expanse of a blue-gray ocean. Waves rolled toward him, lapping at the shore; he sniffed the air and smelled only a hint of salt and another, more acidic odor he did not recognize. Large white-feathered birds wheeled overhead, with wingspans as wide as those of golden eagles; he watched as one dived toward the water, then flew up with a silvery fish in its beak.
The ocean, he remembered, had been seeded with algae and plankton centuries ago, and the life forms that lived in the Venusian seas now were bioengineered variants of many of Earth’s species that could survive in the shallower and more briny oceans of this world. But over time, they would evolve and find their own peculiar niches in this new biosphere. Karim still thought of Venus as new, even though people had been arriving here as settlers for a few centuries now, and there were generations of families who had known no other home.
Thumbprints Page 25
