There was no next time. For a while it tempted powerfully, but she had too much else to occupy her, and that was real Her memories of Barsoom did not fade in the way of a dream. As far as her brain was concerned, those traces were no different from any left by actual events. But they took their proper place among adolescent crushes and toys beloved in childhood.
Her second trip to a quivira she made with Ivar Stranding, during the single brief span they managed to have on Earth together. He wanted it more than she did. Not that he was addicted, but he’d taken all his few opportunities to go. Thus he knew a fair amount about the interactive potentialities. It was more than a game, he insisted. For a couple it could be a kind of spiritual union. She hesitated. What about inner privacy? She didn’t ask him that. Their relationship was strained already. Plain to see, he thought this might help. Eventually she agreed.
A free-form program demanded the full resources of the system, especially when two persons were cross-connected. It cost. Bueno, whatever a spacer might lack, money wasn’t included. He told her to let him take the initiative till she got the feel of things. “Then we’ll both be gods, darling.”
They stood at a parapet overlooking the unborn cosmos.
Their own radiance illuminated the vast walls and spires of their stronghold. Against its ramparts, beneath primordial night, formlessness blazed and raged. Waves, a million light-years from trough to crest, surged in to burst with a roar and a song of energies. Spindrift stars, flung high, exploded as supernovae, a dreadful glory strewing the stuff of worlds to be across emptiness.
“Come.” His tones echoed like a trumpet call, from end to end of space-time. “Let there be us.” He took her by the hand and they walked out over the sea.
With his free hand and his will, he reached down to stir the chaos. It swirled, broke apart into clouds, sundered further to make embryonic galactic clusters; and that was the first day.
When she sought to spin out a delicate tracery of spiral arms, new-born suns crashed into each other or whirled away lost, and everything disintegrated. His laughter rang. “Try again, beloved. Know what you desire, and it will come to pass.” By the end of the second day she had made a planetary system, exquisite as clockwork.
On the third day she chose a globe and breathed life into its seething chemistry. He toyed with many.
On the fourth day she made the land blossom and wings to gladden the skies. “Be not too careful,” he warned. “You could lose eternity creating a hummingbird. Things will evolve of themselves. Come here, see what I have done with these twinned gas giants.”
On the fifth day she returned her perceptions to her favored world and tuned them atom-fine. Certain animals made tools in stone. They looked about them, marveled, and wondered. Their numbers were few. Glaciers moving down from the pole menaced them. She changed subtle parameters and in a thousand of their years the climate was benign again.
On the sixth day she found her little beings cruelly at war. She heard weeping among the dead and the flames. Therefore she smote their leaders, revealed herself unto their peoples, commanded eternal peace, and showed them how to fly into space.
On the seventh day he said: “It is good. We have wrought enough. Let us make love.”
They did as befits gods, on a bed of star-clouds, in lightning sweetness that went on for half of forever.
“It was wondrous,” he said, “yet it was not wholly unlike what we have known before. Let us do now what we could not then.”
She was earth and sea given form. He was the heavenly Dragon who twined Himself about Her.
“Dare we remain longer?” she whispered in a shaken darkness.
“We cannot even if we would,” he answered. “Listen closely and you will hear the faint notes of our summons home. Anon we must heed them.”
“It is well. I am riven by too much splendor.”
“First,” he said, “let us make love once more, in purely human fashion, the same sharing of self that is ours in our mortal lives.”
Her heart shivered. “Why?”
“Because here we can do it as else we never could, and come to full knowledge of one another. You shall be me and I shall be you.”
She demurred, but he urged, and when she felt the growth of his anger she said yes. She discovered that sometimes a man, too, must force himself—if he is able at all, as she willed to be—but this she did not tell him. A part of her stood aside, observing from within. His body had its pleasure and found her beautiful.
The evening of their universe was upon them. They winged amidst its suns and worlds. “What will become of our poor worshippers?” she wondered.
“Why, they will cease to be,” he replied indifferently. “They never truly were, you know.”
She fell behind him on their way out, lest he see her foolish tears. Each became a blue star, such as shines brightly but only for a short while.
It took her a day to make sense of ordinary Earth, a week before she was quite under control. Ivar tried to understand and failed. She didn’t blame him for anything, he’d done his best, but by the end of their groundside leave she realized that soon they’d part company. Nor did she regret her experience. It had been fascinating and enlightening. But she knew she would never want more.
16
EMPRISES UNLIMITED OCCUPIED a small tower on a hill in Portland. Kyra wondered which of its virtualities could match the sight of Mt. Hood afar, aglow with eventide in the mild seaboard air. To be sure, the encephalic and glandular stimulations could convince you that anything was unutterably beautiful, or horrible or justifiable or whatever you’d picked. She went in.
Upon request and payment, a receptionist showed her to a room where she could wait for her friends and meet with them, privacy guaranteed, for several hours if they wished. The comfortable furnishings included a wall bed that, lowered, would accommodate four. She guessed it was seldom used. Who’d come here for a mundane orgy? Unless, maybe, the engineered one left them red-hot.
Funny, she thought, how tolerant the Avantists were in many ways. From what she’d learned about it, the Renewal would have been death on this kind of indulgence. Probably she hadn’t studied the history in detail—much that the Avantists disapproved of was too well-entrenched by the time they took over for them to abolish by fiat. Besides, wasn’t the idea to proceed not by force but by education, indoctrination, and the establishment of such scientifically designed socioeconomic conditions that progress toward the Transfiguration became inevitable?
“It flopped, of course,” Guthrie had said. “Cowflopped. As people got more and more disappointed and cynical, things worked worse and worse, the ideologues and bureaucrats went frantic, and the whole caboodle became a perpetual fight to grab and keep power. Which is how all governments end up, but the busybody kinds get there fastest. The purpose of power is power.”
She unwrapped him and put him on the table. “Thanks,” he growled. “No fun sitting in a box inside a box. Judas priest, I’m tired of being bodiless!”
Sympathy pierced her. “I don’t imagine I could have stood it a fraction of the time you have,” she said.
“Well, existence feels different for me. Patience comes easier than it did when I was alive.” He spoke the phrase with a casualness that chilled her. “It does wear thin at last, but I tell myself eventually I’ll be reconnected.”
How much of a substitute for flesh were robotic sensors and effectors? Kyra hadn’t the heart to ask. Yet she had come to know him more than a bit, and this first outright confession of weariness, of inner pain, touched her as deeply as if her father had made it. “You’re very brave, jefe. I wouldn’t download.”
“Damn few ever did, you know, and all but two others have ended it by now. I’ve had Fireball to keep me amused.” Guthrie’s tone softened. “It’s not a question of courage, though. The process doesn’t hurt you. It just makes a copy of your mind, a quite separate critter.”
Kyra nodded. “Of course. No deliverance from personal d
eath.” No deliverance anywhere in sight, after it turned out that aging was built into the human genome. You could improve matters only up to a point. “But I, well, I’d be afraid that other self would curse me.”
“You may change your feelings later, sweetheart. This is a mighty interesting universe. Furthermore—”
A chime, a voice: “Your friends are here, Srta. Wickham.”
Kyra tautened. “Let them in.”
The door admitted Esther Blum and a man. He was in his thirties, Kyra deemed, of medium height, slim but wide-shouldered, cat-lithe. His face, dark and cleanly sculptured, was not expressionless, but gave no real hint of what he might be thinking. Loosely cut, his jacket nevertheless fitted the nattiness of blouse, slacks, and shoes which she noticed were made to give secure footing. The garments were in conservative hues. However, he had had a biojewel set in his forehead. At the moment it shone a cool green.
Blum’s gaze met Guthrie’s eyestalks. “Well, so there you are,” she greeted him. “A fine kettle of soup you’ve dropped into, schlemiel. I should leave you simmering till you’re fit to eat, except that wouldn’t be fair to this poor little shiksa you’ve conned into holding the hand you haven’t got.”
“Huh!” snorted Guthrie. “You keep quiet about seduction of the young. Beware this old witch, you two. She’s evil and depraved. I’ve seen her put ice cream in her beer.”
Blum blinked—did tears gleam?—and straightened out her grin. “Better we should get down to business,” she said. “Anson Guthrie, the real Anson Guthrie; Kyra Davis; Nero Valencia.”
The man’s handgrip was firm and quick. “Buenas tardes. The señora has explained your situation to me in a general way.” His baritone made graceful the flat Middle American English.
The three sat down. “Okay, Esther,” Guthrie said, “now suppose you explain to us.”
Blum took a cheroot case from her pocket. “Someday perhaps you’ll appreciate the trouble I’ve gone to on your account,” she answered. “What with the Sepo watching, they should die of overdosing on political speeches, my contacts had to make contacts, and all since yesterday. I didn’t meet Nero till two hours ago. We didn’t enter here together, naturally. Bad enough the gendarmes are wondering what’s a nice Jewish girl like me doing in a place like this.”
Jocularity faded. “It’s the best I could manage, Anse,” she said. “I won’t risk compromising my Homesteaders, but you are a hope of sorts for us and—we had some good times, we two.”
“They’d’ve been bed-shaking times when you were young, if I hadn’t already been canned,” Guthrie replied. “Thanks for everything, Esther.”
“Enough wiz zees lovemaking.” Blum lit a cheroot and drew hard on it. The smoke was uncommonly acrid. “Do you have a scheme in mind, a way to crash out that you think might work?”
Kyra’s nerves thrilled. “We’ve discussed several,” she said. “Depending on what help we can get—”
“Don’t tell me. I shouldn’t hear more than I have. But I figured you could use a guide through routes that aren’t on any map, and if he’s a fighter as well, so much the merrier. I’ve engaged this gunjin for you.”
Valencia inclined his head a moment. “Of the Sally Severin brotherhood, at your service,” he said quietly.
Guthrie raised his eyestalks, the single physical gesture available to him. Kyra supposed he recognized the name. She didn’t, but she got the general meaning. A mercenary, a latter-day condottiere. His work was not necessarily criminal. Probably more often than not he simply guarded a person or a property. As societies, organizations, wealthy individuals grew alienated from the government, they were bound to hire protection for themselves rather than bring in the police. But she’d seen plenty of accounts, fiction or alleged fact, of the readiness of most gunjins to accept illegal jobs, anything from smuggling to turf wars between gangs.
Had this one given himself his first name? Maybe it was just that his parents had been among those neo-pagans who were dedicated anti-Christians.
She pulled her attention back to him. “My contract is with the señora,” he was saying, “but she’s assigned me to give you every assistance I can. Therefore my duty is to you, Sr. Guthrie, till she revokes this or the contract expires in two weeks. At that time, if you wish and I’m willing, we can make a new one. Meanwhile I am your man, within the laws of the brotherhood. Essentially that means I won’t be party to atrocities or perversions and, while I’ll risk my life for you if need be, I’m not obliged to undertake suicidal actions. I’ll give you a pamphlet that makes these conditions clear.” He smiled. It was as charming a smile as Kyra had ever seen. “Not that I expect you’ll give me cause to decline an order. I’ve admired you all my life, sir.” To Kyra: “And you, my lady, are a delightful surprise.”
He went serious again: “My territory’s the West Coast, more or less from Vancouver down through Baja. I’ve operated elsewhere but I’m not really familiar with those parts. If you want to head east, we may have to engage a local man. I can find one for you.”
“I doubt we will,” Kyra blurted.
“I told you don’t tell me!” Blum cried. She addressed Guthrie, anxiously. “Did I do right? Does this improve your chances any?”
“Listen, gal,” he rumbled, “if I could hook into the circuits here, I’d throw you such a party your fleshly carcass, too, would walk bowlegged. I could do it for your download. Come live with me and be my love.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks. Send me a case of booze after you get home.” The fragile voice broke. “Oh, Anse—!” She stiffened in her seat. “Is everything agreed, then? Nu, let’s plan how we leave this joint.”
“I suggest you go first, señora,” Valencia murmured. “If a detective’s on surveillance outside, you should draw him after you. Señorita Davis can take off a few minutes later, and I separately. I’ll have Sr. Guthrie’s carrier, because I didn’t before and because, if something goes malo, I can likelier shake pursuit. Fetch your baggage from wherever you’ve left it, señorita, and take a room in the Hotel Neptune. I’ll be in 770.”
“First we repackage Anse and next we spend an hour or two in Never-Never Land,” Blum said. “We don’t want them wondering why we didn’t. I’m not sure quiviran discretion would stretch that far, given the current hysteria. Last newscast I caught, the government was promising fat rewards for information, especially about electronic-photonic devices that might be planted to jam central control systems.”
They couldn’t approach the truth closer than that without rousing questions about Guthrie Two, Kyra thought. Unease prickled. Dared her band leave this Guthrie in a container that anybody could open, while they lay adrift from the world? … No choice. Blum was right. It was the lesser risk. Don’t check the parcel, take it along to the entertainment room, be casual about it.
“The señora is wise.” Valencia shrugged and grinned. “If I am treated to a free spinaway, what shall it be?”
“Nothing … intimate, por favor,” Kyra said. “I’m not exactly eager.”
“It’s not my vice either,” Blum admitted.
“Did you ever go, Esther?” Guthrie asked.
“Once, out of curiosity. Grubby old reality is much more surprising and wonderful.”
“A quivira can call it back for you if you want,” he said softly.
“Repeat, no, thanks. I’ve buried two husbands, each a mensch, and one good son. Leave memories in peace. What spare time I’ve got left is for the live children and grandchildren.” Blum smiled. “Plus the cutest little devil of a great-grandson.” She snuffed out her cheroot and rose. “Not that I’m teetotal about quiviras. In fact, I’ve screened a catalogue of prepared programs and chosen one for us. You should like it, Kyra, and I trust you’ll not be bored, Nero. Let’s go.”
“What is it?” Kyra inquired.
“A dinner party in Philadelphia. Our host will be George Washington. Our fellow guests are Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin. Join in the conversation by all means,
but mind your manners. They’re illusions, yes, parts of a hypercomputer program, but they’re also the most careful replication of the personalities that scholarship has made possible. Me, for once I’d rather listen than talk.”
“God damn,” Guthrie said, “I have to sit and envy you.”
17
ONCE, A GOOD many years ago in Quito, he had declared: “We’re going to build ourselves something new here. The first machine that doesn’t, somewhere along the line, flunk the Turing test. But I must admit that’ll be because it cheats. You see, I’ll be in it.”
“I think before long they will have a system that will truly be conscious on its own,” Juan Santander Conde had replied. In those days he was no more than middle-aged, though old in friendship with Guthrie, and active as a top director of Fireball.
“Yeah, the Holy Grail of psychonetics. And just about as elusive, I think.”
“Already—”
“Sure, sure. Pretty good simulations. In fact, I don’t say the first-chop programs don’t have some awareness, same as I credit a lizard with a little bit, a dog with a fair amount, and a monkey with quite a lot. But basically, they’re like idiots savants. Superbrilliant in their narrow fields, otherwise there is no there there. Seems to me, if any of the approaches that’re being tried to make them more nearly comparable to humans, if any of those were right, we’d’ve reached the goal by now. … I know what you’re about to say. Don’t bother. Programs in those new dream palaces. People who’ve tried it swear it’s exactly like interacting with a real, live person. But it is a dream. The customer’s input is part of what goes on and his intuition acts like a feedback loop. If he brings more to the interaction—knowledge, imagination, whatever—if he brings more than the program’s geared to adapt to, he soon isn’t dealing with the pseudopersonality that was intended. It becomes something else, radically unlike what it was. It may disintegrate.”
Harvest of Stars Page 18
