Time for the moment of truth.
* * * *
I phoned Ingrid right then and there, and asked her to come to my lab. In the phone's smallish screen, her exquisite face looked more curious than anything else.
"To your lab?” she asked. “Right now?"
I nodded. “Big news. I want you to see it before anyone else does."
Her expression changed immediately. To dread. “I'll be there in a few moments."
I paced the lab from one end to the other while the Sams got themselves into an argument.
"First thing we do is set up the tax shelter."
"Better secure the spacecraft first. That Bishop MacTavish is going to try to seize it."
"Let her! Once the tax shelter's in operation we'll have money pouring in."
"Never let the enemy cut off your line of retreat."
"We don't need the ship anymore! We can just about print money, for god's sake."
"Print money?” Whichever Sam it was suddenly got a thoughtful, crafty look on his snub-nosed face. “Print money."
The other Sam grinned at his twin. “Duplicate financial instruments. Ought to be a pile of money there."
"Duplicate women!"
"Wow! Twins!"
"Made to order."
"Now wait a minute,” I said. “The duplicator is mine, not yours."
They both turned to me, their faces identically disappointed, stunned with betrayal.
"You wouldn't refuse me the use of your contraption, would you, Dan-o?"
"After all, I'm the one who got you started on this experiment. Without me, you'd still be doodling with theory and equations."
Before I could reply the lab door swung open and Ingrid strode in, looking like an avenging angel in a gold sweater and hip-hugging jeans. I nearly fainted again.
She said not a word, but stared at the two Sams for what seemed like an hour and a half. Both Sams grinned impishly at her and then bowed, simultaneously.
"You did it,” she said to me in a near-whisper.
"It was sort of an accident,” I began. “I had no intention of duplicating Sam."
Ingrid sank to the nearest stool. I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Daniel,” she said, in a sorrowful moan. “Now all hell is going to break loose over you."
* * * *
To say that all hell broke loose would be an exaggeration, but not much of one. News of my success spread throughout Selene in a microsecond, it seemed. My grad students must have shouted it out to everyone they passed in the corridors, like Paul Revere warning of the redcoats.
Ingrid looked truly heartbroken, but when the Sams told her about Woody her chin snapped up and her eyes suddenly turned fiery.
"The New Morality?” she asked. “He said he was sent here directly by the New Morality?"
"Straight from their headquarters,” Sam I replied. Or was he Sam II?
"In Atlanta,” the other Sam added.
"They bypassed me to plant a spy in your laboratory?” Ingrid asked.
"That's what he told us,” I said.
"They never told me about it,” she murmured. “They knew I'd be opposed to such a low trick."
"They didn't trust you,” said a Sam.
"No, they didn't, did they?” Ingrid looked crestfallen, heartbroken. “They merely used me as a distraction while their spy did his best to ruin your experiment."
"But they failed,” I said. “And I succeeded."
She nodded, her expression turning even bleaker. “And what happens now, Daniel? What happens to you, my love? What happens to us?"
Before I could even begin to think of an answer, a quartet of Selene security police strode into the lab.
"By order of the council,” their leader pronounced, “these premises are to be evacuated and sealed until further notice."
The Sams started to object, but the officer went on, “And Sam Gunn is hereby placed under protective custody."
"You mean I'm going to jail?” both Sams yelped.
All four policemen fixed the two Sams with beady gazes. “Which of you is Sam Gunn?” their leader asked.
"I am,” said both Sams in unison.
The officer looked from one Sam to the other, obviously trying to decide what to do. Then he turned to his cohorts and commanded, “Bring ‘em both in."
* * * *
The following morning I was awakened by a phone message inviting me to a meeting of Selene's governing council, which would convene at eleven A.M. precisely. “Invite” is a relative term: when the governing council invites you, you show up, on time and ready to cooperate.
It wasn't a trial, exactly. More of an executive hearing. It took place in a windowless conference room up in the executive office tower that rises from the middle of the Grand Plaza to the roof of the dome. The room's walls were paneled with smart screens, much like the screens down at the Earthview restaurant, but when I entered, shortly before eleven, the walls were dead blank gray. Not a good sign, I thought.
The entire governing council of Selene was already seated at the oblong conference table, all six of them. Douglas Stavenger himself sat on one of the chairs lined along the wall. He hadn't been on the council for years, but as the de facto leader of Selene, the man who had led battle that resulted in Selene's independence, he had obviously taken an interest in our case. He looked much younger than his calendar years: as everyone knew, Stavenger's body was filled with nanomachines.
The council chairman was a prune-faced man with thinning gray hair. Obviously he didn't take rejuvenation therapies, which led me to the conclusion that he was a religious Believer of one sort or another. He directed me to the empty chair at the foot of the table.
As I sat down I heard a raucous hullabaloo from the corridor outside. All heads turned toward the door, which burst open. Both Sams stalked in, escorted by a squad of uniformed security guards. Both Sams were yammering away like triphammers.
"What's the idea of putting me in jail?"
"Who's in charge here?"
"What's this bull droppings about protective custody?"
"I want a lawyer!"
"I want two lawyers!"
"You can't do this to me!"
One Sam Gunn jabbering nonstop is bad enough; here were two of them.
Pruneface, up at the head of the table, raised both his clawlike hands over his gray head. “Mr. Gunn!” he shouted, in a much more powerful voice than I'd have thought him capable of, “please shut up and sit down! There!” And he pointed to the two empty chairs flanking me.
"Why am I here?"
"What's going on?"
"This is an emergency meeting of the governing council,” the chairman explained, in a slightly lower tone. “An informal hearing, if you will."
Both Sams trudged grudgingly to the foot of the table and sat on either side of me.
"Now then,” the chairman said, from the head of the table, “Dr. Townes, could you kindly explain how in the world you produced a duplicate of Sam Gunn?"
I blinked at him. “You want me to explain how entanglement works?"
"In layman's language, if you please."
I glanced around at the other council members. Three women, two men. In their forties or older, I guessed from their appearances. Probably at least two of them were scientists or engineers: Selene's population leans toward the technical professions.
I took a deep breath and began, “Basically, my device assesses the quantum states of the atoms in the subject and reproduces those quantum states in the atoms at the receiving end of the equipment."
"It is a matter duplicator, then?"
"It was intended to be a transmitter, but, yes sir, it has functioned as a duplicator. There are still some details that are not quite clear, but—"
The door behind the chairman slid open and Ingrid entered the conference room, wearing a gold-trimmed white uniform with a choker collar and full-length trousers.
"I'm sorry to be late,” she said, her face deadl
y serious. “I wasn't informed of this hearing until a few minutes ago."
Everyone stood up.
"Bishop MacTavish,” murmured the chairman, indicating an empty chair halfway down the table.
Once we seated ourselves again, the chairman explained, “Bishop MacTavish is here as a qualified ethicist."
"And a representative of the New Lunar Church,” said the councilman on the chairman's right.
The Sam on my left squawked, “What's the New Lunar Church got to do with this?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Chairman,” Ingrid said, “but I'm afraid you're working under a misapprehension. I am here in my capacity as legal counsel."
"For Rockledge Industries, et al.,” muttered the Sam on my right.
"No,” Ingrid replied. “I am representing Dr. Townes.” And she smiled so sweetly at me that my heart nearly melted.
Both Sams leaned in to me and whispered, “Watch out. This could be a trap."
Was Ingrid a Judas goat? I refused to believe it. But the possibility gnawed at me.
When the council members started asking me questions about my experiment Ingrid rose to her feet and said sternly, “This council has no legal right to question Dr. Townes, except as to how his work might affect the safety of Selene and its citizens."
"But he's duplicated a human being!” one of the councilwomen sputtered.
"Sam Gunn, no less,” grumbled the councilman beside her.
"I am morally opposed to such a duplication as much as any of you,” Ingrid said, still on her feet. “I regard it as little short of blasphemy. As a Believer and a Bishop of the New Lunar Church, I am appalled."
Here it comes, I thought. She'll recommend burning me at the stake.
But Ingrid went on, “Yet, as a woman who has lived in the freedom of a democratic civilization—and as an applicant for citizenship in your nation of Selene—I cannot support the imposition of limitations on Dr. Townes’ research, or on the intellectual freedom of any person."
My eyebrows popped up to my scalp, almost. Both Sams looked surprised; so did most of the council members. I saw Douglas Stavenger nodding his agreement, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face.
"The New Lunar Church has no objection to this work?” the council chairman asked.
"I shudder to think that a human being would aspire to usurping God's creative powers,” Ingrid said. “But after having thought on the matter and prayed on it, I have concluded that Dr. Townes has not actually created a human being, he has merely duplicated one."
"So the council has no moral right to object to his work?” asked the chairman.
"Not in my view, nor in the view of the New Lunar Church."
"Very well,” said the chairman, a grin spreading across his face. “Now let's get down to the real reason for this hearing. Dr. Townes, you caused a power outage through three-quarters of Selene. Is the university going to pay for that?"
"Power outage?” I gasped. “I thought it was only in my own lab."
"Surely you noticed that the emergency lights were on throughout several levels for four hours after your experiment."
"That contraption of yours drained the system,” grumped one of the councilmen, “knocked out two inverters, and overheated the coolant in the cryogenic transmission lines from our main solar panel farm, up on the surface."
"It did?” Now that he mentioned it, I realized that after our little fracas in my lab the corridors had been lit by the emergency lamps. Even my quarters had been, too, when I got there after the police took Sam away.
"We can't have that kind of drain on our power system,” said the chairman. “I think the council will agree that you must be prohibited from running your equipment again."
"Until you can provide your own electrical power for it,” said the grumpy councilman.
Ingrid hadn't sat down yet. Raising her voice over the murmurs of conversation buzzing around the table, she said, “If I may, I would like to take this opportunity to serve Mr. Gunn with the subpoenas I've been carrying."
The chairman gestured grandly. “Go right ahead."
"You can't do that!” yelped one of the Sams.
The other, just as red-faced, added, “Selene's constitution specifically states—"
"Our constitution,” said the chairman sternly, “allows specific exceptions to the extradition clause, Mr. Gunn."
Both Sams snapped their jaws shut with audible clicks.
Turning to the Sams, Ingrid asked, “Which of you is the original?"
"He is,” said both Sams in unison, pointing at one another.
Ingrid frowned at them. “One of you is a copy. I have to serve these papers to the original."
"That's him,” they both said.
Ingrid looked from one of them to the other. Then she turned back to the chairman. “As you can see, although no one has the right to curtail Dr. Towne's intellectual freedom, his experiment has created certain practical difficulties."
* * * *
I realized that I'd created a Pandora's Box. So I compromised. Actually, I caved in. I promised the council that I'd dismantle my equipment and scrap it. I would not publish anything about my experiment. I would forget about entanglement and study other aspects of quantum physics.
Which meant I could kiss the Nobel Prize goodbye.
The council was very relieved. Ingrid, though, seemed strangely unhappy.
That evening in the cafeteria, as we nibbled at a dinner neither one of us had any appetite for, I said to her, “I thought you wanted me to scrap the duplicator."
She gazed at me with those luminous green eyes of hers. “I did, Daniel. But now I realize that I've ruined your life."
"It's not ruined, exactly."
"I'm dreadfully sorry."
I tried to put a good face on the situation. “It's a big universe, Ingrid. There are plenty of other questions for me to work on."
"But you—"
A hubbub over by the doorway distracted us. Both Sams were scurrying through the cafeteria like a pair of spaniels hunting for a bone.
"Hey! There they are!” said Sam I to Sam II. Or vice versa.
They rushed to our table and pulled up chairs. “Gotta hurry Dan-o. My ship's ready to leave."
"Leave? For where?"
The other Sam replied, “Back to that black hole in the Kuiper Belt. Wanna come with me?"
Ingrid was immediately suspicious. “How did you get the money to—"
"Rockledge!” both Sams crowed. “And Masterson Aerospace and all those other big buffoons who were suing me"
"They're financing your mission to the Kuiper Belt?"
"Yeah.” The Sams’ grins were ear-to-ear. It was eerie: they were exactly alike. “They're willing to pay mucho dinero to get rid of me."
I got their meaning. “They're hoping that this time you go away and stay away."
Nodding and laughing, one of the Sams said, “Yeah. But what they don't know is that only one of me is going."
"And the other?"
They both shrugged.
"I don't know,” said one. “Maybe I'll go back into the zero-gee hotel business."
"Or build a resort at Hell Crater,” said the other one.
"Or turn Selene into a tax shelter. How's the Church of Rightful Investments sound to you?” They both winked at Ingrid simultaneously.
"You've stolen my matter transmitter!” I snapped.
A Sam raised both his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Me? Steal? No way!"
Before I could let out a satisfied sigh, though, the other Sam added, “But now that we know a transmitter can work, there oughtta be some bright physicist who's willing to build me a new one."
"Sam, you can't!” Ingrid and I objected together.
They both grinned at us. “Maybe not. We'll see."
So I went out to the Kuiper Belt with one of the Sams. Much to my surprise and delight, Ingrid went with me. She really did love me, and still does. We were married over an electronic link to the Vatican, no
less, just before we broke lunar orbit.
We've lived happily ever since. And I did eventually win the Nobel, thanks to what we found out in the Kuiper Belt.
And Sam ... both Sams ... well, that's another story.
Copyright © 2006 Ben Bova
[Back to Table of Contents]
RIVAL OF MARS by David Walton
New conditions create new opportunities and new necessities, but that doesn't mean the choice gets easier.
I didn't realize Angie was pregnant until she started to show. We lay touching and teasing in bed together, late on a Friday evening, when I noticed something different. A bulge. It was only visible because she was so thin: a gentle swelling that hadn't been there a week before. Suddenly, the idea that Angie was a mother became a startling reality.
"It's my job,” she said. “You knew that."
I knew. I think we all know things we don't believe until we see them. At the time, all I could think was that something lived inside that bulge, growing and moving and feeding.
"Does it bother you?” she asked.
I looked away. “No, of course not."
"It's a natural process. Mothers have been doing it for millennia."
I couldn't keep my eyes off her belly. Birth control was mandatory in those days—the pleasure drug craze of our parents’ generation had resulted in so many birth defects that the government had taken control. Only one in a hundred women could make motherhood a career, and even the licensed guardians who hired them placed their orders through an agency, rarely meeting the gestational mother. The only mother I'd known before Angie had been a sagging veteran of twenty births, and I was having trouble reconciling my mental stereotype with the reality snuggled in my bed. I wanted to talk about it, but I didn't know what to say.
"How do you feel?” I hazarded.
"I feel fine."
"How long until it's born?"
"She's about sixteen weeks along, but I tend to go late, so probably not for another twenty-five. Early August."
I groped into the dark, cluttered bag of my knowledge about pregnancy. “I thought pregnancy made women not want to...” I looked at the bed, then back at her.
"Sometimes,” she said. “And sometimes it makes them randy as rabbits.” She said it in that matter-of-fact, business-like tone she always used, but her eyes twinkled.
Analog SFF, October 2005 Page 13
