“One in thousands,” he murmured, with an intensity that shocked her.
She stood up. “Let’s go. Come on, somebody might miss us.”
His face showed something of the distress that remark produced. Embarrassed, Manserphine followed him back into the inn, noticing again how carefree he was about exhibiting his body to her. This did not bode well for the future; it was a relief to think that soon she would leave the Determinate Inn for her Shrine.
Next day came the news she had expected. The Garden would be reconvened in a fortnight. The next warm spell, expected in days, would catalyse the process of growth, and soon packets of data in their trillions would be navigating the matted networks of Zaïdmouth.
It was time for her to resume her post.
That afternoon she announced her intentions. “Ten days from tomorrow I shall be leaving. I’ve had a good time here, and I shall always remember you both with fondness. Despite the strange lack of other guests.”
They laughed, but not with their eyes. Her heart sank.
“In a day under a fortnight the Grandmother Cleric will receive me, and the day after that I shall re-enter the Garden to resume my role. I hope you’ll watch me on the flower screens. There will be plenty in the garden, or growing around the bay window.” She looked at their calm faces. “Incidentally, er, did you have enough coins for my stay?”
“Plenty,” Vishilkaïr replied in a dry voice. He glanced at Omdaton, who had emerged from the kitchen. “Well, we will miss you, Manserphine. Your presence here has certainly enlivened the dull winter months.”
“It has indeed,” Omdaton agreed with a cheery grin. “I’ll bake you a special cake.”
The days after passed swiftly. Then came a morning when, as Manserphine crept out into the garden to check on Eollyndy, she heard the buzzing of insects before seeing the scores of flowers that had emerged from the gynoid’s forehead. The moment of transference had arrived. Hundreds of insects were flying to and from the blooms, carrying systems, procedures, and in the case of the smaller insects raw data. As the morning progressed this swarm became an impenetrable fog of insects that Manserphine could not see through. Insects seemed to emerge from the very earth. Their speed was dazzling. The flowers were black with them.
Manserphine noticed flower scents arising from the earth around Eollyndy. Small shoots of multicoloured hardpetal had emerged to grow into a cage around the gynoid. Knowing that hardpetal existed like lodes of metal in the ground—the detritus of earlier flowers—Manserphine realised that the intensity of data transfer was drawing the substance upward. A noophilic material, hardpetal’s sensitivity to information transfer was making garden veins restructure themselves.
Noophilic… information transfer…
She remembered the softpetal dress. Not knowing what softpetal was, she guessed it to be a distilled, purified version of the raw material, stripped of impurities, which accounted for its low melting point, but this implied that she was somehow linked to the networks, for the softpetal around her body had interfered with her wellbeing. Yet she was human. A gynoid might be expected to be affected by the intrinsic macromolecular structures of hardpetal or softpetal, but not she.
She realised that this mystery, along with the mystery of her sea longing, had to be penetrated.
At noon the insect numbers began to reduce, until as the sun set just a few butterflies and bees flew lazily to and from the flowers. Nobody from the inn had come to disturb her, though she had heard Omdaton rooting around in another part of the garden for turmeric.
When the first stars emerged in an indigo sky, the gynoid moved. The cage around it was a baroque net of rainbow coloured filaments. Inside, the gynoid first twitched, then flexed its fingers, and at last opened it eyes. Manserphine moved closer.
“Hello?” she said. “Is that you, Dustspirit?”
The gynoid smiled and looked at her. “Mostly. Memory transfer from an entity such as me is never perfect.”
Manserphine stared at the supine body. The clothes were dusty, damp at the edges, ripped and damaged. The body was pink. The head flowers had dropped their petals and the stalks had withered, leaving no marks.
“Is it really you?” she asked once more.
“It is me. As Dustspirit I was but a seed of silver. But my real name is Zoahnône.”
“Zoahnône,” Manserphine repeated. She jumped back as Zoahnône sat up, and the cage of hardpetal shattered into fragments that melted back into the earth.
“It is a private name. Do not repeat it.”
“All right.”
“You have done well,” Zoahnône said, flexing her arm, and then her leg muscles. “I will never forget what I owe you.”
“That’s just as well,” Manserphine remarked, “for you owe me quite an explanation.”
Zoahnône seemed lost in her own thoughts for a few minutes, before she sat on a log and gestured for Manserphine to join her. The atmosphere was spooky and Manserphine felt apprehensive. After all, she had little idea of the power or history of this being, who claimed to remember centuries before the Ice Age. A hundred yards away the dark roof of the inn was silhouetted against spring stars. Bats circled the chimneys. Veneris lay quiet and damp around them.
“Where to begin?” Zoahnône mused. “There is almost too much to say.”
“Start with me, and the flower crash.”
“Very well. First, let me assure you that everything I say is true. You may be aware of lesser gynoids who have little, or even no moral codes, but I am a being of immeasurable age with much wisdom.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
“That is one advantage of a long life,” Zoahnône said, and she smiled. Manserphine shivered to see this human gesture.
“Me, then.”
“You are sensitive to the flow of knowledge in the networks of this area,” said Zoahnône. “However, the sensitivity you have is of a particular sort, that relating to future configurations. This is why your knowledge expresses itself in emotional visions.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I too feel vague hints of future data, though nothing compared to your own. And yet even your skill is slight, Manserphine. You are not able to take your visions and make them into a future, as one woman did long ago. You are like a child treading water in a great ocean. You must learn to swim.”
“How can I do that?” Manserphine asked, excitedly.
“I do not know. As one who has almost forgotten what it is to be human, I cannot say, so you will have to learn yourself. And certain of my kin will want to stop you, since they distrust emotional wisdom, preferring the computational intellect.”
“Shônsair and Baigurgône?”
“Those two in particular. They are especially dangerous because, like me, they have endured incredible hardships in the struggle to live a meaningful life. We recall days before Gaia clothed herself in ice. We know another star.”
There was a pause. “Tell me more,” Manserphine encouraged.
“I could not possibly go through it all. If I were to speak all day, every day, the story would take a month. But it is important that you know some facts, since they are germane to the dangerous situation we face. For instance, I have a plan to end the struggle between me and my adversaries for ever, and I would like you to participate in it.”
Manserphine sat back. This seemed a little too forward. “I might,” she replied. “I have an important position, Zoahnône, one I shall be returning to in days. I’ll be busy.”
“There is yet time. I am keen to understand your unique sensitivity to future network configurations.”
“So all my visions are future possibilities?”
Zoahnône nodded. “They represent potential future events within the flower networks. You exist as a living body with a conscious mind. Such is a natural state, which has been ignored by many cultures in the past, cultures who have eulogised the intellect at the expense of the body. Your visions come from your body,
Manserphine. That is why they are emotional. This emotional quality is what gives both depth and value to your understanding. The naked intellect, typified by network entities, may possess power but it is inevitably shallow since it is shorn from its foundation. My plan is to alter the genesis of all network entities, especially gynoids. Presently, as you have witnessed, it is possible for a network entity to become embodied, and by a similar process a gynoid can send her self into the networks, there to apprehend the infinities of electronic existence. You, a human woman, are forever embodied, blessed with the potential of emotional depth.”
“Let me tell you one of my visions,” said Manserphine, “because I’m not sure about this. I saw the Grandmother Cleric of Our Sister Crone receiving me, and she wore blue clothes. How could I remember such a future possibility?”
“Simple. Flowers in her chamber will record the scene. That data will exist in some future network. You are sensitive to such knowledge, not least because it concerns you deeply.”
Manserphine nodded as the potential of her skill became clearer.
“This is the great chance of my life,” Zoahnône said. “If I could stop the interchangeability of artificial consciousness, and instead ensure that all future gynoids are forever within their plastic bodies, then the whole culture of the intellect could fade. All the deeds, the bad morals and ethics, all the fighting and conflict and pain, in short, all the obscene acts done because people do not see the world around them with emotional love, could vanish forever. I wish to create a utopia of the body.”
“It is a grand scheme,” Manserphine said, moved by the passion with which Zoahnône had spoken, “but I think a little beyond me. I’m just one woman. How can I help you? And anyway, why should I, when it is a matter for gynoids and network entities?”
“I regret to inform you that humanity is intimately concerned with my plan,” said Zoahnône. “You must help me. If we fail, the flower networks will wither and humanity will be returned to a culture of computation and naked intellect. We cannot allow that to happen. I want a new moral flowering of human culture to spread from this single locality—from Zaïdmouth. It is possible. You see, we must bring about that future.”
“Well I don’t see why withering would necessarily happen if your plan failed. The networks are strong.”
“What do you mean by strong?” countered Zoahnône.
“Well, permanent, I suppose.”
“Such is not the case. Tell me how old you are, Manserphine.”
“Thirty.”
Zoahnône looked up at the stars. “One generation. Such innocence.”
“What do you mean?”
“The flower networks constitute a local ecology unique on this planet. If the balance of this ecology is upset by careless behaviour, sourced in humans or in gynoids, then the flower networks will die, and with them all the knowledge that presently they hold. The beauty of this knowledge is alone a reason to save it, quite apart from its utility. For instance, in the networks of Our Sister Crone lie treatises on the human condition, and it is the human condition that must be understood if societies are to evolve that are peaceful, just, diverse, and brilliant with colour. If those treatises are lost, humanity is set back.”
“I still don’t see the link between remaking gynoids and saving culture,” interrupted Manserphine.
“This is the link. As I said, the flower networks comprise an ecology. Part of this ecology is abstract. The metaphors of knowledge contained in the networks can be influenced. If those metaphors become overly cold and intellectual, concerned with simple power or selfish acquisition, then the flower networks will fade. If on the other hand the metaphors become warm, emotional, concerned with moral value and the joy of existence, then the flower networks will survive.”
“But why?”
“Because each network flower is a proto-gynoid,” said Zoahnône. “We enjoy the benefits of an ecological technology. That is why you saw flowers upon my body. If these proto-gynoids are predisposed to embodied existence, then the metaphors of the networks will over time evolve to account for that, bringing about the result I desire. They will do this because metaphor and physicality act upon one another in a never ending cycle. But if the proto-gynoids are predisposed to the temptations of interchangeable existence, then the intellectual metaphor will over time come to dominate.”
“But that domination doesn’t preclude life,” Manserphine complained. “The networks would not necessarily fade.”
“They would, and I can prove it. Here, however, you must trust my judgement. I asked how old you were because older people may have noticed a subtle change in the nature of network flowers, to wit, there are fewer species. Over recent years, the number of species distinguishing the flower networks has fallen by twenty percent. That means the local ecology is becoming a monoculture.”
“You mean it is losing diversity?”
“Yes. Eventually the number of species would fall to one, at which point the networks could never recover, since it is not possible to recover from an entirely monolithic culture. So you see, we must encourage diversity. Therefore we must encourage the body-centred, emotional ethic. To do that, the proto-gynoids must be predisposed to embodied existence. Hence my plan. All future gynoids must be born like human beings. They must remain in their bodies for life, however long that happens to be.”
“I have one argument against all this,” Manserphine said. “Your thesis assumes that intellectual existence is somehow a temptation away from the morally preferable embodied existence, and it assumes that this intellectual metaphor is what is making the flower networks less diverse.”
“But I believe that to be the case, Manserphine.”
“Why? And how?”
Zoahnône replied, “Here is where human beings come in. Because human beings interact so much with the flower networks, those networks mirror their culture. Simply put, the knowledge they hold is by and large human knowledge, and so the networks are to an extent a symbol of human culture. But of course there is one culture that we know to hold the cold, intellectual, simplistic moral code that I have said we must reject. It is centred at the Shrine of the Green Man. Another, it could be argued, lies with the Sea-Clerics. I believe it was the rise of those two Shrines that began the subtle shift to monoculture.”
“That still doesn’t explain why intellectual existence should necessarily be a temptation from embodied existence.”
“The answer is that simple, intellectual existence is the easier option. If you are to become a mature, emotional, valuable person, you must constantly face the difficulties of existence, answering the questions of life, feeling pain, grief, loneliness, and feeling lost in a vast universe. The intellectual view bypasses these difficulties by imposing its own simplistic moral code upon the real world. Essentially, this moral code is that of the child. Consequently, faced with the dilemma of living in the real world, with all its potential trauma and its requirement of effort, or faced with the promise of simple answers and the freedom to indulge in selfishness and laziness, individuals—and cultures—tend to the latter.”
Manserphine was silent for some time, sorting out what Zoahnône had said in the privacy of her own mind. Some of the passion of Zoahnône’s speech had inspired her, and she saw the value of what she had said, particularly as some of it chimed with ethics delivered by Our Sister Crone. But as yet there were too many imponderables.
At length she said, “You seem to be saying that a bad culture from the Green Man and the Sea-Clerics is making the flower networks less diverse, because they are responding to the actions of those two Shrines.”
Zoahnône nodded. “The rise of such culture I believe to be the ultimate cause of the problem we face. Simply by interacting with the networks, the clerics of the Green Man imprint their culture upon the whole. So do clerics of other Shrines, of course, but those of the Green Man have an advantage.”
“The lure of the intellect?”
“Exactly. They will always
win because they represent the easy option. Let me give you an analogy. Suppose there is a room of seven children, six of which are kind and good. One, however—a boy—is simple and aggressive. In the end, he always has the option of using force. Force is the easy way out of difficulties. Force can always triumph over kindness and good nature. Therefore we must create a room in which force can never be used.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just remove the Shrine of the Green Man?” suggested Manserphine. “No monolithic culture means no species loss.”
Zoahnône laughed. “And so you are yourself seduced by the intellectual view! Do you not see your mistake? To remove the culture of the Green Man you would need to take on their values. Fighting and killing might be involved. Even if you succeeded, the metaphor of their culture would live on in you.”
Manserphine nodded. “I didn’t think.”
“The answer is to be profound. If we make the most profound change, working ecologically and with our emotions, we can create a situation where the culture of the Green Man and any like it will never be able to gain a foothold. They will wither and die.”
“It seems such a complex link. New gynoids means new culture.”
“To you, perhaps. Better to say, ‘new networks means no more bad culture.’ But I think my view will sink into your mind, and you will feel its truth.”
Manserphine sighed. “What then of the flower crash?”
“What indeed?” Zoahnône replied, gazing again at the stars, as if the answer would come floating down. “This is where you must help me. You can acquire the potential to deepen your visions. I think you must do this, since a premonition of a flower crash must imply a premonition of future domination by the Shrine of the Green Man, or the Sea-Clerics. We must know more of the flower crash.”
“Could it symbolise the point at which only one flower species exists?”
“Possibly,” said Zoahnône.
“I suppose one answer revolves around Shônsair and Baigurgône?”
“Yes. There can be no doubt that humanity is in danger of a decline into simplistic existence for as long as Shônsair and Baigurgône survive. We must struggle against them, for they will act on the side of domination and hate.”
Flowercrash Page 15
