Moon Flower (12 page)

Jerri was looking at him in an odd, thoughtful kind of way. He sensed a guard that she normally maintained being gradually relaxed. She was warming to him. It was an elating feeling. “You see, there’s something about you that I like already,” she said. “You watch people, and you see what they are. Ninety percent of the people in that class were too busy wanting everyone else to watch
them
all the time.” Nim was making pointing motions toward her pocket with his snout. Jerri took out the other beef munchy that he’d known was in there and flipped it. “So what kind of work do you do at Berkeley that isn’t going to make you millions? It has to be something interesting.”

“An obscure part of quantum physics that has no redeeming social, commercial, ethical, or moral features whatsoever.”

“I love it already.”

“In fact, until recently it was dismissed as a mathematical fiction with no physical meaning. But there are waves that travel backward in time.”

Jerri’s brow narrowed. Clearly, she saw the implication at once. “You are serious?” she checked.

“Oh, yes. We think we might have confirmed them experimentally — it’s right on the edge of being able to tell for sure. Although most of the others who’ve seen it don’t buy it. They say it has to be a result of sloppy experimental design, wishful thinking, or something like that. A few have come out and said it’s a deliberate fraud.”

“But you think it’s genuine.”

“I did at one time.... Now I sometimes wonder.”

“But it was a big thing with you.”

“Oh yes.”

“So why leave it?” Jerri asked.

“The guy that I worked with, who pioneered the whole thing, went to Cyrene withthe first mission. We kind of planned that I’d follow him out there.”

“So is he doing the same kind of thing out at Cyrene?”

Shearer made a who-knows face. “I haven’t heard a lot back from him lately. It’s early days yet. I did arrange for some of the equipment that we used to be shipped.”

“Why would he want to go there? Wouldn’t work like that be easier to do back home?”

“Well, I guess making life easy isn’t everything.... Evan’s about as crazy over a lot of what goes on as I am.” There had been some convoluted politics in the circumstances attending Wade’s departure, which Shearer didn’t go into because he didn’t fully understand them himself. Jerri seemed to sense his reservation and didn’t pursue the subject. She traced a circle in the air around Nim’s nose with her hand, and grasped his jaw playfully when he opened his mouth trying to follow.

“Do you think those waves you mentioned could have something to do with the way animals sometimes know when things are going to happen?” she asked lightly. “You know the kind of thing: when their owner is on the way home, or someone’s about to have an accident. I read that people who’ve done experiments say the only explanation that makes sense has to be something like that.”

Shearer forced down an impulse to be skeptical but couldn’t contain a smile. “Well, I think I’d like to know a lot more about the experiments before I could comment,” he replied.

“Now who’s being the stuffy one?” Jerri chided. Shearer got the feeling she had expected it. He hoped they weren’t about to get into a debate over it. Repeatable experimental physics was one thing; this was something else. But Jerri carried on playing in silence for a while, making feints as if to take Nim’s bone, while Nim parried to protect it. Then she said distantly, “Nim can pick up on things like that. I leave him with friends up at Pinecrest when I go on visits sometimes. They say he always knows when I’m coming back.... I don’t mean turning in to the driveway, or a few hundred yards upwind along the road. I mean hours before — when I’m getting into the car, not even out of the airport.” She looked up at him defiantly — whether challenging him to explain it or daring him to question it, he couldn’t be sure. He grunted noncommittally. There probably wasn’t a pet owner anywhere who hadn’t been convinced of the same thing at some time, but this sounded like politics that Shearer felt it would be as wise to stay out of.

“How much do you know about Jeff?” Jerri asked curiously.

The question caught Shearer by surprise. “Jeff?... Well, about as much as anyone. Why?”

“There’s something about him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Nim doesn’t take to him. I don’t know what it is. But something’s not right. I’ve seen the signs before.”

This time Shearer was unable to prevent a hint of irritation showing. Respecting the beliefs and feelings of others was one thing, but letting somebody’s dog superstitions affect a personal friendship was too much. “Oh... I know he can be a bit inquisitive and crowd personal space a bit at times. But Jeff’s okay. Anyway, I can handle it.” Shearer heard a sharper edge to his voice than he had intended.

But again, Jerri seemed to have expected it and showed no offense. Instead, she turned Nim’s head from side to side, and then let go of his jaw and gripped his paw as he raised it. “Are you being silly, Nim?” she asked. “Is it just because Jeff doesn’t bring you treats the way Marc does? Or is there something else you’re trying to tell us? We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

CHAPTER TEN

At breakfast the next morning, Shearer found himself sharing a table in the cafeteria across from Arnold and Karen, with Roy and one of the cronies who had latched onto him farther along, and another couple at far the end. Since Arnold and Karen were into a conversation that sounded private, and Roy was giving forth on the importance of “winning” while he demolished an immense plate of food, Shearer turned his attention to browsing the schedule for the day ahead while he ate. Roy’s attitude toward him lately tended to vary between cool and hostile. Roy had never figured out the rationale behind the nuts game, and when somebody explained it, he apparently concluded that Shearer’s aim had been expressly to make him look foolish. Jerri’s private comment had been that Roy was capable of managing that well enough on his own without need of any help.

The morning session would be about Cyrenean social divisions and languages. After lunch they would be introduced to “sambots” and see some demonstrations. The term derived from Self-Assembling Modular Robot. They were used widely in planetary environments that didn’t possess the familiar Terran infrastructure, and since people in most ordinary walks of life were unlikely to have come across them, some familiarization was being provided in advance. It sounded interesting, and Shearer turned to the notes accompanying the schedule.

Early realizations of robots, such as in automated manufacturing plants or space construction and underwater applications, had taken the form of various weird and elaborate contraptions, each specialized for its particular task. A more recent approach that had superseded specialized machines in many areas used the principle of “modular robots.” The idea was to create specialized functions on demand from simpler modules. A basic modular unit on its own could accomplish very little; but a sufficient number of them — which could be quite large — when combined together in the right manner, formed a system able to carry out a complex task. By rearranging themselves the same modules could assume other configurations suitable for performing other tasks. In a way, the concept mimicked biology, in which variants of the same basic cellular theme grouped together in different ways to form all the tissues, organs, and organisms making up the living world.

Modules were generally based on some simple geometric form such as a cube, tetrahedron, triangle, hexagon, or some other fractal that preserved its characteristic shape at increasing scales of magnitude. With enough microelectronic intelligence built in, they could be self-assembling according to the needs of a situation and a set of blueprint programs carried internally. Illustrations contained in the notes showed a formation of peculiar stick-and-ball-like modules attached together to form a moving lattice with spiderlike legs crossing a precipitous terrain of rocks and craters, and then reconfigured into a communications antenna after reaching its destination. Sambot work crews were usually landed by the initial survey probes to prepare bases for habitation at newly discovered worlds where manned follow-ups were decided on. Besides preparing the way and making life more comfortable, they proved highly effective, also, at instilling an appropriate level of awe and wonder among native inhabitants before the humans showed up.

“Anyone sitting here?” Greg appeared, bearing a tray, and indicated the empty chair next to Shearer.

“Go ahead.”

Greg was a land and civil engineering surveyor, bound for Cyrene to help assess some construction projects that were being contemplated. With a shaggy head of black hair starting to show gray, short, matching beard, horn-rimmed spectacles magnifying naturally intense eyes, and a strong set of teeth that bared ferally when he smiled, he looked more the stereotypical leftist ideologue and anarchist than Shearer, whom Roy had accused of such. He had a robust, forthright manner that he managed to keep congenial, and Shearer rated him among his preferred company.

“No Jerri?” Greg inquired as he set down his tray.

“It’s dog-walking time,” Shearer said.

“I thought Zoe had taken that over.”

“They split it. It’s Jerri’s turn.” Zoe and Nim had taken to each other. A couple of times a day, either she or Jerri, or sometimes both of them, took Nim to the “long gallery,” a general utility communications thoroughfare that ran all the way around the ship at the Outer Ring.

Greg pulled out the chair and sat down. “These eggs look great. How are yours?”

“Good.”

“That’s one thing about spaceships. You get to eat real food.” Greg began arranging his cutlery and dishes. “You know, I never really understood what all the fuss was about them. Why couldn’t they just post whatever the information was and let people choose for themselves what they want to do?”

Shearer shrugged. “‘Choose’ isn’t a word that’s in the bureaucrat vocabulary.”

“Did you check the news on the beam before you came down?” Greg asked as he settled down to eating. He meant the Heim-wave link from Earth.

“I don’t bother with it much, to be honest,” Shearer said. “I agree with Mark Twain. The only thing you can believe in it is the advertising.”

“Who’s Mark Twain?”

“Oh, a writer from way back. Why? What’s happened?”

“That OBP that’s been up for a while now.” Greg shifted his eyes sideways. Shearer looked uncertain. “Orbital Bombardment Platform,” Greg supplied. “It’s run by Milicorp.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It’s seen action. That place where the trouble’s been out across the Pacific somewhere. What’s it called?...”

“Tiwa Jaku,” Roy said from the far end.

“Yeah, that’s it. The whole terrorist stronghold got taken out from orbit — one pass with a saturated e-beam. Apparently it’s all over there. Pretty neat stuff, huh?” He seemed excited.

“Haven’t there been protests too?” Karen said. “Something about all the prisoners and families being shot?”

“Supposedly,” Arnold put in.

“That’s a load of bullshit!” Roy fumed. “Some people will believe anything if it runs us down.” He motioned with his knife. “And even if it was true, it’s the only way to deal with terrorists. Once you’ve got ’em, the worst thing you can do is leave ’em in one piece and with a grudge to come back at you. See, giving people like that breaks doesn’t work. They’ll just see it as a sign of weakness.” The others exchanged ominous glances. Roy’s tone was at its most belligerent, and no one, it seemed, wanted to start their day by getting into this.

“Well, at least they don’t have an OBP up over Cyrene,” Greg said to change the subject.

“Yet,” Arnold commented.

“You’re cheerful today,” Shearer told him.

“It’s the way things happen. You can’t change it.”

“Although, I did hear a rumor...” Karen looked around. “Did anyone else hear it? About some kind of trouble on Cyrene.” Everyone stopped eating and waited. The couple at the end turned their heads.

“What kind of trouble?” Shearer asked.

“They’ve lost a lot of people from the base there. That’s why this mission was rushed together. There’s a group aboard that’s being sent there to find out what’s going on. They’ve got their own military team and everything.”

The others looked at each other. Clearly this was news to all of them.

“Who told you this?” Arnold asked her.

“I talked to a Milicorp officer in the gym yesterday. His name’s Earl. He was trying to impress me.” She smiled, evidently enjoying the attention she was getting. “I think I was getting hit on.”

“What do you mean, they’ve lost a lot of people?” Greg asked in an alarmed voice. “Killed? There’s fighting going on there?”

“That doesn’t sound like the Cyrene I’ve been reading about,” Shearer said.

Karen shook her head hastily. “No, no. What I meant was, they’re disappearing — taking off. Nobody seems to know why. Know what else he said? He said that when we get to Cyrene, he’d be able to get me a place on one of the recon flights out over the planet. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Shearer looked quizzically at Greg. He wasn’t interested in the last part, but people disappearing at a sufficient rate for another mission to be hastily organized was surely something pretty serious. Why hadn’t they been told? The same question was written across Greg’s face too.

After breakfast, Shearer left the others talking among themselves and made his way through the various compartments and corridors to the long gallery. A number of strollers and joggers were out, but he didn’t see any sign of Jerri, which was as well because he wanted time to be alone and think. He would catch up with her later.

The question troubling him wasn’t so much that of why a mission of the kind the
Tacoma
was carrying — a typical complement of professionals, artisans, administrators, even a number of prospective settlers — would be sent in such circumstances. Organizing an interstellar voyage was a complex and expensive undertaking, and from what Karen had said there didn’t seem to be any physical threat. If a ship was going to Cyrene, the opportunity would be exploited to serve as wide a spectrum of needs as possible. Nor was he particularly surprised or indignant that they hadn’t been told. As with just about everything that went on in the world, profitability would be the first priority, which meant that anything likely to cause alarm and interrupt the flow of funds from investors would be played down until the last moment.