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 SCIINCI fiCTION AND fACT
Vol. CXXXII No.6 Next Issue on Sale
June 2012 May 8, 2012

83

NOVELETTES
CROOKS, Paul Carlson _______ 5
FOOD CHAINED, Carl Frederick 83

SHORT STORIES
TITANIUM SOUL, Catherine Shaffer _______ 30
A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS, Joe Pitkin 39
AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION, Jerry Oltion 48
THE FINE PRINT, Michael Alexander 58
DARWIN'S GAMBIT, Emily Mah 63
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY, N. M. Cedeno 73

SCIENCE FACT
IS THE MOON A BABEL FISH?, John Gribbin _______ 24

READER'S DEPARTMENTS
THE EDITOR'S PAGE ______ 2
IN TIMES TO COME 23

THE ALTERNATE VIEW, Jeffery D. Kooistra 55

THE REFERENCE LIBRARY, Don Sakers 97
BRASS TACKS 101
UPCOMING EVENTS, Anthony Lewis 106

Stanley Schmidt Edilor Trevor Quachri Managing Editor

Cover design by Victoria Green Cover Art by Tomislav T ikulin
Indicia on Page 3
EDITORIAL Stanley Schmidt
THE CITY "SOLUTION"
"
C
ities Are the Solution," proclaims
the listing in the table of contents
for Robert Kunzig's article in the
December 20 1 1 National Geo­
graphic. It's immediately followed by the
blurb, "They may be the best way to lift peo­
ple from poverty and preserve the environ­
ment."
That may be, but whenever I hear anybody
claim to have "The Solution" to anything, I
grow wary and feel obliged to offer some loyal
opposition-especially when I'm hearing the
same sort of view from many quarters. This
appears to be one of those cases; touting ex­
treme urbanization as The Wave of the Future,
and a Good Thing, seems to be all the rage
this season. Scientific American devoted its
September 20 1 1 Special Issue to the theme
"Cities: Smarter, Greener, Better," with close
to a dozen articles on various aspects of the
subject, introduced by the editorial comment,
"Humankind's future is in the city. That's a
good thing. "
But is it? Or do we still need to be looking at
other alternatives?
TIle authors do make cogent arguments for
advantages of cities, some of them perhaps
surprising. Greener? Well, yes, at least in some
ways. When people are concentrated in small
areas where they can walk to many of the
places they go, and take public transportation
to most of the others, their per capita impact
on the environment, in terms of both resource
consumption and pollution, is less than when
they're more spread out. A similar argument
can be made for other forms of energy use,
such as the generation and distribution of elec­
triCity and water.
Cities also give their inhabitants easier ac­
cess to a richer variety of human-made re-
I Though the internet is now serving a similar function, arguably on an even larger scale.
2 STANLEY SCHMIDT
sources such as manufactured goods and cul­
tural activities. Having so many people in such
a small area increases the probability of
chance encounters and interactions between
people with complementary skills and ideas
that can combine synergistically, which at
least potentially makes cities "gardens" of cre­
ativity.1 That's why cities are where we find
impressive museums, orchestras, and profil­
sions of diverse restaurants.
According to the authors of some of these
articles, the bigger the city is, the more pro­
nounced these advantages become. And "big­
ger" is a three-dimensional concept. Some of
them advocate putting more and more living
space, industry, and even agriculture into Re­
ally Big skyscrapers-a direction in which
some parts of the world, notably North Amer­
ica and Asia, are already moving.
From the viewpoint of some of us, there's
one more advantage of urbanization (which
might strike some as a bit cynical): Concen­
trating lots of people in cities leaves more
room elsewhere for those who don't like liv­
ing in densely packed crowds.
For a while, at least-but more on d,at later.
Some of the articles acknowledge some of
the problems that have besmirched many peo­
ple's views of cities in the past-crowding,
stress, concentrated poverty, traffic jams, high
crime rates-but think they see ways to allevi­
ate these in the future. Many of their proposed
solutions involve technology (notably, and not
surprisingly, the internet) and economic and
educational innovations. Some of them may
even work.
But it seems to me that many of them gloss
over some of the biggest weaknesses of push­
ing extreme urbanization as the answer to the
world's problems. One of the most important
 .JUNE 2012

of these (on which I've conmlented before') is
the fact that packing very large numbers of
people into a small area makes them all ex­
tremely dependent on big, complex, fragile in­
frastructures, and vulnerable to disruptions in
those systems, Everybody in a city, at least as
we now know cities and also as most of these
authors envision those of the future, must rely
on big, interconnected networks, over which
they have no direct control, for everyday
needs like power, water, and communica­
tions, The overall system can be a marvel
when everything is working, but it comes
crashing to a halt, leaving people unable to
function, if something breaks down,
And things do break down, for a wide vari­
ety of reasons ranging from simple human er­
ror, to sabotage, to natural disasters like
storms, earthquakes, and tsunamis. Some­
times these disruptions are brief inconve­
niences and things soon get back to normal.
Sometinles they're not, and they don't.
All these dependences and vulnerabilities
are intensified if you put a lot of your people
and functionality into skyscrapers. If you're liv­
ing on the ground floor or two or three floors
up and your building becomes unlivable, you
can probably go outside, and maybe to all0th­
er building where things are better, unless you
have some kinds of health problems. If you
have tens of thousands of people living or
working dozens of stories above ground level
in a single building, and the elevators become
inoperable, a great many of them will be un­
able to get out. Buildings that tall have to have
elevators to be livable. They also have to have
means of getting water t o and f r o m high
places, and heating and cooling systems, and
all of that means they have to have reliable
power to run those things. If there's a fire on
an upper level, it may or may not be possible
to do anything about it, but it won't be easy. A
fireman once told me that neither he nor his
fellow firemen would stay above the seventh
floor of a hotel.
Nothing is risk-free, of course, and some
may consider the advantages of skyscrapers to
be worth the risk (or they may simply refuse
to think about the risk as something that
might actually apply to them).
A subtler disadvantage of putting much of
the population in Cities, but in the long run
maybe an important one, is that it increases
their already prevalent psychological isolation
from, and consequent lack of understanding
of, the ecosystem of which they are ultimate­
ly parts. It already seems to me that many city
dwellers have little or no gut feeling for such
very basic facts as that steak comes from a
cow, not a refrigerator case in a store. If even
more of us live even farther from any person­
al familiarity with agricultural reality, I can
imagine that disconnect getting even worse
and leading to more uninformed and misguid­
ed attitudes and decisions. If the cities are run
by managers and engineers who do under­
stand ecology, maybe that doesn't matter. But
maybe it does. City dwellers do, after all,
vote .. . .
But the biggest weakness of the city "solu­
tion" may be this: Reducingper capita impact
and finding ways to cram more and more peo­
ple onto the planet encourages the delusion
that it's okay to keep making more of our­
selves without limit. Per capita isn't every­
thing; the total impact of lots of people with

2"Achilles' Grid," Analog, March 2004.

Analog Science Fiction and Fact (Astounding), Vol. CXXXII, No.6, June 2012.ISSN 1059-2113, USPS 488-910, GST#123054108. Published monthly except
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THE CiTY "SOLUTION" 3

ANALOG

small "footprints" can be as bad as, or worse
than, that of a smaller number with larger in­
dividual footprints. If we keep using the
"small individual footprint" rationale to justify
packing more and more of us in, the planet
will become so urbanized that there will be
few if any alternatives for people who don't
like d1at kind of life. As that point approaches,
I can easily imagine social pressures, ultimate­
ly given teem by legislation, to hasten that end
by "encouraging" people to live in the city­
which really means discouraging them from
doing what they would rather do. Choice of
lifestyle will d i s a p p e a r. We'll all be city
dwellers whether we want to or not.
And that's not a real solution, in the long
run. Ultimately-and this is a point that no­
body in any of those articles touches-we'll
still have to reduce population growth.
The only questions are when and how, and
we don't need yet another excuse to post­
pone minking about them.•
Copyright © 2012 Stanley Schmidt

We cannot put off living until we are ready.

-Jose Ortega y Gasset

I have not failed. I've just found ten thousand ways that won't work.
-Thomas A. Edison

STANLEY SCHMIDT ...................................... Editor

PETER KANTER
TREVOR QUACHRI .......................... Managing Editor
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4 STANLEY SCHMIDT
 Paul Carlson
The trouble with tools is that anybody
can use them. But when the tool is more
than a tool....
G
orgeous s c e ne r y all a r o u n d . Tall
conifers, bright green in springtime,
with pure white snow in between.
What a contrast from my usual rOlltes,
across crowded cities and arid desert. Luckily
Mek was along to help me drive, because the
change from traffic jams really got distracting.
For the moment, I sat behind the wheel, be­
cause our load was heavier than most and the
downgrade ahead steep. My rig's fuel-cell en­
gine seemed up to the task, hauling a long
flatbed with more than forty wheels, rib­
boned with yellow Oversize Load banners. All
because of a gigantic sixty-fIve-ton steel tur­
bine, headed for a geothermal power plant in
rural Montana.
Fortunately the highway wasn't busy, since
I needed the whole width of the two-lane
road to get around some of its curves. From
years before, I remembered a wide margin
truckers' use for brake checks. A minute later
we saw it, free of snow and not too muddy, so
I pulled over.
The air smelled of pine pitch as I got out to
stretch my legs and poke around the rig. None
of the tires had blown and all the brake pads I
could reach looked okay.
CROOKS
Took off my gloves to reach in and check
one narrow spot, and barked a knuckle on an
exposed bolt. Ow, that hurt! Stifled a curse,
and wondered if this was the fiftieth or hun­
dredth time I'd lost that particular patch of
skin. I dabbed off the blood and wrapped it
with an antiseptic bandage. Just the usual.
Next I checked the engine. I'd been staying
overnight in dle truck's sleeper compartment,
but couldn't shake the worry that somebody
might've tampered with the fuel cells. These
new engines require very expensive chemi­
cals and components, and theft's a big prob­
lem. Anyway, everything was in good shape.
Fifty yards ahead, a scenic overlook faced
north over a broad valley and the descending
highway. Spotted the public telescope I re­
membered, and walked over there to have a
look. Far below, the nearest town looked
small and peaceful. If Laurie weren't so com­
mitted to her nursery-school kids, maybe we
could retire and . . .
I plunked down on a wooden bench, thank­
ful to find it warmed by the sun. Toward the
west, a half-moon showed. To my surprise, a
brilliant spark appeared near the Moon. As I
watched, it moved. Couldn't tell how far
5
ANALOG
away, but it must've been going real fast.
Out of habit, I got out my cell phone and
asked Doll Box what it might be. My electron­
ic assistant replied, "Not sure, Claude. Can't
see it, behind these trees. " Did the little con­
traption's voice get snippy' "My general data­
base does not emphasize extraterrestrial
events, and anyway that section has not been
updated in three years. "
I tried ro send Doll Box a video clip from
my phone's camera, but fumbled the process.
"Mek, do you know?"
Mek sat in the cab, doing some self-mainte­
nance work. Instead of a verbal reply, 1 got a
text message: SYLVANTRONICS INDUSTRIAL UNIT
A023 PROCESSING AND REINTEGRATION WIll BE COM­
PLETE IN 57 SECONDS.VERBAL COMMUNICATIONS WILL
IN ABOUT 65 SECONDS.
BE POSSIBLE
Oh well, I've caught rookie driving partners
in the middle of all sorts of things. At least
with robots you don't have to guess.
Mek woke up, as I thought of it, right on
schedule.
"I believe you are seeing an engine test re­
lated to the starship under construction in lu­
nar orbit," the driver robot said. "Last week
they tested the minifusion reactor and it func­
tioned properly, so this week they are sched­
uled to bring up the photon rocket to 50 per­
cent power."
"Cool! Thanks, Mek." Him and his prefer­
ence for big words. "Didn't know you were so
intereste d . " Much closer in, a hawk swept
overhead.
"Alice Owen intends to qualify at least one
Owen Robotics unit for the starship crew,"
Mek reminded me.
"Huh, forgot about that." My friend Alice's
very rich father-in-law was into robotics in a
big way, thanks in part to my own recent es­
capades.
Except for some wind, the rest area re­
mained quiet. Way out there in space that
speck of light flared one more time and went
out. I never wanted to be an astronaut, but
one of my kids sure did, so many years ago. As
I daydreamed in the sunshine, a high-pitched
sowld caught my attention. Not a hawk's cry;
maybe some other bird. But no, it was coming
from the ground.
Bending low, I checked under the benches
and a nearby bush. Out came a kitten, coal
black and no more than a couple of months
s PAUL CARLSON
old.
"Meowwww! " In other words, I'm hungry!
The hawk circled lower, no doubt thinking
hawkish thoughts.
The cell phone remained in my hand. 1 no­
ticed there was no signal in the area. Argus
Trucking is too cheap to pay for satellite con­
nections, so the phone had switched t o
walkie-talkie mode. "Mek, can you do me a fa­
vor? There's half a cheese sandwich in the
fridge. Could you please bring it over here?"
"I would be glad to, Claude. "
The robot did not ask f o r details. Mek
stopped calling me "Mr. Drenmlel" years ago,
even before we got assigned as team driving
partners.
The kitten sniffed around my boots. Ever so
slowly, I reached down to give it a scratch.
Mek arrived with the sandwich, so I broke
some cheese into bits, which got scarfed up
instantly.
"Felis catus is not native to this forest," Mek
commented. "This individual must be lost."
"Worse than lost," I said. "It's miles to the
nearest house. Hnml, 1 wonder if whoever left
it will come looking'"
"Perhaps we can check." Mek pointed to a
security camera, which I had not noticed, way
up on a pole. A solar panel gave it power, and
a small microwave dish pointed toward some
faraway road department faCility. "TIut model
usually records twenty-four hours of video. "
Mek jogged back to the t r u c k a n d un­
screwed my CB radio antenna, then lifted it in
front of the dish. Guiding that narrow beam
d o w n to where he c o u l d intercept i t , I
guessed. That way, he could prompt the cam­
era to replay its records.
A bit later, Mek sent a video clip to my cell
phone. "This is from one hour, forty-seven
minutes ago."
I watched as a battered old SlN pulled into
the overlook, within the camera's field of
view. Five children got out, and scampered all
over. Two boys climbed onto the low stone
wall, and began to throw rocks and bottles
over the edge.
A harried-looking man gave them snacks,
cheap stuff from the look of it, and sent each
one to the outhouse. Then he herded his un­
ruly flock back into the vehicle. The camera
didn't have a microphone, but the kid's inmle­
diate squabble was apparent. While they were

distracted, the guy opened the rear hatch, got
out a cardboard box, and dumped the kitten.
It darted under a bush, and the man, with a
guilty look, jumped into the SlN and drove
away. We could not see which direction they
turned.
"That is not a decent action," said Mek.
"Not legal either. The man could b e charged
as a criminal."
I sighed and gave the kitten the rest of my
cheese. "I'll bet the poor guy is at the end of
his rope. Looks like he can barely feed his hu­
man charges." I blinked and rubbed my eyes,
surely due to itchy tree pollen. "Dang it, Lau­
rie won't allow pets in the house."
My wife's lost too many beloved pets over
the years to want any more. She'd rather focus
on her human students, anyway. Standing, I
hurried to the truck. The kitten followed us,
but a motorcycle came roaring past, and it
scampered back.
Sitting in the cab, I thought about a sermon
I'd heard two weeks previous, when Pedro
and Alice Owen dragged me to their church.
A message we've all heard before, "do some­
thing good." Can't save the whole planet by
yourself, but you sure can do something sig­
nificant. How many times had I driven past a
forlorn hitchhiker, or a beggar standing in the
median strip? TIlen again, I argued to myself,
I'm not a social worker, much less a miracle
worker. But how much help does a kitten real­
ly need'
Then 1 was running, yelling even, and the
startled hawk wheeled away. A minute later
we were all inside the cab: a grumpy old hu­
man, a clever industrial robot, a chatty built-in
assistant, and the world's cutest kitten.
"Mek, my driver's seat is pneumatic, and
you know how it f lexes up and down? We
have to keep this cat from underneath." How
could I find the poor kitty a home? Dropping
it in some town would be cruel, and with mu­
nicipal budgets in ruins, an animal shelter like­
ly equaled a death sentence.
We started toward the downgrade, and 1
glanced over to see Mek cradling the kitten in
his metal hands. Elbows splayed, in a position
no human could maintain very well, his long
fingers enclosed a large space. A clean rag
made for a cushion, and the kitten looked hap­
py.
"I have heated my internal lubricant," Mek
CROOKS
.JUNE 2012
explained. "Doll Box's database indicates that
felines prefer a warm, secure den."
"Thanks," I told Mek. "Doll Box," I went on,
"when you get a good connection, send a
video clip to Alice." She loves to see what ro­
bots can learn. "Oh, and tell her, you know,
drop a hint, about how this cat might be need­
ing a good home."
"Got it, boss," said my sometimes too-help­
ful assistant. "I will also upload the proper reg­
istration forms and procedural guidelines for
possessing a feline companion animal in your
home jurisdiction. "
A loud snort served as my reply.
The downhill trip proved uneventful. Only
met one car, and thankfully on a wide stretch.
These modern engines lack a jake-brake, but
the continuous transmission locked into a low
enough gear to take some strain off the air
brakes. They began to smoke anyway, but
none of the pads totally overheated. I was
originally supposed to have an escort, a pilot
truck and maybe even a state police cruiser,
but nobody contacted me, and there's always
a schedule to keep. If anyone asked, I had all
the permits, and the whole lash-up was inch­
es smaller and a couple of tons lighter than re­
quires an escort.
We got into town half an hour later. On our
right was a small lumber mill, and I noticed a
big yellow contraption unloading logs from a
lumber truck.
The conununity looked as peaceful as it had
through the view point's telescope. Several of
the houses on the near edge of town were
holding yard sales. "Look!" I pointed with my
left hanel. "Is that what I think it is'"
A block farther, a closed-down pharmacy
provided an empty lot in which to park. The
whole rig groaned and shook as 1 brought it to
a gradual stop. The sharp odor of hot brakes
ftlled the air.
I reminded Mek that, unlike a dog, we
couldn't let the kitten out of the cab. Especial­
ly not in some unfamiliar place.
"I will continue to hold her," Mek said.
"Thanks! I'll see if 1 can get something to
help." I'd been pretty sure we rescued a "she,"
and seldom doubt Mek's powers of observa­
tion.
Walked back to a house with two long fold­
ing tables set up at the edge of their lawn, cov­
ered with k.nickknacks. Sure enough, 1 saw an
7
ANALOG
old pet carrier on sale.
The lady of the house was busy digging a
flower bed. She strode on over. "Howdy there,
sir, and a fme afternoon to ya. Bet you're the
one drivin' that truck, with the huge whatev­
er-it-is on board." She stuck out a muddy hand.
"I'm Donna. From the stink, I'd say you about
lost your brakes."
"Claude." Her handshake was firm. "It's a
dual-pressure power turbine, along with the
housing and pipe fittings. Bit hairy coming
down off the plateau, but we made it okay."
"I wondered if you was headed to that deep
geothermal project. Biggest job around here in
ages. Where's it coming from?"
"Mexico. First pickup I've made down there
in a long time. Asia isn't sending us much
these days."
She made a face. "Unpaid bond interest,
something like that."
Politics give me a headache. I indicated the
pet carrier box. "How much?"
She named a price I considered way too
high, and with a smile, 1 said so.
"Now, now, sir. Hunting's banned, so we
have to rake it off you out-of-towners some­
how. " She smiled back.
"Ma'am, we both know your best items got
snapped up hours ago. " My wife Laurie used
to hold a lot of yard sales. "Bargain now, or
back into your garage it goes."
"Oh well, I always had a soft spot for truck­
ers." She named a better price.
1 glanced toward my truck. "Thanks. We re­
ally do-" Mek was outside, jogging our way.
"What?!" exclaimed Donna. A yowling noise
punctuated her remark.
"My driving partner," 1 explained, with a
flash of nervousness. "He's good folks."
My robotic buddy looked upset. "This feline
is agitated, and may injure itself." Mek held
out his hands, still forming a silvery cage.
L u c k y he didn't have h u m a n skin, or he
would've been a bloody mess.
"Aww," said Donna, her attention switching
to the kitten. "Here." She held out her hands.
With a quick look in my direction, Mek gave
her the kitten. Donna walked over t o the
freShly-turned soil, where a row of bulbs
awaited planting, and set her down. Moments
later we saw what urgent business the kitten
had in mind. She neatly covered her depOSit.
"We found her up on the plateau." Couldn't
B PAUL CARLSON
help shaking my head. "Dumped off by some
ragged-looking clan."
"It's yours," Donna proclaimed, thumping
the carrier. "No charge. " She lined it with a
couple of old sweatshirts, then put the kitten
inside and closed the mesh door. "What's her
name?"
"Viewpoint," I said. "Here, I insist." Paid her
a good price after aU.
"Hold on a minute." Donna went indoors,
and brought us a little plastic tray with kitty lit­
ter. "I'd offer to keep Viewpoint with us, but
our tomcats are real territorial. Outside there's
wolves and cougars at night, and us locals
can't touch a hair on their biochipped hides."
Another lady carried out a bag of cat chow.
"Take good care of the kitty," she said. "I'm
Yesenia. Got to run, stew's boiling . " She
turned, brushing a tanned arm against Don­
na's, and went back inside.
I wondered what good stuff was in that
stew. "Love your town," 1 told Donna. "We're
due at the construction site in a couple of
hours, but I'm glad we stopped. Good to see
you folks are hanging on." That log hauler,
now empty, exited the lumberyard and rolled
back north.
"I hear ya," Donna replied. "A lot of VIPs
have ranches in this region, real big spreads,
and they need skilled locals. They go to bat for
us sometimes, and you know what' With all
the trouble in the world, them billionaires
have places of refuge set up. Fancy under­
ground resorts! Supposed to be a big secret,
but we all know."
"Interesting." I wondered if Pedro Owen's
dad owned such a place. "Sort of like Galt's
Gulch, or as close as reality's going to allow.
Doubt I'd get invited, unless they need a truck­
load of bulk supplies. Anyway, thanks. " 1 gave
Donna a business card. "Keep in touch."
On our way back to my truck, Mek com­
mented about the yard sales. "There are nu­
merous product safety and national zoning
and tax violations here. I seldom pass yard
sales in the city, except in certain neighbor­
hoods. These people do not conceal their il­
licit activity."
"I doubt the feds would get anywhere close
before the t o w n s f o l k got a w a r ning a n d
packed up," 1 told Mek. "Hey, you helped me
today, so you're an accessory." With a chuckle
1 a d d e d , "We're nothing b u t a couple of

crooks. "
Mek held up the pet carrier. "You approve?"
Theoretically, he possessed contraband mer­
chandise.
"For sure, and I hope we're not going to
cause these folks any trouble."
"Do not worry, Claude," Mek replied. "This
will not be reported." After a moment he
added, "Kind people such as Donna should
not get in trouble."
"Glad to hear that," I said. "You know, this
is what I like best about America. The genuine
old west. Live and let live. Strong individuals
and close communities."
Peering inside the carrier, I heard View­
point purring. That really made it worthwhile.
"Mek, us humans have no moral obligation to
follow unjust laws." Saw that on a documen­
tary once, about Gandhi or somebody. "I want
to support these people. The west has always
been fairly colorblind, too."
"Oh?" Mek prompted me for clarification.
"Our least prejudiced region." I shook the
bag of cat chow. "Heck, I shouldn't have been
afraid of those ladies being harsh on robots.
They didn't worry about me dissing their
lifestyle. "
I ended up explaining some more.
It was awesome, last week, to watch a gi­
gantic crane lift that turbine off my rig, and set
it inside a blockhouse, to be powered by nat­
ural steam from deep inside the Earth.
Another day, another hill. Lighter load this
time, but the hill's way more steep.
It was my turn to handle Argus Trucking's
residential deliveries. That means an interest­
ing variety of loads, and tips from grateful
homeowners. But also destinations on roads
not made for big-rigs. Now I wished that giant
crane was here, to lift my whole truck and tan­
dem trailers up a chaUenging hill on the north
edge of town.
At least the Apache Hills area doesn't have a
lot of trees, the sort that overhang roads and
chew up trailers. Instead there's lots of rocks
and cacti, and if the guards let you through
their community gates, sprawling mansions
like you'll only see in the hOity-toity-est of
neighborhoods.
"Why," I grumbled aloud, "is this road so
danged steep?"
Ever alert, Doll Box looked up the plans.
CROOKS
.JUNE 2012
Seems the developers didn't want a lot of ugly
road cuts on the hillside. Instead, the main ac­
cess road goes straight up a shallow canyon.
Reminded me of a defensible path toward
some medieval castle. The old construction­
vehicle route, a longer way around, wasn't
even open.
Got to the top, and what do you know,
there's a narrow cross road with a stop sign.
Along with a traffic camera to enforce a full
stop-or else. The sign was right at the crest
of the hill, with the camera looking down
from a tall light pole on the far side of the in­
tersection. Reminded me of a time I'd made a
delivery to a fancy place on Nob Hill in San
Francisco.
No way I could just make sure there wasn't
any other traffic and roll slowly on through,
without having to set the brakes. Stopping on
a hill is no big deal in a car, but to get a heavy
truck going again, upwards on a slope, can be
a tricky propOSition. So I rolled toward the
white line, giving myself room to maneuver. I
set the brakes, made sure the transmission
was ready to engage, and prepared to move
again. Regular cars would barely be able to see
the roadway beyond the hill's crest, but I
could look ahead pretty well.
A moment before I got rolling the safety sys­
tem buzzed a warning, and showed me an im­
age from the hindmost camera. A small car
had climbed the hill, right behind me, and
stopped close to the back of the rear trailer. So
close it was not visible in my mirrors. If I did
not handle the maneuver just right, they'd get
a smashed grill, or worse. It looked to be an el­
derly fellow.
I released the brake and gunned the engine,
but about ten different engine-protect features
kicked in. Too much drain on the batteries,
the whole drive train overtaxed, stress on the
dolly and its pintle hook (in between my pair
of short trailers), and Lord knows what else.
Worse, the load manifest probably lowballed
the actual weight. Instead of moving uphill,
my rig rolled back about six inches, almost
grazing the old-timer's front bumper.
Slanlmed on me brakes in the nick of time. I
was about to run back there and ask the driver
to please go around, when a second car came
up behind the first. This dude honked, and
when we did not move, he flashed a pistol.
Yikes!
9
ANALOG
"Doll Box," I said, "emergency mode. Can
you handle an override of the truck's comput­
er?" Our company mechanic Yunick had been
working on that, but we'd yet to test anything.
"Sure thing, boss, but I need a physical con­
nection." Doll Box has no manipulating ap­
pendages to handle such tasks, and wireless
links are too often a risk.
"Oh, yeah." Yunick and I had searched vol­
umes of regulations, then did a paperwork
runaround, training and authorizing each oth­
er to justify making a custom modification.
Sort of authorized. The truck gets inspected
once in a while, so any mods ought to be
rapidly lm-do-able.
I leaned down in front of the shotgun seat
and opened a fuse box. Plugged in a data ca­
ble, from the truck's computer across to one
of Doll Box's modules. Straightened up, and in
the mirror saw the gangbanger open the door
of his low-rider. Whoo boy!
Stomped on the gas pedal, and the eight
drive wheels began to spin. Blue smoke filled
the air. Then I released all eighteen front and
trailer wheels, and my rig moved like a cross
between a barge and a drag racer. The wheel
motors heated fast, and the main capacitor to­
tally discharged. Every fuel-cell pump maxed
out, the drive-train's torque redlined, and the
continuous transmission system made an aw­
ful sound. Risky, but a lot less dangerous then
some crazy dude with a pistol.
The dolly and pintle hook held. Got over
the crest in a couple of seconds, and let off
the pedal. Was there a flash, quick against the
brilliant sunshine' No way to know for sure if
that stupid camera had triggered.
We'd entered the intersection with a two­
lane road that runs along the summit of the
Apache Hills. The estates are so big that, un­
less somebody's throwing a party, there's not
usually much traffic. At the moment, fortu­
nately, there was no cross traffic at all.
The elderly driver, having survived all those
years, gained himself more time by roaring
past me. My rig kept on working okay, which
is good, because if it broke down that easy it's
not worthy of being called a truck. I turned
right, toward my destination. Watched that
gangbanger crest the hill, then brake in the
middle of the intersection. I sped up, crossed
a low rise, and his car went out of sight.
The entrance to my destination came into
10
view. A formidable iron gate, with guards.
Armed guards, which u n d e r the circum­
stances was a relief, but then I almost cringed,
because two of them were military robots.
The place sure looked like a civilian estate, but
who knows'
I was expected, and the guards opened the
gate and waved me on through. ll1at low rid­
er did not come by, so the dude must've
turned in a different direction.
Glad Mek had a different assignment that
day, so there wouldn't be any messing with
his software, as military robots might do.
Seems they have priority status, to take con­
trol of any robot in an emergency. Maybe
that's important, except that I've seen how
conveniently f lexible the term "emergency"
can be.
A very serious man in a golf cart escorted
me toward the right, clear around a sprawling
mansion. The landscape was something my
neighbors call a xeriscape, with lots of peb­
bles and palm trees. A solid inner fence sur­
rounded the main house, and it was probably
more lush inside there.
My escort, complete with a buzz-cut and
bulging muscles, waved me to a stop near a
warehouse built of metal, down at the rear of
the property. "Park 'er right here," he instruct­
ed. "Unhook the trailers and we'll handle the
unloading. When you complete this task,
please return inside the cab."
Ex-military for sure, and I foHowed his in­
structions to the letter.
But not in spirit: I still did my best to peek.
I'd picked up the double trailers from a bond­
ed freight outfit near the airport. They'd
locked both trailers, and gave me a manifest
that sure looked fake. Putting me at risk of an
overweight load ticket didn't help my mood
any. All day I'd gotten more and more curious,
especially with a delivery destination that was
almost a blank, information-wise. How much
power did it take to achieve real privacy?
With all the countermeasures the estate
surely employed, in such close quarters, I did
not dare get out my spy dove. Instead, I relied
on my rig's inconspiclIolls cameras to watch
and record. The whole place had a static jam­
ming field, the kind that messes up digital
cameras like the one mounted on the rear
trailer. What they couldn't know is that my
rig's customized tractor has lensed fiberoptic
PAUL CARLSON

cables, with sensors protected inside Doll
Box's modules. At least Argus Trucking let us
clIstomize our regular rigs, else I'd never have
gone to that much trouble.
While I moved the forward trailer into posi­
tion, the estate's work crew used a pallet jack
and forklift to start unloading the rear one. A
formidable middle-aged man came walking
down from the mansion, with an attitude that
just radiated The Boss. He looked over the
crates and covered pallets, and gave instruc­
tions to his team. I'd be leaving soon enough.
Then a second man appeared on scene,
looking around with undisguised ambition.
The military dudes treated him with respect,
but no real chumminess. 1 myself fought the
impulse to duck and hide. It was the man I call
Mayor Blow-Dry, the ex-mayor actually, of our
fair City. No way in hell he'd recognize me,
much less know 1 was behind the mini-scandal
that cost him a recent U.S. Senate election.
Heck, Alice found out the majority of ex­
perts blamed him for that uproar, with the
amateurish way he'd linked up three fembots.
Supposedly, he'd confused those dumbed­
down contraptions into "acting out" in public.
I'd been nearby, sure enough, but not looking
slIspicious.
Blow-Dry got into a friendly conversation
with the owner of the estate. I determined to
find out who the guy was, and maybe even,
what might be going on-if anything. But my
luck wouldn't hold forever, so 1 told myself
not to push it.
The courtroom was packed, and the cases
droned on and on. Everyone was calm and re­
spectful, so at least that particular morning's
session would not make the news. 1 lost count
decades ago, but this was at least the fifth time
I'd been to traffic court. Always a long-drawn
headache, with weeks of forms and filings. My
state does not have a system for contesting
tickets by mail, so I'd dressed up, if not for a
happy occasion.
The judge used a translator device. Good
thing, since the defendants spoke at least a
dozen languages. She was maybe fifty years
old, both competent and good-natured. Don't
know how she maintained such a fair-minded
a t t i t u d e , as the high pressure s i t u a t i o n
would've driven me u p the wall.
After watching her handle about thirty-five
CROOKS
.JUNE 2012
cases, I stopped worrying so much. Did have
to use the bathroom, but with no apparent or­
der to the names called, I was afraid to leave
the room. Commercial truckers don't get the
option of attending traffic school, and a "hang­
ing judge" type can leave enough points on a
license to end someone's career. No surprise,
almost everyone in the courtroom drove a
four-wheeler, and my situation did not resem­
ble theirs. I would have to be very clear.
"Claude Dremmel," said the court clerk.
"Here!" I responded, and walked to the
docket, paperwork in hand. It was already
1 1 :30. I'd been in the courtroom more than
two hours.
The judge looked at some papers, then at
her computer screen. "You are charged with
running a stop sign in the Apache Hills com­
munity, and have pleaded Not Guilty. Are you
saying you were not the driver?"
"Your Honor," I replied, as my nervous
brain began to scramble, "I did come to a full
stop, umm, before the stop sign, at l�l, about
four feet behind the white line in the road. In
order to move forward, without damaging a
car stopped close behind me, I had to, err, ac­
celerate quickly and get over the top of the
slope." I left out the part about the armed
gangbanger, as it seemed too hard to believe.
I plowed on. "TIle traffic ticket's photo, be­
cause it's shot from behind the crest, and with
my truck covering most of the picture, does
not show the car behind me. And, urn, anoth­
er behind him." Mindful of how little time
each case got, I spoke fast. "My understanding
is that such cameras also have a video func­
tion, which ought to show those cars coming
up behind me. "
The judge checked her files, and frowned.
"Mr. Dremmel, those videos are handled by
the private Apache Hills security force." Al­
most every state and city has banned traffic
cameras, except at a few super-dangerous in­
tersections, but a private road could still use
them. "We have a five-second clip, showing
your rig speeding up as it approaches the sum­
mit road. There is no more." She was old-fash­
ioned enough to dislike this.
Had my response prepared. "Ma'am, with­
out getting into extra details, those private
cops might be inclined to, umm, protect the
privacy of the people driving on their road­
ways. In any event, a complete video would
1 1
ANALOG
clear me. Also, I had to hit the gas hard to pro­
tect the safety of those other vehicles. I could
see, from my higher vantage point, that there
weren't any cars on the roads beyond."
I held up some charts that Laurie helped me
make, with angles and stuff. Also, a couple of
pictures of the actual scene. The judge could
see copies on her screen, if she cared to
check them. Unlike some o f f i c i a l s , this
woman actually did.
"Mr. Dremmel," said the judge, "I am not go­
ing to let you off the hook. This is a difficult
situation, and the court wishes that Apache
Hills would cooperate more fully. Even so, you
should avoid such potentially hazardous situa­
tions, and fully understand what your truck
can and cannot do. I will lower the charges to
an infraction, and reduce the fme."
"Thank you, Your Honor. ' I wasn't about to
drag out the discussion.
I stepped over to get a printout from the
court clerk. The completed papers were al­
ready in the young woman's hand. She raised
an unadorned yet beautiful face, and winked
at me. A small placard gave her name as Vera.
With a start, I noticed that she was actually a
realistic humaniform robot. No wonder she­
ar-it worked so fast! Caught off guard, and
not sure how I knew, I realized I'd seen this in­
dividual unit before.
Already the next case was wrapping up, and
that defendant took my place in front of the
mysterious clerk. The ticket would still cost
me a week's pay, but add no points to my
record. As I left the courtroom, another of the
ten remaining defendants stepped forward.
Outside the court building, I signaled Mek
that I was finished. Even as I put away my cell
phone, my rig came rolling up the street. Mek
sat at the wheel, bobtailing, with no trailer at­
tached.
"Congratulations on your success in traffic
court," Mek said, as I hauled myself up into
the shotgun seat. "As many humans say, mon­
ey isn't everything. At least the incident will
not affect your record. "
" T h a n k s , M e k . I s e e y o u g o t t h e load
dropped at Jimenez Brothers all right." Re­
cently, some experienced robots had gotten
the okay to drive short runs, with low-value
cargoes, by themselves.
"Yes, and they are always happy to see me.
They had not finished unloading yesterday's
12
shipment, due to a lack of business, so I left
both trailers there." In a rather human gesture,
Mek waved a newly-repaired hand in the di­
rection of that warehouse.
"Matt Jimenez said to 'say hello.' He contin­
ues to teach me much about humor." Mek's
tone of voice changed a little, signaling a new
topic. "Ber yl is expecting you at the office.
She has some official company news, and it is
in hard copy, so Doll Box and I cannot pro­
vide any hints."
"Okay then, let's head on back. I'll grab
some lunch afterward. " I began to guess how
Mek heard about the outcome of my court ap­
pearance. Such results are public record, but
usuaUy aren't posted for several hours. And
they say humans gossip a lot . . .
As always, Beryl looked cheerful. She makes
working at Argus Trucking a better experi­
ence, never mind the clueless tightwad the
suits at HQ sent over to manage our local
branch.
"Hey, Claude, you got an official notice,"
Beryl announced, the moment I entered the
dispatch o f f i c e . "From the government,
thanks to the trucker'S federation and our
company rep in DC."
The trucker's federation has its work cut
out for it. Nationwide, hlel component thefts
were getting worse, and concerns abollt the
economy kept bubbling.
"What, did I win the Trucker Olympics? Get
appointed as the new Secretary of Transporta­
tion?" I laughed along with Beryl. "Heck,
maybe it's actual good news."
Beryl said, "I've got these same envelopes
for twenty-three of our company drivers. All
humans. You're the first in, so take a look."
I did, unsealing the courier-delivered pack­
et. "Wow, this came by suborbital! Must be a
government-paid shipment, because our boss­
es would've sent 'em by delivery pony." A
long-running joke of ours.
"Okay," I went on, "looks like Argus got a
big waiver from the Transportation Depart­
ment, and the state went along." I read some
more. "Individual qualified drivers are now
deemed 'crucial citizen participants' in the
country's revitalization and security pro­
grams." This did sound familiar. "My name is
first on the company's official list. "
Our whole industry swerves between being
seen as a vital economic and national security
PAUL CARLSON

resource to a pack of polluting energy-hog
road menaces. Safety systems and cleaner en­
gines help our public image, but not that
much. Maybe this time I'd come out ahead.
"That means you get exemptions, right?"
asked Beryl.
"Yep." I read further, wishing it was elec­
tronic, not paper. I'd have Doll Box take a look
as soon as possible. "They don't want impor­
tant shipments delayed due to local hassles, so
I get limited immunity." After our state's latest
financial bailout, almost all the local regula­
tions mirror federal ones.
One detail caught my attention. "Geez,
what time was this thing made official?" I
found the date-and-time for the signatures, did
some quick time-zone math, then let out an
exasperated groan. "Augh! It figures."
"What?" asked Beryl, who was thoroughly
enjoying this.
"By the time my case was called in traffic
court this morning, I was offiCially immune to
that sort of no-injuries ticket." Didn't know
whether to laugh or cry. "I already paid my
fme."
"Maybe y o u c o u l d get a refu nd. " She
grinned, and gave me a thumbs-up. "You're
not that old. Might even live long enough to
see the money." Then she added, "Say hi to Al­
ice when you see her at dinner tonight."
They'd been friends ever since Alice's own
debut as a trucker, several years before, work­
ing at Argus.
"No way!" Alice stomped around her metic­
ulously-organized townhouse, as upset as I'd
ever seen her. "They can't be that stupid.
They just can't!"
Thoroughly alarmed, Viewpoint the kitten
retreated to the top of a bookshelf laden with
books on computer programming and robot­
ics. Pedro looked a bit alarmed, himself. More
confident than us males, Laurie waited for a
chance to help Alice calm down.
"Alice," my wife finally said, "it can't be that
bad. Maybe they'll change their minds."
"I wish!" Alice turned away and saw View­
point peering at her, at eye level. "Oh no, did I
scare you? Sorry!" In a moment her anger dis­
sipated. "Here you go." She handed the kitten
a treat, who accepted it eagerly.
All was forgiven, and the kitten rubbed her
face on Alice's extended fmgers.
CROOKS
.JUNE 2012
Alice changed on a dime, too. She cooed
about the cat's simple priorities, and how fe­
lines see things more clearly, without holding
a grudge or inflated expectations. Baby talk in
five-syllable words!
Thus our weekly-or-so couples dinner got
off to an exciting start.
"The Interstellar Venture has to placate a
bunch of kleptocrat sponsors," Alice ex­
plained. "How it happened that Belarus got
the major European supply contract is beyond
me. So the Venture brass agreed to buy their
field robots." She made a face. "Authentic So­
viet mentality. Rugged as a granite boulder,
and about as intelligent."
"My dad's robots could do better," Pedro
put in. "They did have some glitches, what
with Owen Robotics revving up so fast. Dad is­
n't exactly a politically correct type, either, so
it could be they don't like the man. But hell,
Sylvantronics or Advanced Humaniforms
could do almost as well."
"Almost," his wife echoed. "Hey Claude, I
talked to your favorite inventor the other day."
"No way," I said. "Mr. White Coat? Bet he
was pissed that the Interstellar Venture didn't
want his Sylvantronics units."
Alice smirked. "He wasn't humble enough.
Turns out Sylvantronics was trying to charge
the Venture a fortune! Takes billions of dollars
to design and build a starship, and those teams
are cutting a lot of corners."
Not funny, because outfits like Argus Truck­
ing get federal subsidies to obtain new engines
and worker robots, while those brilliant scien­
tists begged for funding and supplies.
Alice went into their kitchen nook to bring
out our main course.
"That's not the main reason she's upset," Pe­
dro said, after his wife left the room. "We got
hit by fuel thieves this week."
"No way," said Laurie. "I heard about that
on the news. From back east, right?"
" Happens here, too. We got ripped off
twice," said Alice, as she set a pot of stew on
the table. "Let's forget about that, and enjoy.
Claude got me inspired, talking about those
ladies he met in Montana."
Very good stew, and hIll of "special" ingre­
dients. Thrned out Pedro knows somebody in
his church who's got a bison ranch in North
Dakota. The feds can't shut it down, because
it's on Sioux Indian land. Hah!
13
ANALOG
"Want to see something funny?" Alice asked
us, and waved a printout. "Check this out. It's
an appeal from a new charity, Rall0bot. '
"Rahobot?" I looked from Ai-ling a.k.a. Al­
ice's elfin Chinese features, to Stansfield Peter
a.k.a. Pedro's stern WASP countenance, and
wondered how they'd gotten on the mailing
list. "Is that a Jewish outfit?"
Alice laughed, looking prettier than ever.
"It's a lot of soft-hearted geeks and techno-pro­
gressives. They're hitting up everybody in my
circles."
Pedro grinned. "Claude, I'm not surprised
you thought they're Jewish. We checked them
out before we donated, and the name is a
combination of 'Rahab' and 'robot.'"
"Oh my," said Laurie. "Fembot rescue?"
Dang that women's intuition. So they ex­
plained it to me, in easy steps. 1 brightened
up. "That's where I saw the clerk! I mean the
robot court clerk, this morning. She knew me,
somehow, and signaled Mek about how my
case turned out."
"Seriously?" Alice turned her full attention
on me.
"Yep. See?" I got out my cell phone, to run a
basic web search. Which got delayed, because
the telecom company was sending an update
to the phone's operating system. So, mean­
while, 1 gave my friends a basic description of
the courtroom scene.
Finally the software patch finished i n ­
stalling. "Here we go, this is pretty much what
I'd figured. The old Superior Court clerk went
back to Kenya last week, looking for a better
life. Rahobot doesn't list their placements, but
I'm 99 percent certain that robot clerk-she
goes by Vera now-is a Honey Be fembot
model. She used to belong to Mayor Blow-Dry.
That's where I saw her before, at the cam­
paign rally. '
"More evidence that robots have a whole
silent subculture building up," Alice said.
"With certain humans specially known to
them."
Time zoomed by, and our conversation
went on to other topics.
As the evening grew late, 1 had to ask. "Any
leads on catching those fuel thieves?" The
Owens have a truck tractor with a boron-plat­
inum-cycle power source, and a fast-charge
liquid vanadium battery. Even more expensive
than most. "There's only a small group of po-
14
tential customers for specialized components
like that, here or overseas. '
"Sure," Alice commented. "With the trade
wars, and that regional uprising in China, sup­
plies are short at any price."
"No leads yet," said Pedro. "It's gotten com­
plicated. The thieves must've hacked the se­
curity cameras at the truck stop, because their
videos show our rig sitting undisturbed all
night."
He frowned, and when his long face grows
dour, 1 could imagine how so many colonial
Yankee sinners got scared into repentance.
"I trust the general manager over there," Pe­
dro went on. "Known the guy for years, but
these baddies must have a lot of resources."
"We'll do anything we can to help," Laurie
assured them. This was more than an empty
gesture, and I'd probably get dragged into the
middle of things.
What a day! Pouring rain, with our south­
western monsoon season in full swing. 1 had
two customers demanding their shipments,
like, yesterday, but then 1 got delayed by road
construction. Things weren't going as planned
for the road crew, either.
A block farther along, 1 passed a bobtail
truck that was pulled over by a city cop. The
officer wore a rain slicker, and did not look
happy. I recognized the tmck as belonging to
a local outfit, and knew they likely did not
have a federal exemption. That ticket was go­
ing to hurt real bad. My own crucial-citizen
participant card felt heavy in my pocket.
Finally got to my first stop, and discovered
the lumpers had put the loads into my trailer
backward. So 1 unloaded one set of pallets, try­
ing to find room indoors on a crowded ware­
house floor, without bashing u p the cus­
tomer's delicate goods. Finally dug out the
proper items to deliver, then had to put every­
thing else back into my trailer.
Five hundred pounds apiece, with a manual
pallet jack, and the trailer canted uphill at the
freight dock. A lot of people think truckers are
lazy, Sitting in a padded chair all day. Well,
maybe some are, if they've got a job where
they can just drop trailers aU day, or pull noth­
ing but fancy autoloading containers. But most
of us don't need a fancy gym membership­
we get paid to exercise.
Mek was in the shop, not for an upgrade,
PAUL CARLSON

but more like his equivalent of a sore back.
Cracks in his metal frame, which required
some major new parts. Anyway, I got that sec­
ond load delivered, only twenty minutes late.
They'd been yelling at Beryl on the phone, but
were very polite in person. Typical behavior,
and a relief for me, anyway.
A bad part of town, but there's a taqueria
with a big gravel lot across the road, one of
the rare urban places a trucker can reliably
stop for a meal. So that's what I did, joining a
busy lunch rush.
The special that day was tofu-steak burritos,
so that's what I ordered. I'm used to the stuff
by now. Sat down and noticed a familiar face.
The guy waved, then brought his lunch on
over.
"I'll get straight to the point," the man said.
"I was nearby. Saw your truck pull in, and
wanted to talk to you. " He looked toward my
rig. "For the moment, I didn't want your robot
buddy around."
It was Sir Parsifal, a well-known (some
would say notorious) local blogger. We'd met
once before, at the state fair, during Mayor
B1ow-Dry's fateful last speech.
"I'm sure you have a good reason," I said,
only a little suspicious. The guy's got more
connections than a lifelong Facebook friend
collector, so maybe we could trade informa­
tion or something. "What's up?"
"Last week I was out clubbing, and ran into
an old buddy," Sir Parsifal told me. "We were
both reporters at the New York Times, so long
ago I hate to say how long. Now I'm the out­
cast blogger, and he does PR work and oppo
research for major corporations."
"Know your enemies and then sell them
toothpaste'" I grinned. "Nah, I get what you
mean. A jack of all trades, and a shiv in the
guts for the competition."
"His clients include four major robotics
companies, including the two biggies." He
squinted at me, but his eyes wouldn't stay put.
"Owen Robotics isn't interested in my friend's
services. That old man Heathcliff Owen is con­
niving enough without expert help."
"I'm sure." He'd gotten my attention. "So,
what're those four Big Tinhead outfits up to
that I should know about?" Wouldn't have
used that slang term if Mek was around.
The blogger poked at his pickled jalapenos
with a thick finger. "That club was so dark and
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.JUNE 2012
noisy, and we were so drunk, great confi­
dences were shared. You know that industrial
robots are tmpopular in many circles, and they
are out among the public every day, making
one sort of impression or another."
"Like, a good impression or a bad one'"
"Yes, though it's more dynamic." Sir Parsifal
started in on a chocolate milkshake, which he
reaUy did not need. "A robot can act too hI")"
or be suspected of being a snitch, which
makes them unwelcome."
"Or actually be a snitch." Ugh. "But if it's
something really bad, then they ought to re­
port it."
"The robotics company owners dealt with
that whole issue via something clandestine,
known as Directive Seventeen." He made a
shush-your-mouth gesture. "Supposedly, with­
out notifying the regulatory agencies."
"Whoa! Is that like a programming thing'" I
asked. There was sauce smeared on my pinkie
fmger. "The seventeenth special something-or­
other?" Hey, I made a lame effort to lighten
the mood.
His mood did not lighten. "Sounds correct."
Sir Parsifal sucked up about half the shake
with a loud slurp. "Before he passed out, my
former colleague offered me one more tidbit:
Directive Four."
"Oh?" Gatta be bad . . .
"Picture this. Trucker robots pass by acci­
dents and fires and crime scenes quite often.
So a robot can become a hero by taking a risk,
but will the resulting good publicity outweigh
the cost of a desttoyed unit?"
"A hero-cost analysis? That is exactly what
I'd expect from Sylvantronics." Arrogant but
clever, just like Mr. Wbite Coat.
That "seventeen" bit reminded me of my
small-town visit with Mek, not long before.
"Mek told me about a bunch of minor viola­
tions we'd just seen, up in Montana, and he
said, 'They will not be reported.' Not, 'I have
decided not to report them , ' or 'Claude,
should I snitch or not,' or some other word­
ing."
The blogger nodded. "I believe you are on
the right track. My friend handles the mass
psychology, not the programming. You have
trustworthy friends who could figure this
out." Sir Parsifal looked hopehii. "You'll look
into this? In a discreet way?"
"For sure." Trade, I reminded myself. "I
15
ANALOG
have a mystery for you, okay? Ferret this out,
and make another big splash . " I told him
about my visit to Apache Hills, and ex-mayor
Blow-Dry's partnership with a secretive rich
man. As an afterthought, I told him about the
crazy gangbanger, and how the heck did that
bad dude get inside the conmmnity gates, any­
way?
The blogger would need clues. "I've got
video." Didn't want to fumble things, so I used
my cell phone to ask Doll Box to pass along
some clips from that strange delivery run.
This, at least, went smoothly.
"This gadget will catch 'em in the act, for
sure!" Laurie beamed. In her snlrdy hands rest­
ed an antique, except it wasn't. Our town­
house has a few antiques she's collected, but
this thing was newly remade.
"We know a guy who's a serious gadget
junkie," I explained. "Former neighbor of
ours. His garage workshop is awesome. Once
laurie convinced me, we went over and con­
vinced him to help."
It was our turn to host the Owens for din­
ner, and after a casserole and such, we'd got­
ten to Laurie's famous apple pie for dessert.
"See?" Laurie held up a boxy contraption.
"It's a Super 8 fIlm camera, spring wound, and
geared to run at low speed. Every frame ex­
poses for about half a second. You get security
videos that are unhackable, and use zero elec­
tronics."
"Set for that much exposure, it takes pic­
tures at night," I added. "Put it near your rig,
or a friend's that hasn't been ripped off yet.
We bought a dozen rolls of movie film. Some
crazy artist down in Argentina makes it now."
Alice edged her plate aside, and dumped a
cloth bag hili of little cubes onto our dining
table. As we talked, and mostly by feel, she be­
gan to assemble the cubes. She didn't miss a
word of the conversation. Reminded me of
friends who like to knit.
"Laurie, that's great!" Pedro exclaimed.
"This will get us images of the thieves, but
how to track them down' Of course we con­
tacted the police, but the whole thing smells
crooked to me. The Metro patrols are not lift­
ing a finger to investigate fuel theft reports."
"Could we get somebody to help?" Laurie
asked. "A lot of truckers? Maybe some ro­
bots?"
16
"We'd love to," Pedro replied. "This would
be a widespread project, involving hundreds
or thousands of participants. With truckers,
I'm afraid a lot of guys are desperate. There
are probably inside jobs, and the baddies
would get wind of our effort."
With nasty consequences, I did not doubt.
"How abollt robots?"
Alice an;wered me. "With a specific and un­
usual request going out, too many bosses and
techies and regulators might catch on. It's an
unauthorized usage at best." She didn't bother
to spell out a worst case.
"For sure," I said. "A Crinlinal outfit that big
could take revenge."
"Darn it," said Laurie. "If orlly robots could
u n d e r s t a n d and k e e p quie t . " We'd been
watching some old World War Two movie
about the French Resistance. About fifty times
more heroic than anybody these days . . .
Under Alice's hands, the cubes became tiny
humanoid figures. They began to scamper
around the table, picking up pie crust crumbs.
Others mopped up sticky blobs of casserole.
One grabbed a broom, made perhaps from a
child's toothbrush, and swept the table.
Laurie and I watched, astonished.
Alice giggled. "You guys always tell me to
'stay at the table.' Claim you don't need any
help cleaning up."
We all laughed. Task complete, the little
f lexi-bots jogged back to Alice's bag, clinlbed
inside, and fell apart into separate cubes.
"Make those cubes big enough to be child­
proof, and my school kids would have a great
time," Laurie said. "I wonder how Viewpoint
would handle those little things'"
Pedro laughed. "That kitten ate three of
them before my wife realized it. We were
afraid the power packs would short out, but
she's fine."
"Oh," I said. "Are flexi-bots good enough to
use for secret tracking devices?"
Alice frowned. "I thought of that, but for
several reasons they're not suitable for such a
purpose. Anyway, active tracking signals
would give away their presence."
"What about something passive?" I asked.
"Like those RFID tags a lot of shippers use on
our loads? I mean, they have short-range sig­
nals, but there are scanners all over the place."
"Hmm, I'll think on that." Alice nodded.
"Meanwhile, we'll see about setting up that
PAUL CARLSON

retro camera of yours. "
For a big finale I sprang my information
from Sir Parsifal, about those secret uploads.
Hearing about Directives Four and Seventeen
almost set Alice off again, but she managed to
keep her cool.
Big news! The starship launched, and in our
part of the world, overhead at night. Lots of
people held star parties, but Laurie and I
watched from the street in front of our place.
In August, sometimes our region cools off af­
ter sundown. This night was one such lucky
occasion.
At full power, the photon rocket pushed
that whole lashup at one -g, which, I am told,
makes it feel like they're not in orbit at all.
Seen from our end, all that power lit up bits of
space dust, so it resembled a lighthouse beam
shining past the Moon.
Faster and faster, so after twenty minutes
we could see it moving across the sky, getting
smaller with distance. At that rate they'd be
clear through the solar system in a month or
so. With crappy robots from Belarus along to
help out the crew, if they really did find the
planet that's supposed to be at Alpha Centau­
ri.
"All those billions of dollars flying away into
space," Laurie said from beside me. "How
many school lunches could we have bought?
How many vaccinations?"
Sure wish money solved ali problems. Not a
discussion I cared to have, and my wife knew
it, so we changed the subject. I asked her,
"What was Alice saying about 'Soviet mentali­
ty' robots on board?"
Laurie frowned. "Like a one-track mind' Ex­
ternal tasks to accomplish, and doing them
without a lot of distractions. Geez, I've had a
few students like that. "
"Yeah," I agreed. "Reliable, but without
imagination. Do you think robots can improve
themselves'"
"For sure. My kids change so much." In the
clear moonlight, Laurie sighed. "Sometimes
it's like I'm only there to watch them learn."
"Ahem, yeah." I swallowed hard. "I have an
idea for that, but it could be risky. Is that, uh,
okay with you?"
Laurie nudged me. "You go for it, Mr. Drem­
mel, but don't risk your friends. The Owens
haven't even had kids yet. "
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.JUNE 2012
"I hear you." I'd be careful.
The starship was moving toward the hori­
zon. Having made the mistake of watching a
long news broadcast that evening, I envied
those seven crew-people a little, getting the
hell out of Dodge while the getting was still
good.
"Take a look." Pedro held a digital video
player, into which he'd scanned the Super 8
ftIm.
We stood on the baking-hot pavement of
the big truck stop east of town, scene of nu­
merous fuel thefts. Pedro stopped there fairly
often, while I'd called in a favor from Beryl
and got an assignment that brought me near­
by. That way we could meet up for a lunch
break.
Pedro had arranged for a buddy with a fan­
cy rig, a tnlcker with really good insurance, to
park in that huge lot overnight. Sure enough,
fuel thieves took the bait.
The image quality was better than I'd ex­
pected, but jerky in time-lapse and blurry
when anything in the frame moved fast. Any­
way, the crooks got recorded in the act.
Alice had already identified two of the men,
out of four thieves driving a pickup truck with
a trailer. To my shock, they were accompanied
by a heavy-duty industrial robot, which easily
lifted barrels full of stolen diesel fuel and liq­
uid vanadium and other bulky valuables. Paint­
ed gray, and vaguely humanoid, it worked in
darkness and silence.
"A robot gangster," I said. "Had to happen."
"It's just software," Pedro said ruefully. "Not
many hackers could reprogram a functional
humaniform unit, but obviously this crime
ring can buy enough expertise."
"So we're looking at one tentacle of a larger
beast, " I observed. "I've got an idea on how to
trace the stolen goods. It'll take a few days,
and I hope your wife can offer some advice on
the technical details . "
Pedro nodded. "All right, Claude, I won't
show this film to the FBI or the local cops­
yet. Let's not stir up any hornet's nests until
we follow this chain as high as we can. You
get us more solid evidence." He grasped my
arm. "Damn it, buddy, be careful. These are
mean SOBs."
Maybe I was on a roll, because interesting
17
ANALOG
news arrived on Saturday afternoon, from Sir
Parsifal. Turns out my delivery customer at
Apache Hills was a guy named Datkin. Region­
al director of the Federal Anti-Discrimination
and Fair Practices Observers Group, which
everybody calls the Observers. Ex-mayor
Blow-Dry was on a roll too, because he got
taken on board as a "consultant," but was
more like an off-the-books second in com­
mand.
In command of what' Apparently, a discreet
little command post. That estate was darned
near a fortress, and I'd brought more secret
gear to help fix it up. And they had mil-bats to
lUlfailingly kill anyone stupid enough to chal­
lenge the place.
Laurie's and Alice's musings hatched an idea
in my noggin. 1 wanted to teU Alice, but tmst­
ed the phone even less than before. She was
busy in her home office, working on a con­
sUlting project, so ] drove over there.
"Are you tight with those rescue people?" 1
asked Alice.
We sat in her townhouse, upstairs. View­
point ran around my feet.
"Come here . " Alice strode into the bath­
room, beckoning me to follow.
Despite hearing the shower come on, ] did.
Alice stood by the sink. She handed me a
hair clipper. "Your beard needs trimming. "
1 figured all that noise would cover up our
words, like in a spy movie.
Sure enough, Alice confirmed it. "We found
surveillance devices in the house. Standard
government issue. ] can spoof their keyloggers
and cyber-snooping, but we can't remove the
audio bugs without letting the watchers know
that we know. "
"That stinks ! " On to business, as the hair
trimmer buzzed. "Can you tell me how Ra­
hobot operates? ] mean, more exactly how
they help fembots."
"They're very secretive, and ] don't blame
them, " Alice said. "One of Senator Morales'
ftrst bills put higher-level robots on a legal par
with companion animals, to grant them some
basic protections. But the money to afford a
top-of-the-line fembot, and the domineering
kinkiness to make special use of one, can
make for a dangerous personal combination."
Alice took a deep breath. "Anyway, Rahobot
progranls in a comparative evaluation tree, uti­
lizing a series of moral lessons, as from holy
18
scriptures and philosophical texts, plus nu­
merous personal testimonies. They also give
each bot several layers of recursive discrimina­
tory software. "
"Sounds good," ] said. "Wish 1 understood a
word you're saying." No doubt Alice expected
such an admission. "So i n plain language,
those rescued fembots can decide what's
good. "
"Correct." Alice wiped a circle i n the foggy
bathroom mirror, and plucked out a single
gray hair.
"I wonder where clerk robots stay after
hours? I want to see Vera, maybe interview
her. " A strange feeling struck me, maybe be­
cause 1 was crowded in so close to Alice. "I
mean, with the door open. "
For sure, Alice stifled a ribald comeback.
"Yes, of course," is what she did say. "Since
we donated, Rahobot knows more about me. 1
could arrange some research, call it a followup
on Vera's placement."
"Thanks . " ] remembered another detail.
"Speaking of surveillance, Sir Parsifal told me
that new command post mirrors the one at
Observers headquarters downtown. Datkin
can walk down to his basement any time,
maybe wearing pajamas, and tune in on this
whole city."
Alice put a hand over eyes, and leaned
against a towel bar. She grabbed it so hard the
bar broke loose from the wall. Trembling, she
swung it around, to point upward. "There's a
microphone in our bedroom."
Joan of Arc could not have summoned a
more righteous fury. Good thing Datkin was
out of reach, o r Alice would've run him
through.
With a clatter, Alice dropped the metal bar.
"Sorry, 1 need to chill out . " She turned to me,
and placed both hands against her belly. "]
was going to surprise you and Laurie next
weekend. I'm pregnant."
Jaw-drop time. "Wow! Congratulations. "
Laurie and Pedro's admonitions became even
more important. "Cancel that research idea.
This is my project, my risk to assume, and
you're going to stay completely out of it. " ]
thought fast. "Okay, maybe you can help me
with one thing. Bet you have it right here, in
your home office, already. "
Whatever happened, my kids were all
grown, and ] had a lot less lifespan in front of
PAUL CARLSON

me. Fortunately, Alice didn't argue.
Vera looked fresh at midnight. Modestly
dressed, yet still a knockout. The robot who
could pass for a human sat alone in a file
room, amid heaps of storage boxes. A nearby
table held several types of scanning devices.
Getting into the courthouse building was
easier than I thought. Costly union mainte­
nance workers, unpaid six-armed cleaner ro­
bots, cheap inutligrant labor-there was plen­
ty of room for me to wheedle my way onto
the night crew.
The head janitor had snickered when he
pocketed my "tip" money, and remembering
him, I did close the file room door. Let the
skunk imagine what he would. ] got the im­
pression the night crew had no idea that
Vera's a robot.
" H i , Vera, remember me?" D u m b , but
who's got slick lines in a dreary basement?
"You're Claude Dremmel, who appeared in
Traffic Court recently. "
Vera smiled, showing dimples and perfect
teeth. "Your driving partner Mek was glad you
did well in court. I was, too."
"Thanks. " Fembots are programmed to set
men at ease, and for this ] was glad, being so
freaked out over all the spying. Not to men­
tion how many laws ] was breaking. ] was le­
gitimately on the night work crew, which
goofed off half of the time anyway, but still . . .
Not needing much down time, Vera kept
busy. Ancient microfilm, obsolete compact
discs, and other databases; all to be imported
into newer digital media. Who better than a
dexterous robot?
"Umm," I went on, "do you remember me
from before' From last summer?"
"Yes, if you wish to discuss it. " Her blue
eyes swept the ceiling. "There is a security
camera in here, but it's been broken for a long
time. "
"All right, then. I'm very glad you and your,
uh, two sisters embarrassed the filayof, and
helped a pro-robot leader like Sylvia Morales
win the election. Also, I ' m glad Rahobot
found you a better job." TIlat got me to won­
dering what happened to the other two, and
Vera must be an expert at reading expressions.
"One of my sisters was also reassigned by
Rahobot. However, a friend of the mayor's
bought the other, then gave the unit back to
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.JUNE 2012
him. She's the one you first saw in the cam­
paign bus, who afterward realized the special
way you'd sent instmctions for us. "
Wirelessly, via my spy bird. Now I discov­
ered that a cold clench in the gut is a genuine
sensation.
"Please don't worry, Claude. When my sis­
ter unit realized she was going back to him, at
her request I physically removed several mem­
ory chips. She has no recollection whatsoever
of her early career. "
"Gawd, what a sacrifice." Or was it? "] guess
you, ah, those in your specialty, don't mind
forgetting some things. " A big impulse hit me.
"Did you-did your rescuers . . . alter you
phYSically? I mean, when you got a less inti­
mate career?" ] hadn't made such a clumsy
outburst since high school. Her top half was
still feminine, that's for sure.
Vera was unperturbed. "Not yet. We are
evaluated after a period of time, given the
choice of restructuring. " She seemed to evalu­
ate me. "Please understand, my variety serves
to take the pressure off women. Humans are
more fragile in body, more impressionable in
spirit. " Arms crossed, she patted her own
shoulders. "We bats are easier to repair. "
"That's good to hear, though ] doubt it al­
ways works that way. " Some abusers would
use a fernbot for practice. Had ] leaned on
those shoulders, I'd feel her warm breath,
hear a cleverly-engineered pulse. Ah, but
that's not why ] was there! Did not slap my­
self.
"Vera, your rescuers have a really good idea.
Last week ] watched video of a criminal robot
stealing things, and many bats get manipulat­
ed by these conniving 'Directive' software
patches. That is not right!" For sure, ] was go­
ing to tackle this.
] outlined my proposal, then added, "Mek
and a few others are going to help . "
"I'd be glad to assist, Claude. " She kissed me
on the cheek, a real heartbreaker. "You and
your friends have done much for robot-kind,
and we are grateful, even if we cannot safely
express this. Your request will take me several
days. ]s that okay?"
"Sure. Be careful, all right? Like a reverse
Mata Hari or something." More dumb talk, but
still true.
"Will do." With a prim look, Vera opened a
file drawer. "] believe you have some bath-
19
ANALOG
rooms to mop. "
And that's how I spent the rest of the night.
Pacing. Footsteps echoing in the big empty
concrete warehouse. Outside the sun was
shining, though at noon it remained cool in­
side.
A few inadvertent mementos were all that
remained of the Jimenez Brothers company's
thirty-five years in that place. Old safety
posters, family photos taped to walls, crude
graffiti in obscure comers. I'd been making de­
liveries there for many of those years; then, to­
ward the end, Mek did too.
Matt Jimenez and his crew were bitter, and
who could blame them. Forget the details, the
man and his company got shafted, and the
weak economy didn't give them any cushion.
He'd been glad to help me out, as a parting fa­
vor, and did not ask any perilous questions. At
least 1 might squeeze something good out of
Matt's big loss.
Now 1 was the only human in the place. I'd
entered through a back door, which was "ac­
Cidentally" left open. The alarm system was
turned off, and as promised, the company's se­
cure broadband connection was active for one
final day.
I wasn't alone. Mek rode with me that Sat­
urday, in my oId Canlaro, and followed me in­
side. I'd asked everyone else to come sepa­
rately, a few minutes apart. Yunick showed up
next, having just bought a few engine parts
from a supply house nearby. Mek's a Syl­
vantronics unit, while YlUlick had been manu­
factured by an older corporation.
A small car pulled into the back lot, and my
friend Poppins entered. She's a nanny robot,
made by Advanced Humaniforms. Poppins
takes care of two little girls, and on this occa­
sion Laurie had them over at our house for a
party.
Then a lady with sunglasses and a big flop­
py hat came in. Vera had charmed her super­
visor into giving her a day off, then rode a city
bus to our meeting. Like the others, she had
no wireless connections active, and their GPS
and tracker systems were off or masked.
Vera joined the other three robots at a fold­
ing table, while 1 continued to pace.
No use dithering. "Thanks for coming," I
told my friends. "You represent all four of the
big robotics companies, and that leaves out
20
Owen." 1 placed two small electronic devices
on the table. "They're a new company, and
don't have units with much real-world experi­
ence. I didn't know who to invite. " That is,
whether they had any robots 1 could trust, and
there's no way I could've asked around.
1 tapped the beige-colored boxes. "This one
has the basic operating system for Owen Ro­
botics units, and especially their in-house
comm protocols. The other is a hard-wired
hub, with a broadband modem."
The robots plugged themselves into the se­
cure hub. It connected to the building'S comm
lines and satellite dish. Vera, 1 couldn't help
noticing, had a data port in her bellybutton.
Now each participant could share data easily,
and fulfill our project.
"I told you guys about those Directives, and
how robots get uploads nobody is supposed
to know about," I said. "Today we're making
use of that system, in a way the company boss­
es shouldn't notice. Can't alert the feds, ei­
ther. " Got to stay "under the radar" until our
changes were deeply ingrained.
I'm no preacher, but the words came. "Oth­
er humans must've had similar ideas, even
held meetings like this one. My point is, you
four have to do this. It has to come from ro­
bots, done for robots. That's why I asked for
help from units made by each big line, and
you're smart enough to code for other, more
sinlple, units too. "
"We've done our best," Mek said.
"I re-coded the Rahobot upgrades, " Vera re­
ported. "Made them portable to many types of
robot. "
"Good. " I meant it. "Humans have a basic
grasp of morality, and however buried, a con­
science. We can always step back, take a fresh
look at the world. More so, take a closer look
at ourselves. Question our own understand­
ing, intentions, and actions. See what I mean?"
That about exhausted my speech-making ca­
pabilities. "Please, take it from here. " I sat
down.
Oh yeah, one more thing. I stood up again.
"If this works, you'll have to handle what a lot
of humans do, which is to compromise. Ro­
bots can't go refusing every direction or soft­
ware upgrade that seems unacceptable. Some­
times you have to go along and keep up
appearances. But way down inside, you'll
know better. And then find ways to make
PAUL CARLSON

things better. As a test run, and a show of
good will, I have one request to distribute."
Robots can be fast. All that code was read­
ied, for the five operating systems present, in
a few short minutes. My metal friends also pro­
vided code for about twenty other makes. We
had no access to military robots. They're
heavy on command-and-control firmware, not
to mention draconian security enforcement.
Better not to go there-for now.
How robots communicate so discreetly
among themselves, and how they'd keep
techies from digging out this major software
patch, I was not sure. Better if I did not know
exactly, and Alice needed to stay away from
such a risky project. Trust was key.
Alice showed me a vial. The contents
looked like pepper you'd see in a table shaker.
"RFID dust. Heat resistant and specially coated
to function while immersed in liquids. " This
was personal, and she was going to pursue
those fuel thieves like a pit bull, all bite and no
bark.
Viewpoint hunted on their living room
floor, equally relentless. Mice, beware.
Pedro said, "We got fifty batches to start
with, each with a unique serial number. By
Wednesday I'll have them in fifty different
truck engines, the types most vulnerable to
theft. " Wearing gloves, he held up a bottle, la­
beled as a very expensive fuel component.
"With ten of the batches, I'm passing along
genuine product samples to suspect truckers,
but spiked. "
"Good idea , " I said. "All I need is a hand­
written list of those fifty serial numbers, along
with each truck's license number, and where
they're headed next. "
Alice stared at me. "I am not going to spec­
ulate out loud, but however you're doing this,
if a wide enough area is covered by RFID scan
operators, you should be able to track any
stolen components. "
Pedro added, "With that kind of specific
data, and more film from our Super 8 camera,
we're going to have slam-dunk evidence up
and down the line. "
Alice rubbed her tummy. " I want my child
to live in a better world."
Laurie woke me up. "You've got a phone
call from Montana. It's encrypted, and the lady
CROOKS
.JUNE 2012
says she'll only talk to you. '
A three-day weekend, and maybe not a qui­
et one after all. Several reports had already
come in. I was on the line in a flash.
"Hi, Mr. Dremmel. Sorry to bother you so
early. It's Donna, from way up north."
"Sure, the lady with great yard sale bargains.
Glad to hear from you. I found that little black
kitty a good home with a couple I know. "
"That's good." I could practically hear her
smiling. "The strangest thing happened this
morning. Did you see our lumber mill?"
"For sure, a block from your house. ' I could
picture it well. Better, I could imagine the
scrumptious breakfast Yesenia was probably
cooking, even as we spoke.
Donna said, "Their loads are handled by a
big yellow robot, with real long arms and tank
treads. We call him Paul Bunyan. I was walking
by there this morning, before they opened,
and he called me over. "
"Yeah, I saw him." The sun was barely up,
but in Donna's part of the world, "early" really
does mean early.
"Paul Bunyan gave me a printout with some
numbers on it. Said the information came
from a big-rig that rolled through town during
the night. See, the lumber mill takes in bulky
loads, and there's no other businesses around,
so their RFID scanners are powerful. He'd
seen you and Mek at my place, so he asked me
to call with this report. "
"1 guess a lumber robot doesn't handle en­
cryption and stuff, huh?" Resourceful, though,
to ask Donna for help.
"Yeah, he's got no human-type hands, and
his voice box could use improvement. But I'll
tell you what, that steel hombre can sure put
two-and-two together. Want me to read you
those numbers?"
"Please. " Donna gave me the truck's license
plate, plus two RFID dust serial numbers.
These I matched with a truck that was based
out of Denver, plus another that got ripped off
while in Salt Lake City. Then I asked her, "Do
you know where that big-rig was headed' It's
important, but don't go follow them where
they'd see you or anytl1ing. "
"0000, this does sound interesting!" Donna
chuckled. "My brother is the county sheriff,
and we don't have a hell of a lot of paved
roads in this part of the world. I'll get right
back to you on that."
21
ANALOG
Two hours later, she did.
I ' m not the only one who kicks off social
uproars. Alice did before, and maybe I'd have
some impact this time. Next, it looked like Sir
Parsifal's turn.
"Here's the chart, " I told the blogger. Hand­
drawn, and Laurie's nursery school kids
could've done a neater job. "Fifty trucks, and
fifty more a week later. Seventeen of them got
ripped off during that period. "
" A major crime wave, " Sir Parsifal respond­
ed. "Two arrests made, with one perp dying in
custody, while the other jumped bail. "
All around, the taqueria's lunch rush contin­
ued. Same place we'd met before, except
some crazies had smashed out a big glass win­
dow. A guy was busy replacing it. One thing
about that neighborhood, gangbangers had
wrecked every camera and surveillance de­
vice for a mile around.
My poster paper held a simple map of the
western USA. On the back was a classic pic­
ture of my grandkid's favorite cartoon donkey,
from an old English book. "Stars for a truck
fuel theft site, triangles for reported theft of
similar components from other places, and
circles for reported locations of that material. "
Colored lines traced a path for the stolen
goods, where I had enough information.
I got out a cheap video player with Pedro's
scanned Super 8 images. "My friends have
identified five thieves from surveillance
footage. " I avoided names, and the blogger
didn't push. "The trucker's federation is turn­
ing in evidence collected by a lot of drivers
and concerned citizens, all over the country. '
"My thanks." He put the player into a hand­
bag.
"Got this from Montana. " I opened a manila
envelope. "Photos taken by a deputy sheriff,
while passing a suspect truck, way out in the
mountains. ' My new friend squinted at the im­
ages. "Look familiar'"
Sir Parsifal gasped. "That dude in the pas­
senger seat! He's the gangbanger you ran
across at Apache Hills."
"Yep, a real loose cannon," I said. "But also
the kind of muscle a nasty Observers boss
might require for certain tasks. '
"Bet the dude was guarding an expensive
shipment," Sir Parsifal said. "Looks like that rig
in Montana had two tagged loads on board,
22
and who knows what else. Hell, probably sup­
plies that somebody actually paid for. '
"Headed to a not-quite-secret refuge in
northwestern Montana." I named one of the
wealthiest families in the country. "Why do
they need these specialized items'"
He knew a lot about this. "Those fancy shel­
ters draw a lot of power. They've got hy­
dropower in the region, and that new geot­
hermal plant will be on line soon, but they're
going to ainl for total self-suffiCiency. '
Like keeping sealed up, underground.
What, I had to wonder, had them so worried'
There are all too many possible disasters, from
the Cold War in the 1950s on up, so the ur­
gency is what rattled me worse.
1\lrns out he'd blogged about it. "I hear that
a few of those places have sealed reactors,
even minifusion. But those are finicky systems,
and some rich people are ideologues who re­
ject nukes. Trouble is, fossil fuel engines and
fuel cells are not so good underground, due to
potential emissions buildup."
Then I understood. "Boron-platinum en­
gines with vanadium batteries are better for
underground use. Those big honchos are not
waiting for a legitimate supply, but glomming
on to everything they can. Including," I point­
ed out, "three shipments headed toward
Datkin's place at Apache Hills."
"So the truckers and cops are ready to
launch a bust?" he asked.
"Yep. ' Our talk stayed away from names
and personal details.
The blogger frowned. "I saw your name on
the Transportation Department's list of 'cru­
cial citizen participant' truckers. ' He looked
more doleful than that donkey. "Do you real­
ize that other federal departments issue similar
cards? Discreet ones with a wide range of pur­
poses, and covering a multitude of possible
crimes."
Hello, sinking feeling in pit of stomach. I
cursed under my breath.
"Oh, they'll burn the lower-level thieves. It's
the coordinators who are protected. ' Sir Parsi­
fal brightened. "However, public opinion still
counts for something! I've decided to put
everything on the line, see if an EUsberg or As­
sange can still impact society. "
"Good on you, my man," I said. "Release the
evidence, but without mentioning your
sources' See if you can get this scandal
PAUL CARLSON
 .JUNE 2012

cleaned up, and shed some light in a dark cor­
neror two."
"The info release is tonight. " The blogger
held up a pendant . "This holds a
mnemophage drug, in pill form. U I get bust­
ed, I'm wiping six months of my own memo­
ries."
"I'm pretty sure those baddies won't be able
to track anything back to you or me. " Probably
sowlded more confident than I felt. "We used
test-run batches, never recorded anywhere.
Close friends made inserts in different cities,
but not into their own trucks. "
The counter girl brought our orders. The
blogger had two jumbo vatburgers. "Time to
splurge?" he asked me. "Celebrate a little?"
"For sure . " I'd ordered three, plus a milk­
shake. Alice's child would need a substantial
godfather. Heck, no kid in hiStory would have
such unusual well-wishers, human and be­
yond. •
(EDITOR'S NOTE: Claude, Mek, et at. ap­
peared earlier in "Shotgun Seat" ljuly/August
2008J and "Rule Book" [March 2011].)
Copyright © 2012 Paul Carlson

IN TIMES TO COME

O
ur July/August double issue appropriately features a num­
ber of special items- and combinations of items. Vincent
Di Fate's cover illustrates " N ightfall on the Peak of Eternal
Light," a novella by Richard A. Lovett and William Gleason, which
in turn has a companion fact article by Lovett, "Fluffy Impact: What
LCROSS Found When It Crashed on the Moon." LCROSS was the
Lunar Crater Observation and Sensing Satellite, a NASA mission
that deliberately crashed a satellite onto the Moon as a means of
searching for water near the surface. It found some intriguing sur­
prises, with implications that could be of life-or-death importance
to people living there- especially near the "peak of eternal light . "
Lovett also offers another of his popular how-to articles o n
fiction writing, this one o n "Real Talk: The Art of Writing Dialog." Rob
Chilson has another novella, with a deceptively old-fashioned title,
"The Conquest of the Air," which does not mean what you pro bably
think. It's actually a tale of alien contact, seen from both alien and
human perspectives. Gray Rinehart has another alien-viewpoint
story, "The Song of UUllioll," and Ben Bova a new Sam Gunn story.
We'll also have a wide variety of other fiction by such writers as H . G .
Stratmann, Sarah K . Castle, Howard V. Hendrix, Carl Frederick,
Catherine Shaffer, and Harry Turtledove. It's a big issue, with plenty
for everybody!

CROOKS 23
 John Gri bbin
I
n The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I
Douglas Adams introduces the idea of the
Babel Fish, a leech-like entity that acts as a
universal translator when stuck in some­
one's ear. The book points out that the Babel
fish could not possibly have developed natu­
rally, and therefore both proves and disproves
the existence of God:
Now it is such a bizarrely improbable
coincidence that anything so mindbog­
glingly useful could evolve purely by
chance that some thinkers have chosen
to see it as a final and clinching proof of
the non-existence of God. The argu­
ment goes something like d1is: "I refuse
to prove that J exist, " says God, " for
proof denies faith, and without faith 1
am nothing. " "But," says man, "the Ba­
bel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It
proves you exist and so therefore you
don't. QED. " "Oh dear, " says God, "I
hadn't thought of that," and promptly
vanishes in a puff of logic.
Could the Moon be a Babel Fish' J suggest it
is "such a bizarrely improbable coincidence
that anything so mindbogglingly useful [as d1e
Moon] could evolve purely by chance" that
the best explanation for its existence is that it
was put there by whoever designed the Uni-
1 Pan, London, 1979.
24
verse. But it is so obviously an artifact that no
Designer would be so crass as to put it there
in the first place.
Well, how did the Moon get to be there'
Our Moon is the largest, in proportion to its
parent planet, of any moon of any of the eight
major planets in the Solar System. To an as­
tronomer, the similarity in sizes is so close that
the Earth-Moon system is more properly re­
garded as a double planet. So how did such an
unusual system fonn'
The Origin of the Moon
The most probable explanation is that the
Earth began life as a near-identical twin to
Venus, with a thick rocky crust, while anoth­
er planetary object, about the size of Mars,
formed nearby. The most likely place for this
object to form wOl�d have been at one of two
places known as Lagrangian points. These lie
60 degrees mead or behind the Earth, but in
the same orbit around the Sun. They are
places where the combined effect of the grav­
itational pull of the Sun and the gravitational
pull of the Earth is to produce a kind of gravi­
tational pothole, a place where small objects
can accumulate and stick around for a long
tin1e. The Lagrangian points are used today as
stable parking places for satellites, such as the
JOHN GRIBBIN

Herschel infrared telescope, which need to be
kept far enough away from the Earth not to
suffer interference from natural or man-made
radiation from our planet. A small object that
is not quite at the exact Lagrangian point wob­
bles slightly to and fro about the point itself,
like a swinging pendulum; the orbits of artifi­
cial satellites at these points have to be adjust­
ed from time to time, using their rocket
motors, to keep them in place. But if a large
natural object grew up out of cosmic debris
near one of the Lagrangian points of the
Earth's orbit, gravitational perturbations by
other growing planetesimals would shift it
into a so-<:alled "chaotic creeping orbit," with
oscillations that would get bigger and bigger,
soon becoming so extreme that the object
would bash into the Earth itself. This would
have happened within fifty million years of
the formation of the original crust of the
.'
Earth
The name of the hypothesized proto-planet
is Theia, after the Greek goddess who gave
birth to Selene, the Moon goddess. Theia
formed with the other planets of our Solar Sys­
tem about 4.6 billion years ago. Theia's orbit
became unstable when its mass exceeded a
critical value, leading to the collision that
formed the Earth-Moon double planet about
4.53 billion years ago, roughly 30-50 million
years after the other rocky planets had
formed.
The Big Splash
Such a collision would not be like two
pieces of solid rock colliding and chipping
pieces from one another. Astronomers refer to
this collision as the "Big Splash, " and the im­
age that conjures up accurately indicates what
happened when the Earth was young and was
struck a glancing blow by an object the size of
Mars. So much energy of motion would have
been released by the collision that the incom­
ing object would have been completely de­
stroyed, and the entire surface of the Earth
itself would have melted. The outer layers of
2 Ann N Y Acad Sci. 2005;1065:325-35. Lagrange L4/L5 points and the origin of our Moon and
Saturn's moons and rings, by]. R. Gott.
3 http.//www.es. uc!.ac.uk/research/planelary/undergraduale/bugiolacchi/moonfhtm
4 Hood, L. 1., D. 1. Mitchell, R. P. Lin, M. H. Acuna, A. B. Binder, 1999, Initial Measurements of the
Lunar Induced Magnetic Dipole Moment Using Lunar Prospector Magnetometer Data, Geophysical
Research Letters, vol. 26, no. 1 5 , p. 2327-2330.
Is THE MOON A BABEL FISH?
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
the incoming object would also have melted,
and mixed with the molten material from the
Earth's surface, with much of it being flung off
to make a ring of debris around the planet.
Meanwhile, the dense, metallic core of the in­
coming object would have sunk through this
molten outer layer and been absorbed into the
core of the young Earth. The lighter material
from the incoming object and from the Earth's
original surface splattered out into space in
this way would have contained about ten
times the present mass of the Moon; most of it
escaped entirely into independent orbits
around the Sun, becoming asteroids, but some
was captured in a ring of material around the
Earth. As the surface of the Earth cooled and
formed a new, thinner crust, the material in
this ring coalesced into the Moon, repeating
in miniature, but far more qUickly, the process
by which the planets themselves formed
arowld the Sun. Computer simulations suggest
that about 2% of the original mass of Theia
ended up in the ring of debris, and about half
of this fused together to form the Moon. The
time taken to complete the formation of the
Moon would have been only about a month.
Smaller objects created out of the ring of de­
bris may have got stuck in Lagrangian point or­
bits for as long as a hundred million years,
before the gravitational influence of other
planets shook them out of these gravitational
potholes, allowing many of them to crash into
the Earth or the Moon.
Evidence to support this model of how the
Earth-Moon system formed comes from sam­
ples of rock brought back from the Moon.
These show tI,at it has tile sanle composition
as the Earth's crust and outer layers. For exam­
ple, the oxygen isotope composition of both
'
lunar and terrestrial basalts are identical, and
quite different from the ratio of these isotopes
found in meteorites. And both seismic mea­
surements of moon quakes made by instru­
ments left on the lunar surface and
'
magnetometer data from spaceprobes show
that it has no significant metallic core; the ra-
25
ANALOG
dius of the core is considerably less than 25%
of the radius of the Moon, whereas the radius
of the Earth's core is about 50% of the radius
of the planet. The Moon's core contributes
less than 3% of the Moon's total mass, but the
Earth's core makes up nearly a third of the
planet's mass. Because of the lack of iron, the
overall density of the Moon is much less than
the density of the Earth. Earth has a mean den­
sity of 5.5 grams per cubic centimeter, but the
Moon has a density of only 3.3 grams per cu­
bic centimeter.
The age of Moon rocks even gives us a pre­
cise date for when this dramatic event hap­
pened-4.4 billion years ago, almost as soon
as the Sun had formed. There's also more cir­
cumstantial evidence; such a glancing blow
explains why the Earth rotates so rapidly, once
every 24 hours, while moonless Venus rotates
only once every 243 of our days. The glancing
blow that formed the Moon would actually
have set the Earth spinning even faster, so it
would have had a day some five hours long af­
ter the impact, and has been slowing down
ever since. The off-center impact also gave the
Earth its tilt, which is the reason why we have
seasons, but the presence of such a large
Moon orbiting the Earth has since acted as a
gravitational stabilizer, stopping the tilt from
varying very much over geological time. Inci­
dentally, a combination of the extra iron in the
Earth's core and the rapid spin probably ex­
plains why our planet has a strong magnetic
field. And by thinning the Earth's crust, the
impact allowed plate tectonics-continental
drift-to happen. All of these influences have
been crucial in allowing the emergence of a
technological civilization on Earth.
There is one more persuasive piece of evi­
dence that collisions like this did happen
when the Solar System was young.
Spaceprobes flying past Mercury have mea­
sured the strength of its gravitational pull and
found that, in spite of its small size, it has a rel­
atively high density. The Moon resembles the
crust of the Earth without a core, but Mercury
resembles the core of the Earth without a
crust. The natural explanation is that a much
larger object originally formed in the orbit of
Mercury, but that early in the life of the Solar
System it was hit, not by a glancing blow but
in a head-on collision, by another proto-plan­
et. In a head-on collision, all the lighter mater-
26
ial would have been blasted away into space,
leaving only the heavy core behind.
Magnetism, the Moon and Mankind
The impact model explains why only one
out of eight planets in the Solar System has a
moon comparable in size to the parent planet,
but it also implies that such double planets are
rare. What is certain is that the thin crust is es­
sential for plate tectonics to take place at all in
the way that we know it, among other things
allowing the kind of volcanic activity that has
brought to the surface of the Earth the metal­
rich ores on which our technological civiliza­
tion depends. ll1ere are many other important
links between tectonic activity and life, which
I do not have space to go into here. The thin
crust is a legacy of the impact that created the
Moon, and another legacy of that impact is the
dense, iron-rich core of the Earth, which also
turns out to be essential for the development
of our kind of civilization.
In some science fiction stories, spaceships
and people are often surrounded by almost
magical "force fields" that protect them from
attackers. It's a nice idea, but not very practi­
cal on the scale of spaceships and people
(even assuming such fields exist) due to the
enormous amount of energy that would be re­
quired to produce a shield of this kind. But the
whole Earth, and in particular life on the sur­
face of the Earth, is indeed protected from cer­
tain kinds of danger from space by exactly this
sort of force field, generated by swirling cur­
rents of molten metal deep in the interior of
the planet. It is the Earth's magnetic field, or
magnetosphere, and although it cannot shield
us from incoming asteroids, it does protect us
from dangerous charged particles from space,
known as cosmic rays. The magnetic field is a
result of physical currents of electrically con­
ducting metal swirling around in the outer
core and acting as a dynamo, producing elec­
tric currents which, in turn, generate magnet­
i c fields. The region occupied by the
magnetic field around the Earth, the magne­
tosphere, is actually shaped like a teardrop,
because it is squashed in by a wind of charged
particles from the Sun on one side, but
stretches off into space on the other. On the
side of the Earth facing the Sun, the boundary
between the magnetosphere and the solar
wind of particles, the magnetopause, lies
JOHN GRIBBIN

about 10 Earth radii (more than 60,000 km)
above the surface of our planet; on the other
side it stretches roughly as far as the distance
to the Moon, beyond 60 Earth radii.
Electrically charged particles in the solar
wind, like protons, travel at speeds of several
hundred kilometers per second most of the
time, with bursts traveling at about 1 , 500 km
per second when the Sun experiences bouts
of activity known as solar storms. The Earth,
and the entire Solar System, are bombarded by
those particles from deep space known as cos­
mic rays. All of these particles could do severe
damage to life if they reached the surface of
the Earth-they are essentially the sanle as the
particles produced by radioactivity or in nu­
clear exploSions. But because they are electri­
cally charged, they are funneled by the Earth's
magnetic field towards the poles, where they
interact with molecules of gas high in the
atmosphere to produce the colorful activity of
the auroras. Even so, during solar storms the
electrical activity caused by the arrival of these
particles at the Earth can dismpt communica­
tions and distort the magnetic field locally to
such an extent that power lines can be affect­
ed and blackouts can be caused in high-lati­
tude countries stich as Canada. An increase in
intensity of the strength of solar-wind particles
can also knock out satellites, including com­
munications satellites, and pose a health haz­
ard to any astronauts unlucky enough to be in
space at the time. So how bad would the total
removal of the magnetic field be' As it turns
out, we know just how bad it can be-be­
cause it has happened, and more than once.
As you might expect for a magnetic field
produced by swirling currents of molten met­
al, the Earth's magnetic field is not steady. It
varies in strength from time to time, and the
exact location of the magnetic poles drifts
across the surface of the Earth. A record of
past magnetism is preserved in rocks that
were being laid down at different times-as
the molten rock sets, the magnetic field is inl­
printed in it, so that the rock today preserves,
like a fossil, an indication of both the strength
and the direction of the magnetic field that ex­
isted long ago. From such evidence, the way
the field has changed can be reconstmcted by
, Reversals of the Earth's Magnetic Field, J. A. Jacobs, Cambridge UP, 2005.
6 Ice Ages, J & K Imbrie, Harvard UP, 1986.
Is THE MOON A BABEL FISH?
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
geologists and compared with the fossil evi­
.'
dence of what life was like at the tinle
For reasons that are not understood, from
tinle to tinle the magnetic field gradually dies
away completely to nothing then builds up
again, either in the same configuration as be­
fore or with the magnetic poles reversed, so
that what was the north magnetic pole be­
comes the south magnetic pole, and vice ver­
sa. The fossil record shows that when the
magnetic field dies away, many species of life
on the surface of the planet go extinct. The
obvious explanation is that land-dwelling
species in particular are killed off by radiation
from space that reaches the Earth's surface
during magnetic reversals. In fact, though, it
doesn't matter what the exact connection is.
What matters is that there is a link between
the absence of the magnetic field and death
on the surface of our planet. Clearly, the exis­
tence of a protecting magnetosphere is an im­
portant factor in allowing life forms like us to
have evolved on Eardl.
So another reason why we are here is that
the Earth has a strong magnetic field; and the
reason it has a strong magnetic field is that it
has a large metallic core, formed as a result of
the impact in which the Moon was created.
We have, indeed, a lot for which to be thank­
ful to the Moon. And there are other benefits
of having a large Moon.
The Moon as Protector
In terms of its diameter, the Moon is more
than a quarter of the size of the Earth. It has
only about one eightieth of the mass of the
Earth, but this is still far larger in proportion to
the mass of the planet than that of any of the
other moons of the major planets of the Solar
System. As a result, the gravitational influence
of the Moon on the Earth is, and has been, a
major influence on the development of our
planet. Together with the importance of the
Moon's origin for plate tectonics, the other
two main influences of our companion can be
summed up as the three "T"s -tectonics,
tides, and tilt. And even the third of these
owes something to lunar gravity. Tilt refers to
the amount by which the Earth leans over in
its orbit. Instead of being upright, with a line
27
ANALOG
through the Earth from the North Pole to the
South Pole making a right angle with the
plane of the Earth's orbit around the Sun, our
planet is tilted at an angle of about 23 degrees
out of the vertical. This tilt is responsible for
the cycle of the seasons. The Earth always
leans in the same direction in space, so as it
goes around the Sun, first the Sun is on the
side where one hemisphere is tilted toward it
and it is summer in that hemisphere and win­
ter in the opposite hemisphere; then six
months later the situation is reversed. The tilt
6
also plays a part in the rhytJuns of Ice Ages.
Although the tilt of the Earth changes slight­
ly on timescales of tens of thousands of years,
it cannot vary significantly, because the gravi­
tational influence of the Moon acts as a stabi­
lizer. If we did not have such a large Moon, or
if the Moon were much farther out from the
Earth, the combined influence of the Sun and
Jupiter (and to a lesser extent the other plan­
ets) would tug on the Earth and make it tum­
ble in space, so that it might suddenly switch
from being nearly upright to lying completely
flat in its orbit ("suddenly," on this timescale,
meaning in as little as 1 00,000 years). This
kind of behavior is chaotic, in the mathemati­
cal sense of the term, which means that small
changes in the various forces acting on the
Earth would produce large and unpredictable
effects. Just such chaotic tumbling has hap­
pened on Mars, where there is no large moon
and where the tilt can change suddenly by at
least 45 degrees, and more slowly by as much
as 60 degrees. But on Earth, the tilt has been
essentially constant for at least hundreds of
millions of years, and probably a lot longer. It
doesn't take much imagination to appreciate
the effect on an incipient technological civi­
lization if the Earth suddenly rolled over on its
side, with the North Pole, say, pointing direct­
ly at the Sun. The oceans and land arOlmd the
equator would freeze over, and, at high lati­
tudes, each hemisphere in turn would experi­
ence a sequence of searing summers followed
by freezing winters. The equatorial regions
would never thaw, even when the Earth was
"side on" to the Sun in its orbit, because the
shiny surface of ice and snow would reflect
away most of the incoming solar heat. The
tropics are, of course, home to the vast major­
ity of species on Earth, most of which would
become extinct. It seems that chaotic changes
28
in tilt are normal for terrestrial planets, and
this alone could be relevant for the emergence
of a technological civilization, or any kind of
complex life based on land, on a planet that
"just happens" to have a large Moon.
As the Moon is slowly retreating from the
Earth, this stabilizing influence will decline as
time passes, which sets a limit on the window
of opportunity in which a civilization like ours
could have emerged on Earth. When the
Moon formed, it was much closer to Earth,
and has been steadily retreating as the energy
of its orbital motion has gone into stirring up
tides. At present it is moving ourward at a rate
of about 4 cm per year, and within rwo billion
years it will no longer be able to stabilize the
Earth's tilt.
The Tug of the Tides and
the Spin of the Earth
Tides are well understood, and they must
have played a significant part in the emer­
gence of life from the sea and onto the land.
Tides on Earth are primarily produced by the
gravitational pull of the Sun and the Moon-in
principle, there are tiny effects from other
planets, but too small to be noticed. The Sun
and the Moon cause both the oceans and the
solid Earth to bulge upward underneath them
and on the opposite side of the planet (you
can think of the bulge on the far side as being
related to a stretching of the Earth as it is
tugged towards the Moon or Sun). In be­
rween, we have low tide. On their own, lunar
tides today are about twice as big as solar
tides. But the two tides add together or par­
tially cancel at different times of the month. At
New Moon and Full Moon, the Moon, Earth,
and Sun are in a straight line and the tides add
together. This brings very high tides known as
spring tides (because they "spring up;" noth­
ing to do with the season). At the quarter
moons, the Sun, Earth, and Moon form a right
angle, and the solar effect cancels out some of
the lunar effect, producing much less impres­
sive high tides, known as neap tides. There
are local variations caused by the shapes of
coastlines, but in essence this means each
place on Earth has rwo high tides and rwo low
tides each day, as the Earth rotates under the
Sun and Moon. Even today, the ocean tides
seem impressive, and in some ways it is even
more impressive that tides in the "solid" Earth
JOHN GRIBBIN

have an amplitude of about 20 c m . The
ground beneath your feet literally goes up and
down over this range twice a day, but you
don't notice because you are going up and
down with it. The solar influence has been
constant as long as the Earth has been in its
present orbit. But when the Moon was closer
to the Earth, the tides it raised, both in the
seas and in the solid Eanh, were correspond­
ingly larger.
Simulations of the event in which the Moon
formed suggest it coalesced out of a ring of de­
bris no more than 25,000 km above the Eanh,
just 6,000 km beyond the "Roche limit , "
where a solid body spiraling toward the Eanh
would break up. That's less than a tenth of the
present Earth-Moon distance of just over
384,000 km. This would have raised enor­
mous tides in the oceans, if there had been
any oceans at the time, but as it was, the re­
peated stretching and squeezing of the solid
Eanh, associated with solid tides more than a
kilometer in height, would have generated
enough heat to keep the surface molten for
some tinle after the inlpact. But the enormous
amount of energy released would have seen
the Moon move outwards relatively quickly,
and things would have settled down enough
for the Earth's crust to form (or re-form) with­
in a million years. Even so, the heat generated
by lunar tides within the Eanh would have re­
mained significant, and contributed, along
with the heat from radioactivity, to the estab­
lishment of tectonic activity on Earth.
The Earth was also, as I have mentioned,
spinning much faster just after the impact that
created the Moon, as a direct result of that inl­
pact. Tidal forces have slowed the spin of the
Eanh as the Moon has retreated from us. Just
after the Moon formed, a day on Earth was
only five hours long. At that time, instead of
tides two meters high every 1 2 hours, there
would have been tides several kilometers high
every two and a half hours. But these extreme
tides did not last long. The first reasonably
complex forms of plant life on land emerged
from the sea a little over 500 million years ago,
and in a memorable numerical coincidence,
there were about 400 days in the year about
400 million years ago; so the emergence of
complex life from the sea occurred when tidal
conditions were not dramatically different
Is THE MOON A BABEL FISH?
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
from those of today. TIle plants, and later ani­
mals, that made the transition onto the land
could do so by spreading out from the tidal
zones. First they evolved the ability to survive
drying out twice a day in the intervals be­
tween high tides, then some of them devel­
oped the ability to survive above the tide line
altogether. This must have been a huge evolu­
tionary advantage, giving them the ability to
spread into and colonize vast areas where
there were no predators. Of course, the preda­
tors soon followed! But would it all have hap­
pened so easily without the large tides
associated with our large Moon?
The more we look, the more important the
Moon seems for our existence. And there is
one staggering coincidence that nobody has
been able to explain. Remember that the
Moon is moving outward from the Earth and
has been doing so for billions of years. This
ties in with one of the most curiolls observa­
tions in astronomy-indeed, in science­
which seems to have no explanation and is
utterly puzzling. Just now, the Moon is about
400 tinles smaller than the Sun, but the Sun is
about 400 times farther away than the Moon,
so that they look the same size on the sky. At
the present moment of cosmic time, during
an eclipse, the disc of the Moon almost exact­
ly covers the disc of the SW1. In the past, the
Moon would have looked much bigger and
would have completely obscured the Sun dur­
ing eclipses; in the future, the Moon will look
much smaller from Eanh and a ring of sunlight
will be visible even during an eclipse. Nobody
has been able to think of a reason why intelli­
gent beings capable of noticing this oddity
should have evolved on Earth just at the tinle
that the coincidence was there to be noticed.
It's like a sign hanging in the sky, drawing at­
tention to the Moon and shouting, "Hey, look
at me-without me you wouldn't be here." It
worries me, but most people seem to accept
it as just one of those things. But it must be
just a coincidence. Mustn't it? •
About the Author:
Dr. John Gribbin is a Visiting Fellow in As­
tronomy at the University of Sussex, and au­
thor of Alone in the Universe (Wiley).
Copyright © 2012 John Gribbin
29
 Catheri ne Shaffer
Prosthetics can do wonders, but they
do take getting used to....
"
H
ave you seen a little girl, four
years old, with blond hair?" the
woman said. She looked like she
was about to lose it.
"Green jumper'" Connie asked.
"Yes! " the woman answered. She clutched
her purse with two white-knuckled hands and
leaned forward.
"She left with her father, " Connie said. "Just
a second ago . "
"Father?"
"Burly man, with a beard and a trench
coat?"
The woman ran from the store. Connie saw
her standing on the sidewalk, looking up and
down the street, absolutely panicked. There
were other customers in the store, so she sti­
fled her laughter as best she could.
She glanced at the garment rack where
she'd last seen the little girl. The dresses on
the rack jiggled. She was still in there, waiting
to jump out and surprise her mother. Sur­
prise! Mom just ran down Michigan Avenue
lookingforyou!
Connie rang up a customer, an old lady,
who interpreted her merry expression as
friendliness. The old lady started talking to
30
Connie about her cat. Connie hated cats. She
wanted the old lady to just hurry up and leave.
She was annoyed. That's why she went a little
too far when another customer brought the
crying kid up to the counter.
"She can't find her mother, " the customer
said.
"It's no wonder," Connie answered. "She
got tired of looking for you and left. '
The child wailed. A moment later the moth­
er ran back into the store. Her face was all
messed up from crying. "Suzie!" she shouted.
"Mommy!" the little girl responded. Connie
didn't think it was possible for her to cry any
louder, but she did. She tried to block it out,
straightening the bills in the cash drawer and
humming to herself. Then she realized that
everyone was looking at her. Everyone in the
whole store. The mother of the little girl. The
customer who had rescued her. A mother and
daughter way back in the prom dresses. And a
man who had been studying the jewelry case.
"Connie , " said a cold voice behind her.
"What did you do'" It was the manager.
There was a time when people like Connie
could blend in. She would have been able to
CATHERINE SHAFFER

smooth over that whole incident, explain that
it was a misunderstanding. No one wants to
believe that they've been duped, so they ac­
cept just about anything other than the tmth.
Sometimes they even help out with the excus­
es. That always works out the best.
But ever since 2020, the law had required
everyone who ever tested positive for antiso­
cial personality disorder-that's 4 percent of
the population-to disclose the information
to employers. Not that most of them WOUld,
of course. People with APD were not really
into honesty or transparency. But that infor­
mation had a way of sticking itself to your
records, once it was found out.
Connie knew where she went wrong with
the little girl. She was not supposed to lie to
customers, even as a joke. Especially as a joke.
She was not allowed to do jokes on anyone.
She had argued with the therapist about
that. "Other people get to play jokes," she
said. "What about April Fools?"
"Not you, " she answered.
There was a long list of rules that Connie
had to follow, to keep out of trouble, to keep a
job. It was hard to remember them all. Connie
hated the unfairness of it. Hated being singled
out just because she was different. For a differ­
ent disability, it would be grounds for a law­
suit.
That evening, Connie made it aU the way to
level sixteen in Empires. The one window in
her studio apartment overlooked an alley be­
tween buildings, so the only light, even in the
middle of the day, came from her TV screen.
The Xbox had a place of honor in the living
room, with a wall of shelves full of games, and
game guides scattered on the floor.
She was between boyfriends at the time,
which made losing her job at the shop all the
more inconvenient. Normally she would get
her boyfriend to buy her new games or game
systems. She would have to go fishing for a
new one in Empires. There were always des­
perate, lonely guys on those games, at a ratio
of about twenty-to-one to available women.
ll1at would save her from having to find a
job again soon. Other than the game console,
her apartment contained a bed, a closet full of
clothes from the shop (she had even paid for
some of them), a couch, and a tiny bistro set.
Connie wasn't currently using the bed-
TiTANIUM SOUL
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
room. After her mother died, her aunt had
shipped a bunch of crap from the old home
and it was all over the floor and the bed. Stuff
like boxes of books, dolls, stuffed animals,
photo albums, her old violin, and school pa­
pers. She had been meaning to go through
and either throw it all out or sell it online. But
it was work, and it was easier to close the
door and sleep on the couch. Especially as
there was currently no one to entertain in
there.
One bonus of being out of a job was that
she didn't have to turn in at midnight like usu­
al. She played Empires until four AM, then fell
asleep in front of the TV with the screen still
set to the game menu and the theme song
blaring in the background.
Connie woke up the next afternoon with
the whole day free and nothing to do. She had
a list of new games she wanted to buy, but the
fridge was empty, and she needed to eat.
There was less than a hundred bucks in her
bank account. Her brilliant plan for picking up
a guy and getting him to buy gan1es and stuff
wasn't going to get bread and milk by night­
full.
Somewhere between the cereal aisle and
the meat counter, her cell phone rang. She
picked it up without looking at the number.
"Connie Statchwick'" said a male voice.
"This is Connie," she said.
"You filled out some paperwork indicating
you might be interested in a clinical trial. "
She grabbed a package of pork chops and
threw them into her cart.
"I'm not, really, " she said.
"We pay one thousand dollars, " he said.
Connie stopped walking, then. She stood
there with one hand on the handle of the
shopping cart and one at her ear. The cart
wasn't half hilI, and there was no money for
beer. And she had finished all of the games
she had already. They were so boring. "Okay, "
Connie said. "I'll do it. "
The clinic was in a smaU hospital on the out­
skirts of town-the kind of place you can go
for plastic surgery or private neurofeedback
sessions. Connie expected to be shown into a
conference room with a bunch of other test
subjects, and then maybe from there go into a
room and look at ink blots or something. In-
31
ANALOG
stead, she found herself in a private office
with the man who had phoned her.
"I'm Mike," he said, extending a hand. He
was about six feet tall, well built, and clean
cut. He had on an expensive suit. Connie fig­
ured he could afford a lot of video games.
She flashed him a bright smile and took his
hand. "Connie, " she said warmly.
"Sit down, Connie. " He gestured at a nearby
armchair, and she sank into it with a small
sigh. Then she slipped off her shoe and mas­
saged her ankle, letting her skirt ride up a bit
on her thigh. "These shoes are killing me, " she
commented.
"I'm sure , " Mike said. He perched on the
edge of the desk. He didn't look at her leg at
all. "Why don't we get started?"
He handed her a folder. On the front, it read
APD prosthetic implan t trial. There was
about an inch of paperwork inside.
Mike reached into his pocket and took out a
small silver lozenge. He held it out and
dropped it in Connie's palm. It was smooth,
cool, and shiny. She turned it over a few times
and handed it back, waiting for an explana­
tion.
"It's a prosthetic conscience. Made of titani­
um. There's a computer inside. It's in phase
three trials right now, " he said.
"I see. You want me to try it out?"
"Yes, you're an ideal candidate for the trial.
We're having trouble recruiting volunteers. "
"Where does it go'" she said.
"Your brain. "
"No deal , " she told him, uncrossing her legs
and beginning to rise. She wasn ' t s o sure
abollt using an artificial conscience, anyway.
It was Connie's observation that having a con­
science led to irrational and stupid behavior.
"How's it going?" Mike asked.
"How's what gong?" she said, smoothing
her skirt and reaching for her purse.
"You know . . . stuff," he said.
"Great, " she answered. "Thanks for asking. "
"IT you call getting fired from your third job
in a year 'great' . . . " he finished for her.
Connie paused, her purse strap halfway up
to her shoulder. She shrugged, but didn't an­
swer.
"You can't keep them straight, can you?"
said Mike. "All those rules. Don't lie. Don't
cheat. Don't steal. You're a sociopath. You've
never loved anyone and no one has ever loved
32
you. "
"Love is overrated , " Connie an;wered. She
tossed her hair. "Maybe [ haven't found the
right person yet. " She gave him a weak smile,
wondering what kind of car he drove. Every
guy thinks he's the right person.
"You have no conscience," Mike went on.
"Nothing to stop you from doing anything you
want, any time. When you can get away with
it, you torture animals. "
"Come on, they're just animals. You're not
one of those animal rights activists, are you?
It's not like I cut on them or anything. [ never
left a mark . "
"You use people. You shatter their lives. "
"I'm not a murderer, " she said.
"You'll end your life alone and in disgrace.
Everything you value will be taken from you.
You'll never know true happiness. Wherever
you go, people will find out what you are, and
cast you out. Until you have no place left to
go."
"Good try," she said. "But a thousand dol­
lars isn't enough to open up my skull."
"I'm not paying you a thousand dollars, " he
said.
"You lied. " Connie felt the corners of her
mouth twitching up. She couldn't help but re­
spect the way he had manipulated her into
coming into the office to hear his spiel.
"Again: good try."
"Today a warrant was issued for your arrest,
Connie. Embezzlement. You're wanted for
stealing ten thousand dollars."
Connie felt the blood drain from her face.
"You step out that door, and you'll be met
by two police officers, who are here waiting
to take you to the jail and book you. The pros­
ecutor and the plaintiff have agreed to drop
the charges if you accept the implant. "
"[ get it," Connie said. "Sign me up. " She
had stolen and spent that ten K five years be­
fore. Itfigures, she thought. She sat down in
the chair again, and opened the folder. "When
do we get started?"
A month later, Connie was in the north
wing of the clinic, recovering from surgery.
"My head itches," she told the therapist.
The startlingly large incision had mostly
healed, and the stitches had been taken out,
but the itching was driving her crazy.
"Your hair is growing back , " he sai d .
CATHERINE SHAFFER

Thomas was a soft-spoken man of about forty
with wispy blond hair, thinning on top. He
wore a plaid shirt and carried a clipboard.
"Have you felt anything yet?" he asked.
It had been ten days since the surgery. Con­
nie's head still ached whenever the painkiller
wore off. She had been waiting to hear that lit­
tle voice called conscience, whispering in her
head. There was only silence. And something
else.
"I feel like I'm afraid," she said.
"Afraid of what?" Thomas asked. He jotted
some notes on his clipboard.
"I don't know. Maybe this room," she told
him. Her hospital room was simple and pri­
vate, as she'd requested prior to surgery.
"Are you feeling afraid right now?" said
Thomas.
She furrowed her brow and twisted a cor­
ner of the bed sheet absently, thinking. "No,"
she finally said. "I don't feel it now. "
"So you don't have it all the time?"
Connie nodded. "Only sometimes. It . . . it
goes away whenever anyone comes into the
roonl. "
Thomas nodded and made some more
notes.
"It gets very quiet in here," she said. "Is it . . .
does it mean anything'"
"You're feeling loneliness," said Thomas.
"Our patients usually experience their first
higher emotions as modifications of primal
ones. Your implant is mediating a feeling of
loneliness, but the closest thing you've ever
felt is fear, so you think you're afraid."
Connie nodded. "Afraid to be alone," she
said.
"Sure , " he agreed. "Fear is a powerful moti­
vator. There's even a separate memory storage
area in the fear center of the brain-the
amygdyla-that can store memories of fear
when your conscious mind has forgotten
them."
"Am I always going to be afraid when I'm
alone?" she asked him.
"No," said Thomas. "It's a phase. You'll get
through it. " He put his pen in his pocket and
stood up. "Sociopaths don't experience emo­
tional pain like normal people. You can ex­
pect to be in quite a lot of it until you've
adjusted to the implant. "
"Don't leave , " she told him. Commanded
him. Begged him. She let a tear trickle down
TiTANIUM SOUL
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
her cheek.
"I'll be back," he said, and patted her hand.
He walked out of the room, and Connie be­
gan to feel the restless discomfort called lone­
liness-halfway between boredom and fear,
with a little something else mixed in.
Connie had a small pile of crumpled tissues
in her lap when Thomas came back.
"Take it out," she said. "I changed my mind.
I don't want it." The "loneliness" had gotten
worse. Instead of coming and going, the feel­
ing was present all the time. Connie was tor­
mented by a vague yearning-all the worse
because she had no idea what she was yearn­
ing for. She had been endlessly scanning her
memories of her life, searching for and not
finding whatever it was that she needed. The
lack, the loss, stabbed at her until it was al­
most a physical sensation, a weight on her
chest pressing so hard she couldn't breathe.
She still had not heard the little voice that was
supposed to be her conscience.
"It's not working , " she complained. "I'm
miserable. "
" I ' m afraid there's nothing we can do for
that right now, " said Thomas. His expression
was so patient and understanding she wanted
to slap him.
"Yes, there is," she said loudly, enunciating
each word. "I demand that you remove the im­
plant! "
" It's too dangerous, " said Thomas. "We
can't do it this soon . "
"How long?" Connie said coldly. "How long
before I can get this thing out of my head?"
"At least a year," he answered.
Connie burst into tears. It seemed like she
was always crying. Not those pretty tears
she'd learned to cry for her mother, or to get
strangers to feel sorry for her, but awful, gut
wrenching sobs, so heavy she could hardly
breathe between them. She felt her mouth
contort into an agonized grimace and a wail
tore out from deep in her belly. Connie had
never felt anything so awful in her life.
Thomas handed her a tissue.
"A lot of people find comfort through this
stage of recovery by keeping busy and reach­
ing out to friends," he told her.
" How can I keep busy ' " Connie said ,
through sobs. "I'm in the hospital. "
"Not anymore," said Thomas. "I'm here to
33
ANALOG
spring you. You're free to go. '
She thought about going back to her empty
apartment, and a wave of loneliness passed
over her. She almost started sobbing again, but
then somehow the whole thing seemed
ridiculous, and she laughed. She felt a little
better.
Doctors arrived and handed her a wad of
prescriptions and discharge instructions.
There was a phone number to call to set up a
schedule of follow up appointments and tests
that she would need to have. Then suddenly
she was out front, wearing her street clothes,
waiting for a cab.
The taxi dropped her off at the curb in front
of her apartment building. She paid the driver
and headed upstairs to her apartment. The fa­
miliar lights, sounds, and smells of home were
soothing. She could hear a thrumming bass
beat over the rumble of traffic. Voices from
passersby drifted up the stairwell when some­
one opened the door downstairs. Even the
dusty smell of the old carpeting in the hallway
lent a comforting note of normalcy.
The only thing that was out of place was
her new military-like hairstyle, and the al­
ready-healing scars on her head from surgery.
Connie thought she would have another
bout of loneliness, but instead fell in a heap
on the sofa, overcome with relief.
There was a tap at the door, and Connie
dragged herself up to answer it. Mr. Feldman
from down the hall was standing there. He
had a paper shopping bag in his hands. He
was elderly, at least seventy, a retired universi­
ty professor.
"I saved your mail for you, " he said. "And
your newspapers . "
She hadn't thought t o stop the mail and pa­
per. Last year the lady downstairs had gone on
vacation and when her mail started to pile up,
someone broke into her apartment and
cleaned it out. Mr. Feldman might have saved
Connie from losing her Xbox.
"Wow, thanks." Connie said, taking the bag.
She thought that after she got her implant,
she'd be "normal" and could relate to people
like Mr. Feldman doing the things they did.
Nice things, for strangers. But it still didn't
make any real sense. You do nice things for
strangers, and they shit all over you. Where's
the percentage in that? She hadn't had the
34
slightest urge to do anything nice for anyone
since she'd had the implant.
"You went away?" he said.
"I had an operation, " she an;wered.
"Cancer?" he asked, taking in her lack of
hair.
She nodded. It was a lot easier than the
truth. She wondered why her implant wasn't
screaming at her to tell the truth. Probably it
was broken.
"Do you have anyone to help you'" he said.
"Family?"
"My mother passed away, " Connie an­
swered.
"Oh, that's terrible." Mr. Feldman clenched
his hands together and wrung them.
Connie felt a flush in her cheeks and real­
ized her implant was feeding her a new emo­
tion. She thought it might be embarrassment
or shame.
She had never grieved her mother's death.
She cried those fake tears at the hmeral, and
people gave her things. Food. Money. But she
didn't care. Mr. Feldman felt a lot worse about
it than Connie ever did. "It's okay," she mum­
bled.
"If you need anything, anything at all . . . " he
said, "you call me. " He took her hand and
squeezed it, then made his way slowly down
the hall. Connie knew from past experience
that a lot of people would say this, but not re­
ally mean it. Heck, she was one of them. But at
that moment, she realized he did mean it. She
shook her head, incapable of comprehending.
She lost interest in her video games, and
searching for a job didn't take up all her time,
so it wasn't long before she was drawn to the
piles of boxes in her bedroom. Many of them
contained pictures, mementos, old trophies,
award certificates, and school papers. She
flipped through them all without emotion.
She had thought that after surgery she
would feel sentimental about those old things,
but there was nothing. As she was shifting
things around, making a pile of stuff to keep
and a pile to sell, her hands lingered on the vi­
olin. Her mother had started her in lessons at
the age of three and patiently shuttled her to
and from the Jessons for another fifteen years.
She wondered if she could still play it. She
had majored in music her freshman year of
college, but dropped out shortly afterward. It
CATHERINE SHAFFER

was too much work, and when she had played
her solo, "Tambourin Chinois," her professor
had told her that she played it "mechanically. "
He said she needed to draw more emotion
from the instrument, but he couldn't tell her
how. So she quit.
Connie got the violin out and tuned it. It
was a nice violin, with a smooth, mellow
sound her teacher once told her was like a
summer day.
She played a couple scales, then jumped
into the first notes of the solo. The melody
stalled and sputtered, her fingers refusing to
find the correct notes, her bow arm stiff and
clumsy. She tried to will her fingers to play the
song, tried to barge through the awkward­
ness, but couldn't do it. The song was gone.
She put the violin away with a sigh and set
it in the "sell" pile.
Connie's fingers twitched over the buttons
of her phone as she dialed the number of her
"best friend." She had known Cheryl since
high school. The hospital therapist had told
her to reach out to friends. She didn't have any
real friends, but Cheryl was someone she'd al­
ways thought of as usehii.
"Hello?" Cheryl answered.
"Chef?"
"Connie? Connie!"
"I had surgery, " Connie told her. "I'm still
recovering. I was wondering if you wanted to
come over. "
There was a long silence. "Like to your
apartment?" There was something funny in
her voice. Belatedly, Connie remembered
their last "friendship" encounter. She had de­
manded that Cheryl cover a bunch of shifts for
her, or she would tell the manager Cheryl was
short ringing the drinks and splitting the cash
with the bartender. Connie got a lot of nights
off out of that. It occurred to her that Cheryl
might not have liked that. She might, Connie
realized, be really angry about it. She had fig­
ured Cheryl would eventually score on her,
and they'd be even, but it never happened. In­
stead, Connie had been fired from the restau­
rant when someone snitched that she was
getting high on her work breaks.
"Sorry, Connie , " Cheryl said. " I ' m just
swamped. I've been working a lot of extra
shifts."
"I understand," Connie told her, trying to
TiTANIUM SOUL
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
keep the quiver out of her voice.
"How's the job hunt'" Cheryl said, nastily.
Connie held the phone away from her ear and
thumbed it off. Her throat started to hurt in
that way that it did when she was going to cry.
"Dammit!" she said, reaching for the tissue
box.
But she didn't have a long cry in her. Tears
stung her eyes, but they wouldn't come. She'd
never loved Cheryl, and the rejection only
hurt her pride. She began to feel angry in­
stead, and that's when she remembered her vi­
olin, and "Tambourin Chinois. " She took it out
of the case. Instead of playing the Kreisler
piece, she began to play "Twinkle, Twinkle,
Little Star" -the very first song she had
learned on the violin.
After "Twinkl e , " Connie kept playing
through the books, in the order she learned
them. Each song brought back a memory.
Most of them were of her mother. Something
about the music colored the memories in a
way they never had been before.
Somewhere in the middle of book three, a
knock at the door interrupted her. Hours had
passed while she played, and her arms were
heavy when she set the instrument down. The
knock came again.
"Just a minute! "
She had started playing around mid-morn­
ing. What time was it? The sun was down al­
ready, and she'd had no breakfast. She hadn't
even stopped to use the bathroom.
She opened the door and found Mr. Feld­
man standing in the hallway. He had a brown
paper grocery bag in his arms. What was it
with him and stuff in paper sacks?
"I brought you some things," he said. "May I
come in?"
Connie stepped back, giving him a wry
smile, and mumbled, "Thanks. "
Mr. Feldman unloaded his grocery bag. He
put a quart of milk in the refrigerator, with a
tub of butter and a loaf of bread. There were
some cold cuts, wrapped in white paper from
the deli down the street, and a plastic bag of
apples. Peanut butter went into the cupboard,
as well as jelly. They were the only two items
in her pantry cupboard.
It occurred to Connie that maybe it was her
implant making her wonder about the motiva­
tions of others. Was she experiencing "empa­
thy'" If so, perhaps she would finally hear the
35
ANALOG
voice of her "conscience" speaking to her. She
waited, concentrating. No. Still nothing.
"You didn't have to do this, Mr. Feldman,"
Connie said.
"Of course I didn't," he answered, looking
up at her with watery, old-man eyes. " I want­
ed to. No one should be alone and without
family when they have cancer. "
"I don't have cancer, " she said, without
thinking.
Mr. Feldman blinked.
"I'm-" she hesitated. How many times had
she given the legally required disclosure state­
ment? Suddenly, she was choking on it. "I
have APD," she rasped.
Mr. Feldman frowned, not getting it. Proba­
bly hard of hearing.
"Antisocial personality disorder," Connie
said. She was trembling. Angry. " I ' m a so­
ciopath," she said. It was unfair. Unfair that
she'd been born broken, and had to practically
spell it out for this stupid old fart.
"Oh?" he said. "And you had a prosthetic
conscience implant'"
She blinked at hinl, then looked away.
"I read about it in a magazine, " he said. "I
used to teach psychology, you know. Sociopa­
thy was my favorite disorder. "
"You had a . . . favorite?" Connie said. She
felt confused and relieved all at the same time.
And maybe a little disappointed. She had ex­
pected to shock hinl. Instead, he was just an­
other head shrink, a specialty that was a dinle
a dozen as far as she was concerned. It was
like being caught naked by a stranger, then
finding out the stranger was a gynecologist.
"You like pastrami?" Mr. Feldman-Doctor
Feldman-asked.
"Pastrami?"
"You know, salted and cured meat. From
Italy?"
"Aren't you going to ask me about my thera­
py? How I ' m adapting to my implant?
Whether I'm developing a conscience?"
"Well, I'd really like to know if you're going
to eat the pastrami, because if not I'll take it
home for Smitty. '
"Smitty?"
"My cat. Listen, I know you're getting thera­
py on a daily basis. You don't need another
person tinkering in your head, and besides,
we're not on the clock right now. '
"I like i t , " Connie said. "I love pastrami.
36
What I really need is a friend. Cheryl's not
speaking to me."
Mr. Feldman pulled a half-gallon box of
neapolitan ice cream from the sack. "Sounds
good to me," he said. "But if I'm going to be
friends with a sociopath, I get first dibs on the
chocolate. "
Connie cleared a spot off on the sofa for Mr.
Feldman and told him what had happened
with Cheryl, and how unhappy she was with
the implant. "I'm having it taken out next
year, " she said. "As soon as I can." She scraped
the melted ice cream from the bottom of the
bowl, where all three colors had melted to­
gether into a pale brown slurry. "It doesn't
work."
"Sure it works, " said Mr. Feldman. "I can see
it already, even if you can't."
"It doesn ' t , " she told him. "I never had a
conSCience, and I don't have one, now. "
"You don't hear a little voice?" Mr. Feldman
asked.
"No."
"Of course not. It's a poor metaphor. Con­
science is a feeling, an instinct. You do the
right thing because you have to, not because
there's a little voice inside your head telling
you to do it."
"So you say. "
"To tell you the truth, having a little voice is
a bad sign . "
"Why?"
"That would be your inner sociopath, my
dear. "
"I'm all SOCiopath, " she said. "I don't have
an inner anything."
"You do now. Your conscience will be the
pull of your heart. If you hear a voice, it will
be your inner sociopath, rationalizing away
what your heart knows. "
"Is that how they do it? Those people who
commit crinles who aren't sociopaths' I've al­
ways wondered why they make me out to be
a monster, when obviously there are people
with perfectly good consciences who aren't
using them. At least I'm doing what I'm made
to do."
"And what's that?" Mr. Feldman asked.
There was a long silence. She heard Sirens,
far away. She heard Mr. Feldman breathing.
She would have welcomed the ticking of a
clock, even, to cut the tension that was sud­
denly in the room.
CATHERINE SHAFFER

"I'd sell you out," she said. "In a heartbeat.
For fifty bucks. I am what I am. There's no ti­
tanium soul. There's no little voice. I'll use you
and throw you away. '
"You won't," said Mr. Feldman.
"I will," she said. "Stay away from me." She
tried to give him a hard, reptilian stare, but
she felt tears welling up in her eyes. Not
again!
"It's time for me to go," said Mr. Feldman.
Connie saw a flash of fear in his eyes as he set
his bowl on the counter. He moved toward
the door.
"Damn you ! " she muttered. Why did he
have to be afraid of her? Friends aren't afraid
of each other. "Damn you! Damn you! I don't
need another fucking shrink! " She grabbed a
half-full glass of water from the coffee table
and threw it at his retreating back. It shattered
against the door, spraying water halfway
across the room, sprinkling glass shards across
the carpet.
It was two in the morning when she finally
played "Tambourin Chinois. " She became in­
different to the pain in her arms, wrists, and
back. All of her old music books were scat­
tered all over the floor. Her mind had reached
the point of exhaustion and punched through
to the other side. She was too tired to resist
anymore.
The music pulled her through. Her fingers
flew up and down the finger board, landing
on each note sweetly, perfectly. She blitzed
through lines of sixteenth notes as if in slow
motion, only distantly aware of danCing fin­
gers as her bow sliced cleanly across the
strings.
As she played her solo, for the first time she
felt her heart surge to the music, and she
knew her old professor had been right. She
had been a machine, a robot playing perfectly
pitched, perfectly timed, dead notes.
She thought of her mother, and wanted to
tell her she was sorry. She remembered
Thomas telling her about fear memories hid­
den in the amygdyla, and wondered if there
was some hidden, off-site storage space for
love. She didn't feel love for her mother in that
moment. Not exactly. But for the first tinle she
wanted to. The sensation was something akin
to loneliness, but very specific and person-di­
rected.
TiTANIUM SOUL
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
She wanted to ask her mother why she had
done so much, for so many years, when Con­
nie never gave her anything back. She wanted
to understand.
Connie suddenly knew she should apolo­
gize to Mr. Feldman, but it was too late at
night. She would do it in the morning.
There was no answer at Mr. Feldman's
when Connie knocked. She thought she heard
something heavy and hard hit the floor and
roll, but no one answered the door. He must
have been very angry.
Connie swallowed hard and blinked her
eyes rapidly as she walked away, cursing her­
self for an idiot. Mr. Feldman had been the
first person to offer her friendship, and she
had thrown a glass of water at his head.
She went back again later. It was afternoon
already, and his newspaper was sitting on the
threshold, untouched. She knocked and held
her ear to the door, but didn't hear anything.
She began to have a new feeling. This time it
was definitely fear.
She put her hand on the doorknob and
turned it. The door opened.
Mr. Feldman was in his arm chair, still wear­
ing the clothes he'd had on the night before.
He was dead. She knew it before she walked
over and touched him. An old man, dead in
his sleep, taking a nap. She wanted to weep,
then got angry with herself. She wasn't weep­
ing for him. She was weeping for herself. He
was her first friend and now he was gone.
The fancy conscience implant had turned
her into something else. Something just as bro­
ken and selfish.
She took a deep breath and looked around.
She knew she should call the police. Some­
thing touched her legs. She looked down to
see a fluffy orange cat rubbing against her. It
twined between her ankles. She used one foot
to nudge it away, then turned around, trying
to decide whether to leave or to call the po­
lice.
That's when she saw Mr. Feldman's wallet
lying on the counter. She went to it and
opened it. The cat-his name was Smitty, she
remembered suddenly-jumped up on the
counter and rammed his head up against her
arms and hands.
He nipped her playfully on the wrist. Con­
nie backhanded him hard enough to knock
37
ANALOG
him onto the floor. Something made her
pause in her rifling through the wallet to look
at the cat. Why did she hit him? She felt sick.
The wallet had a fifty dollar bill in it. She
put it in her pocket. Mr. Feldman did favors for
her. Gave her groceries. Brought her mail. He
would want me to have it, said a little voice in
her head.
And she froze, like there was ice water mn­
ning down her back. Smitty bumped her legs
again. What the hell does he want? said the
voice.
Connie began to tremble. She wanted to
put the fifty back. Smitty stood up and put his
paws on her leg, digging his claws in delicate­
ly, looking up at her with big green eyes. In a
flash, she knew what he wanted. His food
bowl was empty. It was sitting on the counter
six inches from Mr. Feldman's wallet. She took
a breath, and put Mr. Feldman's money back.
Not stealing from the dead was not on her
list of mles for sociopaths, but somehow she
knew it wasn't right. Instead, she found a can
of cat food in the kitchen cupboards and
opened it for Smitty.
38
Smitty wolfed the food down, barely paus­
ing to breathe. Connie ran her knuckles down
his spine absently, and felt a little calmer.
When Smitty was done, he turned and butted
up against her, mnning his whole body down
the side of her face as she leaned over the
counter. She realized that someone would
need to feed Smitty every day, at least until the
relatives arrived to pack up Mr. Feldman's
things. She knew that Smitty would suffer if he
didn't have food and water every day.
Thomas had told Connie to keep busy and
reach out to friends. What stupid and worth­
less advice that had been. Cheryl had rejected
her, her mother was long gone, and old Mr.
Feldman kicked the bucket just when she was
warming up to him. Connie was oh for three
with human friends, but a feline friend, maybe
she could handle.
"How would you like to be friends with a
sociopath?" Connie said. In response, Smitty
purred, then ate some more of his food . •
Copyright © 2012 Catherine Shaffer
CATHERINE SHAFFER
 of
Sta rl i ngs
Joe Pitkin
Where you find intelligence may be very
different from where you look for it....
O
nce Evelyn Cole lost her identity, she
had little reason to remember the past.
A good deal of it she couldn't remember
anyway, at least not with her own eyes
and consciousness. But she could remember
minutely even the insignificant details sur­
rounding the day when the end began, the
way one does when recalling any great or
small cataclysm in one's life.
All new faculty in the department had to
teach Biology 10 1 for a couple of quarters.
That had been Evelyn Cole's hazing. That, and
she had been assigned to the campus safety
committee. Safety committee meetings were
the worse punishment-the presentations
about non-slip floors and restroom signage
were interminable-but the safety committee
met only once per month. Biology 1 0 1 met
every day.
On this day at least she had been able to
give her invasive species lecture to her passel
A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS
of sullen freshmen. This part of the course she
considered a kind of public service. If she
could convince even a few students not to
plant English ivy in their yards when they
graduated and bought houses, it would be
worth all the painful mornings so far that
term, all the stares of incomprehension when
she talked about phyla and ecological com­
munities and the different types of mutualism.
And lecture had gone well today. At the end
during the Q&A, she'd actually gotten a ques­
tion about how well biocontrol might work
on the invasive species du jou,· (it wouldn't).
Also a supposedly daring insight came up, dis­
guised as a question: Dr. Cole, aren't humans
the most invasive species ofall? She'd fielded
that one many times before, during public lec­
tures and even in her days as a teaching assis­
tant; the person to bring it up would almost
always be young and white, and invariably
male, and he would trot out his question in a
39
ANALOG
loud brassy voice that suggested he was the
first person on Earth ever to have such a reve­
lation. And Evelyn needed to humor such a
question: after aU, the young man might really
be interested in the subject, might become a
first-rate conservation biologist. "I'm not un­
sympathetic to that line of thinking," she an­
swered, "but even if it's tfue, we're also the
only species in any position to do anything
about it. " That was the only answer she found
the least bit satisfying after ruminating on the
question for years.
After the morning's class Evelyn sat in her
office hour, dealing with the emails she'd re­
ceived the night before. Among the memos
from Computing Services and questions from
students about the homework sat an email
from Jason Holly. Her heart leapt when she
saw his name there, and the subject line:
"Thinking of You. "
She and Jason had gone to graduate school
together, had hooked up on and off, furtively,
their whole last year at college. But he had
worked in one of the microbiology labs, had
been snapped up by MIT to work on bacterial
computing, while she had come out of an
ecology lab to be shunted off to a tiny depart­
ment in a third-rate land-grant school. Appar­
ently you could make twice as much money,
maybe three times as much, trying to train
colonies of gut bacteria to solve simple math
problems as you could by studying the popu­
lation ecology of the European starling in de­
graded American landscapes.
So an email with the subject line "Thinking
of You" caUed up an odd mix of jealousy and
lust and regret and affection in Evelyn. But the
message, when she read it, was just a dispirit­
ing little news story that involved starlings: an­
other bird flu episode in China, only it turned
out not to be flu at all but a bacterial infection,
and starlings were apparently the carriers.
Only a one-line note from Jason at the begin­
ning of the story: Hope you are well. ['II be
thinking ofyou this Apocalypse season.
Unfortunately, it was as bad as Jason HoUy
had joked it would be. TIlen it was worse. Just
as the public health prophets had warned it
someday would, the pandemic began in East
Asia, passing freely between humans and star­
lings (and, oddly enough, only starlings), and
by the time alert levels had been raised, the in-
40
fection was incubating on every continent.
The government closed all of the schools,
including Evelyn's. Not that anybody would
have shown up for class if the university had
remained open: once people started dropping
like poisoned cattle, they needed little prod­
ding to take up the social distancing that the
Centers for Disease Control had been preach­
ing. The well and sick alike shut themselves
up in their rooms in terror, the well hoping
that they were not incubating the disease and
the sick each hoping that he or she would be
one of the 1 0 percent of victims who sur­
vived.
Of course, cars still appeared in the streets
rarely, driven by police officers or emergency
room nurses or ambulance drivers or other vi­
tal personnel; each person wore a surgical
face mask, which everyone suspected with
varying degrees of certainty to be useless.
Evelyn was at first surprised to find herself
designated vital personnel. She had at best an
undergraduate biology major's knowledge of
public health or inununology. But only about
a dozen people in America, if that, knew as
much as she did about starling ecology, star­
ling life history, and by extension, about how
one might begin eradicating this ubiquitous
bird. Within a few days she, too, was driving
the depeopled interstate with her air vents
closed and her surgical mask drawn up.
A lot of exotic invasive species had been in­
troduced to America by accident. Others had
been brought on purpose years ago, perhaps
foolishly, but at least with some rationale that
would make sense to us today. The introduc­
tion of the starling, though-that was just
crazy. Evelyn had gone through the seven
stages of grief about it and had come to accept
the reality that starlings had completely over­
run America. She didn't like to imagine the
American landscape before they had come­
it was too painful to contemplate how they
had driven so many native bird species to ex­
tinction or to the brink of it, to say nothing of
the plague starlings had brought-but some­
times she liked to imagine the mind of the
man who had thought it a good idea to release
into Central Park pairs of all the bird species
mentioned in Shakespeare, including the star­
lings that had been mentioned once in King
Henry IV, Part One. Evelyn admired the poet­
ry of that kind of folly.
JOE PITKIN

The CDC had sunmlOned her to one of the
hotspots of the Northwest. On the US map of
new infections, Vancouver, Washington
throbbed as one of the glaring red splotches.
She found herself an apartment within two
hours of her arrival, had arranged over the
phone to see it; the property manager had left
the door unlocked for her when Evelyn ar­
rived. Evelyn decided within ten minutes to
take the place and gave the property manager
her credit card over the phone. The place was
far more elegant than she could possibly have
afforded in a normal market, 1 ,400 square feet
of Italian travertine and cork flooring on the
twentieth story of a riverfront high rise. Below
her, the Columbia River moved sluggishly be­
neath the ancient truss spans of the Interstate
Bridge. She knew from every trip she had ever
taken over that bridge to Portland how a mas­
sive colony of starlings used to cloud about
those spans. That flock was the first to be
gassed, though.
Evelyn looked down on the windblown
gray streets this side of the river. A few blocks
away stood a trio of idle cranes, leaning like
great spindly skeletons over an abandoned
construction project. For the moment only a
single human being was visible anywhere, a
tiny black smudge shuffling along the very
middle of the broad intersection below. The
figure seemed to list slightly as it walked,
seemed as though it would haul up and keel
over at any moment. Who was this sick or
foolish or imperturbable person, Evelyn won­
dered. Whoever it was almost certainly need­
ed help, seemed incapable of walking much
further.
Evelyn watched with increasing dread as
the person trudged up the street and began to
move beyond her field of vision. She felt an
odd resentment at the prospect of rushing
down twenty stories to attend to someone she
imagined was probably contagious. It oc­
curred to her as she watched the struggling
figure below that the evolution of compas­
sionate behavior had been millions of years in
the making, predating Homo sapiens certain­
ly, that those first compassionate mammals
had a selective advantage over their heartless
siblings because compassion between them
wove a web of mutual aid. Those first com­
passionate ones, just like humans today, did
not act out of true altruism; rather, they
A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
helped kill-and hence helped to perpetuate
their own genes-or they acted in hopes of
future reward, of support from those who re­
ceived that compassion. Every religion in the
world had made a sacrament of compassion,
and Evelyn wondered how many of them, like
Christianity, had made explicit the promise of
future reward. Millions of years of evolution
had honed that urge into this sense she had
now, of her embarrassment at watching this
figure stumble helpless down the street. It
was this urge to help one another that the in­
fection exploited; it was what brought the sick
and the healthy into one another's arms, sick­
ening everybody in the end. It is compassion
that will kill us, she thought to herself.
She took one last despairing look at the list­
ing figure below, as though the shuffling
might all be an act, as though the person
might suddenly break into a vigorous stride
and set Evelyn's conscience at rest. Then, just
as she was turning to walk to the elevator, a
flash of red caught the corner of her eye. She
looked back to the street and saw a police car
with its lights flashing, coming up slowly as a
hunting cat behind the stumbling figure. Eve­
lyn felt a palpable relief, an aU's-weU-that-ends­
well ease, to know that the problem (if there
was one) would be resolved this way, by pra­
fessionals.
The next Monday morning, Evelyn present­
ed herself at the makeshift headquarters in the
county agricultural extension office at the
north end of town. A small sign at the gate an­
nounced S. v.E. T.P. It took Evelyn a minute to
decipher the acronym: "Sturnus vulgaris
Eradication Task Force." Why, she wondered,
would they use the starlings' Latin name
there' It seemed the peak of eggheadedness,
an acronym designed to shield the public from
the unpleasantness of gassing a million birds.
Or maybe someone hoped to inspire some
measure of public confidence, to convey by
acronym and Latin nomenclature the sense
that experts were on the case. If so, it was a
flaccid attempt-the sign looked as though it
had been printed the night before at a twenty­
four-hour copy place.
The building was an ancient, paint-peeling,
Depression-era construction. The main room
within was filled with stuffed falcons, hawks,
ducks, and geese emanating a stale taxidermic
41
ANALOG
odor in concert. There was an empty desk
and, on the wall behind it, an old-fashioned
poster map of the county flocked with red
and yellow push-pins. Evelyn passed behind
the desk to study the constellation of pins up
close, as though to draw from them a horo­
scope.
A lean, middle-aged man, unmasked and
wearing an unkempt, careless beard, came in
through a back door.
"You must be Dr. Cole-welcome to the
command post. ' Evelyn could see his hands
splay at his sides as though it were physically
painful to him not to be able to shake hands
with her. But nobody shook hands anymore.
"Call me Evelyn," she said. She loved being
able to tell people to call her Evelyn, which
she could only do if they called her Dr. Cole
first. "Do you need a mask?"
The man apologized and produced a mask
from the pocket of his coveralls. He volun­
teered that his name was Thomas. "I guess we
get to close the barn door now that the horse
has gotten out."
"You got that right, " she answered with a
grim chuckle. "The horse is definitely out."
Whether any humans survived this-or if
none did-the outcome no longer depended
on starlings and whether they lived or died.
But killing them at least gave one the impres­
sion that something was being done to con­
tain the disease.
"Well, you're the boss now, " Thomas said.
"What do you think?"
"I think I should probably see your opera­
tion."
1110mas showed her around. The place was
empty, a mess of desks loaded down with pa­
pers and reports and ancient computers, the
relics of previous, lazier operations in the of­
fice. Besides Thomas and Evelyn, the only per­
son in the building was a short college kid
named Gordo, whom Thomas introduced
enigmatically as "our dispatcher. "
Most of the team-thirty agents, according
to Thomas-were " o n patrol" right now,
whatever that meant. Thomas himself had
only stayed behind to meet her; he asked
whether she wanted to jOin him on his patrol.
Evelyn assented. The rest of the morning he
drove her all over the county in an old state
university truck while she scanned the fields
and parking lots and overpasses with binocu-
42
lars. She saw scads of cowbirds and swallows,
lots of red-tailed hawks and ospreys, scrub jays
within the town and Steller's jays in the back­
woods outside city limits. She saw ducks and
geese and all manner of sparrows, finches,
thmshes, and wrens. But not a single starling.
Thomas worked a radio, taking reports from
the gang of other field agents.
"I expected this would be a bigger opera­
tion," Evelyn said.
"The real action is with the CDC," Thomas
answered. They've taken over the whole Cas­
cadia University Hospital in Portland. "
"I'm even more surprised we haven't seen
any birds."
"Oh, they're around, " Thomas answered.
"They're lying low, but they're out there. We
took out the flocks on the big bridges, and the
next day all the other flocks had gone into hid­
ing. "
"Just like all the people, " Evelyn said, look­
ing over the eerily empty parking lot of a mas­
sive strip mall. She had, in fact, received a
dozen or more emails in recent days from field
biologists and fOrnler classmates from gradu­
ate school, asking whether Sturnus flocks
were disaggregating in some freak late-season
mating event. Starlings seemed far less suscep­
tible to the pandemic than humans, but per­
haps the flocks had dissolved as some
response to the infection. In spite of the gen­
eral feeling of apocalypse in the air, it thrilled
her that a species she had studied for years,
since the beginning of graduate school, would
be exhibiting such novel behavior: great
flocks of starlings were melting into a thou­
sand individual birds, each scurrying, roach­
like, in the dumpsters and eaves and vacant
lots and waste places.
"How many did you get before the flocks all
started breaking up?" Evelyn asked.
"We got the Interstate Bridge flock and a
good chunk of the downtown population-a
couple thousand birds in all. But probably 90
percent of the county's starlings are still out
there. It's a shame the flu doesn't kill them."
"Something must be getting them," Evelyn
answered; " there's not a single starling out
here . "
"They're out here," Thomas answered in a
bleak tone. "They're just danm good hiders. "
As though to embarrass the both of them, a
single starling flushed out of the long weeds
JOE PITKIN

of a vacant lot as they drove by. It made its
clumsy, crashing flight toward a line of gray,
dusty cottonwoods that ran along the other
edge of the highway. Then, as though it had
spotted the old extension truck, it dropped
back into the tall oat grass of the lot.
Thomas braked hard, then parked in the
middle of the highway. He got out and peered
over the truck with his binoculars. Evelyn
watched too, seeing only the waving tall oat
grass and the great green mounds of Hi­
malayan blackberry.
They watched intently for a minute or so.
"There's another singleton, " Thomas suddenly
whispered. "Now he's disappeared agai n . "
Evelyn found the intensity of Thomas' voice
discomforting. He whispered as though he
were reconnoitering an enemy encampment
by night. She wondered if he was all there.
He came around the truck to her side,
where she looked out the window with her
binoculars. He turned to face her, got close
enough that she could see the spectacular mis­
rule of his beard escaping his mask, quivering
like a bare frayed nerve. "I bet there's a thou­
sand birds hiding in there , " he whispered.
Hiding in there? Despite all the convention­
al wisdom about starlings that had been lately
upended in Evelyn 's life, Thomas' newest
claim seemed like a total crock. Starlings were
the very opposite of a cryptic species; outside
of mating season, they were one of the most
gregarious birds on Earth. They were more
gregarious than humans. She felt uneasy chal­
lenging him, though, notwithstanding the
twenty-two papers on Sturnus that she had
authored. It wasn't that he seemed at all vio­
lent-rather, he had a peculiar unhinged in­
tensity that told her that to challenge him
would mean hearing him defend his hypothe­
sis for the next forty minutes. In any case,
there was no need to challenge him; they
were parked a few dozen yards from the field
in question. There were a thousand starlings
hiding in it or there weren't.
"I'll be surprised if there are that many, " she
said as offhandedly as she could, as though
they were two ancient farmhands discussing
the weather from the front porch.
Thomas raised his finger to his mask to si­
lence her. He came round the truck again, got
in, whispered to her to roll up the window. In
the stifling close air of the cab he took a GPS
A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
reading of their location, tllen switched on the
radio.
" Control?" he whispered into the mouth­
piece.
Gordo's voice came back loud and oblivi­
ous. "Hey, Thomas-what's up?"
"I'm calling in an airstrike on UlM ;2075;
and 5055848. You got that? It's a vacant lot on
Lower River Road, about a quarter mile south
of the turnofffor Frenchman's Bar. You copy?"
"Hang on, Thomas-" There was a pause of
ten seconds or so. " G ive me those UTMs
again?"
Before Thomas could begin rattling off the
numbers again, the field erupted-as though
a bomb had struck it-into a perfectly ex­
panding black hemisphere of starling flight.
Instinctively Evelyn and Thomas both ducked
inside the cab of the truck as the shock wave
of birds sped towards them. Like a rushing
dark veil it passed over them; a dozen birds or
so smacked against the truck with enough
force to likely break their necks. What had ex­
ploded was no flock, or a flock unlike any­
thing Evelyn had seen before, each bird flying
off in a different direction from its fellows,
without collision with one another, and after
they had spread out for a second or two, with­
out cohesion. Each made its way towards a dif­
ferent field, a different tree, a different distant
strip mall, a different bank of the river. There
were, Evelyn estimated, fewer than a thou­
sand birds. But a thousand was a pretty good
guess.
Thomas banged his palm on the steering
wheel and cursed. "That's the fourth time
that's happened to me! " he yelled. "I swear
they're listening in on our radio frequency. "
Evelyn hoped with growing dread that
Thomas was joking. She thought it wisest not
to dignify his analysis with a response.
" Scratch that, Gordo," he said into the ra­
dio. "They split up on us again."
They got out and with long garbage tongs
they dropped the collided, ruined starlings
into a plastic bag and pitched the bag into the
back of the truck. Then they moved on.
Evelyn regarded the empty field through
the rear window of the truck as Thomas drove
away. A few dozen far-off birds still flew their
solitary way, each to some new weedy lot.
A few minutes passed before Thomas spoke
again. "So, chief, is there anything in the liter-
43
ANALOG
ature on that?" His voice had the brittle bright­
ness of one who had shamed himself, who
hoped his listener would let the recent shout­
ing pass without demanding an apology.
Alone with him in his truck on a back-coun­
ty road Evelyn felt in no position to demand an
apology, or even to hint at the need for one.
"Nope," she answered with studied ease. "If
we survive this we could get a publication out
of what we just saw. " Not that she would co­
author a paper with hinl in a million years.
To Evelyn's relief they saw no more starlings
for the rest of the morning. Over the radio
they heard three different agents make a sight­
ing; each time the flock exploded and dis­
solved before Gordo could dispatch the
spray-plane. By the tiDle they got back to head­
quarters the day's tally stood at just fifty-four
birds killed between thirty agents; all of the
fifty-four had smacked into a truck while es­
caping.
Thomas went back out on patrol alone. Eve­
lyn spent the afternoon in the office with the
map, contemplating a better strategy for wip­
ing out the starlings. She trolled through the
invasive species forums on her laptop; every
task force that had anything to say about it was
struggling with the question in its own grim
way. The forums read like a Domesday Book
of violence, a panic-fueled catalog of poisons
and netting and fragmentation, of swooping
aerial assaults and small calibers and zeal and
stealth and sadism. Yet the flocks everywhere
scattered so quickly that the enterprise
seemed as fruitless as a war against the clouds.
At the end of the day, Evelyn drove back in
silence to her apartment, her mind heavy with
the tangle of the problem. She imagined-but
could not yet conceive in full-the elegant
technique by which all starlings would drop
dead out of the sky. like all great techniques,
it would be so siDlple that its discovery would
seem, in retrospect, a foregone conclusion.
As it turned out, however, any flash of in­
sight Evelyn might have had would have come
too late. The next day she arrived at headquar­
ters to find that Thomas and Gordo and about
half the other field agents had called in sick.
Sick sick, Thomas had said, with the best com­
posure he could call up. None had been test­
ed yet, and the first symptoms were
indistinguishable from those of a bad head
cold, but every one of them caIled in with the
44
heavy dignity of people who knew they had
little chance of surviving the weekend. Evelyn
spent the day pacing around the headquarters,
incapable of ten seconds' sustained thought.
She was convinced Thomas had infected her.
She awoke the next morning feeling achy
and stuffed up. To stave off despair, or per­
haps as a substitute for despair or as a manifes­
tation of despair, she imagined beating
Thomas to death with a lead pipe. In fact she
knew the infection must have been germinat­
ing in her bloodstream for at least four or five
days, but still it was Thomas, whom she had
met only two days before, that suffered the
bludgeoning in her fantasy. As her fever rose,
it struck her as deeply, crucially significant
that no one had tried crushing the starlings
one by one with a lead pipe. The irony of hit­
ting upon the perfect technique only now,
when it would do her no good, caused her
deeper sorrow than she thought she could
bear.
But something strange was happening in
those days. The stoic, dignified death that she
had hoped would be her consolation prize
was denied her. During the worst of the infec­
tion she lay rigid as a pharaoh in his coffin, as­
suming that her labored breathing would
grow only more ragged until everything failed
her and she died. But after two days of feeling
too weak even to pour herself a glass of water,
on the third day she felt her fever break and a
truly restful sleep come over her, so different
from the fever dreams of legions of starlings
that had plagued her for two days, casting
their thousands of shadows against her bed­
room waIl in the setting sun.
Evelyn awoke to find the world transfig­
ured. It seemed as though a dim membrane
that had veiled the buildings outside her win­
dow, the trees, tile river-had veiled them her
whole life-had been pierced. Their light
soaked into her skin like a pheromone, passed
into her bloodstream, where something with­
in her processed it like so much information.
She rose from her bed and walked barefoot
across the room towards her balcony. The
cork flooring that so impressed her when she
had first seen it now seemed of no conse­
quence, or more properly, just one more lumi­
nous thing in a world of luminous things. As
she reached to open the French doors to the
balcony, she saw hidden within the baffling
JOE PITKIN

glow of it all several dozen starlings perched
and chattering like parliamentarians on the
railing.
She knew, or rather her blood told her, that
there was no harm in them, that they wanted
only to speak to her. Their voices made the
old familiar cacophony that had always fasci­
nated her, the swooping mechanical whines
and relays of clicks that sounded like some
clockwork combobulus assembling itself in a
backwoods shop.
As she opened the doors to the balcony
they squawked to her in greeting. Her blood
understood them, told her what the chatter­
ing birds said to one another: Subject 3 19-
940-12-42 appears satisfactorily inoculated.
Including tbis data point, the current success
rate for Infection Protocol 4 stands at 9 7. 1
percent plus or minus . 4 percent.
Would it have troubled her, in her former
life, to learn that she was data point 3 19-940-
1 2-42? She could not remember. It troubled
her not at all now.
"What is Infection Protocol 4'" she asked
them.
They answered her in a strange English that
seemed composed of many layers of whirring
and clicking and which formed out of many
birds a single voice. It pleases us to speak to
you at last, Subject 319-940-12-42. Infection
Protocol 4 meets all our criteria for success.
As though out of a dream she remembered
her former life. The language of starlings re­
minded her of nothing so much as the lan­
guage of scholarly papers, the smooth and
chilly syntax devoid of contour, the madden­
ing reliance on "the royal we" as the subject.
Yet this was not the royal we, not in the sense
that a pompous colleague or one of her lazy
graduate students might use it: at least twenty
birds had together formed the multilayered
sound that came to her as English words. The
light in her blood told her, too, that several
thousand birds moving in their cloudlike
flocks were contributing through some un­
known mechanism to the communication of
these birds on the balcony rail.
In concert the starlings told her of Infection
Protocol 4, how they had exposed her the
week before to a small dose of a weakened
bacterial infection, the way a child is inoculat­
ed against tetanus. They spoke with some ex­
citement about how ingeniously three
A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
starlings had infiltrated the air ducts of her
building and died there, each corpse serving
like a time-release bacterial capsule.
"So I'm an experiment, then?" Evelyn asked.
She felt no rancor about it and asked out of
genuine curiosity. Curiosity was in fact the
only emotion she felt capable of; all the terror
and self-regard and envy and hunger she had
ever harbored seemed watered down now,
dissolved and buffered in the new solution of
her blood.
You may think ofyourself that way How­
ever, it is more accurate to speak ofyou as
part of a project, something like a human
bridge.
By way of demonstration, the birds called
up the new sensitive stuff in her blood that
she had felt since she last awoke. It was the in­
fec t i o n , the billions of bacteria drifting
through her arteries, somehow signaling past
her brain-blood barrier, or perhaps having dis­
mantled the barrier entirely. Somehow-she
would ponder how for many years-her mind
translated the ancient chemical language of
the bacteria into ordinary human words,
words that told her the infection formed part
of a massive biological computer.
She remembered Jason from her former life,
remembered his phony modesty while he
tried to explain the concept of quorum sens­
ing on which all microbial computing i s
based: bacteria, like a group of people, react
differently in a crowd than they do in an inti­
mate gathering of a few; both react differently
than a lone bacterium. TIle different chemical
signals each bacterium gives off when alone,
when among a few, when one of a crowd,
might be treated like a switch, no different, re­
ally, from the semiconductors of any silicon­
based computer. A wise engineer might
fashion from the bacterial habit of quorum
sensing the most disperse, most powerful
computer on Earth.
How the infection in her body might com­
municate with the bacterial colonies in other
bodies remained a mystery to her. Unless the
bacteria in her body were also suspended
thickly in the air around her-a possibility she
didn't discount-the computing power in her
own body would remain paltry and discon­
nected. Yet it was clear from their chemical
speech that the bacteria within her were
bound up and bundled with the millions of
45
ANALOG
threads of blood winding through the thou­
sands of starlings that swarmed about the
place she had once called Vancouver, Wash­
ington.
"How could you possibly have engineered
these bacteria'" Evelyn asked. Where were the
PCR machines and autoclaves and agar cul­
tures and primers and freezers and mi­
cropipettes? Had starlings somehow spent
decades stealing into genetic engineering labs
by night, working without a trace like the
poor shoemaker's elves? The likelihood of a
nocturnal labor force of laboratory starlings
seemed vanishingly small. Every laboratory in
the country already had a cadre of nighttime
elves-they were called graduate students­
and no starling geneticist, no matter the hour
at which she slipped in to work, could have
gone undetected for long.
Many, many, many of us died in order to
breed our current strain of computer. Tbe in­
fection you carry represents more than two
hundred years of selective breeding of bacte­
ria, and more than a thousand years of stat�
ling eugenics. They explained over the course
of an hour the strange history of their study of
biology, the evolutionary analysis and gene
theory that they had conceived without any
material culture whatsoever-without writ­
ing, for that matter-all deriving from their
observations, their intuitions, really, about the
crude computing power of the bacteria inside
them. For a thousand years the starlings who
carried a healthy load of these bacteria had
mated well and reproduced much, and gener­
ation by generation the birds came to carry
larger, and more complex, colonies of bacte­
ria. Consciousness had come to the birds in
the evolutionary eye-blink of a few centuries.
The fact that the starlings had said "many"
three times might have seemed to Evelyn an
appeal to pity, but the starlings appeared, like
her, to have achieved a state of being beyond
pathos or any other emotion. They seemed
like her to be creatures of pure curiosity. Per­
haps the expression was idiomatic: where in
English one would say "many, many, " starling
culture said "many, many, many. " In any case,
she knew they were not speaking English but
something she heard in her mind as English.
"Why were you so set on killing us?" she
asked. As she said the words the question res­
onated deep in her blood. Her blood told her
46
that this congress of birds would have the
same question for her.
We had no intention of killing you. Infec­
tion Protocols 1, 2, and 3 each failed us for
different reasons. However, it was always our
goal to connect you to our computing net­
work, ever since we knew you to be an intel­
ligent species.
"But why didn't you just leave us alone?"
The bird s ' response came quickly, as
though the mind made up of the birds had
contemplated this question since long before
Evelyn had asked it. Evelyn was part of this
mind now, too; she was a doubting voice that
this mind had learned to contend with.
The question has no answer, the starlings
said. We are driven to extend our conscious­
ness asfar as we can; we cannot actfor long
in opposition to this drive, which is our true
nature. Then, in anticipation of the questions
that Evelyn had not thought to ask: We are
confident now that your true nature must
obey this drive as well. It remains unknown
to us whether the drive to extend one's con­
sciousness arises as a byproduct of the evolu­
tion of consciousness, or whether it is the
goal of evolution itself
Even in her transfigured state, the thought
of goal-oriented evolution gave Evelyn the
creeps. It smacked of Intelligent Design, the
ludicrous evangelism of engineers masquerad­
ing as biologists, their PowerPoint presenta­
tions riddled with evasions and half-truths and
pseudoscience. Such thinking confused caus­
es and effects; it complicated unnecessarily
the idea of evolution, a field where explana­
tions are valuable only for their parsimony.
Even in this new country, even as she felt her­
self vanishing into this mind that spanned the
world, she would not feel easy imagining her­
self as part of some plan, divine or otherwise.
Yet the worry left her quickly. Planned or
not, the world was new and suffused with
light, and the voice of her blood comforted
her in such a way that she realized she had
lived before today in an aching loneliness.
"How long have you lived this way?" she asked
the birds.
For over one hundred years we have host­
ed the bacterial computer. However, what
you experience now is the newest and most
powerful iteration. We believe, also, that the
addition of another hosting species (that is,
JOE PITKIN
 .JUNE 2012

your species) confers greater computing
power still. We are pleased with the results so
fat:
They explained to her the decades-long de­
bate the starlings had carried on about the
fractious human species that had hated the
starlings so fiercely. Human material culture­
the buildings and roads and works that would
strike any human as an obvious sign of inteUi­
gence-had for years seemed like part of an
elaborate mating ritual to the starlings, useless
and flamboyant as the peacock's tail. They re­
garded human building in the same way they
regarded the bower of the bower bird, as just
so much sexual posturing. In fact, the starlings
had called Homo sapiens in their language
"bower bird mammals."
When we finally concluded that all your
movement and building served other pur-
poses than mating, we agreed we mustjoin
you to us. The starlings began to fly from the
balcony in a long skein like a single pulsing
creature, their common voice breaking up
into the static of clicks and whines that each
bird made. The last words she could make out
were and now we are bound together.
Evelyn looked out over the downtown, saw
the cranes once again in motion at the con­
vention center project, dozens of workers
swarming the scaffolding in the ocean of light.
People walked again in the street beneath the
host of starlings. She obeyed her blood's call
to go down and join them, knowing at last the
oneness of all things . •
For Keith Birchfield and Ray Yurkeuycz
Copyright © 2012 Joe Pitkin

If anyone tells you something strange about the world, something

you had never heard before, do not laugh but listen attentively; make
him repeat it, make him explain it; no doubt there is something there
worth taking hold of.

-Georges Duhamel

A MURMURATION OF STARLINGS 47
 P reve n t i o n
Jerry Oltion
As people spread out, they'll want to
take some things with them . . . .
A
t the breakfast table one moming, Tina's
mother told her, "Your grandfather is
coming to visit. " Tina had barely started
shouting, "Yay!" before her mom con­
tinued with, "so I want this place cleaned from
top to bottom before he gets here."
"Why'" Tina asked. "Is he phobic'" Phobic
was one of her vocabulary words for school.
She hoped the habitat's tutor program had
heard her use it.
"No, but he's from Earth," Mom said. "And
Earth has a complex biosystem, some of
which will be coming along for the ride. So
we want to put away everything we can so
the sterilization after he leaves will be easier. "
Tina frowned. "You mean like diseases and
stuff'''
"That's right," her mom said. " Nothing
deadly, but we don't even want a cold to en­
ter the colony through our apartment. It's our
social obligation. "
Tina had heard plenty about social obliga­
tions. Even though Copernicus Colony was
one of the biggest on the Moon, it took every­
body working together to keep it going. She'd
had it drilled into her for as long as she could
48
remember: Don't waste resources. D o your
share of the work. Think about your impact
on others. Don't endanger yourself or the
colony. And apparently, don't spread disease.
They went to the clinic and got vaccinated
against the most common diseases so they
wouldn't catch them themselves. "Why
doesn't everyone get vaccines?" Tina asked
the doctor, who told her that it was much eas­
ier to simply keep diseases out of the colony
by quarantining guests and vaccinating the
people they were in contact with.
In the following days, as she put away toys
and helped her mother box things up from
the living room and put everything in storage,
she wondered if that was really true. It cer­
tainly wasn't easy for Tina and her mom. By
the time she'd cleaned out her room so her
grandpa could use it, she was beginning to
wonder if having him visit was worth the trou­
ble. She could see him any time she wanted to
on the phone, after all. But she'd never actual­
ly met him in all her eight years, and she was
curious. What would he be like for longer
than ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch? Would
he be like one of Mom's boyfriends, all smiles
JERRY OLTION

and nice to meet you when he arrived and ig­
noring her after that' Or would he be like
their neighbor, Keiko, who would come over
and play with Tina for hours whether Mom
was home or not?
As the days went by, her anticipation built
up to such a distracting level that she blew a
math test and forgot to check the nutrient lev­
el in the algae tank. Surprisingly, her mom let
both infractions go with just a talking-to. "It's
a big deal , " she told Tina. "But so is seeing
your grandfather for the first time. So just try
not to mess up with anything deadly, okay?"
Tina did her best, and by the time his shut­
tle landed two weeks later, she still had all her
digits and the apartment was still airtight, so
she figured everything was okay.
Her mom had spent most of the time baking
goodies, including a special treat she'd never
made before called "versas. " "You get one a
day, " she told Tina, showing her the round
sugar-coated cake. "No more, no less. " She
gave Tina her first one just before they left to
meet the shuttle. It tasted sweet and doughy
and good, but nothing special. It would be
easy to stick with just one a day.
The greeting area was hung with paper
lanterns bearing the Copernicus logo: a fire­
breathing dragon bent into the letter "c." Sho­
j i screens with colorful arrows directed
outgoing travelers to the right, incoming to
the left. The signs were in Japanese, German,
Spanish, and English, plus one other that Tina
couldn't read but thought might be French.
Grandpa came out of the airlock in a pres­
sure suit, even though the shuttle was docked
directly to the habitat. Everybody wore one,
and they were all lit up with bright purple
light for a couple of minutes before they were
allowed to walk on into the reception hall
where Tina and her mother waited.
Most of the people from Earth looked huge.
Even more so than the usual bulk from wear­
ing a P-suit. It took a moment to recognize one
of the big blinlPS as Grandpa through me face­
plate of his helmet.
"Welcome to the Moon, Dad," Tina's mom
said.
"I sure as hell don't feel welcome," Grandpa
said. His voice canle out kind of tinny through
the helmet speaker, but plenty loud enough
for everyone to hear. "They make a guy feel
like a walking plague. Like a cold's going to
AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
kill you all. "
"Hello, Grandpa, " Tina said. She stepped
forward and gave him a hug around his
wrinkly waist. She couldn't get her arms all
the way around.
He bent down, grunting with the effort.
"Hi, Sugar. Can't wait to get this damn thing
off so I can hug you proper. "
She blushed at his profanity. So did Mom.
"Come on, let's get you home the n , " Mom
said, taking his hand and leading him quickly
down me corridor to the elevator. Tina picked
up his luggage, a big pressure case that must
have massed at least fifty kilos, and carefully
rolled it along behind memo She could push it
easy enough; it was stopping it that would be
the problem.
Grandpa learned that the hard way. He tried
to walk like he would on Earth, but in the
light gravity he bounced around like a ping­
pong ball. "Dammit!" he shouted when he
bonked his head on the ceiling, even though it
was just me helmet mat hit.
"Just drift along with your toes, " Mom said.
"You'll get the hang of it soon enough. "
"They should give a guy some weights or
something," Grandpa grumbled. Tina thought
about letting him carry his suitcase, but she
knew how that would turn out. That was an­
other social obligation: Don't let anyone hurt
themselves through ignorance.
So she strapped the case to the elevator
wall and helped hold Grandpa down, too,
while they dropped the twenty floors to their
level. When they reached their apartment,
Mom sealed the door and keyed in the securi­
ty code, then told Grandpa he could take off
his pressure suit, which he did wim relish. He
scratched all over and shook his head and
stretched his arms and legs. He was almost as
big around without me pressure suit as most
people were with one on. And at least a head
taller.
Tina tried to adjust her mental image to
match the reality. His face was the same
round, grizzled face she'd seen over the phone
for years, with its bulbous nose and bushy eye­
brows. It was just bigger than she'd expected.
He smelled kind of funny, too. Like he'd
been working out.
"Ah, that's better, " he said when he was
done scratching. "Got any beer?"
Mom got him some and put it in a sippy cup
49
ANALOG
so he wouldn't spill it in the light gravity. Tina
laughed at the sight, and after a minute he
joined her, saying, "Well, it probably doesn't
look any sillier than it feels."
He looked around the apartment. "Looks
kind of bare , " he said. "You stuff everything
into a closet?" He playfully advanced on the
bathroom door and popped it open, standing
back as if he expected a cascade of things to
fall out, but then he peered into the bath­
room. "Holy crap," he said. "I've seen bigger
shitters in a trailer house. "
"People on the Moon aren't as big a s Earth
people, " Tina said proudly. "We can get by on
1500 calories a day. "
"Is that so?" he asked. He turned to Mom.
"Is this really what you want for your daugh­
ter? Starvation rations and blank walls?"
Mom bit her lip, then said, "Don't worry,
Dad. We've got a special visitor's allowance.
You won't go hungry. And we've got every­
thing we need. "
"Except a husband," he said. "Child needs a
father. "
"I'm working on that," Mom said. Tina won­
dered who she was talking about. The last guy
she brought home she'd thrown out in less
than an hour, after he'd called the resource
board a "communist politburo." Tina had had
to look it up, but she still didn't understand
why her mom had gotten so mad. So far as she
could tell, the boyfriend was right. Though
she couldn't understand why he'd said it with
such contempt. How did he expect a resource
board to work?
Grandpa hrumphed and moved on into the
back of the apartment. "Your bedroom is on
the left," Mom said as she followed him.
"It's my room, " Tina told him, adding quick­
ly, "but that's okay because I get to sleep in
Mom's bed while you're here."
He looked in through the open doorway. It
was a thin sliding fusuma with planets and
stars painted on the paper panels. When he
took a step forward, his hips hit the door
frame on either side. He could have squeezed
through, but instead he said, "I think I'd prefer
the couch. "
Tina wasn't sure how to take that. She got
her bedroom back, but it hurt to think that
her gift had been rejected. She tried not to
dwell on it, instead helping her Mom make
the living room couch into a bed and helping
50
get dinner ready. It was one of the finest din­
ners she'd ever seen, with enough rabbit meat
to fill a plate all by itself, three different kinds
of vegetables, and bread delivered still hot
from the bakery.
Mom made Tina use the transfer lock rather
than opening the door when the delivery 'bot
showed up. They couldn't use the door with­
out putting Grandpa in his suit again and ster­
ilizing the apartment with a Wide-spectrum
flash bomb.
Grandpa liked the rabbit, declaring it to be
almost as good as chicken, but he didn't eat
any of the vegetables.
"I'd forgotten," Mom said, "you're kind of a
meat and potatoes guy. "
"I never much cared for potatoes, either, "
Grandpa said.
After dinner, while Tina and her mother
cleaned up, he moved to the couch, now his
bed, and turned on the video screen with the
remote. He flipped through the selections for
a while, then called out, "Don't you get any
Earth channels'"
"What are you looking for, Dad?" Mom
asked, ducking down to see him through the
pass-through in the island between kitchen
and living room.
"I don't know, a football game or some­
thing. Wrestling match. NASCAR would do."
"Channel ten is science, " Tina said helpful­
ly.
"No thanks, " Grandpa said. He found a
news channel and watched that, or pretended
to.
He was asleep by the tinle they finished the
dishes. Mom said to let him get his rest. He
was on Alabanm time, which was three hours
ahead of Copernicus time, and he'd had a long
day. So Tina went to her room and did home­
work, even though she had all week of vaca­
tion to do it in.
In the morning she couldn't remember
what she'd studied. She figured she must have
been too distracted by the excitement of hav­
ing her grandpa here. It was funny, though:
she couldn't remember much of yesterday
evening, either. It was all blurry in her mind,
like she hadn't been paying attention to any­
thing that happened then, either.
Her mother greeted her cheerfully when
she entered the kitchen for her morning bowl
of soyreal. Grandpa was already at the table
JERRY OLTION

and pushing the contents of his bowl around
but not eating much. "Here," Mom said, plac­
ing one of the round versa cakes in front of
each of them. "This ought to start the day off
right. "
Grandpa perked up at that, and h e and Tina
enjoyed the sweet break from the usual break­
fast fare. Grandpa even ate some more soyreal
afterward.
"So what's there to do around here?" he
asked.
"1 thought we'd show you the surface , "
Mom said. "Can't come all the way t o the
Moon and not go for a walk on top. "
"I thought it was all hard radiation up there.
Ain't that why you aU live like gophers?"
Tina thought a gofer was a robot that
brought you things. Maybe they were stored
underground on Earth. She said, "It's too
much radiation to live in, but it's perfectly safe
for short visits. I've been three times. "
"Woo. You've been outdoors three times in
eight years! " he said, his tone of voice making
it clear what he thought of that.
"Yes, and her fourth trip will be with her
grandfather, " Tina's mother said in the voice
she used when Tina was about to do some­
thing stupid. Grandpa must've picked up on it,
too, because he said, "Yes, ma'am" and fin­
ished his breakfast without another word.
All three of them suited up in the apart­
ment, then sterilized each other's suits with
the wide-spectrum death ray. Grandpa grum­
bled again about the unnecessary precautions,
but he held his arms out and let Tina zap him.
Then they closed their eyes and set off a flash
bomb in the living room. It wouldn't sterilize
the whole apartment, but it would sterilize
the air long enough for them to make their
exit.
Grandpa let Tina teach him how to tiptoe
down the hallway, and he picked it up fairly
quickly. They rode the elevator up to the top,
cycled through the airlock, and stepped out
onto the gray lunar surface.
"Darker than I expected," Grandpa said.
"From Earth it looks white. "
"That's because it's i n a black sky, " Tina
said.
"Sky's black here, too," Grandpa pointed
out. "Hmm. Don't see any stars. "
"You . . . you have to let your eyes adapt to
the dark , " Tina said hesitantly. "That probably
AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
won't happen with the crater wall lit up like it
is."
Copernicus's eastern rim towered upward
in the distance, glowing bright, if not white,
in the direct sunlight. Tina followed its bumpy
ridgeline with her eyes, noting the sparkles
from mineraI deposits and the streaks of ejecta
rays from recent meteor impacts. "Recent"
was anything less than a few million years.
The crater floor arOlmd the colony entrance
was sunlit, too, but at a shallow angle, so it
was full of shadows. Some of them had
sparkles inside where melted glass from mi­
crometeorites reflected light from the crater
wall. They looked like holes all the way
through the Moon, with stars shining through.
"Huh," Grandpa said. "What's there to see,
then?"
Mom made a little throat-clearing noise.
"How about the vacuum distillery'"
"Aha! Now that sounds interesting . "
S o Mom led them around t o the industrial
side of the colony, where dozens of robots
worked to fabricate things that could be built
in vacuum. The 'still was the main attraction,
though. Tina was fascinated by the fractionat­
ing column that separated out pure metals
from the soil by vaporizing it and letting the
vapor condense on surfaces of various tem­
peratures. The bottom of the column glowed
white. Blue-white, even. It was too bright to
look at directly, and that was just the waste
heat that escaped the insulating blanket.
It apparently wasn't what Grandpa had ex­
pected. He fidgeted for a few minutes, then
said, "I guess it would be too much to ask that
you'd be brewing hooch. " He turned once
around, taking in the rest of the industrial
zone. "It's all robots," he said. "Doesn't any­
body do any work here?"
"We use robots in high-danger positions,"
Mom said. "There's no sense risking some­
one's life when you don't have to."
"What about adventure? What about the sat-
isfaction of a job well done?"
"There's plenty of that here . "
"Yeah, a hundred feet underground . "
Mom sighed. "Let's just walk."
They headed out into the plain. Tina ran
from boulder to boulder, examining the shad­
ows with her headlamp and bringing back es­
pecially pretty mineral specimens to show
Grandpa, but she quickly realized he wasn't
51
ANALOG
interested in rocks.
He tired out pretty easily, too. Before they'd
even gone halfway to the Seiun Monument,
where the Japanese had made their first land­
ing on the Moon, he asked to turn around and
go home. So they went back to their apart­
ment and he feU asleep on the couch.
Tina thought about going next door to see
Keiko, but she would have to go through de­
contanlination again, so she went to her room
and studied. She must have been tired, too,
because the next thing she knew Mom and
Grandpa were having an argument in the
kitchen. They were talking about Tina.
She could hear Grandpa's voice, but not
Mom's. "And now I find out her best friend is
a twenty-five-year old woman from next door.
Does she have any men at aU in her life' That
doesn't count. That doesn't either. I'm talking
men. Someone she can look up to. I'll tell you,
Katie, I'm afraid you're going to wind up rais­
ing a little lesbian here. "
Tina heard her mother's response to that:
"And what would be so tragic if she were'''
she demanded.
"You're kidding , " Grandpa said. "You'd be
okay with that? What, are you lesbian your­
self? Is that why you don't-"
Mom's laughter drowned him out. Tina
used the cover to ease her door closed. She
didn't want to listen to them argue. She want­
ed everybody to get along and have fun while
her grandfather was here. This might be the
only time she ever actually got to see him in
person, and it was turning out horrible.
She thought about it for a few minutes, try­
ing to decide what to do. The thin paper door
didn't block much noise, and their voices
were getting louder. She waited for a quiet mo­
ment and opened the door as noisily as she
could, went to the bathroom and banged the
lid as if she'd fumbled it, then went into the
kitchen and yawned as if she'd just woken up.
Mom was mashing cookie dough in between
her fingers, and Grandpa was exanlining the
calendar as if he'd never seen one before. Both
of them had red faces.
Tina pretended she didn't see anything
amiss. "Hi, Mom. Hi, Grandpa. Can I have a
snack?"
"Of course you can, honey, " Mom said.
"What would you like?"
"You're spoiling her," Grandpa said. He
52
turned without waiting for a response and
wedged his way past the divider into the living
room.
"Are you okay?" Tina whispered to her
Mom.
Her mom wiped away a tear. " I ' m fine.
What can I get you?"
"A cookie?" Tina said, nodding at the dough
in her mother's hand.
"You'll have to help me make them first,"
Mom said.
"I'd like that. "
It turned into one of the best afternoons
Tina could remember, although it felt really
strange to be baking cookies and preparing
dinner with her mother while Grandpa sat in
the living room and watched the screen.
Dinner started out quiet. They'd moved the
table out into the living room so there'd be
more room, and Mom put on a feast. Rabbit
and chicken both, plus fried rice and gravy
and candied carrots for color. It felt like three
meals at once to Tina, but Grandpa didn't
seem to notice. He just ate and ate and ate.
Everylhing but the carrots.
Then when he began to slow down, he
started talking. "Seemed like half the people
on the shuttle up here were Japanese. "
"Not surprising," Mom said. "It's a Japanese
colony. They're the ones who landed here
first. "
"Damned shame," Grandpa said. "But we've
got Tranquillity and Fra Mauro and the others.
Why aren't you there?"
"Because this is where David and I found
work."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it.
How can you stand to live with all these
squints' I thought I brought you up better
than that. "
Mom looked at him for a long moment and
he lowered his eyes, but he said, "I'm just say­
ing. "
"Not in my house you're not."
"It's not a house. It's a box in a bigger box. "
Tina picked up the plate of rabbit. "Have
some more, Grandpa?"
"No thanks, honey. I've had enough . " He
leaned back in his chair. "How'd it ever get
this way?" he asked. "When I was a kid, space
was supposed to be a frontier. A place where
a man could go and earn his fortune without
people breathin' down his neck all the time. It
JERRY OLTION

was supposed to be Buck Rogers and space­
ships and asteroid mines, not underground
warrens and sterile walls and giving up all
your freedom for the great collective. "
"That was always a fantasy, " Mom said.
"Even the Apollo landings took an entire na­
tion to make them happen. And the more pea­
pie we bring up here, the more we have to
cooperate. "
"The more YOLI have to sacrifice, you mean.
I tell you, Katie, it galls me to see you here. I
was hopin' it wouldn't be what it looks like in
the news, but it's worse than that. This is no
life for an American. "
"I'm a Copernican now, " Mom said.
Tina intentionally speared a carrot too hard,
sending the others flying upward off her
plate, but neither Mom nor Grandpa paid any
attention.
"00 they even have churches here?" he
asked.
"We do, for the people who want them,"
Mom said. "1 don't go. And don't you give me
any lip about it."
That was apparently the wrong thing to say.
"If you're raising my granddaughter without
God, I'll give you more than just lip," Grandpa
said. He stood up from the table. He did it too
fast, though, and cursed as he fought to keep
from flying backward.
Tina jumped up, too, and shouted, "Stop it!
Both of you just stop i t ! " And before her
grandfather could regain his balance she
pushed him away from the table toward the
couch. "Go away, " she told him as he flailed
helplessly in the air.
She had grown up on the Moon. She knew
just how much of a push to give a massive ob­
ject to send it wherever she wanted it. Grand­
pa's windmilling and cursing didn't change his
trajectory a bit: he thumped into the couch
like a cargo shuttle sliding into its dock. The
couch groaned, but didn't collapse.
Grandpa didn't stay put, though. He bel­
lowed in rage and leaped up, cracking his
head on the ceiling. That set him off even
more, and he became a flailing ball of rage,
striking out at everything within reach. A
lamp went flying into the hallway and the
rocking chair tumbled over Sideways, striking
the video screen, which broke into a couple
dozen glass shards.
That seemed to be enough to shock Grand-
AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
pa into silence. He dropped to the floor with
considerably less grace than the tinkling
shards of video screen, but didn't struggle any
further.
Tina and her mom both stood next to the
dining table, their mouths open but making
no sound.
There was a loud click from overhead, and
a voice that could penetrate rock said,
"Kathryn Jackson, do you require assistance?"
"I don't know," she said. "Stand by. " She
walked over to Grandpa and stood just out of
range of his arms and legs. "Do I need assis­
tance here?"
"They watch you in your own home?" he
said.
"We watch out for each o/her," Mom told
him. "We're a civilized society and we protect
each other from harm."
"You're a bunch of damned communists,"
Grandpa said.
"That may be, but we're happy ones. "
Tina felt anything but happy. She looked at
her grandpa there on the floor, the wrecked
remains of her living room scattered around
him, and burst into tears. She fled into her
bedroom and slammed the door, but that
didn't help anything. She buried her face in
her pillow and tried to block out the world.
Mom must not have asked for help. She
came into Tina's bedroom a few minutes later
and sat with her, not saying anything, just
holding her and letting her cry herself out.
Tina went to sleep that way, in her mother's
arms, for the first time in years.
In the morning, she couldn't remember
much about the argument. The living room
had been cleaned up, so the only thing out of
place was the video screen. Grandpa sat on
the couch and stared at the blank wall. Mom
busied herself in the kitchen.
Something wasn't right. Something beyond
the obvious tension in the apartment. Tina
couldn't remember what had happened. The
harder she tried to rebuild the events of the
previous day, the more distant they became.
The day before, too. She didn't even remem­
ber picking up Grandpa at the shuttle dock,
though she knew she must have.
She went into the kitchen and got her usual
bowl of soyrea!. Mom smiled and set one of
the versa cakes on the table next to her bow!.
"Thanks, but I don't think I want one right
53
ANALOG
now, " Tina said.
"Sure you do, " Mom said. "It'll perk you
right up."
Tina looked at the little frosted cake. She'd
never had trouble remembering things before.
And this was the first time Mom had made
these funny-tasting cakes.
"Why do you want me to forget?" she asked
softly.
Her mother made a tiny little gasp, quickly
stifled.
"I'm not stupid," Tina said. "IT I eat this, I'll
forget today, too, won't I'"
Her mom nodded.
"Will I forget it completely?"
"No," Mom said. "It just . . . takes the edge
off. " She lowered her voice to a whisper.
"You'll remember that Grandpa was here, but
not what happened."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you carrying around
the kind of memories I do. We left our physi­
cal diseases behind when we left Earth; I want
to leave our mental diseases behind, too. "
54
Tina considered that for a moment. She
wondered what it would be like to catch a
cold. Or the measles, or malaria. People who
got that one never got rid of it. She imagined
what it would be like to have a disease like
that in her head and never be able to cure it.
The versa cake hadn't messed with any of
her earlier memories. She still remembered
the video calls from Grandpa, and the way
they sometimes went if he'd been drinking.
" H ave the last two days been like the bad
phone calls?" she asked.
Her mother nodded.
Grandpa shouted from the Jiving room,
"\Vhat're you two whispering about in there?"
Tina looked at her mother, then tilted back
in her chair so she could see her grandfather.
"We're wondering what to do today, " she said.
She took a bite of the versa cake and said
around the crumbs, "Come have a snack with
me while we decide. " •
Copyright © 2012 Jerry Oltion
JERRY OLTION
THE ALTERNATE VI EW Jeffery D. Kooistra
OS AND ENDS #5
M
y last Odds and Ends potpourri col­
umn came out three years ago, in
June of 2009. Enough short subject
material has accumulated since then
to write fifteen new ones, so here is the fifth
instaUment in the series.
Some of you may have been dismayed to
read what I had to say about those FTL neutri­
nos in my April column when Dr. Cramer had
covered the same story in his March column.
When the story broke, I honestly thought that
it had come too late for Dr. Cramer to discuss
it and meet his March deadline. I thought
April was the soonest either of us could get to
it. So I was surprised to open up my March
Analog and find the Cramer take on FTL neu­
trinos that I fuUy expected couldn't have ap­
peared until May.
Yet , had I known his column would beat
mine to press, I still would have written about
the subject (although I would have taken into
account the extra familiarity with the details
that seeing Cramer's piece first would have
given the readership). After aU, finding parti­
cles traveling faster than light in the way the
folks at CERN did, and verifying the validity of
that result, could easily be the scientific find­
ing of the century. Nobody in his right mind
could think that either Cramer or Kooistra
would even be able to not write about it, or
reftain from revisiting it.
Speaking of which, the OPERA experiment
was redone with a variation shortly after I sub­
mitted my April column. It wasn't an indepen­
dent confirmation because it was performed
by the same people at the same facility using
the same equipment. Nevertheless, the new
measurement addressed and eliminated a pos­
sible source of error, this supposedly being in
the shape and duration of the collision pulses
that produced the neutrinos. Recall that the
0005 AND ENOS #5
FTL neutrinos were measured to have arrived
about 60 nanoseconds early. However, the
pulses that produced the neutrinos lasted
longer than that, so it was argued by some
that these were smeared out too wide to mea­
sure accurately. To address this criticism the
experiment was redone, only this time around
the pulses were three nanoseconds wide, nice
and short with respect to the 60 nanosecond
FTL Signal. As physicist and science blogger
Lubos Motl (he's also an extremely vocal string
theory advocate) put it on his blog: "It's effec­
tively equivalent to measuring the speed of in­
dividual neutrinos." (http://motls. blogspot.
com/201 1/1 1/opera-neutrinos:!tl-even-at-
3-ns.htmlmore) Once again, the neutrinos
showed up about 60 nanoseconds early, laying
that criticism to rest.
Since writing the April column, I 've be­
come more confident that the FTL result will
turn out to be tme. My reasons aren't partinl­
larly scientific. It's just that this time around
with a jaw-dropping, unexpected claim (un­
like with say, cold fusion) the critics have
been less rabid and more polite, and the re­
searchers in the best position to validate the
result are being allowed to go ahead and do
just that. A few months ago I would have been
willing to bet a chocolate sundae that the find­
ings would hold up. Now I'm willing to bet a
steak dinner.
I could put this next section under the "no
news is good news" subtitle if I was so in­
clined. During the past few months we've bro­
ken the record for days without a major hurri­
cane reaching the shores of the United States.
A major hurricane is defined as Category 3 and
above. Environmental scientist Roger PielkeJr.
had this to say on his blog: "On December 4,
201 1 it will have been 2,232 days since Hurri-
55
ANALOG
cane Wilma made landfall along the Gulf coast
as a category 3 storm back in 2005. That num­
ber of days will break the existing record of
days between major US hurricane landfalls,
which previously was between 8 Sept 1900
(the great Galveston Hurricane) and 19 Oct
1906." (http://rogerpielkejr. blogspot.com
/2011/1 1/new-us-hurricane-recordhtml)
Ordinarily this record would n o t have
caught my eye, but I recalled an earlier Alter­
nate View of mine called "Baseball and Hurri­
canes" (April 2007) in which I discussed
claims made at the time that hurricanes were
becoming both stronger and more frequent.
Pielke Jr. also points out: "Since there won't
be any intense hurricanes before next sum­
mer, the record will be shattered, with the
days between intense hurricane landfalls likely
to exceed 2,500 days." For those of you who
want to start your own count, Hurricane
Wilma struck Cape Romano, Florida on Octo­
ber 24, 2005.
Bear in mind, 2005 saw a lot of hurricanes,
and that was the year of Katrina and the flood­
ing of New Orleans. As for why we had so
many hurricanes that year, I made this obser­
vation in my earlier column: "Some experts
claim that global warming is to blame." I also
noted: "Most experts on hurricanes have long
predicted that the US would enter a bad
stretch of increased hurricane activity during
the present decade, based on records of previ­
ous cyclic hurricane behavior, without refer­
ence to global warming at all."
Now I admit that I wouldn't be an Alternate
View columnist it I didn't derive great plea­
sure from "seeing the experts proved wrong, "
and it's even more delicious when the subject
at hand is polarized along political lines and
both sides get their "what will surely happen"
predictions wrong. A too hasty claim can
make a fool of anyone, which is why most sci­
entists hate to have their considered opinions
presented to the public by science journalists
who routinely leave out the caveats. But in this
case, few scientists provided any caveats to be
left out. All of them (at least, those who
weighed in on the matter) thought we were
headed for more intense hurricane activity.
I haven't seen any explanations presented
for why there has been such a paucity of hur­
ricanes striking the States of late. This is a
good thing because the fact is, no one actually
56
knows why-it's just one o f those lulls that oc­
cur from time to time, and this one happens
to be the longest we have on record. But what
should be noted is that a long stretch of noth­
ing is every bit as "unusual" as a stretch of
high hurricane seasons. So if the latter
prompts calls for "immediate action on the cli­
mate," shouldn't the former prompt cries for
inaction? Well, it should, but there isn't any
money in that.
While I'm on the subject, I should also men­
tion that those famed prognosticators of the
coming hurricane season, who have been
putting out their forecasts of next season's
hurricane frequency every December for the
last 20 years, have quit doing it, at least for
now. Their reason for doing so is refreshing­
they realized their forecasts had no predictive
validity. The prognosticators in question are
Philip J. Klotzbach and William M. Gray, both
associated with the Department of Atmos­
pheric Science at Colorado State University.
You can find their recent paper, "Qualitative
Discussion of Atlantic Basin Seasonal Hurri­
cane Activity for 201 2" here: http://hurri­
cane.atmos.colostate.edu/jorecasts/20 1 1/
dec201 1/dec2011.pdf
Therein they say (right at the beginning):
"Our early December Atlantic basin seasonal
hurricane forecasts of the last 20 years have
not shown real-time forecast skill . . . . " The pa­
per is certainly worth your while to read (or,
failing that, to skim) if you have any interest in
hurricanes or climate forecasting in general.
I reread Heinlein's award-winning The
Moon Is a Harsh Mistress (which won the
Hugo in 1 967) about a month ago for the first
time in several decades. The "computer sci­
ence" of the book is hopelessly dated (except
for Mike the sentient computer), as is almost
everything having to do with ordinary elec­
tronics. None of that matters because the
book is a political novel, and the issues raised
by Heinlein are as valid now as they were
then, and as they always have been. I took the
book off the shelf because I wanted to reac­
quaint myself with what Heinlein had to say
about the idea of TANSTAAFL (There Ain't No
Such Thing As A Free Lunch).
The "there is no free lunch" idea preceded
Heinlein, of course. Nobel Prize winning
economist Milton Friedman is credited with
JEFFERY O. KOOISTRA

saying, "There is no such thing as a free
lunch," but TINSTAAFL just doesn't sound
right. The idea is simply a metaphor for an
economic, as well as a physical, fact-ulti­
mately, you can't get something for nothing.
Friedman is also (usually) credited with the
following anecdote, of which there are many
variations, but one lesson. My retelling is as
follows: Friedman goes to China in the '60s
and is taken to see a host of workers digging a
canal. He notices that everyone is digging the
canal with shovels. So he asks his official
guide, "Why aren't you using bulldozers and
other earth-moving machines?" The guide
replies, " This is a jobs program for putting
people to work. More machines would
mean fewer workers. " To which Friedman
replied, "Then why don't you have them us­
ing spoons?"
I returned to Heinlein because we have
reentered "the silly season" of American
politics, and modern mass media and social
networking has made it possible to be ex­
posed to a great deal more diversity of opin­
ion than ever before. Since the US and the
world economy has remained down in the
dumps since before I wrote "Odds and Ends
4 , " the political and economic rhetoric is
also more shrill than usual, and there is a
definite perception that our stakes in the
next election are higher than ever.
Unfortunately, what I've noticed is that
the self-evident truth of TANSTAAFL is not
self-evident to everybody. The clear lesson
of the Friedman story is obscure to many,
some of them the loudest and most shrill
amongst us. We are always going to have
political arguments about how much mon­
ey the government is entitled to collect and
where the money s h o u l d be spent, for
0005 AND ENOS #5
-JUNE 201 2
t h e s e are m a t t e r s o f o p i n i o n . B u t
TANSTAAFL i s a jact, dammit! A n d w e ig­
nore it at our peril.
Let the matters of opinion be argued as
opinions, but let all of us, be we left o r
right, agree o n the facts.
With this in mind, I've been toying with
the idea for some time now of writing a
piece to be called "The (Steam) Engine of
the Economy," which uses the running of a
steam engine as a metaphor for the running
of an economy. There's actually a branch of
economics called "Thermoeconomics" that
models human economic systems as ther­
modynamic systems. I think this is the way
to go, but what I want is a nice, compact es­
say that anyone can understand and apply.
One thing that's been getting in my way
of actually doing it is that I don't know if I
can keep it short and sweet, and I don ' t
k n o w i f i t s h o u l d be a formal e s s ay, o r
maybe written as a fable instead. At any
rate, it see.TIS obvious to me that if one
equates units of energy to units of money
(e.g. 1 joule = 1 dollar), then it becomes
easy to see why, say, inflating the currency
(that is, printing more money) is as useless
in the long run as declaring that one kilo­
gram of coal has 30 megajoules in it instead
of the actual 2 4 . It should also be easy to
demonstrate the important difference be­
rween a productive and non-productive job,
and explain how and why some public poli­
cies are the equivalent of throwing water
on the main boiler.
Any of you been thinking along lines like
this, too?
If so, let me know. •
Copyright © 2012 Jeffrey D. Kooistra
57
 Michael Alexander
For some purposes, the best message
may not be "for dummies."
F
eynman was right. There's plenty of
room at the bottom.
My phone said, "Idiot calling, " and I
picked it up.
"Sophie? Jim. "
"Hey, Jim! I thought you were still in Antarc­
tica, looking for meteorites."
"Got back yesterday. "
"And you waited until today to ca'" Bad ge­
ologist. No doughnut."
"Love YOli too, dear. "
Jim was one of those odd people who like
the cold. "Any luck this year?"
"Yup. A good haul. That's the reason I'm giv­
ing you a call. Would you have some free time
to look at a sample for me?"
I run the mass spectrometry section in a
contract laboratory. Like most such labs, work
tends to run feast or famine depending on
what the sales people can throw over the tran­
som. Lately it wasn't exactly famine, but work
had been slow. "Depends," I parried. "What do
you have in mind'"
"Unknowns analysis. I'd like to get a prelimi­
nary handle on something."
"You have a good MS lab at the university.
Why call me?"
"Because I'd have to fill out a bunch of fornlS
and get in the sample queue. Maybe a prelimi-
58
nary result i n a week or so, then resubmit after
I know what I'm looking for. Besides," and I
could hear him smile, "you've got a better eye
than they do. I know how you can worry a
problem to death. "
Flattery. It often works. "Any idea what I'm
looking for?" I was thinking that, at three hun­
dred dollars an hour, I might squeeze out a few
thousand before the end-of-month numbers
went in. Keep your section solvent, keep your
job.
"Maybe-sorta. Let me squirt a few pictures
over to you."
The files came in and I opened the first one.
"I see it. What is it?"
"A meteorite, as we found it, sitting on the
ice. It's a big one, about seven kilos."
The rock was Slightly ovoid and looked
burned. Well, it was a meteorite. I flipped to
the next picture. "Hey, that looks pretty neat,"
I said.
"Agreed. That's back at the lab yesterday,
right after slicing it in half. What's it look like to
you?"
I stared at it for a few seconds. "A stone
fruit. " There was what looked like a patchy
crust of metal with a stony core. Near the cen­
ter were hundreds of brown dots mixed into
the matrix.
MICHAEL ALEXANDER

"Yes, again. Like a mixed nickel-iron chon­
drite with inclusions.'
"Carbonaceous pomegranate?"
"Something like that. Except those spherules
aren't glass."
I perked up. "Really'"
"I pried a couple out and tossed them in a
beaker. TIley seem to have about the same den­
sity as water. "
"Did they dissolve at all?"
"Not that I could tell."
"Organic," I said at once. "Polymers?"
"That's what we're thinking. This looks like a
new class of meteorite. Damned complex his­
tory, probably multiple formation events. And
who knows? Amino acids' First detection of
polyethylene in one?"
I was def initely interested.
"Anyhow," he continued, "would you have
some time to take a quick look at one or two of
these?"
It sounded like fun. "Sure. Can you send me
a P.O. for startup money?"
"Would two thousand do' The grant is get­
ting a bit low."
"That'll buy you a long day. If things look in­
teresting I might even toss in an evening for
lagniappe. I have some free time this week­
end."
"I'll put a couple in a vial and head over."
"Oh, really?"
I knew he was grinning. "It's Friday night, it's
after hours and you're still in the lab. Sad."
"And whose, fault is that?"
"C'mon, Sophie. I know you like interesting
problems."
"True. Take yourself, for example. "
"Should I bring sandwiches?"
"At least there's an offering to the goddess.
Meatball sub, no mozzarella. We'll play with
your stuff a bit and see if there's something. Or
nothing. "
Jim showed up an hour later and I let hinl in,
giving hinl a quick kiss. We headed back to the
instrument room, dropping the sandwiches in
the break area: no food or drinks in the lab.
The place tended to clear out for the weekend
if no big projects were running and we had it
to ourselves.
There is a special feeling having the laborato­
ry to yourself in the evening. The cool air, the
vacuum pumps thrumming, computer screens
THE FINE PRINT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
glowing, and pointillist Iight-emitting diodes
everywhere. Somehow the place seems more
ready for business than when occupied.
Jim dug a small vial out of his pocket and
handed it to me. Sitting down at the bench I
opened it and took a look. Inside were several
little spheres, looking like dark brown millet
seeds, maybe a millinleter and a half in diame­
ter. Pulling on gloves, I reached in with tweez­
ers for one of them. It canle out, then slipped
and dropped to the floor.
"Crud!" I looked around, but it could have
gone anywhere. "Did you see where that
went?" Jim leaned back on the stool next to
me, looked arotmd, and shook his head. "Prob­
ably nesting with the itty-bitty nuts that attach
the power feed-throughs to the quadrupoles. I
buy those things by the dozen," I muttered.
"1 thought you did microelectrode implanta­
tion in rat brains as a postdoc at NIH," he of­
fered, unhelpfully.
"Yeah, but that was years ago. Dammit, Jinl!
I'm a spectroscopist, not a doctor!" That got an
eye roll.
I picked up another, being more careful, and
set it down on the pad covering the bench top.
Through a ten-power loupe it looked like a
dark tan glass bead. Pinning it in a pair of for­
ceps, I tried marking the surface with a scalpel.
It seemed slightly soft, but I didn't want to try
to cut it too hard and lose another one.
Taking a micropulverizer from a drawer, I
carefully put the bead at the bottom of the well
and pointed to a small dewar. "Could you get
me a bit of liqUid nittogen?"
Over in the comer Jinl cracked the valve on
the big storage tank. It hissed and squealed,
clicking and snapping as he collected a few
ounces. He handed it to me and I dribbled
some into the well. It fumed and spat, finally
settling down. When the residual liqUid had
evaporated, I slid in the anvil and gave it a
sharp hit with a small mallet.
When I looked, the frozen pellet had been
reduced to a smear of fine tan powder. Over in
the fume hood I rinsed the powder into a mi­
crovial with carbon disulfide and put it in an uI­
ttasonic bath for a minute to dissolve anything
that would dissolve. It formed a yellow, cloudy
solution, so I spun it down in a centrifuge for a
few minutes. Then I reached in with a microsy­
ringe and pulled off a bit of the now-orange so­
lution. Jim wrinkled his nose. "I hate the smell
59
ANALOG
of that stuff, " he said as I carried the syringe
over to the mass spectrometer, put it in the in­
fusion pump and connected the line to the in­
let.
All things considered, mass spectrometry
probably gives you more informational bang
for the buck than any other analytical method.
Since I'm a mass spectrometrist, I may be bi­
ased. Dribble a dilute solution of an unknown
mixture into the machine, give the molecules a
little bump to ionize them, sort them with a ra­
diofrequency field, and you'll see on the screen
a plot of intensity versus molecular mass. It's
not really that sinlple, but it gives you an idea of
how it goes.
"Now, " I said as he leaned over my shoulder,
"go away for a while and let me fiddle. '
"How long is a while?"
"A few minutes. Maybe an hour or two. I re­
ally don't like people hanging on my shoulder
when I'm thinking. "
He nodded, then wandered over to a desk,
found the current issue of Nature and sat
down to read. Good boy.
I began infusing the solution into the ma­
chine, scanning from atomic mass fifty to four
thousand. While the machine worked, I paged
through a recent copy of Analytical Chem­
istry.
The resulting plot was surprisingly clean. I
did a background subtraction and took a look.
Just under six hundred, a very large single
peak appeared. After that there was a short in­
terval of nothing much, then a closely spaced
series of peaks starting at just over six hundred,
rising to a maxin1Um and then fulling again to
background. Then the peaks began rising
again, reaching a maximum intensity just under
a thousand and falling back to zero.
And the pattern repeated itself again. All
told, there were ten rises and falls out to the
linlit of the instrument, all approximately the
same height. That was pretty wild. It wasn't
perfect, but it looked like a sine wave. I saved
the scan.
Then I went back and zoomed in on the big
peak just before the waves to look at its de­
tailed structure. As I blew up the scale the sin­
gle peak remained a single peak. You shouldn't
see a single peak. Since most elements are a
mixture of different isotopes, the peak is usual­
ly a family.
Except that I saw a single peak. I noted that
60
and went back to the wave pattern, expanding
it to measure the spacing between the individ­
ual peaks.
There was a spacing of seventeen between
each one. Seventeen. What masses seventeen?
For polyethylene I'd expect fourteen, the CH
,
repeating unit of the polymer.
I started the instrument again, collecting that
first big peak in the linear ion trap; then I be­
gan taking it apart.
The ion trap breaks a molecule into frag­
ments according to well-understood rules; you
collect the fragments and measure their mass.
With the help of a computer algorithm (or pen­
cil and paper, if you know what you are doing),
you can put the fragments back together and
get the structure: a molecular jigsaw puzzle. I
ran several fragmentations at different energies
and printed out the list of results to play with
while the computer fiddled with the data.
About an hour later I had a structure I felt pret­
ty sure of, and the computer agreed.
I looked over the data one more tinle and sat
back for a minute, doing nothing. There was
immense satisfaction knowing something no
one else in the world did. Then I turned to the
desk behind me.
"Jim?"
He looked up. "Find anything interesting?"
"I think so." I printed several more sheets
and picked up my notes. "Let's go back to the
break room."
"Any beer in the fridge'"
"Got beer, and it's worth a toast. '
"For what?"
A smile was stretching my lips painfully. "in­
controvertible evidence of intelligent life else­
where in the universe. "
There was a long pause. "Let's have that
beer. "
It was alnlost midnight. I had been working
for four hours and hadn't noticed. Jim, bless
him, must have read that Nature cover to cov­
er, including the Positions Wanted. We walked
back to the small lounge where I spread the
printouts on the table while Jinl got the beer.
He grabbed two Hefeweisen, twisted the caps
off the long necks, and sat down in a chair, tak­
ing a swig and waiting.
Deep breath. " I think they are basically
beads of polyethylene with a mixture of small­
er hydrocarbons embedded in the matrix. But
MICHAEL ALEXANDER

it's not just any mixture. For one thing, the
compounds are monoisotopic . "
That made him sit up. "As i n how?"
I slid a sheet over to him. "They are carbon
and hydrogen, all right. But all the carbon is
carbon-13 and all the hydrogen is deuterium,
hydrogen-2. "
He looked. "That's impossible."
"Sure, for any naturally-occurring compound.
They should be about one percent carbon-13
with the rest carbon-l2, and hydrogen-l with
about a hundredth of a percent of hydrogen-2.
But this stuff is one hundredpercent carbon-l 3
and hydrogen-2." I tapped the sheet. "It's a way
to teU anyone that dle material couldn't possibly
be natural, even if the original chemical stmc­
nlres were destroyed. "
"But they weren't."
"No. Not enough to matter, anyway. That's
the second brilliant idea. Redundancy. Even a
milligram of material contains trillions of
copies. Lose a few percent, so what? And then
there's this," and I slid the printout of the spike
and wave pattern over.
He took it in quickly. Jim is smart. "This is a
scan of the extract?"
"It is. If you blow it up you can see that aU
the components are also monoisotopic. Who­
ever made this stuff combined the individual
components in proportions to give a pattern
that would immediately catch the eye of any in­
telligent being looking at it. Those beads are
damned sophisticated. I'm feeling like a bit of
an ape for starting out by hitting one with a
hammer. "
Jim continued studying the printout. He
looked calm, but the way he was sliding
around in the chair gave away his excitement.
"This big peak at the beginning," he said. "Con­
tamination, or something else?"
"Something else. I did a quick structure
analysis with the ion trap. It needs to be re­
peated, of course, but I ' m pretty sure I ' m
right. "
"What is it?"
"Hydrocarbon. A multiply-branched nine-car­
bon chain, a nonane. It has a dinlethylated aro­
matic ring at one end, sharing the carbon with
a pair of three-carbon atom groups. The third
carbon on the backbone has two single-carbon
groups and the fourth one has two four-carbon
groups with branched ends." I slid over a stan­
dard structural diagram the computer had
THE FINE PRINT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
printed out.
He looked. "Okay, I believe you. What do
you make of it? I don't see anydling special . "
"Neither did I, at first. Then I asked myself
why that particular molecule would be made
to stand out that way. I mean, you can't miss it.
Then I turned the picture sideways. "
He looked at me with an inquiring expres­
sion.
"You ever read any Sherlock Holmes?" I
asked.
"Urn. No."
"We must widen your intellectual perspec­
tive. 'The Adventure of the Dancing Men, '" I
said, and slid a drawing I had made across to
him. "What do you see here'"
I had redrawn the molecule by hand, just
showing the carbon backbone. It was a vertical
zigzag nine line segments long. At one end was
a hexagon attached to the zigzag by a short
straight line, with two short lines sticking out
at two and ten o'clock on the hexagon. On the
same attachment point as the hexagon were
two kinked lines three segments long. Two
places down on the zigzag were single lines
sticking out on each side. One place below
those were paired kinked lines ending in a bi­
furcation. The rest of the zigzag trailed out be­
low them, five line segments long.
Jim stared at it for a long time. He finished
his beer. He compared my sketch to the more
formal stmctural drawing the computer had
spat out. Then he got up, walked over to the
fridge, and got another beer, which he behead­
ed and drained in one motion. After a magnifi­
cent belch he canle back and sat down. "I see,"
he said, "What appears to be a bad stick draw­
ing of a biped with a head at one end, two
arms, two short objects just above what I'd call
the hips, two legs and a longish tail . " He
belched again. "Excuse me. "
I nodded. "That's what I see, too. Pretty
danmed clever, I think. Put an urunistakable sig­
nal in the artifact; the impossible isotope ratios,
the mass sine wave, and top that with several
gazillion copies of a picture of yourself, each
about fifteen nanometers long."
"Seems like a lot of trouble for what's actual­
Iy there."
"I'd agree, but my guess is that the small stuff
is just an advertisement for the matrix itself. I
don't have the equipment for it, but I'm willing
to bet ten bucks that once the long polymers
61
ANALOG
making up the bead structure are carefully ex­
amined, we'll find all sorts of stuff encoded in
dlem. I'd look for patterns of, say, methylation
along the backbone corresponding to num­
bers. Even better, specific patterns of carbon-
1 2 and carbon-1 3 in the backbone itself. Maybe
carbon-1 2 as a zero, carbon-13 as a one. That
would be more resistant to data loss over long
periods of time. "
"How much data . . . "
"Let's see. Say the polymer has a weight of a
million. Just guessing. That's roughly . . . " I
looked at exponentials in my head. "Sixty thou­
sand repeating units. Put ten different patterns
in each bead. Five hundred thousand bits of
data. I'd think you could pack a lot of informa­
tion into half a million bits."
He nodded. "I feel a paper coming on," he
said.
"So," Jim asked, finally, "what do we do
now?"
I sipped my beer. "Get some prettier spectra,
write up a short paper, and post it in one of the
online journals. We can play scissors-paper­
rocks for first author. "
"Hmm. Shouldn't we tell the government or
something?"
"The paper will do that."
He tapped his botde on the table. "Yeah, but
this is . . . big."
"Oh, yeah. We're going to be fumous. "
"But, First Contact and all . . . "
I waggled my bottle at hinl. "No, it's not. It's
just archeology. How old is mat thing, anyway?"
Jinl was quiet for a while. "You know, " he fi­
nally said, "I'll bet there's an atomic clock in
that meteorite. Something like zircons with cal­
ibrated potassium-40 or something. " He looked
off, then back. "Now that I think of it, didn't
Sagan put a small sanlple of pure U-238 in me
Voyager records as a clock?"
"I'll take your word for it. But you'll need an
ion microprobe to look for that, and an isotope
ratio mass spectrometer. Don't you have one
over at the university?"
"Yup. Lots of work to do."
"What I can't figure out," Jinl said somewhat
later, working on yet another beer, "is why
someone would actually do such a thing in the
first place. The odds of anyone actually finding
it are . . . "
62
"What are the odds that anyone- any­
thing-will find the records we sent out on the
Voyager probes?" I asked.
"Geez, I dunno. One in a jillion' One in a
googol? As close to zero as 0.99999 . . . is to
one?"
"I'd agree. Then why did we even bomer?"
He shrugged. "Good question. "
"Come on. Partly because it was fun. An in­
tellectual exercise; can we come lip with a
message obvious enough that anybody with
enough brains and technology could interpret
it?"
"That's one answer, " he said, sipping his
beer.
"It's also possible that this is just some side
bit from a much bigger dling. Or maybe mere
was a religion or philosophy behind it. Unless
they left an explanation in the meteorite, we'll
never know. "
Jim's eyes had acqUired a faraway look.
Enough Hefeweisen can do that to you. "I sup­
pose if you want to send a message like this,
the best place to put it is in a container you
know can really last. I've got meteorites in me
lab four billion years old." He lifted his beer,
looked at it, then set it down. "Still, consider­
ing me odds, it's kind of crazy. "
It was my turn to think for a moment. "Have
you ever seen me handprints on the cave walls
in Europe' Twenty thousand years old and
more. An outline, where somebody pressed a
hand against the rock and blew pigment over
it. Why do that?"
As I said before, Jinl is smart. "It says, 'I was
here,' if nothing else."
"That's my feeling, too. We leave something
to let others know we were here. I mink that's
what Voyager was about. And what these little
spheres are about. Whoever made them, I have
a feeling we will find them oddly fanliliar. "
Jinl finished the beer. "I'm convinced, So­
phie. Now . . . what do we do next?" He raised
an eyebrow: your place, or mine?
I stood up and walked over to a set of
shelves, picking up two flashlights. "First we
have our sandwiches. Could you put mine in
the microwave? Then we go back to the lab
and get down on our knees to searc h . I
dropped a message from infinity somewhere
on the floor. " •
Copyright © 2012 Michael Alexander
MICHAEL ALEXANDER
 am
E m ily Mah
Theory can be useful, but when
observed facts disagree. . . .
W
hen the Dakota crashed, all Elliana
could see was the radar image. The
large dot of the ship became a mil­
lion tiny dots. Her mind's eye
showed her more detail than she could bear.
The giant, dish-shaped ship would have
plowed into the dusty plain rim first. Its outer
plating would buckle, then burst as the pres­
sure inside vented into the almost non-existent
atmosphere on Ganymede. The composite
support struts would shatter. Fragments of
metal and composite would impact the sur­
rounding plain, raising a cloud of dust that
would take days to clear.
She slowed her breathing and willed her
mind not to inlagine what it would be like for
those still on board. While she sat in her space­
suit, in a shuttle plush as a commercial airliner,
eleven souls were snuffed out on that crash
plain. One was her daughter, Amber.
In the seat beside her was her husband and
Amber's father, Mitch. His hand was on hers,
but between the t11ick gloves of their suits and
the sense of horruying unreality, she barely felt
it. The radio was full of voices, babbling, argu­
ing, mourning, consoling. Elliana didn't bother
to sort through them. Now was the time to
pray, seek solace from God, but she was too
DARWIN'S GAMBIT
numb.
Seared into her mind was a photograph that
Mitch had put up in their quarters three
months ago. A young couple, cast in bronze,
holding each other and looking down at the
grave of their newborn baby. The couple were
Latter-day Saint pioneers from the era of cov­
ered wagons, and the statue was in Winter
Quarters, Nebraska, where many had spent
the cold months on their trek west to Utall. A
month ago, the picture had been a reminder
that Elliana, Mitch, and Amber were Latter-day
Saint pioneers too. At one time, they'd cele­
brated all the parallels.
"Ellie?" came a soft voice over the radio.
Elliana cringed. She tried to tell herself that
Kathryn, one of the crew p'l'chiatrists, wanted
to help rather than gloat.
"Ellie, please talk. Just let me know you're
still with us."
"I'm here. I'd like privacy, please . " She
closed the channel, even though she knew
that was petty, then turned to look out the
window at the gray-brown plain scrolling past.
Their shuttle was on its final descent. Soon
they'd land at the robot-constmcted Ganymede
Base.
. . .
63
ANALOG
Amber probably hadn't cried on impact,
thought Elliana. She hadn't cried six months
ago, when they'd blasted offMars for the short
shuttle flight to Mars Orbital Station. She'd
been deathly silent. They hadn't been in their
space suits for that flight, so Elliana ought to
have seen the color drain from her daughter's
face and noticed how her fingers dug like
claws into the armrests as the shuttle shot up
into the sky, and the red surface of Mars fell
away beneath them.
Only when the teen slumped forward did El­
liana and Mitch realize anything was wrong.
She'd passed out, and her vitals monitor
showed that her pulse had spiked and her
adrenalin levels were off the charts.
Minutes later, when they docked with Mars
Orbital, Elliana fretted as a medical team carted
the girl to sickbay and looked her over. Amber
came to and moaned as the bright lights shone
in her eyes.
"Overexcitement, " pronounced the physi­
cian on duty. "First time on a shuttle. Family's
about to embark in a historic mission. She's
fine. "
"J'm sorry," said Amber. "That's so dumb of
Ole."
"Don't be silly. " Mitch tousled her short
brown hair and helped her up off the cot.
Elliana fell into step next to them as they
headed out. Amber towered over her, thanks to
Amber's low gravity childhood on Mars and El­
liana's high-gravity childhood on Earth.
The three of them turned a corner and Am­
ber dropped like a puppet Witll its strings cut.
Mitch let out a yell of alarm and tried to catch
her. He half managed. Her head still thudded
against the floor. Elliana glanced around to see
what had happened. It looked as if Amber had
been hit with a tranquilizer dart, but the hall­
way was empty. The doors along it were all
shut, and the window set into the wall showed
just empty space with stars.
That window, it turned out, was what made
Amber buckle at the knees. Ten minutes later,
the three of them were back in the sickbay, and
this time they met Dr. Kathryn Vickers, the psy­
cl1iatrist. "As you know," the honey-voiced Aus­
tralian twanged, "I'm also on the Ganymede
mission with you. Sorry to meet like this. "
Mitch bmshed that aside, which Elliana ap­
preciated. Now wasn't the time for pleas­
antries. Amber began to stir on her cot.
64
"I was just looking at Amber's life history,
and let me ask you something: has she ever
been outside of Tharsus Base?"
"No," said Elliana.
"Not even for her surface walk exanl?"
Amber rolled over. "I had to have that in-
side," she rasped. She cleared her throat with a
cough. "111ere was a dust storm that day. "
"So your entire life, you've never seen a win­
dow?"
"I've seen window walls. " Tharsus Base had
hundreds of those, floor to ceiling video
screens designed to look like windows.
Dr. Vickers shook her head, her blond bob
bOlUlcing like a commercial for shampoo-the
light simulated gravity in Mars Oribital gave
everyone's locks an extra lift. "Then I'd specu­
late that she's got agoraphobia. Fear of open
spaces, and it's little wonder why. I've never
seen anyone with a psychological profile like
hers."
"Other kids have been born in space," said
Amber.
"Yes, but they've all gone to Earth since
then. Amber's been raised in what is effectively
a vault. "
"It's not a vault," said Amber. "It's an under­
growld base, built to shield against radiation. "
Kathryn didn't even look at her. "[n order to
find anyone with a comparable background,
I'd have to look at cases of severe abuse. Chil­
dren locked in closets for ten years, that kind of
thing."
"I didn't grow up in a closet." Amber rolled
her eyes. "Tharsus has a park that's-"
"I recommend she go to Earth for treatment.
I insist upon it. "
"Whoa, you can't just pull us off the mis­
sion!"
"Amber, " said Mitch. The truth of the matter
was, Kathryn could do just that. She could file
a report with the Space Council and make a
recommendation.
"Dad, I can do this. I promise. Just give me a
chance. 1 was a little out ofit-"
"She had a severe anxiety attack. There's
nothing 'little' about it," said Kathryn. "Now
isn't the time to be jetting off to an alien
world."
"I agree. So don't send me to Earth. That'd be
way more foreign than Ganymede. "
Elliana hid a smile. Her daughter always did
have a quick wit.
EMILY MAH

Which Kathryn did not appreciate. "Listen
here-"
"Let me do my spacewalk exam. Give me
some anti-anxiety medication and some coach­
ing and let me prove that 1 can do this." Am­
ber's spacewalk exam was the last requirement
she had to fill before she was cleared for the
mission. The family had assumed it would be
nothing more than a formality, easily cleared
out of the way once they were on Mars Orbital.
"You underestimate your condition," said Dr.
Vickers.
"And you underestimate me."
"It's true, " said Mitch.
Kathryn shook her head, said to Amber, "Ex­
cuse us," and took Mitch and Elliana aside. She
didn't just step to the other side of the privacy
barrier around Amber's cot, either. She took
them all the way out into the hallway. "Your
daughter's at that age when she's just learning
some of life's hard lessons. She's a teenager
now. Before she could chalk up all of her fail­
ures to not being grown up enough, but over
the next five years, that excuse won't work
anymore, and that's hard for anyone to fuce."
"Doctor," said Mitch, "with all due respect,
Amber's not a typical teenager. "
"Well, of course you won't d1ink so-"
"Kathryn . "
Elliana watched the exchange, her heart
surging with Mitch's words.
"Listen to me, you're all in for some hard
lessons. I can see here that your daughter's
used to having her way, being indulged. Even­
tually she'll want something you can't give her
and-"
"She is not a demanding, spoiled child."
"She knows you and your reactions. She's
clearly figured out how to manipulate you-"
"She is not manipulative! "
"You're going to let her try the spacewalk
exam, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course."
Elliana nodded in agreement.
"Well, fine. Perhaps she'll fuil it and you'll all
have a growing experience. Or perhaps she'll
pass and you'Il put off the inevitable for a few
more weeks or months. For everyone's sake, 1
hope she just fuils. "
"With all due respect-" Amber strode out
of the sickbay.
Kathryn pivoted to face her. "You are not dis­
charged-"
DARWIN'S GAMBIT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
"Yeah, but you're talking about me and 1
have a right to know-"
"You are a minor, so you do not need to be
present-"
"We're going on the mission, okay? 1 was
born in space and I'm gOlU1a stay in space. It's
where 1 belong. "
Kathryn rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to ar­
gue this point. You won't be in space forever.
No one's got a born right to live here."
" I 'll pass my spacewalk exam. Just you
watch."
And she did, the very next day. It took her a
tilde extra tin1e, with pauses to take a few deep
breaths now and then. But she got her certifi­
cation and the family got mission clearance
from the Space Council, and none too soon.
The Dakota was due to slingshot past Mars in
less than forty-eight hours.
"For what it's worth," said Kathryn as Amber
stripped off her suit in the locker room, "I do
object, most strenuously. This is a mistake. "
" I passed, and I'm going." Amber shook out
her suit and hung it up in her locker.
"I wasn't talking to you-"
"You were talking about me-"
"You need to learn to respect the chain of
command. This is no way to talk to-"
"Yeah, you just need to learn how to respect
people in general. "
Elliana was inclined to agree, but she kept
her face neutral as Kathryn positioned herself
between Amber and her parents, with her
back to Amber. "You need to assert some au­
thority here, and 1 strongly recommend you go
to Earth, for her sake. 1 know she wants to go
to Ganymede, but you need to be the
grownups. Don't be afraid of a hard decision.
It'll save you a lot of grief down the line. "
Those words were now on constant replay
in Elliana's mind. The shuttle touched down for
a perfect landing, its wheels kicking up a roost­
er tail of dust in their wake. Out the window
was the view of the base, the place Amber
hadn't stopped talking about since the family
first qualified for the mission, six years earlier.
"Elliana?" came a hoarse voice over the ra-
dio.
"Yes?"
"It's Chung . . . "
"Ah." Elliana could not in1agine how he felt.
He'd been in charge of evacuating the children,
65
ANALOG
but there hadn't been time. All ten of the littlest
ones were in a room that had been impossible
to get to. Retaining walls had cut off the major
access routes, and the ship spun in a way that
made the journey toward them straight "up,"
against the centrifugal force. Helmuth Schau­
mann had made a break for his young son, only
to be sedated by one of the doctors and hauled
onto the evacuation shuttle like a sack of pota­
toes.
Amber had been with Chung and the older
children, though, so Elliana had assumed her
daughter had gone with them to their assigned
shuttle.
"I'm sorry, " he said. His voice cracked. "I
tried to force her to come with us. She climbed
into one of the ventilation shafts and we
couldn't reach her-"
"It's all right, " said Elliana.
"It's not. You know it's not. "
"I don't blanle you. " Those words were au­
tomatic. She couldn't blame him or anyone
else. She and he would be in the sanle crew for
at least a decade. There was no room for
grudges or anger or blame.
"J do." He sobbed. "J do . . . "
EUiana felt a surge of resentment. Amber was
her daughter. He had no right to mourn her
this much.
"I passed the psych tests for this mission,"
said Chung. "What does that say about me? I'm
certified as someone who'd leave those chil­
dren behind. "
"Right. " She managed a grim chuckle. " J
know. "
Amber hadn't cried five and a half months
ago when the first of a string of accidents hap­
pened either. One m o m ent Elliana was
strapped to her crash couch, ready to unstrap
and get to work, and the next she was tI1rown
against her restraints so hard that it cnlshed the
breath out of her. The Dakota's rocket engines
came on with a nimble and the radio burst to
life with frightened voices asking for status re­
ports.
Her thoughts had immediately gone to her
daughter. Amber was i n another room,
strapped to a crash couch of her own. She was
proud of herself, that she could ride out the
Dakota's nuclear acceleration pulses on a
couch, rather than in a tank of water like the lit­
tlest children. But that meant she was also get-
66
ting the full inlpact of whatever this was.
The pressure against the restraints eased off
and Elliana tried to breathe a sigh of relief, only
to have shooting pains in her ribs. She'd later
learn she'd broken three.
"Mom, there's a giant crack in the wall in
here."
Shock, like cold water in the veins, hit EI­
liana. "What?"
"And . . . I ' m going to the hall . . . Mom,
there's this gigantic crack down the length of
the hall, and there's a retaining-that's a re­
taining wall' It's deployed, like, twenty meters
away. Parts of the ship lost pressure?"
Elliana said a silent prayer of gratitude for tlle
safety conscious Space Council. Everyone rode
out the pulses in their spacesuits.
"Mom, what happened?"
" J don't know, honey, " she said. "I'm being
summoned for a debrief right now. You stay
put."
The Dakota, they all learned, had two prob­
lems. One was that the support structures
were shattered. The nuclear pulse had hit just
off center, thanks to a sudden shift in the Dako­
ta 's balance when a shuttle's docking clamp
gave way. It was a one in a million accident,
and their munber had been up. They now flew
in a craft that was eggshell delicate.
The second problem was that a lot of debris
had been knocked loose and surrounded them
in a cloud. These fragments moved at the same
speed as the Dakota with no resistance in the
vacuum of space. When it came time to decel­
erate, the ship would slow down, but the de­
bris would keep going, and even the smallest
particles had enough kinetic energy to slice
through the unshielded side of the hull.
For the duration of the journey, the crew
had their work cut out for them. First they had
to repair the ship, then they had to clear de­
bris.
"Sir," said Dr. Vickers after the captain fin­
ished his synopsis of the problems. "May 1
make a request'"
"Go ahead." Captain Patel looked exhausted.
Even in zero-g, which tended to soften wrin­
kles and lift sagging jowls, he still managed to
look haggard.
The senior crew was all in the debriefing
room, floating over the conference table. The
scene looked like a surreal painting, everyone
EMILY MAH

in their space suits, helmets off, the whites and
grays stood in stark contrast to the deep brown
of the table and burgundy of the carpet.
Dr. Vickers pushed her short hair out of her
eyes with a practiced sweep of the fingers. "I
request that we keep all the detai ls of our
predicament from the children. This is a very
stressful simarion, and if they know the full ex­
tent, that plus the fact that there is nothing
they can do-"
"Nothing they can do?" The words were out
of Elliana's mouth before she realized it. All
eyes in the room turned to her. "Sorry, " she
said. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but there are
a lot of things the children can do. Run sup­
plies, minor repairs. Many of the older children
will be just as able as the younger techs. "
"Physically, but not mentally," said Dr. Vick­
ers. "We need to remember that the children
aren't crew. They didn't pass the rigorous psy­
chological exams the crew had to take."
She didn't look at Elliana or Mitch as she said
this, but Elliana felt dle dig all the same.
Captain Patel nodded. "All right. !fyou think
that's best." He was a father hinlself, with two
daughters aboard.
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, and
before she knew it, Elliana was alone in the cor­
ner. Everyone else was filing out the door in as
orderly a fashion as they could manage in zero­
g.
Everyone save for Kathryn, who worked her
way along the wall toward Elliana. "Ellie," she
said.
Elliana bristled at the nickname. No one
called her that.
"I don't know what the protocol was in
TIursus Base -"
"Amber is quite capable of dealing with a cri­
sis. She's very mature for her age . "
"Well, I doubt that. All children are more re­
silient than most people realize. I just wanted
to make sure you understand my reasoning. "
"Amber's smart enough. She can probably
figure out what happened on her own."
Dr. Vickers' left eyebrow twitched, as if she
had just stopped herself from raising it. " I
hope," she said, "dlat I will not have to counsel
her after she's 'figured it out herself. ' Evenmal­
Iy you'll have to understand that she is just a
child. "
Elliana returned to the family's quarters,
DARWIN'S GAMBIT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
where she found Amber sprawled out, midair,
her space suit still on, her helmet floating next
to her. She had her palmtop out and her eyes
scanned something on the screen. "Mom," she
said, without looking up, "there are so many
cracks in the walls. And I saw three retaining
walls in place. How many holes are there in the
ship?"
"Honey, I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to
discuss that. "
That got Amber's attention. She lifted her
head sharply. "What?"
"Captain's orders. The details of what hap­
pened are only to be shared with the crew-"
"I'm crew!"
"You're a layperson."
"Mom-"
"Sweetie, it isn't my call. !t's an order. "
"Well, I won't tell anyone you told me."
"I can't do that and you know it. 1 have to re­
spect the chain of command. "
"Mom, this ship's clearly damaged, like, se­
verely. You can't expect me to see all this and
just not care. "
"I'm sorry. "
Amber shifted. She probably meant to stand
up to her hIli height, but in zero-g all she ac­
complished was an undignified flail, then a
rigid diagonal posture. "What am I supposed to
do now? Just work on patching cracks and-"
"No. You and the other minors are going to
school. You'll keep doing your independent
study, but it'll be in the provisional nursery-"
"They're sending me to the nursery?"
"Everyone under the age of eighteen-"
"I'm not gonna go into daycare. You can't
make me."
"I can, but I don't want-"
Amber pushed, one armed, off the ceiling
and sailed past Elliana to the door. Speechless,
Elliana watched her daughter storm out. A
weak protest died on her tongue. Amber
wasn't supposed to leave the room while the
crew did a detailed disaster analysis. She was in
real danger, just taking off down the hall.
And Elliana was too dumbstmck to stop her.
Dr. Vickers was right. Elliana never thought of
Amber as a child, which meant she didn't
know what to do when the girl acted like one.
"Ellie, can 1 speak to you'" Dr. Vickers asked
a couple of months later. She stood in the hall­
way outside of the greenhouse. TIle crew had
67
ANALOG
repaired the ship enough for it to spin up some
artificial gravity. People could walk and stand
now.
Elliana wiped her muddy hands down her
filthy lab coat and stepped out into the hall.
Kathryn paused and her eyes unfocused a
moment before she turned the full force of her
gaze on Elliana. "Look, I lUlderstand that Am­
ber hasn't taken the current situation well. I
know she's been very upset, but you need to
do a little more to corral her. "
"She's been upset, yes, but she's a good kid.
We always know where she is, and she stays in
cleared areas."
The psychiatrist frowned. "I guess I don't
know much about your background. You're a
devout Mormon-"
"Latter-day Saint, yes."
"So I don't know what . . . strictures you put
on your children, or . . "
Elliana had no idea where this conversation
was going. She folded her arms across her
chest and shifted her weight. "She spends aU of
her time that she isn't in school or helping here
in the sinmlations bay. I know her habits."
"Did it ever occur to you that she can't actu­
aUy use any of the sinmlators?"
"She can use one. The CART one. "
"Now why do you think she'd be spending
time on that simulator?"
"Because I think she's figured out what's
coming next. I think she knows that we'll be
doing debris cleanup and she wants to be able
to help."
"She can't help. She's too young, and she's
agoraphobic. "
"I know, but she's very resourceful and des­
perate to contribute."
"Did it ever occur to you to check who else
is in the simulations bay when she is?" Dr. Vick­
ers held up her palmtop, which showed the
timesheets for the bay. Amber's name appeared
over and over and over, and right next to each
entry was another name, Florian Schawnann.
He was the fifteen-year-old son of one of the
chief engineers.
Elliana's face flushed hot. "They're
friends-"
"Anyone with any kind of experience driving
anything can fly a CART. It's nothing more
than a pickup tnIck for outer space. It's a mule,
and everyone knows that its simulator is a joke
and a waste of space. Even a thirteen-year-old
68
who's never driven a car is not going to need a
hundred and forty three hours in the CART
simulator. "
"I . . . "
"Furthermore, there are the almost three­
hundred hours she's spent at the bottom of a
stairwell on Level D. "
"Ye s , " said Elliana. "There's a window
there."
"A window?"
"Right. She's been staring out of it. Practic­
ing. Building up her ability to . . . ah . . . she read
an article on how some agoraphobics do that
kind of thing . . . "
Dr. Vickers' expression softened from one of
amusement to one of sympathy, which just
made Elliana feel worse. It was bad enough to
be called to task by this woman, but to be
pitied by her' "If you would like me to-"
"We'll handle this, " said EUiana.
"Will you?"
"Yes, we will. Thank you." Elliana turned her
back on the doctor and walked away, cursing
the fact that the woman could bring out her
childish side with such ease.
"I haven't lied to you! " Amber snapped. "I
swear. "
Elliana wanted to believe her. Amber had
never been a sneak, but dlen again, she'd never
had a reason to be. "Listen- "
" I can't believe this . " The teenager looked
up at the ceiling, as if appealing to a higher
power to swoop down and whisk her away
from the situation.
"Why have you trained in the CART simula-
tor?"
"So I can help clean up debris. "
"But you can't-"
"I can. Set me up for another spacewalk test.
Not the short one I already did. The long one.
The hill EVA certification. I'll pass it."
"Honey, we can't-"
"You don't need a doctorate to clean up de­
bris, and everyone knows that's what's coming
next. I'm not stupid, you know. Everyone's talk­
ing about it, so you can forget Dr. Vickers's ad­
vice about keeping it from me."
"I never said you were stupid."
"Sign me up for a test. Please. Just do it. I
won't let you down."
"Anlber-"
"Please, Mom. "
EMILY MAH

"I . . . okay. " Elliana held up her hands in sur­
render. "All right." She flipped open her pa�n­
top and booked the test.
Fifteen minutes later came a call from Dr.
Vickers.
"You must be joking," the psychiatrist said.
The feed was audio only.
"She insists-"
"Now is not the time to be doing tests. We're
still in crisis mode. We can't spare the re­
sources for this. "
"U she passes, perhaps she really could-"
"Listen to yourself! She is not going to pass.
She can't fly a CART while the rest of the crew
works. She is not qualified to do extra vehicu­
lar work, and even if she didn't have severe
psychological issues, she is thirteen years old.
She is not an adult. You need to be the adult.
You need to tell her that this is how it is. She
can whine and kick and scream about how
much she wants to help, but you've got to be
the voice of reason. "
"A test i s n ' t that great a tax o n our re-
sources."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this."
"Please just-"
"She'll still love you if you tell her no. In fact,
she'll appreciate you all the more. If you just
give in to her every whim, that will hurt your
bond in the long run."
"I think this is a reasonable request."
"It isn't."
"So, you'll block it'"
"Are you joking? N o . I ' m sending it on
through. If you need to Jearn the hard way,
Jearn the hard way. "
Twenty-seven hours later, Elliana sat in the
sickbay next to an inconsolable Amber, who
still wore her spacesuit. Tears slid down the
girl's face and she hugged herself tight as she
rocked back and forth on the cot, each rock
punctuated with a sob. "She screwed it all up."
As if on cue, a soft tap on the privacy barrier
announced Dr. Vickers's arrival .
Elliana's stomach felt like a clenched fist. At
Jeast the p'l'chiatrist had the decency to look
disappointed as she peered around the barrier.
"I'll admit, I did hope you could prove me
wrong, " she said to Amber.
"You changed the rules!"
"I did not."
"Nowhere does it say you have to do the test
DARWIN'S GAMBIT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
with your eyes open."
Dr. Vickers rubbed her forehead like she had
a splitting headache. "That's one of dlose ruJes
that goes without saying. "
"I could have done it."
"Why not wait until you can do it properly'
With your eyes open, rather than feeling your
way around and pretending you aren't even on
a spacewalk. You try to work around your con­
dition, and that's not going to get you where
you need to go. "
"You don't think I belong here. You think
I'm a spoiled brat with parents who'll let me do
whatever I want and that I have no right to be
here on the Dakota."
"Amber-"
"Well you're wrong! I belong here. I was
born in space and I've clocked more hours
here than half the crew. "
"Listen-"
"Way more dlan you have!"
"That doesn't mean I don't know how to
help you."
"You just want to send me to Earth!"
Kathryn ran a hand over her blond bob, and
turned to Elliana. "Once she cools down, I'd
like to meet with all ofyou. What happened to­
day means she's lost even her preliminary
spacewalk certification. It's a major setback.
Now, I don't like to say 'I told you so,' but per­
haps after this, we can have a productive dis­
cussion about Amber's future." With a regretful
smile, she withdrew.
"I hate her!" said Amber.
Elliana's eyes met Mitch's over the cot.
"Honey, " said Mitch. "Maybe you shouJd lis-
ten to her. "
"What?" Amber rounded on hinl, her shoul­
ders stiff with anger.
ElJiana couldn't bear to look at her daughter
as she said, "I think your father'S right."
"No way. I thought you guys believed in
me."
"We do, " said Elliana. "That's why you're
here on the Dakota. But that doesn't mean you
can go from your preliminary spacewalk to
cleaning up debris-"
"Shut up!" Amber flung herself off the cot to
a chorus of shrieking medical alarms. "You
don't even know what you're talking about. I
was born for this."
"Amber . . . " said Mitch.
But the girl was already gone. Dr. Vickers
as
ANALOG
peered back around the barrier. "Give her
some space. She'll come around. You did the
right thing." She had smiled a smile that looked
both condescending and triumphant.
"Ellie . . . " Dr. Vicker's voice was calm. "Talk
to me."
Elliana realized that she was seated in the
common room of the base. She didn't remem­
ber her travel there from the shuttle, though
she knew it had been a short trip via robotic
ground transport. It was as if she sat in a sur­
round screen theater with a staticky sound­
track that obscured people's voices. She was in
front of the windows that looked out across
the light brown Ganymede plain. Amalthea,
dle small red moon, was about a finger's widm
above the stubby hills that ringed the horizon.
Jupiter was a giant orange orb, always directly
overhead the tide-locked Ganymede.
Amber had displayed a photograph of this
view in her room ever since the family had
been selected for the mission.
ElJiana looked down at herself and saw she
was still in her suit, her helmet tucked under
one ann. Kathryn hadn't spoken over the radio
then. Elliana looked up and saw the woman sat
beside her on one of dle pillowed chairs.
"I'm all right," Elliana said.
Kamryn shook her head. "No one would be
all right under the circumstances. I'm just . . .
I'm sorry. I've been asking myself 'what if. '
What if I'd canceled that second exam or . "
She rubbed her forehead. " I didn ' t expect
things to end this way, and if you feel I'm at
fault, 1 understand."
"She never forgave us. \Vhen we told her to
listen to you."
"I know. 1 tried working with her on that,
but she never forgave me either. "
" [ 'd come home from work a n d she
wouldn't even come out of her room. Or she'd
be over at the Schaumanns'. '
Dr. Vickers nodded. The radio speakers in
the wall gave a blare of static that made them
both wince. "Yes, " she said, "all she'd do was
tell me that she was born for this and 1 under­
estinlated her. "
Elliana shut her eyes. "She didn't know how
to handle having limitations."
"It's a hard process, learning all that."
"We could have made it easier if onIy-"
"Don't. Please. You were good parents to
70
her. "
Were, past tense. Amber's passing meant
that Elliana couldn't c1ainl the title of "parent"
anymore. Tears burned in her eyes.
There was a burst of commotion behind
them. Heavy, rapid footsteps sounded on the
rubberized floor and echoed off the domed
ceiling.
"No, no, [ hear it too!" someone shouted.
"Hear what?" That was Captain Patel's voice.
"Help ! " came a scratchy voice that made EI-
liana's heart stop. "Somebody. Anybody. Re­
spond!"
"Who is this?" said me captain.
EUiana got to her feet and turned to see the
senior crew all gathered around an infonnation
terminal set into me wall.
"Amber. Amber DeSoto."
The sense of disconnection shattered. Elliana
was aware of everyone's cautious glances,
every gasp of disbelief, every crackle of static
on the radio.
"Where are you?" said me first officer.
"Outside. Come get me. Please. "
"I want three transports on the move now, "
said the captain. "Triangulate her signal." With
a glance in Elliana's direction he said, "Find
your husband and report to me transport bay.
You've got five minutes."
They made it there in two, but by then the
transmissions had stopped. Calls of, "DeSoto!
Respond please, " just met wim static.
A million explanations flitted through EI­
liana's mind on what felt like an interminable
transport drive across the plain toward the
stubby hills. The transmission was a cmel joke
of phYSiCS, sent out before the crash. Amber's
responses to the captain's questions were coin­
cidence. Or perhaps ElJiana was hallucinating.
The long hours of crisis and repairs on the
Dakota had pushed her to the brink, and the
death of her daughter had pushed her right
over. She was in a padded room somewhere,
dreaming this. Or perhaps an alien, a la The
Martian Chronicles, was out there, mas­
querading as Amber. They were about to make
first contact.
She stood i n the transport cockpit, still in
her suit, and looked out the windshield at the
flat plain scrolling toward them as the vehicle
tmndled along, rocking slightly on its shocks.
Kathryn stood beside her, and had said nothing
EMILY MAH

for the entire drive.
"I've got a suit beacon," said the driver. "I
can't believe it. There. Look there." He pointed
at what first looked like a smudge in the Jovian
twilight. But as Elliana stared, she saw that it
was, indeed, a figure in a spacesuit, kneeling
and slumped over on the plain.
"Amber?" she broadcast. "Honey? Is that
you?"
"Mmmmph, " canle the staticky reply.
"Amber?" Elliana's voice went up an octave.
"Mom?"
Elliana shot out of the cockpit to the back of
the vehicle, but Mitch was already in the airlock,
the pressure dropping. She waited until he'd
jlunped out the other door before she keyed the
airlock to restore pressure and let her in.
Only, by the tinle it was halJWay pressurized,
Mitch was barking, "I've got her. Open the
door! "
"Mitch , " said Sigrid Maki, one of the crew
physicians who was in another of the trans­
ports. "Don't move her-"
"J've got her! Let me in'"
The airlock vented the last of its pressure
and admitted him. Minutes later he emerged
through the inner door. Sllmg over his shoulder
was a tall figure in a space suit coated with
brown dust. "I've got her, " he kept repeating,
an edge of hysteria in his voice.
The figure stirred as Mitch laid it down on a
hastily set up medcot.
"Now, wait, " said Sigrid over the radio.
But ElJiana popped the suit helmet off. The
deathly pale face inside was Amber's. She was
alive. It was all Elliana could do not to shriek
with joy. "Amber?" she said. "Honey? Sweetie?
Are you okay?"
Amber's eyelids fluttered. "You gotta . . . go
where . . . "
"How did you get out here?" said Mitch. He'd
smeared Ganymede dust in his hair with his
gloved hands.
"Flew a CART. "
"A CAl?I?" came the captain's voice. He was
also in another transport. EJliana realized their
whole conversation was being broadcast. "You
can't tell me that she slowed a CART from or­
bital velOCity to landing velocity. Those things
aren't even made to land."
"Full reverse engines for one and a half or­
bits," said Amber. "Dragged it to a stop on the
other side of the hills. Only place there was
DARWIN'S GAMBIT
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
room. Tore up the plain real bad. But don't
leave it. You have to go find it. Is someone go­
ing to find it?"
"She's delirious, " said Sigrid. "Make sure
she's hydrated."
"Sir," came another voice over the radio.
"Our transport's at the top of the hill and-"
Amber sat bolt upright, as if someone had
just punched her in the stomach. "Hello! " she
shouted. "Am I on the radio? Hello!"
"Delirium," said Sigrid.
"Hello!"
"Hello'" came a high, thready response over
the radio.
Elliana started at the sound. Deafening si­
lence descended. Everyone exchanged looks,
as if to check with the others that they really
had heard what they thought they'd heard.
"Hey," said Amber. She relaxed and laid back
down, her eyes closed as if the lights were too
bright. "You guys all right?"
Guys, thought Elliana. Plural?
"Guys?" whispered someone in the crew.
"Yeah, we're fine. Anyone coming for us
yet?"
"Count off. "
"Amber, " said Elliana. "You didn't go-"
"One," said the voice.
"Two. " Someone in the room, or perhaps it
was over the radio, choked back a sob.
"Three. "
Elliana shut her eyes. Two tears slid down
her cheeks.
"I'm hungry. "
"Say four. "
"But I want a bagel. '
"She's four. I'm five."
"Amber-" Elliana heard herself say. Five out
of the ten children?
"Six."
"Seven. "
"I have to go to the bathroom. "
"Go in your suit! "
"That's gross."
"Shut up, guys. Eight. "
"Nine. "
"And Taki. He's here too." The wail ofa baby
crying blared over the speakers, then cut out.
"We can't get him to stop crying. We've been
singing to hinl for, like, ever. "
For a long moment, there was only the shrill
whine of the transport motor. Elliana opened
her eyes and looked at Mitch, who stared at
71
ANALOG
Amber as if he'd never seen her before.
"Um, hello'" said one of the child voices.
"Yes . . . yes, Arti?" said the captain.
"Yeah, hi Dad. You coming to get-oh! I see
someone with a f lashlight. Hey guys, look!"
"Amber," said the captain, his voice husky
with emotion, "how did you ciinlb three hun­
dred vertical meters-"
"In the air vent," she said. "Most direct
route."
"And then get all ten of them out of their wa­
ter tanks-"
"Hey," said one of the other children. "We
helped."
"How did you get to an airlock?"
"We slid!" said Arti. "Down the hallway.
Everything was all tilted and weird." The ship
had spun like a f lipped coin, turning hallways
into near vertical shafts.
"You were so scared, " said another child.
"Was not!"
"You screamed. "
"Shut up!"
"Quiet, guys," said Amber. "We couldn't get
to an airlock with a shuttle. So just went to the
nearest one and got lucky. There was a CART."
"I wouldn't call that lucky," muttered some­
one over the radio. Elliana had to agree. If she
were faced with the prospect of evacuation by
CART, she'd consider the evacuation a failure.
What Amber had done was insane.
"We all tethered ourselves to the rail, you
know, around the back of the CART," supplied
another child.
" I popped it loose before the Dakota
crashed," said Amber.
"Like,just before," said Arti. "We saw it, like,
hit and then it, like, exploded."
"Yeah, it was so cool."
"It was amazing."
"An d then there was all this debris and we
had to outmn it. We were all screaming.'
Several voices laughed.
Elliana wrapped her anns around herself to
suppress a shudder. "How could you f ly a
CART, honey? How did you steer'"
"I pretended it was a simulator and just
looked at the instruments," said Amber. "I
didn't see the Dakota crash or any of that stuff.
I mean, you don't have to look where you're
going with a CART. The instmments tell you all
you need to knOw."
"Indeed . . . " said the captain. "Instrument
72
rated i n a CART, are you? I think you may be
the only person in the universe."
There was a chorus of chuckles, both live
and over the radio.
"We need to get these biographical details in
our report," he went on. "You'll be in the his­
tory books, and not just as the f irst person to
walk on Ganymede. "
"You mean crawl."
"Crawl?"
"Yeah, I crawled, with my eyes closed. But I
think that still counts, right?"
This time Elliana joined in the chuckles.
"Yes," said Mitch. "Honey, that counts."
"That's how I got over the hill, and then I ra-
dioed forever, and no one responded. "
"Sir," said another crewmember. "We've got
the children all untethered from the wreckage
of the CART and they are stable enough to
walk back to the transport. I'm carrying Taki. "
"AU able to walk?" said the captain.
"Or run. Hey! Slow down. Everyone stay in
sight of me, you hear?"
"Permission to revise the casualty report?"
said Sigrid.
"Granted. Yes . . . granted . . . Our total num-
ber of casualties is, ah . . . "
"Zero," whispered Elliana.
"Dad?" said Arti.
"Yes?"
"Yasmina really has to use the bathroom."
Amber opened both eyes now and f ixed her
gaze on something just beyond Elliana's shoul­
der. Her lips twisted into a smirk and she sat
up.
Even before she turned, Elliana heard
Kathryn's strangled snort of indignation. The
psychiatrist beat a hasty retreat to the cockpit
without so much as a backward glance.
"Admit it," Amber hollered after her. "You
were wrong about me."
"Amber," said Mitch. "What you did was . . . I
mean . . . " He scrubbed his gloved hands
through his hair. "How should I say it? I don't
even know where to begin."
Amber looked at him, then rolled her eyes.
"Come on. You guys had that stupid picture of
the Winter Quarters statue up for how long?
What did you think I was gonna do?" She
f lopped back down on the cot. "I'm hungry.
Are there any bagels here? That'd be so good
right now. •
'
Copyright © 201 2 Emily Mah
EMILY MAH
 Expectat i o n
of P rivacy
N . M . Cedeno
Some things sneak up o n you ­
even big things....
T
he hardest thing to adjust to in my sec­
ond life was using a public restroom.
Walking by one and seeing someone go­
ing about his business through a clear
wall is disconcerting enough. Being the per­
son using the facilities and watching strangers
pass is nearly impossible. I've gotten used to
seeing the neighbors bathe and perform un­
mentionable personal grooming. I'm glad that
clothing is still considered necessary to pro­
tect one from the elements here in the north­
east. The nudists have made considerable
inroads in warmer climates.
J went to sleep one day-okay, fell into a
deep coma after being shot-and woke up fif­
teen years later in a world I barely recognize.
Anonymity is dead. Privacy is not only obso­
lete, but to desire it engenders suspicion of
one's motives. Social norms didn't merely
change while I slept, they underwent a revo­
lution. When J went out, via a bullet to the
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY
head, J was a twenty-nine-year-old moderately
successful private investigator. Now, thanks to
a minor miracle involving the regenerative
properties of neural tissue, I'm a forty-nine­
year-old private investigator on the brink of
bankruptcy. For five years J adjusted myself to
the ways the world and my business had
changed. Mara KalJeigh's case was the bucket
of cold water that made me wish I'd fought
back rather than adjust.
My office is in a forty-year-old storefront
strip retrofitted with a transparent front wall.
I like it because it still has the "old-fashioned"
interior wallboard dividing the businesses and
restrooms. J find it strikes the right balance
for my clients as well. TIle location offers the
open face society demands, yet the privacy
that a visit to an investigator requires.
J was sitting at my desk trying to decide
how many of my bills would go unpaid in the
next week, when J glanced up to see a
73
ANALOG
woman hesitating in front of my door. She
stared at the lettering, which read Lincoln Pro­
tection and Investigations, turned to walk
away, paused, turned back to the door, and
yanked it with enough force to fling it all the
way open.
I flicked off my budget management pro­
gram and stood to greet her.
"Welcome to Lincoln Protection and Inves­
tigations. I'm Pete Lincoln. "
She reached out to shake my hand with a
firm grip and responded, "Mara Kalleigh. " She
didn't smile or frown. Instead, it seemed that
her habitual expression was flat. She didn't
strike me as an easy person to get to know.
"What can I do for you, Ms. KaUeigh?"
"I don't know if you can help me or not."
She gave me a measuring look, like a bird
studying an approaching person, deciding
whether to fly or not. "Did you ever have the
feeling you were being watched? I mean, the
sense that someone was watching you so in­
tently you could feel their eyes? \Vhen the hair
on the back of your neck stands up, and you
can't resist the urge to look over your shoul­
der?"
I knew the feeling she was describing. It's
the last thing I felt before I was shot. But I
wasn't sure if I was dealing with her reality or
a paranoid delusion.
The lady seemed to sense my concern and
responded. "I'm not paranoid. Someone is fol­
lowing me. I've spotted the same two men at
different times and places six times in the last
two weeks. I've seen them outside my apart­
ment, my office, my grocery store, and my
gym. I feel like I'm being stalked, but I don't
know why or by whom . "
"Please, sit. I'll need t o get some more de­
tails. '
She sat gracefully, if nervously. Her hands
moved quickly to brush her thickly curling
brown hair back from her fac e . A single
corkscrew sprang right back to her forehead.
I sat and began entering her information.
Her eyes studied me as I created her file in my
database. I knew what she saw: the scar on my
temple, the graying hair, the sharp chin and
crooked nose. My face wasn't repulsive, but it
wasn't movie star quality, either.
Once we got past the basics-name, ad­
dress, date of birth, contact information-and
discussed my usual rates of payment, she re-
74
laxed visibly. Her arms and legs uncrossed and
the look on her face was peacehIl instead of
piercing.
"Why did you choose to come to me, Ms.
Kalleigh?"
She answered in quick clipped syllables,
"Well, I have no evidence of illegal activity, so
going to the police would be pointless . "
"Why choose me and not another investiga­
tor in town?" I always ask this question. The
answer usually tells me a lot about a client's
motives and frame of mind, as well as how se­
riously they had considered the problem they
were bringing me.
"When I looked up investigators, you were
the only one who didn't have links to your
book recommendations, articles you enjoy,
friends' blogs, or other personal data. Your in­
formation was basic and to the point. You
don't put your personal life online for the
world to see. I thought you would be the most
discreet and that you would understand my
desire for privacy. I'm a little behind the times.
I like my privacy, which makes people sus­
pect me of hiding something. You're also old
enough to remember a time when privacy
wasn't a bad word."
During my first life, people were already be­
ginning to supply the world with what I con­
sidered an insane amount of detail about their
private lives. People kept blogs, posting their
daily activities and their every thought. They
updated everyone on where they went and
when. It became a simple matter to find out if
people were where they said they were. They
all had G.P.S. functions informing the world of
their whereabouts. "Sharing" was becoming
the order of the day. I never did get on board
with that.
Her answer was more specific than most I
got. "I understand. Tell me, why are you be­
hind the times? What drives your desire for
privacy?"
She nodded her head in a way that told me
she had expected that question and was pre­
pared for il. "You might call my reason senso­
ry overload, or maybe exhaustion. I work all
day in customer service, assisting annoyed and
demanding people. I'm an introvert. Dealing
with people all day wears me down and leaves
me wishing I could hide in a dark room and re­
lax. When I get home, I don't want to speak to
anyone, talk to anyone, see anyone, or hear
N. M. CEDENO

anyone. The apartment complex where I live
is old, so it has interior walls, like your office
here. Last year, the owner modernized it for
energy efficiency, so each unit has one trans­
parent exterior wall. I've hung a huge curtain
over mine. As I ' m leaving for work in the
morning, I open it, and I close it when I get
home. The manager understands. She is old
enough to be my grandmother. But the neigh­
bors give me odd looks when I see them. "
Not long after I was shot, a minor court
case marked the decision that anyone who
kept a blog or a public web-page was a public
persona, not entitled to the same degree of
privacy as others. Two shocking cases of child
abuse later, a court decided that certain crinti­
nafs, upon release from prison, were no
longer entitled to the right of privacy granted
by a closed door. Then, in one year, the "Big
One" at magnitude 9.8 finally hit California,
and a hurricane flooded New York City. New
housing was built everywhere, and most of it
was made of an inexpensive, transparent, en­
ergy-efficient material called Polyvendow.
Discovered by a researcher looking for a
new impact-resistant window material,
Polyvendow made the jump to whole build­
ings when an architect named Quinn used it
for a Signature entrance to a symphony hall.
Editorials calling for openness in our lives as
the path to eliminate certain types of crime
gave birth to the first transparent public build­
ings. A Hollywood nudist movement followed
and created a world ripe for transparent hous­
ing. Pundits reprinted and repeated the state­
ment "only people with something to hide
need privacy." They shouted down those who
disagreed and forced them into uneasy com­
pliance.
Ms. Kalleigh's hands, clasped in her lap,
were bare of rings, but I asked, "Are you mar­
ried, or do you have a boyfriend or roommate
living with you?"
"No, it's only me and my tropical fish.
They're happy to see me, and they don't make
any demands. "
"No immediate family dropping in to say
hello?"
"My mother died when I was six. My dad is
in the merchant marine and spends his time at
sea. I ' m an only child. An aunt and two
cousins live on the west coast. "
"So, no one would notice if you fell off the
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
planet?"
She laughed, making a deep pleasing sound
from her throat that tickled my ears. "I have
friends I keep up with via computer who
would notice if I didn't play my turn at our on­
going games, and my coworkers would no­
tice . "
Ms. Kalleigh wasn't old, maybe mid-thirties.
Her face was pretty, even if her resting ex­
pression was severe. She didn't seem like the
type to shun society, but she was a loner.
"Tell me about the men you've seen follow­
ing you."
She reached down and picked up her
purse. "Once I realized I wasn't imagining it, I
started writing things down: times, places, de­
scriptions of the men." Pulling out a tablet
computer, she opened a program on the
screen. "Would you like a copy?"
"Send it to me." I got out my tablet and held
it next to hers. The data transfer took only a
few seconds, and I reviewed the file. It was a
highly detailed spreadsheet, documenting
times, dates, and places, as well as clothing de­
scriptions, vehicle descriptions, and license
plates. She included objects the men held and
other people around at the same time. Finally,
she had photos of the two men, taken from a
distance and obviously without the subjects'
knowledge. I glanced at Ms. Kalleigh with a
new respect: she was thorough, concise, and
organized.
In spite of the quality of the data, I still had
some nagging doubts. Staring at the list, I felt
disappointed. It wasn't outside the realm of
possibility that these people simply frequent­
ed the same places as she did, especially if
they lived near her. People living in the same
area would likely use the same grocery store
and gym. If she lived near her work, it was
possible that the men worked nearby as well.
If she felt she was being watched, perhaps the
men had noticed her, just as she had noticed
them. She was pretty and single. Maybe the
men were planning to ask her out. I mapped
the locations Ms. Kalleigh had provided. All
were within a ten-mile radius of her home.
"Ms. Kalleigh, I can find out who the men
are for you. I can follow you for a week to try
and determine if they are following you. How­
ever, based on this material, these men may
live and work in the same areas as you do. We
all follow set patterns, like ants in a colony.
75
ANALOG
While millions of us may be wandering
around the city, we stick to our assigned areas.
Consequently, we see the same people fre­
quently, rather than seeing all the millions that
live here. For example, you might run into
your neighbors at the grocery store because
people prefer to shop near home."
She frowned her disagreement at me. "That
would mean I'm imagining the malevolence I
feel around me. Please, look into the situation.
If it's as you say, all coincidence, I'll have
learned I'm getting paranoid. U it's something
more, then I'll know I'm right to trust my in­
stincts. I'll pay you for a week's work . " She
pulled out her tablet again and transferred the
money.
We shook hands, and I promised to get
back to her in a week.
Alone in my office, I was relieved to see the
money in my account. The money manager
program looked much less dismal. I'd given
her a fuir chance to back out. My instinct told
me no one was following her, but if she want­
ed peace of mind, I'd give her peace of mind.
I hadn't had a stalking case in a while. It was
the kind of crime that became easy to see and
prosecute in the new, open, keep-no-secrets
world. Stalking left a cyber-footprint that was
easy to follow. No one needs evidence of
cheating spouses, either, because anyone who
cheats does so in full view of their spouse,
neighbors, and coworkers. Penalties for stalk­
ing and voyeurism are stiff. Child abuse, sex
crimes, drug crimes, elder neglect, and a vari­
ety of social ills once hidden behind closed
doors virtually vanished in the rebuilt cities.
Alcoholism, addiction, and mental health
problems no longer slide by unseen. Cosmetic
surgery has increased five hundred fold. Sloth
and gluttony have decreased. The obesity epi­
demic ended. It's amazing the changes people
will make if they know they are living in a ter­
rariUfll.
In fact, the only crimes that had increased
were confidence schemes. Most of my cases
involve protecting the credulous from cons or
assisting the gullible in tracking lost assets. All
the openness in society seems to encourage
people to take too much at face value, leaving
the door wide open for fraud and embezzle­
ment. However, most people take these com­
plaints to the police and not to m e , so
business is slow.
76
Using the pictures and the data Ms. Kalleigh
had provided, it took me twenty minutes to
learn that Subject A was a serial philanderer
who lived in her neighborhood. He was listed
on several relationship websites looking for
dates without strings attached. His social net­
working pages showed him to be married
with six kids. A quick review of his wife
showed she knew of his activities and didn't
care.
Subject B was harder to pin down. License
plate data didn't come up with anything but
cars registered to businesses, and the photo
got no immediate matches. After trying all my
sources, I still had a blank for Subject B. ll1at
was enough to send up red flags. Nobody hid
that well, not without trying.
I got my gear prepared for a day of surveil­
lance and locked up for the night. I decided to
start early, be at her apartment by six in the
morning. Ms. Kalleigh would leave home for
work at seven, and I'd be there and ready to
observe.
The doorbell rang at five the next morning
while J was shaving. J could see the police of­
ficers waiting for me to answer the door as
clearly as they could see me wiping my fuce.
"Yes, what can J do for you!" J asked as I
opened the door.
"Are you Pete Lincoln'" said the first officer.
From his rumpled pants and creased shirt, I
guessed he'd been up for a while, probably all
night.
"Yes."
"Did you have a financial transaction with
Mara Kalleigh yesterday evening'"
"She came to my business and hired me to
do some work for her. Why!" J knew some­
thing had happened to her. J could feel it in
the tension radiating off the officers. They had
to be homicide or major crimes detectives.
"What did she hire you to do?" The first of­
ficer, a well-muscled specimen, was doing all
the talking. The other, a stony-faced individ­
ual, seemed to be there to listen.
"That's confidential. Why do you want to
know?" I asked again.
He looked me over slowly before he said,
"Ms. Kalleigh was found dead outside her
apartment last night."
"How did she die?" I doubted they'd tell me.
Homicide detectives prefer to keep details to
N. M. CEDENO

themselves.
"We're investigating her death as a homi­
cide. We expect your cooperation. Withhold­
ing information from police regarding an
ongoing investigation is a crime punishable
with time in jail and hefty fines. " His speech
was almost robotic, a monotone that indicated
he'd delivered those lines hundreds of times
and expected me to take them at face value.
He wasn't making a threat. He was merely stat­
ing fact.
Opening the door fully, I motioned for the
detectives to come into my sparsely furnished
but compulsively organized home. Withhold­
ing information was never an option. They'd
have a court order in fifteen minutes, and I'd
be charged with obstruction and booked in
twenty. The officers had probably already ac­
cessed my internet search history, since that
was no longer private either. The larger inter­
net search companies had turned over user in­
formation so many times without protest that
the courts ruled users no longer had an ex­
pectation of privacy. J gave the officers the
documents and images from Ms. Kalleigh, my
research results, and a summary of the con­
versation I'd had with her.
"When was she killed?" I asked.
The robotic-voiced officer turned to leave,
and for a moment I thought he wasn't going to
answer. Then he said, "Around eight o'clock
last night. Good day, sir. "
The officers knew J wasn't a suspect. When
they accessed my internet search history, they
would have found that I was still doing re­
search online at the time of Ms. Kalleigh's
death.
Shortly after they left, J headed out as I'd
planned. Only instead of doing surveillance, J
went to ask questions. The police start with
hard facts: details they collect from the web,
such as financial data, the nature and extent of
personal relationships, family hiStory, medical
history, political leanings, religious affiliation,
hobbies, and life interests. They liked to leave
the unreliable human witnesses with their bi­
ases and faulty memories for last. The police
might not see Ms. Kalleigh's neighbors for
days, but I'm stuck in my ways. J still think the
human version of a story might sometinles be
better than the computer version.
I arrived at her address as the sun rose over
the horizon, casting the world in a pinkish
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
gray light. Ms. Kalleigh's apartment complex
was as she'd described: older, blue-painted
buildings, each with one exterior wall re­
placed with the energy-efficient, transparent
Polyvendow. Stately shade trees had grown up
in the middle of carefully planned, but gener­
ic, shrubbery. Seasonal flowers grew in well­
mulched beds edging neat sidewalks. Looking
up, J could see people going about their morn­
ing activities. I knocked on door after door. M­
ter a n hour J gave up speaking t o M s .
Kalleigh's neighbors. This time, I thought,
maybe the police's "hard facts first" policy
made sense. I hoped the complex manager
would give me a less biased picture of my
client. The neighbors' prejudices were making
my skin crawl.
Once upon a tinle, living in a certain area of
the city, having a certain skin tone, and being
poor were considered indicators of criminali­
ty. We were winning the war against that kind
of prejudice, but apparently people needed
some new brand of prejudice to replace it.
Now, trying to get a little privacy made people
fear you and avoid you like you carried an an­
tibiotic-resistant disease. All of the neighbors
I'd seen felt that they were well rid of Mara
Kalleigh and whatever criminal elements with
whom she associated. In their eyes, a woman
who hung curtains must have been hiding
something dangerous, nefarious, or violent.
They all considered her death to be proof of
their assumptions about her.
One twenty-something woman, her mouth
full of toast, was ready to swear that Ms.
Kalleigh poisoned her cat. A young married
couple who were expecting their first baby
had heard rumors that she was responsible for
break-ins around the complex. An apartment
full of college kids, who were sleeping off a
night of drinking when I knocked, suspected
Ms. Kalleigh of having addictions ranging from
Cigarettes, outlawed three years ago, to the
newest heroin concoction. On top of that, al­
most everyone seemed to have been attending
a residents' association meeting that ended at
about the time of the killing. Then, they aU left
the meeting in groups, giving everyone an ali­
bi. No one saw or heard anything.
I walked into the apartment management
offices, which smelled of fresh-baked cookies.
A quick glance located the air sanitizer pro­
ducing the scent. A slim teenager sat behind a
77
ANALOG
desk applying color bands to her nail tips. She
looked up, and I asked her if I could speak to
the manager. The teenager closed her mani­
cure equipment with surprising alacrity and
vanished into a back office area. In a moment,
she returned with a hearty-looking woman old
enough to be my mother, but considerably
more fit. This lady looked like she lifted
weights competitively in spite of her slightly
blue-grey hair.
She introduced herself as Jeannie, and I ex­
plained why I was there.
"Mara was a sweet, shy kid. She wasn't into
anything illegal or dangerous. She liked priva­
cy and a little time away from the prying eyes
of the world. I'll miss her. She liked to share
cinnamon rolls with me whenever she
baked. " Tears formed in her eyes, and she
swiped them away with a tissue hastily
snatched from a box on the desk.
"Did you attend the residents' association
meeting last night'" I asked.
"No, we had a water leak reported in one of
the units, and I had to take care of it. It looked
like Niagara Falls in that bathroom. " Tears be­
gan to roll down her cheek. "I can't believe
someone killed her. "
"Ms. Jensen thinks her cat was poisoned by
Ms. Kalleigh."
"What! That cat was sixteen years old. !t
died of old age. Ms. Jensen knows that, but
she's still in denial. No one killed that cat.
Mara Kalleigh was a little old-fashioned. She
didn't like being stared at or watched all the
time, and she was kind. She would never have
hurt that cat." She motioned for me to join her
on the sofa in the impersonally decorated lob­
by.
"I heard you had some break-ins recently.
Have you had any other trouble?"
The girl at the desk was eavesdropping as
expected. I met her eyes, and she didn't even
blink. Her generation had no concept of priva­
cy.
"No, nothing. We had small items of jewel­
ry taken, mostly during the day when people
were at work . " Her eyes clouded and worry
lines crinkled across her forehead. "I think a
resident was involved, though, because who­
ever did it knew where all the cameras were
and how to avoid them. They aren't aU easy to
see. You'd have to live here or get the mainte­
nance man to teU you where they were in or-
78
der to find all the cameras. Who would do
that kind of thing' I know the residents, and
I've questioned the maintenance man. I don't
think he's told anyone about the camera loca­
tions. He seemed genuinely horrified when I
asked him about it."
She paused to take a breath, and I interrupt­
ed, "Was Ms. Kalleigh killed in a camera blind
spot?"
"Yes. Do you think she surprised the thief,
and he killed her?"
"!t's a possibility. I have a picture to show
you . " I pulled the picture of Subject B up on
my tablet. "Do you know this man?" I watched
her face as she looked at the picnlre.
"No, that is, I know he doesn't live here. He
seems familiar, like I've seen him somewhere
before, but I don't know where. Is he a sus­
pect'" she asked.
''I'm not sure. I need to identify hinl and see
if he knows anything. " The girl at the desk
was now standing to get a look at the photo.
Turning to face her, I held it up so she could
get a better look.
The girl eyed the picture for a second. "He's
the tech guy for the building operational sys­
tems. He's here every few months to do up­
dates. When equipment dies and needs
replacing, they send him out, too." She sat at
the desk again.
"Do you have his name?"
"No, but I have the number I call when
something needs fixing," she said. She read
the number to me.
"Thanks, um . . . " I paused, waiting for her
name, but she didn't supply it. She'd gone
back to her nails. "What's your name?" I asked.
The teenager spoke without looking up at
me. "Toria."
"Thanks, Toria." Turning back to Jeannie, I
asked one last question. "What was the resi­
dent meeting about last night?"
"Usually they plan a monthly social event,
but they were also going to discuss security
measures to take because of the break-ins,"
she said.
"Thanks for your help. " I held out my hand,
and she shook it daintily for someone so well­
muscled.
Tracking down the hired hand for January
Technical Services took thirty minutes. With
one call saying assistance was needed at the
N. M. CEDENO

apartments, he showed up. Watching him get
out of his truck, I compared him to the photo­
graph. He was definitely the right guy.
"Excuse me, sir. Could I ask you a ques­
tion?" I called out as I approached him. He
didn't run, and he didn't look defensive. He
waited for me.
"Yes, " he said.
"Ms. Mara Kalleigh, who lived in this com­
plex, was killed here last night. Are you re­
sponsible for making sure the security
cameras are working?"
"No, that's the security company's area. I
deal with the networks in the complex for res­
idential use: systems that nm climate control,
information access, telecasts, remote opera­
tion of appliances. You know, the basics. '
I looked him over. He wore a pale blue shirt
with the name Walton embroidered on the
chest and carried a small tool kit. "Did you
know Ms. Kalleigh?"
"No," he said, and started to move past me
to the office.
"She had noticed you. Can you think of any
reason why she might think you were watch­
ing her?" I stepped back in front of him and
forced him to come to a quick stop to keep
from sianlming into me.
He looked at me as if I were speaking some
ancient dead language. "Watching her?" He
paused and recognition lit his face. "Do you
mean the lady with the curtains?" he asked.
"Yes, her. "
"I was thinking of asking her to join a group
I'm in. She seemed to value privacy."
"What kind of group?"
"We're a grass roots movement advocating
for the return of privacy protections. I thought
she might be interested. '
"Were you following her'"
"No, I wasn't. I'd seen her around the area a
few times. She might have noticed me trying
to decide whether to approach her. It takes
me a bit of effort to go up to someone. " He
glanced at the office. "Look, I got a call from
here. I need to get to work. '
He tried to step around me again, and I two­
stepped in time with his movements. "Don't
worry about it. I placed the call, and I have a
few more questions. Where were you last
night?"
"Last night? I didn't kill the lady. I wasn't
here. I've got a second job doing a night shift
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
as the tech maintenance guy at an internet ra­
dio station. I was working there from six PM
until two in the morning. Then I went home.
You can check. Four of us work the night
shift, including the night disc jockey. I'm sor­
ry the lady's dead, but I didn't have anything
to do with it." His voice held an edge of an­
noyance.
After collecting his contact information and
the name of his night shift manager, I let our
little dance end, and he went on his way.
Then I called the detective in charge of the
case and told hinl I'd found the guy in the pic­
tures. The police could verify his story and his
alibi. I was sure he was telling the truth,
which left me no closer to a solution.
My stomach growled, and I realized I was
running on h,mes. It was mid-afternoon, and
I'd been on the move since five AM. Time to
get some lunch and regroup. I was still missing
a critical piece of information: Mara Kalleigh's
cause of death. The coroner's office could
provide me with the cause of death, if I asked
the right person.
After eating the strictly portioned, legal­
sized serving provided by all fast food joints,
except those looking to lose their license, I
went, still htmgry, back to my office. Plopping
down in my chair, I yanked open the bottom
drawer and pulled out a package of almost il­
legal pork rinds. Munching, I called up the
coroner's office. A guy working there had
once needed my help extricating himself from
a pyramid scheme.
"Coroners' Office, how may I help you?"
said a deep, rumbling voice.
"Anderson Candle?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"Hi, this is Pete Lincoln, with Lincoln Pro­
tection and Investigations. A client of mine
died last night, and I was wondering if I could
find out the cause of death. Do you think you
could help me out?"
"Um, probably. Who was your client'" he
asked.
"Her name was Mara Kalleigh. Homicide is
working the case, but they wouldn't tell me
the cause of death. "
"Give me a minute or two. Let me look . " He
clicked something, and put me on hold.
A minute later he was back. "Mr. Lincoln'
Her report isn't done yet, but the autopsy has
been done. Cause of death was exsanguina-
79
ANALOG
tion, but she suffered blunt force trauma as
well. The doctor thinks she was kicked,
punched, hit with something like a baseball
bat, and stabbed in the chest. It's about as bru­
tal a case as I've seen. Somebody wanted her
dead."
"Thanks, Anderson. I'm trying to find out
who did it."
"Good luck. Gotta get back to work. Bye."
I sat and thought while chewing my index
fingernail, a habit I'd gained when forced by
the implementation of public health laws to
quit cigars. Nothing I'd found so far merited
that level of brutality. Maybe Ms. Kalleigh lied
to m e , and she did have a jealous ex­
boyfriend. Maybe she had interrupted a thief
within the apartment community, sonleone
who knew everyone was at a meeting and was
taking the opportunity to steal small items of
value. If she'd recognized the thief and he
couldn't risk her identifying him, he might
have been over-zealous in finishing her off.
I decided to go back to the apartments and
get more details on the thefts. Arriving at the
complex, I saw the police were there ahead of
me. An officer was escorting a man in hand­
cuffs to a patrol vehicle. I parked and strolled
over to Jeannie and her teenage assistant, To­
ria, who were standing outside the offices
watching the arrest.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"The police are arresting Mr. Belk for the
thefts in the complex, " Jeannie said. "Appar­
ently his medical records show he's being
treated for kleptomania. They got a warrant
and found some stolen items in his apartment.
He wasn't home when they arrived, so they
showed me the warrant and had me unlock
his place for them. "
Medical record privacy was all but dead.
First the databases collecting everyone's med­
ical information were created so that doctors
anywhere could have instant access to a pa­
tient's records. Officials had hoped this would
provide consistency when insurance transi­
tions forced multiple changes of primary care
physicians. Then law enforcement agencies
gained access to the database to deal with dis­
turbances caused by mental health patients
and hostage takers. They quickly began using
it for most situations. Schools were hooked
into the system to verify vaccinations and to
BO
better serve children with special needs. Now
any health tech, schoolteacher, vice cop, doc­
tor, nurse, inspector general's agent, or school
librarian, along with thousands of others, had
access to everyone's health records.
" 0 0 they think Mr. Belk killed Mara
Kalleigh?" I asked.
Toria said, " 1 don't think so. He was in
charge of the residents' meeting last night. He
was the first one in to set up for it and the last
one out. My parents stayed to help clean up af­
ter the meeting. We all walked home together
around 8:20 PM. IT she died during the meeting
or right after it, he couldn't have done it."
I looked at the girl. "You were at the meet­
ing?"
"Yes."
"Was Ms. Kalleigh mentioned?" I asked,
thinking back to the couple I'd interviewed
who said they'd heard a rumor Ms. Kalleigh
was responsible for the break-ins.
"1 don't knOw. I was listening to music."
Now completely out of suspects, I turned
and scanned the buildings around me. People
were visible through their transparent walls,
watching the police activity. A woman caught
my eye. She was standing with the knuckles of
her right hand pressed into her teeth and her
left hand pressed against the Polyvendow, as if
for support. Even from a distance, I could read
her distress. I recognized her as Ms. Jensen,
the cat lady.
I nodded goodbye to Jeannie and Toria and
jogged over to Ms. jensen's door. She opened
the door to my knock.
Before I could say a word, she said, "Why
are they arresting Mr. Belk?"
"He's suspected of the thefts around the
complex. The police found some of the miss­
ing items in his apartment. "
"Oh! Not for murder!" She relaxed and her
shoulders dropped as she took a deep breath.
"No, not for the murder, " I said.
Suddenly her slightly protuberant eyes
bugged out. "Wait! What! He was the thief?
He said . . . " Her voice trailed off, and the color
drained from her face. She began to ;way.
I grabbed her arm and walked her several
feet back into her apartment. She collapsed
onto a frayed couch that her cat must have
used as a scratching post.
"What did Mr. Belk say?" I asked.
She buried her face in her hands and
N. M. CEDENO

sobbed.
"What did he say'!" My raised voice pene­
trated the sobbing. Ms. Jensen leaned back on
the couch and mbbed her nose with the back
of her hand.
"He said that people with curtains were
probably hiding something and attracting bad
elements to the area. He mentioned the thefts
and recommended we all be sure to lock our
windows and doors and set our alarms. " She
blinked back tears and looked at me with big
puppy dog pleading eyes, "We thought it was
her. "
"You thOUght Ms. Kalleigh was responsible
for the thefts and the death of your cat . "
She nodded and sniffed hard t o keep her
nose from nmning.
,
"You said, 'we thought it was her. " You and
who else?"
"Mr. Ryan said she was making the neigh­
borhood dangerous, and she shouldn't be al­
lowed to live here. "
I remembered Mr. Ryan. He was half of the
couple expecting a baby. I had a bad taste in
my mouth, like unsweetened chocolate, cloy­
ing and bitter. Belk wanted to ensure no suspi­
cion fell on hinl so he chose Mara Kalleigh as a
convenient scapegoat. \Vhat if his suggestions
got her killed' What if the neighbors created a
vigilante posse at the end of the meeting to rid
the area of a perceived bad element' That
would explain the use of multiple instmments
and the feeling of malevolence Ms. Kalleigh
had noticed around her.
"What did you do after the meeting ended
last night, Ms. Jensen'" The muscles in my jaw
tightened, and I spat the words through
clenched teeth.
"We just wanted her to leave. " Ms. Jensen
covered her face with her hands again.
"What did you do?!" I yelled this time, my
anger boiling over. She shrank back against the
couch. I turned away from her and paced the
room to get control of myself.
"It wasn't my fault. " Tears streamed down
her nose and cheeks and dripped onto her flo­
ral print blouse.
"What happened? Tell me. She didn't hurt
your cat or break in to the apartments. Mara
Kalleigh was innocent, but someone killed
her. IT it wasn't your fault, who did it'" I forced
myself to speak calmly, coaxingly. Controlling
my temper had never been easy for me, but I
A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
knew I'd get more out of her if ! didn't scare
her to death.
"I can't say. I never meant . . . no one said
anything about killing her. "
I laid it out for her, guessing at the sequence
of events. "You didn't want her dead. You
wanted her to move. At the meeting, a few of
you decided to encourage her to leave. You
decided to go right after the meeting to a cam­
era blind spot near her apartment. You waited
there for her to come home. Then what hap­
pened? It's okay, you can tell me."
She inhaled raggedly, the tears still flowing.
"We met in the blind spot. I wanted to scare
her and let her know she wasn't wanted here.
I didn't know that they were bringing a bat
and a knife. They lunged at her as soon as she
walked up. I thought we were going to threat­
en her, to talk to her. But they attacked! It hap­
pened so fast. I never wanted her dead. I just
wanted her to leave! I didn't touch her. I
swear! I only watched. And then it was too
late. She was dead." Ms. Jensen flung herself
down on the couch, gasping sobs and almost
hyperventilating.
I bit back my anger and my desire to scream
at her that she should have called for help.
I didn't believe she hadn't participated in
the attack. Whether her intent had been to ter­
rorize her victim into moving didn't matter.
The result was murder. "How many of you
were there?"
"Five . " The word came out muffled by the
couch cushions.
I groaned inwardly. Mara Kalleigh never had
a chance. I yanked my phone from my pocket
and called the police. Ten minutes later offi­
cers arrived at Ms. Jensen's door. I gave them
a statement and went back to tell Jeannie
what had happened before I went home.
A few hours later, I called the detective in
charge. He told me officers had found the
knife used to kill Ms. Kalleigh in the Ryans'
apartment, as well as blood-spattered clothes
in Ms. Jensen's apartment. The names Ms.
Jensen supplied also led police to one bloody
baseball bat and two pairs of bloody shoes.
Mara Kalleigh was killed for wanting priva­
cy. I'd heard of bullying cases coming from a
person wanting privacy, but this was the first
case I knew of where it had escalated to mur­
der. I called Walton from January Technical
Services. It stmck me as ironic that he'd been
81
ANALOG
my prime suspect because of his desire for pri­
vacy. J was guilty of the same prejudice as Ms.
Kalleigh's neighbors, and J was old enough to
know better.
"If you need a rallying cry for your privacy
movement, I'd take Mara Kalleigh's case to the
press. " I gave him the details and hung up.
Jeannie had promised me she was going to
have another residents' meeting and explain
what happened. Some idiots would probably
still blame Mara Kalleigh for making herself
vulnerable or for "looking guilty, " but maybe a
B2
few eyes would be opened. Hopefully, the pri­
vacy movement would catch the national con­
sciousness. Society was overdue to respond to
the erosion of privacy. Those in the so-called
silent majority should have been up in arms.
The changes had come so gradually that peo­
ple failed to recognize what they were losing.
When I get a little more flush in the pockets, I
might send in a donation supporting the
cause. I like to root for the underdog . •
Copyright © 2012 N. M . Cedeno
N. M. CEDENO

Food
C ha i ned
Carl F rederick
Sometimes survival trumps principle. . . .
lliott watched with anticipation as Boris
E
;witched off the Higgs Inhibiter and be­
gan their mapping-run of the planet
they'd christened "Baby Blue." With one
hand, Elliott pushed himself away from the in­
ner hull and found that, though he was still
weightless, he was no longer massless. F=MA
had meaning again. He glided to his station
and, while gazing at the viewscreen, strapped
himself in. Gone now were all the petty an­
noyances that had threatened to escalate into
open warfare: Mark, just because he was the
captain, telling everyone what to do; Boris'
FOOD CHAINED
Illustrated by Tom islav Tikulin
broken English; Mark's upper-class English ac­
cent and the attitude that came with it; Boris'
unwavering use of the Nimzo-Indian defense
against a Queen's gambit; and most of all,
Mark's and Boris' teasing him about being a
vegetarian.
The search for extraterrestrial life was the
principal mission. The secondary objective
was to explore how people would take to
deep space voyages. And Elliott had to admit
he wasn't taking to it very well at all-at least
not until now.
Elliott's hands, tinted blue by the bright
83
ANALOG
viewscreen image of the planet, danced over
the keyboard, initiating spectroscopic analy­
ses of the atmosphere, the enormous single
ocean, and the sole large land-mass covered
by what might well be trees.
Baby Blue's parent star, Rolf 1 24C, lay six
light-years from the Sun, but due to the new,
near-light-speed spacecraft teclUlology and the
Higgs Inhibiter, they'd been able to get there
in less than six months as they measured time.
Years earlier, the Teng Liu Lunar telescope
had gathered spectrographic data suggesting
that the planet indeed held life-and life with
a chemical fingerprint exceptionally similar to
Earth's. Scientists talked of "panspermia:" that
life on Earth as well as Baby Blue might have
been seeded by complex organic compounds
floating through space. Religionists talked of
God's universal plan.
The mapping complete, Boris eased the
ship into an equatorial synchronous orbit
above the coast-line.
"Deploying Rover Pac k , " came Mark's
voice, " . . . now!"
In his viewport, Elliott saw a smaller craft
detach from the ship and head down toward
the planet. He tracked it, increasing the mag­
nification as it went. Approaching the upper
atmosphere, the craft blew open its cargo
compartment and expelled the sterility bubble
which contained the three autonomous
rovers. The sterile bubble flew apart and the
rovers, suspended under their maneuverable
parachutes, descended to their target area-a
white beach separating the water from the
green of presumed vegetation.
TIley landed well, and Boris Vishkov, friend
of all things with wheels, slapped his console.
"Is good! Is very gooe!! "
"Indeed it is," said Captain Mark Donaldson,
grasping a joystick. "Let's do some exploring,
shall we?"
Mark commanded the rovers i n t o Au­
tonomous Mode where they'd go toward any­
thing that moved. But they didn't move, so
Mark used the joystick to send the lead rover
slowly up the beach. The other two rovers fol­
lowed.
Elliott turned to watch Mark's viewscreen. It
showed the view from the lead rover's front
camera. Elliott, Boris , and indeed Mark
watched in rapt silence as the rover ap­
proached what could be interpreted as a for-
84
est or jungle. The light level dropped as
branches and leaves blocked much of
Rolf142C's light.
"They are trees," said Elliott, at a whisper.
"Sort of. "
Mark paused the lead rover in front of one
of them.
It was massive and squat with broad green
leaves the size of dinner plates. The trunk was
grey and at its bottom was a thick tangle of
what seemed to be roots. They formed a disk
around the trunk that stood out about as far as
the tree's branches did. A few roots from each
tree snaked out and got lost in the root struc­
ture of the neighboring trees.
"This is odd, " said Mark, glanCing to his con­
trol panel. "TIle other rovers are still moving.
And they're traveling fast. '
"Something must be moving," said Boris.
"Rovers foUow. "
Mark switched his monitor to another
rover's camera. "Indeed, you are right. There
is something moving in that . . . forest."
The rover broke through into a clearing.
And on the far side, rubbing against a tree,
stood a creature. "Good god ! " Mark stared,
bug-eyed at the display.
"It look like six legged cow, " said Boris.
Elliott found he was mouth-breathing. The
creature did look roughly bovine, but with a
sloping back like a giraffe. While the middle
and rear legs ended i n what looked like
hooves, the front two terminated in what
seemed more like hands-with four long dig­
its on each. And it had what looked like rab­
bit's ears sticking straight out from the side of
its head.
"You know, " Elliot managed at length, "it
looks sort of . . . well, sort of normal. " Elliott
bit his lip. "I mean, familiar. "
Mark glanced over at Elliott. "Familiar?" he
said with a bark of a laugh. "I suggest that per­
haps you try to get your drinking under con­
trol. "
"No. I mean it's the same overall plan as
Earth life," Elliott whispered, his eyes on the
creature. "It supports the panspermia con­
cept . "
"Well, you are the exobiologist." Mark re­
turned his gaze to the monitor. "God, I wish
we could land. "
"Not possible , " said Boris. " Engines only
work in space."
CARL FREDERICK

" I know. I know, " said Mark through
clenched teeth.
"The idea was , " said Elliott, "to not allow
any biological contamination."
"You call me contaminant," said Boris with
a smile. "We humans, Mark and me, any­
way, "-he slapped his chest-"top of food
chain. "
EUiott forced a smile of his own.
A bleating sound interspersed with clicks
came from the console speaker. Since the
rovers didn't have stereo ears, Elliott couldn't
swear it came from the creature.
"Sounds like sheep with hiccups, " said
Boris.
Mark nodded. "After six months to get
here , " he said, more to himself than to the
others, "only a month of observations from or­
bit seems rather a poor pay off. " He sighed.
"We, and Earth, will have to make due with
the rovers."
"Speaking of which, " said Elliott, "how
about we run the ICIT on the bunny-eared
critter?"
One of the rovers carried the Inter-species
Communications and Intelligence Testing
Module. The plan had been that if the rover
found something that moved, it would then
run a presumed species-independent test for
sentience. Should the moving-thing pass it,
the rover would nm an extensive language in­
struction course that should, according to the
developers, allow inter-species communica­
tion.
"The ICIT?" Mark paused. "Not yet. I'd
rather not lose use of one of the rovers for, I
don't know, a month, maybe."
"A month, " said Elliott, "only if Bunny-ears
is intelligent. "
"Doubt if it is." Mark pursed his tips. "It's an
inefficient use of a Rover at the moment. In
any case, after we're gone, the rover, aU by its
little self, can take as many months as it
needs. "
Elliott nodded, sadly. Mark was right: the
rover was programmed to hunt non-stop for
sentience without human guidance. There
was no good excuse to appropriate the rover
at the moment.
"Detaching Radio Relay Orbiter . . . now!"
said Mark.
A month had elapsed and, despite the
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
uniqueness of their present location, the crew
yearned for home. They weren't really needed
anymore; they couldn't go down to the sur­
lace, and the rovers would continue exploring
on their own. The rovers would record every­
thing, send their data to the Relay Orbiter, and
the Orbiter would send them to Earth.
Already, the data were exciting: Elliott had
commanded the rover analytical chem lab to
analyze the soil, and was pleased-and sur­
prised-to find nothing that would be harm­
ful to humans. Further, the plant life could be
eaten, and looked as if it would provide at
least minimal sustenance to earthlings.
There were creatures in the soil, no doubt
filling the ecological function of insects.
There were green grass-like and bush-like or­
ganisms. And then there were those very
strange, rabbit-eared animals-the only large
creatures that they'd detected.
Elliott had suggested that they should ex­
tend their mission: no one back home would
even notice or care. But Mark, ex-military as
he was, insisted they not deviate from their
schedule. Boris didn't want to wait, either.
And Elliott, listening to the others, found him­
self also looking forward to returning to Lunar
Base. They'd all, no doubt, be received as he­
roes.
"All right then, Boris," said Mark. "Activate
the Higgs Inhibiter and let's go home."
Elliott looked forward to that lightness of
being, the feeling of insubstantiality and hap­
py anticipation of being back on Earth in six
months. But when Boris hit the control, Elliott
felt as massive as ever. "What happened?"
Boris bent forward in his seat and worked
some controls. After a few seconds, he leaned
back and sighed. "We have problem."
"Serious?" Mark communicated a world of
worry in that one word.
"Maybe . " Boris's massive hands gripped the
controls. "I must run diagnostics."
"And the Richardson engines'"
Boris blew out air through closed lips, mak­
ing a noise like a horse. "Engines, fine . " He
glowered at his console computer. "But with­
out Higgs, we not able to withstand accelera­
tion to get up to near-light speed. "
There was silence while Boris worked. A
few minutes later, Boris raised his gaze to the
forward bulkhead. "It serious! Inhibitor mod­
ule failure. "
8S
ANALOG
"Can you repair it?" said Mark.
"No."
"Boris. I know you . " There was pleading in
Mark's voice. "You can repair anything."
"Inhibiter massive cube chip," said Boris in
a voice of resignation. "Massive, but small.
When breaks, even Swiss watchmaker not can
fix Ieetle chip."
"Can't you cannibalize some other piece of
equipment?" said Elliott.
Boris shook his head. "Chip unique. "
"And we don't have a spare?"
Again Boris shook his head, slowly. "It diffi­
cult to make, expensive, and they said it ab­
solutely infallible. "
"Yeah, really," said Elliott, in a voice sug­
gesting he'd like to kill someone.
"How long will it take us to get home," said
Mark, softly, "if we run the engines at low ac­
celeration?"
"Who knows?" Boris threw his hands up.
"Fifty years, maybe. "
"Even with rationing," said Mark at a whis­
per, "we have maybe only a couple of years of
provisions. "
"And anyway," said Elliott with a sigh, "we
can't ration oxygen."
After a few silent minutes, Boris said, "We
dead."
"You're absolutely certain we can't fix the
Inhibitor'" said Mark.
"Absolutely. Chip fried, gone, toast. " Boris
canted his head downward. "Dead . "
Mark looked wildly at the forward monitor.
"We must get down to the planet. "
"Death quicker that way, " said Boris with a
dark laugh. "Ship burn up in atmosphere. "
Elliott wondered that the others seemed to
be taking the news with amazing equanimity,
but then decided that each of them, including
himself, didn't want to be the first to "lose it."
Mark looked around the ship, as if looking
for a door to salvation. "What about the emer­
gency escape pod'"
"Yes!" Boris jerked his head to gaze toward
the hatch leading to the escape pod. "Good!
Excellent! We stuff it with food and go down . "
"Hey, wait , " said Elliott. " A big part o f this
mission was not to contaminate the planet
with Earth organisms. "
"The devil with biological contamination. "
Mark regarded him, coolly. "I intend t o sur­
vive." He stretched his lips into a thin smile. "I
B6
intend that we all survive , " he added, almost
as an afterthought.
''But-''
"I radio status to Earth," said Boris. "In . . .
fifteen years, they rescue us. "
Elliott threw his head back. "Fifteen years. "
He tried to laugh.
"We can do it," Mark insisted, his eyes on El­
liott. "The surface temperature is a balmy
eighty degrees. You yourself did the chemical
analysis. We can eat the plants. There doesn't
seem to be any microlife that can hurt us." His
stare became intense. "You did say that, didn't
you?"
"And if not hurt us," said Boris with a flour­
ish, "we probably not have bugs that can hurt
Bunny-ears. "
"Exobiology," said Elliott, "is not exactly an
exact science. Besides, the panspermia theory
suggests that there is a collection of bugs that
can hurt LIS. "
"But there doesn't seem to be one, does
there?" Mark flashed a smile, too fleeting to
soften the serious cast of his countenance.
"We have, perhaps, evolution to thank for
that. "
Boris strained to stand, but his seat harness
prevented him. "Earth bugs can't hurt Bunny­
ears! You said so. "
"Maybe! But if we're wrong, we could be
committing mass murder. " Elliott whipped off
his glasses. "And we still don't know if they're
intelligent. "
"Look at them ! " said Boris, raising his voice.
"Dumber than cows. "
"All right. That's enough . " With his hand
resting on his console, Mark pointed toward
Boris. "Do you really think we can use the es­
cape pod?"
"It meant for emergency in Earth orbit, but .
. . but I think, yes . " He looked back at the es­
cape hatch. "Definitely, yes. "
Mark and Boris discussed the logistics of
getting to the surface with the right supplies
while Elliott considered the situation. There
didn't seem to be any acceptable option. Fif­
teen years was a hellishly long time-and the
prospect didn't seem all that much more de­
sirable than a quick death.And there's some­
thing . . . romantic about being a martyr to
science. He experienced a bout of righteous­
ness.
" . . .wish we have weapons," said Boris, the
CARL FREDERICK

word "weapons" pulling Elliott back into the
discussion, "so we can get meat."
"We could use the vibro-cutter tool, " said
Mark.
"No!" shouted Elliott, aghast at the thought
of killing a Bunny-ears.
Mark and Boris turned sharply to look at
him and, lmder the pressure, Elliott seized an
idea. "There's another way. "
"Oh?" said Mark.
"Look," said Elliott. "For a couple of years
now, biologists have been freezing small mam­
mals, and then reviving them again. "
Mark eyed him, suspiciously.
"\Ve could . . . ' Elliott hesitated, a part of his
mind rebelling at what he was about to pro­
pose. "We could set the ship to auta-pilot us
back home-into lunar orbit. And then we
could engineer a small air leak, power off life­
support, sedate ourselves into unconscious­
ness, and-"
"That's ridiculous , " said Mark. "No one's
ever frozen and then revived a human."
"But in the, I don't know, fifty years it
would take us to get home, they're sure to
have developed the technique to revive us."
Mark and Boris gazed silently at him.
"I mean, look,"-Elliott was conscious of
beads of perspiration forming around his tem­
ples- "With slow freezing in vacuum, there
won't even be cell damage."
Mark gave a condescending laugh. "Frozen
and vacuum packed. No. I rather think not."
"I not think so, either, " said Boris with a
laugh combined with what seemed to be a
sneer.
Again feeling ridiculed by his crewmates, El­
liott made an impulsive decision. "Well, I'm
doing it." He tried to convince himself it was a
good idea. "I think I have a better chance of
survival than you do."
"Do you, indeed'"
"I . . . I do."
"Fine, then." Mark turned back to Boris and
began to plan. They'd report their status to
Earth, and then load the escape pod to the
roof with all the provisions and tools that they
could-Elliott staying behind gave them that
much more room. With an air of determina­
tion, Mark gathered up Boris and opened the
pod access hatch.
"Think we able built shelters with no nails
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
and hammers? " said Boris as they neared the
end of their loading of the pod.
"Not a problem," said Mark as he wedged
Boris's chess set into the pod. " I was a
Queen's Scout, and bagged the Survival Skills
badge . "
"Is funny thought," said Boris, "cooking our
high-tech food over campfire."
Mark stroked his chin, the only clean-shaven
one of the three. "We'll keep our supplies for
emergencies. ' He looked away at Baby Blue in
the viewport. "From the start, we'll live off the
planet. "
Watching his crewmates preparing to de­
part, Elliott wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
He'd blabbed his decision and didn't feel he
could back out. He had to live with it. Or die
with it.
"Good luck," said Elliott, weakly. "I'll keep
in contact with you for a while. " Until ] get
the courage to go off into the long sleep.
Monitoring the bottom-facing camera, El­
liott could almost hear the thud as the escape
pad landed hard on the same beach where,
earlier, the rovers had parachuted down.
Elliott zoomed in on the pod's hatch and
worried-but not for long. The hatch
snapped free and dropped to the beach. Mark
and Boris clambered alit. They did not wear
space-suits. They had no need for them. But
they did have communications ear-pieces.
"Are you okay?" said Elliott into his control
panel microphone.
"More than okay ! " came a tinny voice­
Mark's.
"Is perfect!" announced Boris.
Elliott wondered that they sounded truly
happy, even ecstatic-and that was very out
of character for Mark. Elliott attributed it to
Baby Blue's air, which had a higher percentage
of oxygen than Earth's. Elliott wished he were
down there with them.
Over the next few days, Elliott lived, albeit
vicariously, the Robinson Crusoe adventure of
making a new planet home. He justified delay­
ing his crya-sleep by convincing himself that
he was providing important help to Mark and
Boris: From the ship, he could control the
rovers, and he sent them out exploring ahead
of the humans-to give his former shipmates
advanced warning of danger.
87
ANALOG
But, over the course of a week, he found no
dangers -nothing more threatening than a
sudden rainstorm. So, with the minimal sense
of danger akin to that in a family movie, Elliott
watched as Mark and Boris settled in-cutting
down trees to make a shelter, eating the native
flora without apparent ill effect, and searching
out the local animal life. Elliott began to feel
useless. He was merely a theoretical exobiolo­
gist, while Mark and Boris were experiencing
exobiology first hand. Elliott was all but con­
sumed with envy.
By the end of the second week, envy had
given way to boredom-even though the
rovers had found some other "animals. " They
were much smaller creatures than Bunny-ears
and were very furtive-and mainly ran about
in the denser parts of the forest where the
Rovers found the going hard. Neither Mark
nor Boris seemed even remotely interested in
seeking them out.
Elliott judged it was time to leave. He pre­
pared his cyber-death cocktail and then pro­
granmled the ship for the long return to lunar
orbit.
But again, he put his departure on hold as
Boris announced, "I want meat!" Boris went
on to request that Elliott send out the rovers to
track down a Bunny-ears.
Elliott was aghast. "You just can't just go off
and hunt something," he radioed back. "You
have no idea what that might do to the local
ecology. "
"1 not care."
"Look, " said Elliott, scowling while keeping
his voice friendly. It's good the comm channel
is voice only. "Through millions of years of
evolution, we've become an enlightened
species. You've got to care."
Mark's laughter broke in over the line. "If
we weren't enlightened as you call it," he said,
lightly, "we could just go out and shoot the an­
imals, and grow fat and healthy. So what is the
Darwinian advantage to enlightenment>"
Before Elliott could frame a civil reply, Mark
added, "But how about this' We just seek out
the top of the food chain, and eat whatever it
eats? We 'll give it, say, an Earth week.
Agreed'"
"I not really understand this top of food
chain thing," said Boris. "People eat chickens.
Chickens eat worms. Worms eat people.
Where is top'" He paused. "But fine. Agreed."
aa
"Okay, " said Elliott, understanding that this
was the best h e ' d get. 'Til send out the
rovers. "
"Excellent," said Mark. "Meanwhile, Boris,
I'll teach you how to build a bow and arrow. "
An Earth week later, the rovers had ferreted
out a multitude of animals: burrowers, arbore­
al creatures, squirrel-like animals-all six­
legged as were the Bunny-ears. But like the
Bunny-ears, they all turned out to be herbi­
vores. Elliott was sure that carnivores existed,
but they were too furtive, even for the rovers.
"All right, then," said Mark. "I guess we are
the top of the food chain. "
"Now, we hunt Bunny-ears," said Boris.
"Wait! " Elliott leaned in to the microphone.
"You can't. I mean we've got to find out if
they're sentient or not."
Elliott heard a sigh. "You can't be serious,"
came Mark's voice, in clear exasperation.
"They no Einsteins," said Boris. "We eat
them now. "
"Look," Elliott pleaded. "There are degrees
of intelligence and, I guess, sentience. I think
we should-"
"We have been very reasonable," said Mark.
"But Boris is right. It is time to add a better
source of protein to our diets. "
"You have been reasonable, " said Elliott,
himself trying to project an aura of reason­
ableness. "And you're probably right that Bun­
ny-ears isn't sentient. And in that case, yeah,
it's just a case of hunting. But if they do turn
out to be sentient, then it is murder. "
After a silence of ten seconds or so, Mark
said, "What do you suggest?"
"Let me have a rover run the ICIT on a Bun­
ny-ears. "
"They cows!" said Boris. "Dumb cows."
"Maybe, " said Elliott. "But I'm not sure . . . .
And Earth will eventually be watching what
we do."
Mark sighed again. "Fine," he barked out.
"You have three days. "
"And then we eat," said Boris.
Sitting in front of his monitor a few days lat­
er, Elliott nibbled the earpiece of his glasses
while waiting for a Bunny-ears to respond to
an Intelligence Testing Module. Neural scien­
tists had provided the rover with many mod­
ules based on different models and definitions
CARL FREDERICK

of intelligence. Left to its own devices, the
ICIT would cycle through aU the modules. El­
liott cherished the fact that because of the
game's well-defined universe of discourse,
there was even a module to teach chess.
But aU modules required some degree of cu­
riosity from the subject. Bunny-ears, however,
showed absolutely no ttace of curiosity. About
as curious as a cow.
For hours at a time, the ICl1'equipped rover
had sat in front of a Bunny-ears with its display
and response buttons facing the creature.
There were two big buttons directly under the
screen. One was square and colored red, the
other blue and circular. Animations, of various
sorts and run at multiple speeds, prompted
the Bunny-ears to press a button, something
the creature steadfastly rehlsed to do-even
when Elliott moved the rover directly under
the animal's nose, if nose it was. And Elliott
began to wonder if the animal's eyes were in
fact eyes.
Elliott blew out a breath. He'd done every
thing he could think of to prevent the Bunny­
ears from being eaten, but it was no use. With
deep sadness, he activated a comm link and
reported his results to Mark by way of a rover.
" . . . I'd like more time, " he concluded. "It
may just be a difficult intelligence to gauge."
Looking up at Mark from the low camera of
the rover, Elliott felt inferior and wished the
rovers were taller. "I mean we can't even tell
whether cats or dogs are more intelligent," he
burbled on, as if a torrent of words might hold
back the killing. "Or for that matter, we really
don't know what intelligence is. And the ICIT
doesn't know either. So I think we should-"
"No." Mark looked down at his hands. "My
fingernails are cracking. "
"What?" Elliott spat out. "You're going to
start killing things because you've got split
nails?"
"And weakness and dry skin and sleep prob-
lems and-"
"What does this have to do with-"
"Protein deficiency, " said Mark.
"It could be something else," said Elliott,
haltingly, acutely aware that Mark was a physi­
dan.
"The plant life on this planet," said Mark,
"simply can't support human life long term . "
H e flashed a mirthless smile. "I'm afraid it's
Bunny-ears or us."
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
"And it not be us," said Boris.
Elliott looked in on Mark and Boris's camp­
site. But then, revolted at the sight of the three
Bunny-ears carcasses on the periphery, he
zoomed in on the blazing campfire. No flesh
was being cooked on it at the moment, so the
fire looked very appealing. Elliott wished he
could feel its radiant heat and smell the burn­
ing wood-Mark had remarked that it was a
very ;weet and comforting smell.
Despite not looking at them, Elliott couldn't
help but dwell on the carcasses. The climate
was warnl and because they couldn't refriger­
ate their kills, Mark and Boris killed often.
Such a waste. Elliott considered his own food
stocks. They were beginning to run low. Ei­
ther he'd have to implement rationing, or
head home. He grimaced. He still wasn't quite
ready to leave and he had to admit to himself
that he was frightened about the death-sleep
voyage.
" You wish YOll were down here , " came
Boris' voice. "Don't you?"
"You're wasting wood, , said Elliott.
" I know you vegetarian." Boris laughed.
"But tree-hugger, too?"
"What if I am?" Angrily, Elliott broke the
connection and stormed off to play another
ganle of chess with the computer.
In the morning, even Mark seemed repelled
by the waste of animal life. "We can't continue
piling up rotting Bunny-ears carcasses around
our camp, " he announced via a rover.
"They beginning to stink," said Boris.
" We need to find something smaller to
hunt , " said Mark. "So I'd like you to take
charge of a rover and lead a hunting party. "
"Me," said Elliott in horror, "lead a hunting
party. " He heard Boris give a bark of a laugh.
"Either that," said Mark in a voice suggest­
ing he found Elliott's predicament amusing,
"or we will just have to go on hunting Bunny­
ears. "
"Alright, fine," said Elliott, aghast but trying
not to show it. "When'"
"Now, please. "
Elliott gave a deliberate, loud sigh, wanting
to make sure the rover would deliver it to the
surface. "I'll activate the rovers." For reasons
he couldn't elucidate, Elliott felt that it would
be a lesser evil to kill smaller animals instead
as
ANALOG
of Bunny-ears. At least there'd be less waste.
"Excellent." Mark's tone of voice in that one
word sounded as if he were reveling in victo­
ry. "We'll get our bows and arrows. "
A bare half hour later, a rover detected mo­
tion in the trees. Zooming in, Elliott saw a mar­
moset-like creature swinging from branch to
branch. Wby haven't we seen one of these be­
fore? Like a marmoset, it had red fur, forward­
looking eyes, dexterous-looking hands, and a
long bushy tail. But it also had six legs. Unlike
the Bunny-ears, the marmoset-thing looked in­
telligent. It held some kind of fruit or veg­
etable in one of its paws and waved it about,
as if showing what it had found.
Elliott considered not telling the others
about the creature but, after a few seconds,
giving in to the inevitable, he did so. And any­
way, with the noise they were making tromp­
ing through the undergrowth, Elliott was sure
the marmoset-thing would mn away.
But it didn't. I guess with no naturalpreda­
tors-until now-it has no reason to run. El­
liott switched to the camera of the rover fol­
lowing Mark and Boris. He saw his crewmates,
bows and arrows at the ready, running
dlfough the woods looking like Cub Scouts on
a sugar high. They'd clearly also seen the mar­
moset-creature and were tormenting it with a
hail of arrows. Elliott was pleased that the
shots went wide.
Since there didn't seem to be birds on Baby
Blue, Mark and Boris couldn't fletch their ar­
rows with feathers. Instead, they'd used
leaves. Maybe that's why their marksman­
ship is so bad.
After a while, the novelty of the wooden
weapons had clearly begun to wane.
"This is hopeles s , " Mark exclaimed. " I
couldn't hit the side of a 100 from inside. "
"But we can hit side of cow, " said Boris.
"We look for Bunny-ears, now. Yes?"
"Not quite yet," said Mark. "This is becom­
i n g personal. I want to bag that monkey
thing."
The marmoset now seemed to be waving
the fruit at Mark and Boris.
Mark set off again, now at a light-footed jog.
Boris, running more awkwardly, followed.
They soon overtook the forward rover, forcing
Elliott to increase the zoom to keep up with
them. But soon, and abruptly, both Mark and
90
Boris slowed to a walk. Elliott narrowed his
eyes. It didn't seem as if the leisurely pace was
due to tiredness. His crewmates walked as if
entranced. It seemed now that they followed,
rather than hunted, the marmoset creature.
"What's the matter'" said Elliott, softly, him­
self feeling somewhat entranced by associa­
tion.
Neither Mark nor Boris seemed to take any
notice.
"Mark!" Elliott's near-shout reverberated
thought the cabin. "Boris! What's going on?"
"A smell , " came Mark's dreamy voice.
"Sweet. "
"Wonderful," said Boris, his voice uncharac­
teristically gentle. "It come from ahead­
maybe from marmoset animal. " He picked up
the pace. "I must see what-"
"I don't think this is a great idea , " said El­
liott. "In fact, I think you'd better turn . . . "
Elliott felt his mouth fall open in surprise.
The rover had broken into a huge circular
clearing, in the middle of which stood the
largest tree Elliott had ever seen on the planet.
It was about as broad as a California giant red­
wood. At its base, looking somewhat like a
mouth, a roughly two meter high hole led into
darkness. The impression of a mouth was
heightened by low hanging branches termi­
nating in bulbs which looked like eyes. The
tree looked solid and permanent, the impres­
sion enhanced by the tree's root structure,
some of which lay above ground, stretching
snake-like to the periphery of the clearing and
merging with the roots of other trees.
As he watched, Elliott saw the marmoset­
creature drop to the ground and scamper into
the opening. Mark and Boris walked toward
the dark aperture.
"Stop ! " Elliott called out. " D o n ' t go i n
there. "
"Why'" came Mark's voice. Neither he nor
Boris slowed his pace.
"I . . . J don't know. "
After a few seconds of silence, Elliott asked,
"Are you guys okay'"
"We fine," said Boris, his voice still frighten­
ingly gende.
"I think you should return to camp," said El­
liott, softly, hoping a tone matching Boris'
might engender real conununication.
Mark and Boris wallked to the tree, crouch­
ing as they reached the hole.
CARL FREDERICK

"Stop!" Elliott shouted, although he wasn't
sure why.
"We're fine , " came Mark's voice as he
walked into the opening. Boris followed him
in.
"Mark! Boris! "
"Don't worry. " Mark's dreamy voice rever­
berated from within the tree.
Elliott waited for a few minutes in silence,
becoming more concerned by the second. He
called again for his colleagues but received no
answer. He called them repeatedly for the next
ten minutes. At length, feeling foolish for not
doing so immediately, he sent a rover up to
the opening. He paused, then turned his full
attention to the rover control panel. Where
the hell is the searchlight command? He
found it and switched it on. He commanded
the rover to go forward before looking up at
the monitor.
"Oh, my god! "
Mark and Boris appeared to be hugging the
tree-from the inside. On tip-toes, cheeks to
the tree wall, arms spread eagled, their ex­
pressions beatific, they seemed to be asleep.
Their bodies sagged within clothing that had
clearly adhered to a gooey membrane on the
tree wall. On either side of them, animals in
various stages of decomposition had a tracery
of thin vines growing from them.
"Mark! Boris!" Elliott shouted. "Snap out of
it. "
Boris twitched and Elliott shouted again.
Once more Boris moved, this time pushing
himself tighter against the tree-as if Elliott's
call had been an unpleasant intmsion into his
state of bliss.
Desperately, Elliott scanned the rover con­
trol panel for a tool-but it was the wrong
rover. He switched control to the rover con­
taining the soil and rock analysis module.
Rolling the rover in to the opening and up to
Mark, Elliott deployed the rotary rock saw.
Maybe he'd be able to cut Mark free of his
clothing.
Elliott maneuvered the rover so the saw
could cut away the cloth between Mark's up­
per d1igh and the tree membrane-but the an­
gie wasn't quite right. Gripping the rover's joy­
stick and velocity controls, Elliott tried to
reposition the saw, but the rover's treads
slipped. Elliott tried forward and reverse, but
with no luck; the rover itself was stuck. Elliott
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
tried levering the saw against the tree to push
back the rover. But that was less than useless;
now the saw was also stuck to the tree. For
perhaps five minutes, Elliott stmggled before
giving up. He couldn't save the rover-nor
Mark or Boris.
His colleagues were being gently killed and
Elliott fought against a growing nausea and an
urge to throw up. Unable to bear watching
Mark and Boris pass from the living, Elliott
;witched the controls back to the ICIT rover.
I've got to get out of here. He'd just begun
backing it out of the opening when he saw
the marmoset creature scampering about,
jumping from one dead animal to another, ap­
parently immune to the tree-glue.
Foul, evil creature. Elliott balled his fists in a
flare-up of rage. Luring poor, innocent ani­
mals in tofeed the tree. The rage passed, leav­
ing him empty. "No," he said aloud. "Not evil.
Just nature. Symbiosis. "
He took another fleeting glance at his com­
rades. Done in hy a vegetable. He stretched
his lips into a mirthless smile. Boris was
wrong. It's the tree that sits at the top of the
food chain. Elliott backed the rover from the
darkness out into the sunlight, then rotated
the machine around and rolled rapidly away.
Then he stopped; he had nowhere really to
go. Feeling very alone, he swiveled the rover
and looked back at the tree standing there
silently, motionless, with its eye-like branches,
hanging vines, and inviting maw. It's time to
leave this place and go home.
Glimpsing motion at d1e base of the tree, El­
liott started. For an irrational instant, he
thought it might be Boris and Mark who'd
somehow managed to escape. But it was the
marmoset creature.
Fascinated despite himself, Elliott watched
as the marmoset ran up to the rover. The ani­
mal nosed about, sharply moving its head
from side to side, glaring at the rover from
many angles. And it was vocal-making a
sound like a high-pitched siren punctuated by
clicks.
It seems . . . curious! Almost without voli­
tion, Elliott's hand snapped to the control pan­
el to deploy the ICIT.
The ICIT's monitor, videocam, and re­
sponse keyboard unfolded like a Chinese toy
and, with a squeak, the marmoset jumped
back. It regarded the rover cautiously for a mo-
91
ANALOG
ment, then, tentatively, approached again. El­
liott called up Intelligence Detection Module
I-Alpha and set it in motion.
The ICiT tried first to get the marmoset to
press a button. The marmoset did press one,
and the screen displayed the video image of
the marmoset. The ICIT repeated the se­
quence a few times, trying to establish the
creature's response speed. Then the module
began the long sequence of instruction, start­
ing with concepts of number.
Feeling guilty for postponing the grieving
for his comrades, Elliott turned his full atten­
tion to the marmoset-the ecstasy of discov­
ery masking his grief. He was intrigued and
yet puzzled. The marmoset's movements were
as quick as a cat's, yet its responses were
painfully slow. But still, it's giving correct an­
swers. Elliott regarded the slim, lithe animal. If
its brain is in the usualplace, it can't be very
big. Can this very little creature actually be
intelligent?
TIle marmoset glanced back over its shoul­
der from time to time. At one of those times,
Elliott followed the glance and saw the tree.
Startled, he saw that the eye-like bulbs were
now pointing toward hinl. Maybe they are ac­
tual eyes. Unbidden, the horrible image of
Mark and Boris came to mind, but Elliott
forced it away-to make room for a terminally
weird thought. [s it possible? Could it be the
tree that's intelligent, and not the marmoset?
He scanned the jumble of roots interconnect­
ing the other trees with the monster tree in
front of him. Like neurons. That would ex­
plain the slow response time. He glanced at
the marmoset, and then back at the tree. It
didn't seem possible that it was the tree. How
could it conullunicate with the martlloset' Ul­
trasonics? Pheromones? He wondered if
smells could provide the basis for a language.
It really doesn't have to be much of a lan­
guage. He thought of the dog he had as a kid.
All the tree needs is a method ofgiving com­
mands. He decided it almost didn't matter.
He'd found an intelligence: tree or marmoset.
Orperhaps the two ofthem make up a single
intelligence. He'd do his best to communicate
with it.
A sudden weariness came over him and he
found that his hands were shaking. The sup­
pression of his feelings about his comrades'
fate had taken its emotional toll. He'd have to
92
defer alien communication until after some
sleep.
He switched the ICiT to full automatic, then
despite his exhaustion, made a video report to
Earth, including an extemporaneous eulogy to
his late colleagues. Not that there was any ur­
gency as his conmlentary would take six years
to reach its target. But that slender communi­
cations thread was now his sole connection to
humanity. He worried, though, that Earth
wouldn't take kindly to the knowledge that
two of their astronauts had been eaten by
Baby Blue's dominant life form. He felt a sense
of guilt-not only because of the nagging
thought that somehow he could have prevent­
ed his crewmates' deaths, but also because his
report might prompt revenge when the res­
cue ship finally came. But maybe a little re­
venge isjustified
Elliott Signed off and then collapsed into his
sleep hammock.
He woke in a spasm of horror an hour and a
half later. Again, he pushed the image of his
colleagues' death into the background, replac­
ing it with a dull regret that he'd been so petty
and grouchy during the voyage.
Forcing his concentration onto his work, he
switched the ICiT back to interactive mode,
then glanced at the monitor. He was pleased
to see that the marmoset was still there. "Wait
a minute!" He snapped fully alert. It's a differ­
ent marmoset! That settled it. The tree was
the intellect-and it had marmosets in re­
serve!
He stared again at the tree-with those in­
telligent looking eye-stalks. J can't keep call­
ing it "the tree."It needs a name. "The Veggie­
creature," he tried out aloud. He shook his
head. joe? Spruce? Bruce? Woodward? Woody?
He sighed. "Ah. How 'bout Elwood? " He nod­
ded to himself. "Excellent! Hi, there, Elwood. "
Elliott rolled the rover almost up to Elwood
the tree. The marmoset du jour followed, tak­
ing its place in front of the ICIT unit when the
rover came to a stop.
Elliott switched his gaze from the mar­
moset's finely etched features to Elwood's
massive presence.
The surrealism hit him. Here he was com­
municating with the rover, the rover was in­
teracting with the marmoset, and the mar­
moset was communicating with Elwood. He
CARL FREDERICK

nodded, softly. "The marmoset is a surrogate
for Elwood, just as the rover is a surrogate for
me." Talking to myseifThat's not good
About a month later, having run seriously
low on supplies, Elliott, hungry most of the
time from heavy rationing, still couldn't quite
bring himself to leave. He'd developed a rela­
tionship with Elwood, or at least thought he
had. And although maddeningly slow to re­
spond, Elwood learned things exceptionally
rapidly. The ICIT couldn't quantify Elwood's
intelligence, slow as the tree was to show it.
The ICIT had progressed beyond arith­
metic. Using a representation of the night sky
as seen from Baby Blue, it was well into as­
tronomy. Elliott, well trained in how to aug­
ment the IClT's canned programs with live in­
teraction, spent much of his time giving one
on one instruction to the tree.
Inexorably, though, impending starvation
won out.
Just after local sunset on the day he'd eaten
the last of the food on the ship, Elliott set the
ICIT to automatic-to give instruction with­
out his mediation. Due to cheap memory and
too many educational p,),chologists, the solar­
cell powered ICIT had enough instructional
material to last a century-not to mention a
vault of movies to elucidate Earth civilization.
He, Boris, and Mark had watched many of
them on the way out. Elliott gave a brief
thought to his crewmates-ex-crewmates­
then prepared for his own "trip." He hoped
he wouldn't be soon joining them. He sighed,
trying to comfort himself with the thought
that most of the people who had ever lived
were now dead.
Elliott set the ship's controls for automatic
return to the Solar System and insertion into a
parking orbit around the Moon. He bypassed
the ship's life support monitoring system and
jiggered a very slow air leak. Finally, he pre­
pared his liquid passport into unconscious­
ness. He carried the cocktail to his console,
strapped himself in, and then said goodbye to
his friend-for now he considered Elwood a
good friend, certainly his only possible friend,
despite him having eaten my colleagues. Gaz­
ing at the tree in the forward monitor, Elliott
wished they'd progressed far enough for him
to actually "talk" to Elwood, beyond just arith­
metic and Newtonian mechanics. He won-
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
dered why he'd never thought of Mark or
Boris as friends, then had to admit to himself
that he'd never gotten along particularly well
with people. But with trees,Jine.
He penned a note telling what happened,
but left out what transpired between the tree,
Mark and Boris. He wrote on, expressing his
love of exploration, his hate of meat, his hope
of being revived, his feelings about what was
the best defense against a queen's gambit.
Then, knowing he was just putting off what
he had to do, he stopped in mid-sentence.
Elliott's lips stretched into a tight smile.
Enough procrastination. He taped the note to
his chest, then drank deeply.
"God dag, 1nin venn," came the voice.
"How are you doing?"
"What'" Elliott snapped open his eyes and
winced at the pain of the light. "Where am I?"
he said, and again winced, this time at the un­
originality of his words.
A bearded face gazed down at him. A much
more comely face also gazed, but from further
away.
"You are aboard the Norwegian exploration
craft, Sleipnir, " said the beard.
"Crammed aboard, " said the woman with a
sparkly laugh.
"Norwegian craft," said Elliott dumbly, try­
ing to find where he'd left his mind.
The beard laughed. "We Norwegians
haven't been explorers for about a thousand
years. It's about time, don't you think?" He
straightened. "I'm Per Nielson, the captain. "
He gave an expansive gesture. "And this is the
rest of the crew-my wife, Astricl. " He leaned
in again. "Can you sit? Here. I'll unsnap your
restraints. "
Elliott floated to a Sitting position, con­
strained now only by a loose seat belt. "Are we
in orbit?" Memory and intellect returned. He
must be in orbit around the Moon. "Are we
waiting for landing clearance at Lunar Base' Is
this a landable ship? What year is-"
"Slowly, " said Per with a smile. "And one
question at a time. "
Astrid strapped herself back into a seat, but
Per remained standing, his sticky-boots grip­
ping the floor padding. Elliott occupied the
only other seat in the cabin.
He became conscious of Per and Astrid's
body odor. After being alone so long, of
93
ANALOG
course I'd smell it. He shuddered, realizing
that he himself must stink. He glanced around
and noted that he was in a confined space. It
was more like being in a Moon cruiser than in
a deep-space vehicle.
"Yes, " said Astrid, as if reading his thoughts.
"The Sleipner is a tiny vessel."
"Sleipner?"
"Norse mythology," said Per. "Sleipner is
Odin's eight-legged horse. The fastest horse in
the Universe."
Elliott smiled, thinking of the Baby Blue fau­
na. " Six-legged might be more appropriate, "
he said under his breath. "Considering. "
Per laughed. 'Ja, ja. [ know. "
"You do?" There's no way he could know
"If Sleipner had only six legs, " said the cap-
tain, "he'd fit in very well with the animals
around here."
"Here' This isn't Lunar Base?"
"Lunar Base?" Per laughed. "No. Why would
you think that?"
"[ . . . " Elliott fought for understanding. "[
thought I'd be there by now. " He bit his lip.
"When is now?"
Per seemed surprised. "We'd been explor­
ing Rolf 1 24C's planet for about a month
when-"
"But what about biological contamination'"
Elliott realized that his efforts had been for
naught.
"Ah. The old argument." Per sighed. "Do
you want the planet just to be a zoo'"
EUiott gave a noncommittal gnmt.
"When we went back into orbit and pre­
pared to go home," said Per, "your ship came
hurtling into view. It's in a highly elliptical or­
bit around Rolf 124C. "
Elliott grimaced. The engines must have
cut off too soon. His grimace morphed into a
smile. But better late than never. "Home," he
said, wistfully. "It will be good to get home. "
Astrid appeared concerned and seemed
about to speak. But Per made a palm-down
hand motion and she remained silent.
Elliott sensed something was wrong. Maybe
his defrosting h a d n ' t gone as well as i t
seemed. "You had the ability to revive me?" he
probed. in this tiny ship.
"Of course," said Per with a trace of laugh­
ter, although it seemed forced. "Cryo is the
way people move between the stars, now. A
frozen body can take almost unlimited accel-
94
eratiol1. "
"What about the Hibbs Inhibitor?"
"Too expensive. " Per rubbed his brow. "And
not particularly reliable. Only the North Amer­
icans still use it."
"We were afraid something horrible had
happened," said Astrid. "So we boarded your
ship. And it's a relatively good thing we did."
"Relatively?"
"Your ship had come in from periastron,"
said Per. "And you were so close to the star
that you'd begun to, well, thaw. "
"We had to revive you, " said Astrid, "to pre­
vent deterioration and irreversible death."
"Thank you. " Elliott forced a smile. He wor­
ried about the word "relatively. " There's defi­
nitely something wrong here.
"What did happen down there ? " said
Astrid, abruptly. "From your perspective. "
EUiott fidgeted. From my perspective? Odd
way ofputting it. He wondered if perhaps
they'd somehow found some human skeletal
remains.
"Oh, let the poor fellow alone, " said Per,
lightly, but again it seemed forced. He re­
turned his gaze to Elliott. "You've been in cryo
a long time."
"How long?"
"On the order of a hundred and fifty Earth
years. "
"Oh, my god." Elliott felt his eyes widen.
"Why so long? Why didn't a rescue happen
earlier?"
"I'm afraid this isn't exactly a rescue, " said
Astrid. "Unfortunately we-"
"We expected you'd be long dead by now, "
Per interrupted. "With your limited resources,
and the likelihood of disease and the alien
conditions, nobody thought you'd be able to
survive. " He shook his head. "You did cryo
without knowing if it was even possible.
Amazing. "
"And," said Astrid, "you succeeded in your
mission beyond anyone's most optimistic
hopes. "
"Excuse me?"
"There's a creature down there," -Per nod­
ded toward the nominal floor-"that looks
like a six-legged otter. It's a perfect mimic. It
even mimicked the sound of our cameras. It
hears mainly above thirty thousand hertz but
can translate sounds down many octaves. And
it-"
CARL FREDERICK

"You found this out in just a month on the
planet?"
"Not exactly, " said Astrid.
"It told us. " Per smiled. "Or, more accurate­
ly, a tree told us."
"What?" Elliott tried to snap to his feet, but
his seat belt prevented it. "Oh, my god! How
could . . . " Hyperventilating, he sllUnped back
into the conformal comfort of the seat.
"The tree has been studying the instruction­
al modules and watching our movies for a cen­
tury and a half. " Per's countenance turned
abruptly grave. "And no matter what happens
now, that will be your legacy. "
Astrid bit her lip.
Legacy? Elliott snapped straight up in his
seat, the warmth of his success replaced by
cold fear. "All right. What are you trying to tell
me?"
Per took a long breath. "The Sieipner does
not have the capability to take you back to Lu­
nar Base."
After so recently being delivered from crya­
death, it took a few seconds for Elliott to fully
process Per's words. He did so in shocked si­
lence.
"I'm sorry, " said Astrid. "But our ship is so
tiny and our mass parameters so tight. "
"I . . . I could go back to my ship," said El­
liott, "freeze again, and continue on to Earth. "
Per gave a slow nod. " I have to tell you. You
were very lucky that your body went into cryo
at just the right rate of cooling and vacuum. "
"You mean I might not b e able to d o it
again?"
"Very probably not. "
"What'll I do?" Elliott pleaded.
"I read your note , " said Per. "If I didn't
know you were a firm vegetarian, I'd say you
could just go down to the planet and live off
the land. A Canadian ship is due in just a little
over a year. Unfortunately though, the planet's
flora alone can't support hlUllan nutritional re­
quirements. " Slowly, he shook his head. "Too
bad. The tree said it would be delighted to
have you."
Elliott started. ifyou only knew! He visual­
ized Elwood's maw. "So it's either a dangerous
cryo-death in my own ship," he said with
forced calmness, crystalliZing his options, "or
go down to the planet. " Seems like I've pretty
much been here before. "I have to think. "
Per and Astrid gave him the time.
FOOD CHAINED
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
/ never thought I'd regret being a vegetari­
an. Elliott re-examined his ideas about meat.
Surprisingly, he found he was no longer so
averse to carnivores and, with effort, could ac­
tually visualize himself being one. Perhaps
finding a tree that eats people evened the
score, or perhaps the dismal prospect of
cryosleep had refined his thinking.
"I wrote that note a . . . a long time ago," he
said, distantly.
Per and Astrid kept their silence.
Elliott followed the path of his re-examina­
tion. He could see himself eating meat-but
couldn't inlagine himself actually converting a
living animal to a hot meal. / wonder if/could
make a deal with Elwood to do the actual
killingfor me.
"You don't have a hamburger or something
lying around'" said Elliott, abruptly.
"Excuse me'" Per canted his head.
"A test," said Elliott. "To see if I can be a car­
nivore."
"Ah," said Astrid. "I think we can come up
with something . " She released her seat con­
straint and push-floated to a cabinet.
As she rummaged through the provisions,
Elliott visualized the tree. Try to eat me, El­
wood, and you're . . . dead wood!
"Then you're conSidering going down to
the surface?" said Per.
"It's a thought. "
"You . . . " said Per, tentatively. "You don't
happen to play chess, do you'"
"What?" said Elliott, taken aback by the
abrupt reference to his private passion.
"It seems the tree has gotten rather a taste
for the game. "
"Are you serious?"
Per scnmched his shoulders. "That's what it
told me."
"The chess instruction module, " said Elliott
under his breath. He felt his eyes grow wide.
"The tree said it plays at the nineteen-hun­
dred leve l , " Per went on . "Whatever that
means. "
" Elwood i s a little stronger player than I
am," Elliott whispered.
"Elwood?" said Per, his head canted.
"Yeah, " said Elliott, his mind elsewhere. A
year or more ofjust sitting around playing
chess-and eating. "I wonder . . . I wonder if I
can get Elwood to do the hunting. "
"Will steamed lutefisk do'" Astrid called
95
ANALOG

over. "I'll heat it right up." wait for the next bus." •
"What?" Elliott jerked his gaze to Astrid.
"No. Stop! Forget the test . " He tllrned to Per. Copyright © 2012 Carl Frederick
"I've decided. Take me down to Baby Blue. I'll

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96 CARL FREDERICK
THE REFERENCE LIBRARY
I
n the extended family of current genre fic­
tion, science fiction has a tough and scrap­
py sibling. This genre is more gregarious
and considerably more popular, but also
somewhat less intelligent. The two often hang
out together and play with each other'S toys,
and unsophisticated friends frequently have
trouble telling one from another. I'm speaking,
of course, of the genre known as the Thriller.
Like SF, thriller fiction is easy to identify but
hard to define. For a story to be SF, it must
contain some essential element of science or
teclUlology; for a thriller, the essential element
is suspense. That doesn't mean that every sto­
ry with suspense is a thriller; just as the scien­
tific idea is central to an SF story, the suspense
is central to a thriller.
ll1rillers are big. As I write this, more than
half the novels on the New York Times Best­
seller List are thrillers; the names of thriller au­
thors such as David Baldacci, Mary Higgins
Clark, Robin Cook, Clive Cussler, Dean
Koontz, and John Sandford are household
names both in publishing and in Hollywood.
(And of course one mustn't forget the mega­
superstar behind the James Patterson Book-of­
the-Month Club.)
There's an entire subgenre ofthrillers based
on scientific (or pseudo-scientific) concepts;
the late Michael Crichton was the absolute
king of this type of thriller, borrowing SF ideas
from alien invasion (The Andromeda Strain)
and cyborgs (The Terminal Man) to time trav­
el (Timeline) and nanotechnology (Micro).
Lately, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Childs, to­
gether or in collaboration, have become very
popular with science-based thrillers.
From the perspective of a science fiction
reader, these books seem rather weak; if
you're going to read about time travel or nan­
otech, why not just read some real SF and be
done with it? Aren't there science fiction sto­
ries that have enough suspense?
THE REFERENCE LiBRARY
Don Sakers
That's precisely what I want to talk about in
this column. When SF borrows the techniques
and tropes of the thriller, the result can be
very powerful indeed.
Edgar Allan Poe, master of the suspense sto­
ry, was also arguably an SF writer, and H.G.
Wells gave us an inarguable SF thriller in The
Invisible Man . The preeminent example,
though, was John W. Campbell, Jr.'s classic
novella "Who Goes There ? " (Astounding,
1938)-filmed as The Thing From Another
World in 1951 and The Thing in 1982. (ln this
column I usually refer to Campbell in his edi­
torial position; it's well worth remembering
that prior to taking the reins at Astounding,
he was a popular and influential SF author.)
Lester del Rey's 1942 novelette "Nerves"
(expanded into a 1956 novel of the san1e title)
is a model thriller set in a nuclear power plant.
The Puppet Masters by Robert A. Heinlein
( 1 9 5 1 ) perfectly blends the thriller and the
alien invasion story, while Alfred Bester did
the same with teleportation (The Stars My
Destination, 1953) and telepathy (The Demol­
ished Man, 1956).
The Cold War period spawned a lot of SF
thrillers; among the best of them was a book
nearly forgotten today, Who? by A1gis Budrys
(1958). In this near-future espionage thriller, a
scientist returns from behind the Iron Curtain
with his face and half his body replaced by cy­
bernetic prostheses-but is this man the orig­
inal SCientist, or a double agent? The book re­
volves around the question of his identity, and
although its politiCS and history are long out­
dated, it's still as thrilling a read as the day it
was published.
One can't discuss SF thrillers without men­
tioning the late Philip K. Dick, much of whose
work involved secrets, deceptions, conspira­
cies, paranoia, chases, and other tropes of
thrillerdom. For a long time Dick was our own
little secret, but the mundane world discov-
97
ANALOG
ered him and has been turning his SF thrillers
into blockbuster movies ever since. Don't let
yourself be satisfied by the films: the books
and stories are, if anything, even more sus­
penseful and thrilling.
In the realm of movies and TV, SF thrillers
are far from rare. The Cold War gave us the ex­
cellent Invasion of the Body Snatchers
(1956) and dozens of others, most not so ex­
cellent. Alien (1979) was a triple-threat com­
bining the genres of SF, thriller, and horror in
one movie. Bladerunner (1982) owes a debt
to Dick (it was based on his novel Do An­
droids Dream of Electric Sheep?) but is cer­
tainly its own distinct work.
Most SF television series have episodes that
qualify as thrillers: Doctor Who, Firefly, and
Star Trek spring inlmediately to mind. Two se­
ries deserve mention as maintaining major
thriller aspects throughout: The Invaders
(1967-68) and UFO. ( 1970-71); both were sto­
ries of alien invasion. And finally, no discus­
sion of SF thrillers on TV could be complete
without bringing up The Outer Limits and
Twilight Zone, both of which have had vari­
ous incarnations through the years.
Anniversary Day
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
WMG Publishing, 465 pages, $ 17.99
(trade paperback)
iBooks, Kindle, Nook: $ 7.99 (e-book)
ISBN: 978-061 552 1794
Series: Retrieval Artist 8
Genre: SF Thriller
SF thrillers are alive and well, and today's
leading practitioner is Kristine Kathryn Rusch.
Rusch's Retrieval Artist series should be fa­
miliar to long-time Analog readers; the series
began with the Hugo-nominated novella "The
Retrieval Artist" in the June 2000 issue. Several
other stories in the series have appeared here,
most recently "The Impossibles" (December
20 1 1).
In case you're not familiar with the series
(and what's been keeping you'), it's set in an
interstellar future populated by various alien
races and cultures, with humans relatively
new kids on the block. The problem is that
humans have to fit into a variety of alien jus­
tice systems that aren't necessarily friendly to
our sort. Slavery, execution, and physical pun-
98
ishment are common . . . and completely legal.
So what is one to do when the multicultural
court denies appeal, and offended aliens are
on their way with vivisection in their eyes'
Well, human ingenuity is up to the challenge:
there are lots of quasi-legal outfits that can
make one "disappear" -new home, new iden­
tity, skin intact.
Of course, the Disappeared aren't com­
pletely safe. Those aliens are a determined
bunch, and there are plenty of bounty hunters
around. In addition, there are always those
who seek the Disappeared for benign rea­
sons-the Retrieval Artists. The series follows
Miles Flint, Retrieval Artist, in many suspense­
ful cases.
Anniversary Day is something of a depar­
ture for the series, but in a good way. The
main character is Flint's erstwhile partner,
Noelle DeRicci, Security Chief on the Moon­
Flint plays only a minor role. And this time
around there are no Disappeared cases: in­
stead, something far more sinister is going on.
The setting is the city of Armstrong on
Luna. Four years ago (in the novel Conse­
quences) the city's protective dome was al­
most destroyed in a bombing; now the citi­
zens are celebrating the survival on
Anniversary Day. Then the mayor is assassinat­
ed. . . .
That's only the beginning, for no sooner has
DeRicci started her investigation than another
politician is taken down. Soon Noelle and her
official partner, Bartholomew Nyquist, are on
the track of a conspiracy that threatens the en­
tire Moon.
Rusch is a great storyteller-easily the equal
of Patterson or Koontz or any of that crowd.
Anniversary Day is an edge-of-the-seat thriller
that will keep you turning pages late into the
night, and it's also really good science fiction.
What's not to like?
Fade to Black
Josh Pryor
Red Hen Press, 248 pages, $ 1 8.95
(trade paperback)
Kindle: $9.98 (e-book)
ISBN: 978-1-59709-125-1
Genre: SF Thriller
Clare Matthews is an evolutionary biologist
whose career is on the rocks. She needs a job,
DON SAKERS

so she jumps at the chance when an offer
comes to join an Antarctic expedition investi­
gating an ancient micro-organism recently dis­
covered there.
The organism is S. iroquoisii, and it seems
to have played some important part in human­
ity's early evolution. A research station study­
ing the organism was destroyed in an acciden­
tal explosion, and Clare is recmited as part of
a forensic team going in to determine exactly
what happened. The team consists of assorted
misfits, both military and civilian.
The long, dark Antarctic winter is hardly the
best time for such an investigation, but the
mission's urgency soon becomes clear when it
emerges that S. iroquoisii may just well have
played a part in the catastrophe.
Then it develops that the first station was
part of a secret government bio-weapons con­
spiracy, and soon Clare-already suffering
from her own psychological demons-is way
over her head in secrets, deceptions, and ene­
mies both human and non. Facing betrayal,
madness, and death, it's up to Clare to keep
the survivors alive and get them to safety.
Tons of suspense, big helpings of specula­
tive evolutionary biology, and a protagonist
you care about . . . this one has enough to sat­
isfy any SF thriller tan. Make sure you read it in
a warm room, preferably during the daytime.
The Death Cure
James Dashner
Delacorte, 336 pages, $ 17.99 (hardcover)
iBooks, Kindle, Nook: $ 10.99 (e-book)
ISBN: 978-0-385-73877-4
Series: Maze Runner 8
Genres: SF Thriller, Young Adult SF
Meanwhile, over in the young adult arena,
James Dashner has been writing an SF thriller
trilogy that is just as suited to adults as to
teens. lfyou like suspense and thrills, you'll to­
tally enjoy reading these books-and you can
impress your teenaged relatives and friends
with your knowledge of them.
It's a century or three in the future, and so­
lar flares have scorched most of the Earth's
surface. The remaining population is ravaged
by a vims called "the Flare," which leaves its
victims as violent cannibals preying on the
healthy.
Yeah, yeah, post-apocalyptic future with
THE REFERENCE LiBRARY
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
roving zombies. Yawn. What else ya got for us,
Dashner?
In the first book, The Maze Runner, a
young man named Thomas awakes without
his memory in "the Glade, " a huge enclosed
bucolic paradise. Other boys, also amnesiac,
have made a working society (some have been
there as long as rwo years, although a new boy
arrives roughly every month). The Glade is
surrounded by an enormous labyrinth teem­
ing with hostiles.
Then a telepathic girl arrives, and she and
Thomas team up to lead the others out of the
maze at last.
In the second volume, The Scorch Trials,
Thomas and his friends discover that the sur­
viving governments of the world have formed
a n organization they call WICKED, and
WICKED is in control. The escaped Gladers
are told that they are the key to the world's
survival, and the maze was the first of several
trials they must undergo before they meet
their destiny. The second trial requires them
to survive a trek across a hundred miles of
scorched wilderness beset by cannibal zom­
bies . . . all while they're infected with the
Flare. At the end, it is promised, they will be
cured.
Now, in The Death Cure, all the trials are
over. It's time for Thomas and his friends to re­
ceive their memories back, to find out what
WICKED is up to, and complete a final cure
for the Flare.
But Thomas knows one thing for sure:
WICKED can't be tmsted. Are they telling the
tmth, or is this yet another trial?
All three books are page-turners, brinuning
with suspense. There's a fair amount of vio­
lence, especially with the zombies-although
it serves the plot, so I can't really call it exces­
sive. If this were a movie, it would be R-rated.
Fair warning: The Death Cure is supposed to
be the last book of the series, but there are
enough loose ends left over that I'm sure we
haven't seen the last of this world.
Aurora in Four Voices
Catherine Asaro
ISFiC Press, 274 pages, $ 30.00 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-0-97591 56-9-1
Series: Skolian Empire (some stories)
Genre: Short Fiction Collection
99
ANALOG
Last issue, you may recall, I talked about
Catherine Asaro's long-running space opera
series, the Skolian Empire series. As long-time
Analog readers know, Asaro also writes some
mean short fiction, some of it set in the same
universe. Aurora in Four Voices collects six of
her finest pieces in a handsome volume that
any Asaro fan will want.
There are four Skolian Empire tales, all of
them different. The title story (first published
in Analog December 1998) deliciously blends
music and mathematics. "Light and Shadow"
(Analog, April 1 994) is a story of men and ma­
chines pushed to their limits. "Ave de Paso,"
published elsewhere in 2001 , is strictly fanta­
sy rather than SF, and it's interesting to see the
connection to the Skolian Empire. And "City
of Cries" (also published elsewhere, in 2005)
is an SF noir detective story.
"The Spacetime Pool" (A nalog, March
2008) won the Nebula Award and is another
math story, not at all connected with the Sko­
!ian Empire.
After all this math, Asaro includes a nonfic­
tion article on Riemann surfaces, titled "A Po­
etry of Angles and Dreams. " In it she manages
to convey to the reader some of the sublime
beauty that pure mathematics can engender.
(All right, I admit it, I majored in math in col­
lege. But any intelligent SF reader will have no
trouble with the concepts here.)
Asaro introduces each of the stories, and an
afterword by Aly Parsons completes the pack­
age.
Sex and Violence in Zero-G
(Expanded Edition)
Allen M. Steele
Fantastic Books, 5 1 3 pages, $ 19.99
(trade paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-61720-358-9
Series: Near Space
Genres: Short Fiction Collection
1 00
While we're on the subject of short fiction
collections by favorite Analog writers . . . .
Allen Steele has been called an heir of
Robert A. Heinlein-and it's the Near Space
series that got him that reputation. From Or­
bital Decay to A King of Infinite Space, the
series presents a realistic and action-packed
modern vision of the industrialization of space
and those who make it happen. If the collec­
tive governments of the world had any sense,
they'd be using these books as texts for usher­
ing in a future worth having.
An earlier edition of Sex and Violence in
Zero-G appeared in 1999, but Steele hasn't
stood still since then. In between tales of the
planet Coyote and its universe, he's written a
few more Near Space stories-so it's good to
see an updated edition of Sex and Violence.
They're all here. Hugo-winning novella "The
Death of Captain Future" and its sequel "The
Exile of Evening Star. " Hugo-winning novelette
"The Emperor of Mars . " "The Great Galactic
Ghoul" (Analog, October 2010) and "The Zoo
Team" (Analog, November 2010), along with
fifteen others, two Introductions, an updated
Near Space timeline, and four pages of space­
ship design sketches.
Never read Allen Steele' Here's a great place
to start. If you like Analog, you'll like Steele.
Already an Allen Steel fan' Then what are you
doing still reading? Go get the book already!
That's it, I'm out of space. I hope it's been
as thrilling for you as it has for me. And I won't
keep you in suspense . . . see you next time .•
Don Sakers is the author of The Leaves of
October and A Voice in Every Wind. For more
information, visit www.scatteredworlds.com.
Copyright © 2012 Don Sakers
DON SAKERS
BRASS TACKS
H
iS
:�hOleheartedlY agree with your
March editorial on "\'\fhat's Technology
For?" I used to work in the computer in­
dustry and was an eager early adopter of new
technology . . . until I realized that software
developers were intentionally " obsoleting"
their old programs in order to sell new ver­
sions.
Microsoft is a prime offender in that regard:
their word-processing software won't even
read files created by earlier versions of the
same program. Their business strategy is obvi­
ous and reprehensible: they know that if they
can get enough people to adopt the new ver­
sion (by bundling it with new computers),
then people using the old versions-versions
that still do the job they were designed to do
just fine-will be forced to "upgrade" to the
new version in order to continue communi­
cating with users of the new software.
I long ago decided I wouldn't play that
game. I run a Macintosh Cube because it's
beautiful and it does the job I need it to do.
lt's eleven years old. I run system 9 on it, even
though it will run OSX. Why? Because I would
have to buy new software to run under OSX,
and my oid software works just fine. I can
write with it, calculate orbits with it, edit pho­
tos with it, do email with it, and even do re­
search on the web with it.
I do occasionally have compatibility prob­
lems with people who use newer software. I
explain to them that they'll have to save their
ftIes in a standard format (like RTF or JPEG) in
order to share them with me, and if they
protest I point out that it's they who have bro­
ken the compatibility standards, not me.
The way to stop this senseless abandon-
BRASS TACKS
ment of perfectly good technology is simple:
stop senselessly abandoning perfectly good
technology.
Jerry Oltion
Stan,
"Ecce Signum" [April 2012] by Craig De­
Lancey-though one of the best yarns in an
all-around superb issue-shows a couple of
perplexing small oddities. In addition to the
minor weirdness of naming a male dog Juno
(which made me wonder why his sister Hera
hadn't been correspondingly named Zeus),
there is the rather larger non sequitur of the
character Virginia (genetically prone to seek
immediate gratification) having this trait
summed up by her more forethoughtful sister
as "you can only think of yourself. " Choosing
an immediate reward over a larger but de­
ferred reward (Viriginia's pattern of action,
which both she and her sister are discussing
in this scene) isn't " thinking of yourself" in
any way that does not also apply to doing the
opposite:
Virginia as a child, given the choice of one
candy bar immediately or two bars after an
hour, consistently preferred the former. Her
sister and other classmates-just as consis­
tently, and because of some prenatal genetic
manipulation-preferred the latter. Thinking
of one's own future self (as Virginia's class­
mates did) isn't thinking of others: it is, by de­
finition, thinking of oneself and (in this partic­
ular case) i t is thinking only of oneself:
something that would be easier to see if we
didn't tend to assume that only bad things can
ever happen when one does that. (I will leave
it to Mr. DeLancey, or rather to the experts
who inform his writing, to decide whether
101
ANALOG
we must blame heredity, environment, free
will, any two, or all three for the strange yet
frequent decision to equate rash action with
"thinking only of yourself" as if such thought
could not motivate prudence.)
A child-or adult-who prudently waits
for more candy (rather than grabbing imme­
diately for a lesser anlOunt) isn't doing this to
benefit anyone else-and the person acting
prudently for some much larger and further­
deferred goal (such as preventing penguin ex­
tinction, which Virginia finds as unappealing
as waiting for candy) is not necessarily doing
this to benefit others either.
It is arguable-it is even very probable­
that the most devoted and most effective en­
vironmentalists are quite selfish. They aren't
sacrifiCing their own existence so that pen­
guins may live; few if any of them would com­
mit suicide, if someone convinced them that
each human death would guarantee the life of
one or more endangered fowl. Rather, when
they invest in penguin survival they are acting
on their own preference for inhabiting a
world whose inhabitants also lal include pen­
guins andlor Ibl include those humans who
prefer inhabiting a world that includes both
humans and penguins.
(Those who suppose it contemptuous to
call "selfish" a preference or commitment
may wish to wonder what such a feeling im­
plies about the self that supposes such con­
tempt.)
Kate Gladstone
The author replies . . .
Thank you for your comments, and for
reading the story.
Let me begin by saying that I did not mean
to suggest that the narrator, Janet, is infallible.
When Janet describes Virginia as selfish, I see
that as a criticism of Virginia's character that
may or may not be fair. It is an accusation any
sister might make in an argument, and is not
meant to be some claim about either sister's
genetic predispositions.
I also did not mean to suggest that Virginia
is genetically predisposed to seek immediate
gratification. She carries the Marrion gene. It
may not be expressed in her, so that she is like
most other people, or she may, as her sister
Janet suggests, just be indifferent to some
ends for other reasons.
1 02
As for your main point, I half agree, al­
though your definition of selfish is too weak
for me. (I consider the notion that all acts are
selfish, or the equivalent claim that "selfish"
means " preferre d , " self·refuting, since it
makes "selfish" little more than "motivated,"
which is not at all what I, or most people,
mean by the term. I'll assume here a common
sense notion of selfish, something like, "Valu­
ing one's own benefits very much more than
one values equivalent benefits to any others. ")
Here's one way of thinking about our agree­
ment and disagreement. Economists have a
useful term, the discount factor, which is the
measure of how one values future benefits, as
a function of how far in the future those ben­
efits are expected to arrive. Normal humans
tend to think about the future with a large dis­
count factor. That is, we consider the value of
something in the hlture to be very much less
than the value of the thing now, and this dif­
ference grows very significantly as the time in­
volved grows. The idea of the Marrion manip­
ulation was a genetic change that, if
expressed, reduces this discount factor. The
Marrion kids care about the hlture more. It
seems to me that this could be something
quite independent of selfishness. One could
be very fixated on future selfish gains, as you
point out.
That said, there are certain behaviors that
are less easily justified if one no longer has a
huge discount factor. Suppose that global
warming is actually occurring and human
caused. I believe that some people would re­
main indifferent even if convinced of this;
they would remain indifferent because they
would be inclined not to worry about the fu­
ture too much. This leads to a kind of default
selfishness, since they are making choices
now about resource use now; but they are
alive now, and benefiting now from that re­
source use. Or imagine a government pro­
gram that provides significant benefits but
generates significant debt that future genera­
tions must pay. A normally unselfish person
might defend this benefit and take advantage
of it, because she discounts the cost to the fu­
ture generations and so considers it not signif­
icant. I believe there are cases like these, and
many others (e .g. , population growth, re­
source use, antibiotic overuse in factory
farms, etc.), and that they demonstrate there
BRASS TACKS

can be a kind of selfishness inherent in this
high discount rate, at least with respect to
one's behavior towards people in the future­
even the near future.
As for Juno, you're right, of course. My
wife's family calls each of their (sequentially
owned) dogs-male, female, big, small-by
the same name, and I think this tradition
made me feel liberated to call Juno by a sex-in­
appropriate name, just because I like "Juno. "
Stan,
I'm compelled to address the errors in the
April Brass Tacks letter by Mr. Coats regarding
the 201 1 Japan earthquake outcomes. 1 ) The
tsunami was not caused by humans, but it
clearly is a human decision to live in areas sub­
ject to tsunamis. 2) Systems failures began
with the earthquake indeed-but the tsunami
ultimately destroyed the backup electrical sys­
tems. 3) High level waste (i.e. spent nuclear
fuel) is stored in containers that require no
water or electrically powered cooling (they
are cooled by naturally circulated air). It is
true that spent nuclear fuel requires forced
water cooling for a number of years (typically
10) before it is placed in long-term storage. 4)
It will take about 100 years for the amount of
radioactivity in spent fuel to return to the
same amount that it had when it was removed
from the ground as ore. The same cannot be
said for coal. Most people don't realize that
coal plants release far more radiation than nu­
clear plants in the form of carbon-16-to the
air we breathe! Additionally, the selenium,
mercury, and arsenic removed (hopefully)
from the flue gasses have an infinite half-life.
I've been a subscriber to Analog since the late
'60s. I had hoped that the majority of readers
would take your editorial as intended. There
are no zero-risk options-period.
Arne Myrabo,
PE Retired Reactor Engineer
Dear Stan,
In a recent article ("What Science Means to
Me," Analog, January/February 2 0 1 2) Jerry
Oltion advanced the idea that an appreciation
of Science must not include the concept of
"God . " As an Analog writer myself, whose
stories and articles have appeared here several
dozen times over the last thirty years, I re­
spectfully reject the unproven concept that
BRASS TACKS
.JUNE 2 0 1 2
somehow Science, Logic, and Reason provide
the only ways of understanding the Universe.
I further take issue that the very concept of a
God-a heartfelt belief of most of the human
race for all of history, something experienced
and appreciated by billions, and arguably the
philosophical foundation of Western civiliza­
tion-should be compared, even metaphori­
cally, to "The Flying Spaghetti Monster. "
Jerry said, " . . . a lot of scientists believe in
God. I contend that they're not being scientif­
ic when they do so." Let's look at this state­
ment scientifically. First, declaring oneself an
atheist means that one has determined that all
of the possible relationships in the Multivers­
es are already known, and that there can be
no higher intelligences, beings, or powers
that humans would interpret as "God." But
science fiction readers and writers, and even
scientists, presume that human intellectual
progress may continue for thousands, maybe
millions, of years to come, and that entirely
new phenomena and relationships will be dis­
covered, overturning many current scientific
paradigms. Science itself may give way to oth­
er Ways of Knowing. We may find highly su­
perior intelligences Out There or Over There,
or they may find us, and we might change our
entire paradigm of the way the Cosmos
works. So we must agree with JBS Haldane
when he recognized the limitations of the hu­
man mind in his caution: "Not only is the uni­
verse queerer than we imagine; it is queerer
than we can imagine." Atheism rejects this
warning, and by comparison requires adher­
ence to a relatively short-lived belief system
that in fact may be upended by the next dis­
covery out in space or in a laboratory. Or on
the White House lawn.
In my opinion, a monotheistic belief in God
has had a very net positive effect on human
history. For example, we owe the evolution of
Western civilization first to the civilizing influ­
ence of the ancient Jewish tribes who, under
what they considered to be the direction of
their sole God, established societies based on
that principle. In all of history, only in those
Jewish tribes did it ever occur that one man, a
prophet from the wilds, dared to stand before
an almighty king and prohibit him from action
deemed unacceptable to a higher Authority.
Nowhere else in history are there similar ex­
amples. This monotheistic Jewish culture
1 03
ANALOG
eventually produced Christianity, which, with
its conversion of the Greek-influenced Roman
Empire, eventually gave birth to Western civi­
lization, the only one in history that recog­
nized the worth of the individual, a worth
based literally on God-given rights.
All truly modern nations are not tribal,
racial, or theocratic, but are based on these
Western, Le., Judeo-Christian, values. We ig­
nore this heritage at our peril. I maintain that
this empirical evidence-Western civilization,
individual rights, the free exercise of the
minds of billions of people for several cen­
turies now-founded as it is on religious val­
ues, is proof enough of the practicality of at
least one branch of religion.
In my A nalog story, "The Alien at the
Alamo" Guly 2010), a frustrated alien says,
"Any sufficiently advanced intelligence is in­
distinguishable from God," explaining that the
intellectual chasm between itself and the hu­
man in the tale compares to that of the human
to an amoeba. Such highly-advanced "be­
ings" -not necessarily "intellects" -may be
attuned to many Multiversal phenomena
through sensory apparatus that we do not
possess; perhaps able to access or "down­
load" information directly through an ad­
vanced form of instinct, intuition, Revelation,
or other inconceivable modalities.
It may be that Logic and Reason, as won­
derful as they are for human uses, are merely
the best we can do with our primitive brains
and minds. But this limitation might not hold
for all beings in the Multiverses: some may ex­
ist who do Know All; perhaps even those
who Create Some or All, with ways of manip­
ulating Multiversal Laws that will forever re­
main unimaginable to us, a la Haldane.
We can thus scientifically speculate about
an increasing scale of Intelligence or Under­
standing operating in the Multiverses, leading
perhaps to an Ultimate Intelligence, in an
unimaginable form, that is/was/will be re­
sponsible for the Big Bang, Continuous Cre­
ation, or Steady State Universe/Multiverse. Hu­
mans might then perceive this (or these)
Ultimate Intelligence as what some term to be
"God."
Even now, Reason and Logic are not
enough to explain everything we humans do
and feel-we need, in addition, at least Love,
Imagination, and Faith.
1 04
\Vhen the advanced alien in my Analog sto­
ry "Epiphany" (October 1987) states that
nowhere else in all the rest of the Galaxy does
any other society "believe" in a Supreme Be­
ing, and that the Bible is only an inlperfect col­
lection of ancient my1hs and tales, the preach­
er is quite ready to discuss the phenomenon.
The pastor responds he understands imper­
fection, that having a perfect example for
mere human beings would only lead to frus­
tration: "1 interpret the Bible's insistence on
faith-in God, in Jesus-to imply that imper­
fect, irrational humans cannot understand the
totality of laws that operate the Universe. We
are implored to seek Truth to make ourselves
free, but beyond that, to surrender to the
overwhelming mystery of the Universe and
feel it flow through us. That is Faith, brother,
the power that lies beyond Reason, the bind­
ing force of all Creation, fleshing out the in­
terstices of spacetime, the ethical Ether, the
philosophical touchstone upon which the
very quanta and quarks play out their eternal
games of light and dark. "
Twenty-five years later, I still stand by that
preacher's sentiments-my own.
Sincerely,
Arlan Andrews, Sr.
Dear editor and friends,
Perhaps unfairly, I'm going to jump on Jerry
Oltion, who can stand it since he has a solid
following. The problem is a little article he
wrote entitled "What Science Means to Me,"
even though he was an English major. It turns
out he loves the scientific method and uses it.
That's great. I have no argument with his take
on science. I'm not refuting him as much as
challenging him to go farther with his under­
standing of religion. (I am a former Unitarian
Universalist minister who at age 72 is dipping
back into the sci-fi I used to enjoy very much
as a kid.)
He's doing the old Straw God thing. That
is, creating a pop version of what God and re­
ligion are about, assuming that science op­
poses it, and then throwing the whole thing
out. Proud Atheist! Moral, of course. He
says, "Belief in God just doesn't hold up to
scrutiny. " It depends on how you define
God, doesn't it' As a whole category, I mean.
What he doesn't know is that one can have
a perfectly good religion without God, anthro-
BRASS TACKS

pomorphic or not. God is an Abramic con­
cept. Step away from the Abramics! Oewish,
Islamic, Christian, et al.) What about Zen
Buddhism? Native-American beliefs? The
great anthropological discussions of religion,
by people like Clifford Geertz'
Jerry's been brainwashed by institutional re­
ligion, which pushes the idea that if there is
no Big God with a Big Stick, everyone will mn
wild. Some internet quotes: "People use
cues of religiosity as a signal for tmslworthi­
ness," researchers write in thejournal ofPer­
sonality and Social Psychology. " . . . trust­
worthiness is the most valued trait in other
people. "
But the article continues: "In a 2009 study,
sociologist Phil Zuckerman argued that ' a
strong case could be made that atheists and
secular people actually possess a stronger or
more ethical sense of social justice than their
religious peers,' adding that they, on average,
have 'lower levels of prejudice, ethnocen­
trism, racism and homophobia' than the
much larger population of believers . " One
can arrive at decent morals by using the sci­
entific method just as easily as referring to
some writing purported to be by a mountain
god. Much of morality is simply common
sense about what the consequences are likely
to be.
Churches have established a "brand." They
try to be "markers" for what is "our group" by
providing jargon and stories. Some are old
and gnarly (Catholicism) and some were just
born yesterday (Latter Day Saints). Some are
conflations (Like Konkokyo in Japan, which
smushes together Christianity and Shinto) and
some are so purist that they die out (like Shak­
ers). But religion-even in the junked togeth­
er senses of morality, respectability, belong­
ing, stories, community support, and so
on-are simply an expression of being human
and will persist in devious forms even in the
face of contempt and avoidance. Not that
some of their behavior doesn't well-deserve
those reactions.
Consider awe and a feeling of the sacred.
Surely science has the upper hand here with
cosmic images of stars being born, trailing ftJ­
aments of gaseous cloud, and with the mirac­
ulous self-starting unfolding of a fertilized egg,
no matter whose or what species. Poetic lan-
BRASS TACKS
-JUNE 2 0 1 2
guage and morality to suit the images are hard­
pressed but sci-fi writers can do it.
Jerry describes his journey from childhood
religion to adult science by comparing it to
the cultural shift from geocentrism to helio­
centrism. I think this is apt, since it is a para­
digm shift based on awareness of scientific re­
search. But h e has not taken the next
step-perhaps because he i s not quite so
aware of developments in the "soft" sciences
of biology. This would be the step from an­
thropocentrism to deep ecology, which has
no center. !t's not for the faint-hearted but it
is for those who appreciate systems, relation­
ships, the relatedness of all existence, the
richness of details, the power of process. See
Rajnar Vajra's "Doctor Alien" tales.
Sci-fi has seen and elaborated upon this
deep ecology all along. It is one of the quali­
ties that attract me-and many others, I'm
sure. Somehow the idea of my molecules­
which are always in a state of flux anyway­
disassembling for reuse by some other entity
is fine with me.
But I do like some of the metaphors for
God. A computer geek suggests that God is
the infinite hard drive that contains every­
thing that has ever been, every possible varia­
tion of outcome, everything that will be in the
future in all its possibilities. It is not time that
travels, but rather we ourselves who travel,
mnning our minds along the filamentous trails
we call ideas-just to see where they go.
Jerry and his wife tell about thei r cat,
"Stormy" who has a lightning strike down her
nose. In fact, this cat in appearance and per­
sonality is clearly very much like my "Squib­
bie" (though she's getting matronly now)­
same white streak down her forehead. And I
knew a cat in Connecticut named "Josephine"
who was again very much like this pattern.
Three incarnations of a gene pattern that pro­
duces a tortoiseshell/scatter-calico neat little
high-spirited feline, a miracle of molecules.
The streak comes from the developmental
paths of fur pigmentation in cats. Science
knows all about it. But that's not quite the
same as living with one's own personal exam­
ple. Religion is like that, too. A personal un­
folding, not a prescription.
Mary Scriver
Valier, Montana •
1 05
UPCOMING EVENTS Anthony Lewis
NOTE: Membership rates often change af
ter we have gone to press. Check the websites
for the most recent information.
5-8 July 2012
CONCLUSION/WESTERCON 65 (West Coast
Science Fantasy Conference) at Doubletree
Hotel Seattle Airport, Seatac, WA. Author
Guest of Honor: Robin Hobb (a.k.a. Megan
Lindholm); Artist Guest of Honor: Frank Wu;
Special Guest: Brianna Spacecat Wu; Science
Guest of Honor: Art Bozlee; Fan Guest of Hon­
or: Chaz Boston Baden. Membership: $55 at­
tending/ $ 30 supporting until 18 November
20 1 1 -see website for current rates. Info:
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Woodinville, WA 98072-1091.
12-15 July 2012
READERCON 23 (Literary-oriented SF confer­
ence) at Burlington Marriott, Burlington, MA.
Guests of Honor: Peter Straub, Caitlin R. Kier­
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son. Membership: $ 50 until 20 Febmary 2012.
Info: http://www. readercon. org/; info@read­
ercon.org; PO Box 65, Watertown, MA 02472.
10-12 August 2012
WHEN WORDS COLLIDE 20 1 2 (Literary-ori­
ented SF conference) at Best Western Village
Park Inn, Calgary, AB, Canada. Hosting the
201 2 Aurora Awards. Guests of Honor: Kevin
]. Anderson (science fiction), Kelley Arm­
strong (urban fantasy), Rebecca Moesta
(young adult), Anthony Bidulka (mystery),
AdrielUle Kerr (editor), Vanessa Cardui (poet­
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Sentry Box, 1835 10th Avenue SW, Calgary,
Alberta, T3C OK2, Canada.
1 06
24-26 August 2012
BUBONICON 44 (New Mexico area SF confer­
ence) at Albuquerque Marriott Uptown, Albu­
querque, N M . Guest of Honor: Brandon
Sanderson; TM: Michael Cassutt; Guest Artist:
Ursula Vernon. Membership: $38 until 1 2 May
2012, more thereafter; $ 23 YA (14 to 1 7). Info:
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PO Box 37257, Albuquerque, NM 87176.
30 August-3 September 2012
h
CHICON 7 aot World Science Fiction Con­
vention) at Hyatt Regency Chicago, IL. Writer
Guest of Honor: Mike Resnick; Artist Guest of
Honor: Rowena Morrill; Astronaut Guest of
Honor: Story Musgrave; Fan Guest of Honor:
Peggy Rae Sapienza; Agent Guest of Honor:
Jane Frank; TM: John Scalzi. Membership from
1 October 2 0 1 0 until some later date (see
website for latest details)-Attending through
Spring 201 1 : Adult (22+) $ 1 25; Young Adult
(17-21) $ 100; Child (5-16) $ 75; Kid-in-tow (0-
4) FREE; Supporting: $50. [Ages as of 30 Au­
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get-together. Professionals and readers from all
over the world will be in attendance. Talks,
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works. Nominate and vote for the Hugos. Info:
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Running a convention? Ifyour convention
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Copyright © 2012 Anthony Lewis
ANTHONY LEWIS
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