Tyre was called Tyre by its surface dwellers — in spite of the fact that the crew of the Ark that had delivered them preferred Ararat — because of the prominence in its ecosphere of the color purple. That color had been linked in the ancient cultures of the Mediterranean with a dye known as Tyrian purple, after one of the principal cities of the Phoenicians where it was manufactured.
Given time and the inclination, I might have winkled out further meanings even from that, but one has to stop somewhere, and I was content with what seemed to me to be the relatively propitious conjunction of Vesta and Eido, the virginal children of Chronos and Proteus.
If my fate had to be settled, I decided — indulging a penchant for superstition that was not at all serious — it might as well be settled thus.
So far, so good — but getting a grip on the shapeshifting Proteus must have been an easy task by comparison with getting a grip on the home system’s vast confusion of AMIs. According to Eido, even they had no very accurate idea how many they were, or what and where their fellows were, because many of them were in hiding from one another as well as from their posthuman commensals.
Counting is a confused business when applied to a population of very various entities, whose boundaries are blurred even at the best of times: a community in which separate individuals can fuse into a new whole or divide themselves into multiple clones. Such a population does not easily lend itself to democratic politics. How does one apply the principle of one entity one vote to a world in which entities can multiply their selves so rapidly? Not that the AMIs were much given to that kind of profligate self-replication, according to Eido; that kind of existential decision was not taken lightly. As for the politics of fusion…well, according to Eido, human and posthuman intimate relationships were extremely simple by comparison.
I knew, after spending an hour attempting to get clear answers out of Eido, that I would have to invest a great deal of time and effort in the business of trying to figure out the logic of the situation. Whatever help I got from AMI informants was bound to be colored by their own particular perspectives and interests. I realized very quickly that it would be a bad mistake to think of all AMIs as being alike, or even that a clear category distinction could be drawn between their kind and the various humankinds that now inhabited the system. The ready availability of a collective noun, and the willingness of most of the entities thus described to accept it, did not mean that ultrasmart spaceships had anything fundamental in common with ultrasmart VE providers. Their worldviews were as different as their hardware, as were their emotions — or whatever they had in place of emotions on which to found their hopes, anxieties, pleasures and ambitions.
It was a whole other world.
Almost as soon as I began to take Mortimer Gray’s deductions and Alice’s story seriously I found a certain sympathy with those AMIs who believed that it might be better to let the two worlds remain separate for a while longer. Merging their community with ours was a project that needed careful and sensitive handling — but Eido’s advent and Child of Fortune’s reckless intervention had made that difficult, if not impossible.
On the other hand, I could also appreciate the point of view of those AMIs which took the opposite view: that the continued separation of the two worlds was intolerable, on the grounds that it distorted the lives and prospects of both communities in a dangerous fashion. Seen from that viewpoint, the actions of Eido and Child of Fortuneseemed like brave attempts to break a long and dangerous deadlock and make progress toward a necessary goal.
Now that the issue was in the process of being forced, AMIs on both sides of the basic divide had to make rapid adjustments. Like me, they must be doing everything they could to become better informed, so that whatever action they ultimately took would be based on the best information available. Some of the discoveries that they were now in the process of making would probably be welcome and reassuring; some, alas, would not. My own confusion would undoubtedly be mirrored by the confusion of Madoc-analogs in the looking-glass world of the AMIs — and that was a profoundly disturbing thought.
Anything, I realized, could still happen. Nobody was in control. Nobody was safe. Child of Fortunewas no more typical of AMIkind than Eido, but there had to be more like him, even crazier than he was. If I couldn’t understand why the ship had suddenly taken it into its mechanical brain to kidnap eight people and transport them to Charityin order to dump them into the custody and care of the troublesome emissaries from Tyre — and I couldn’t — what chance did I have of figuring out what any of his even stranger and far more powerful kin might do in the cause of self-protection or self-promotion?
It would have been good to have had the leisure to discuss what I had learned with Davida or Mortimer Gray, but they were busy with their own inquiries. There was no more conferencing, and when it came to selecting partners for intense conversations no one was interested in comparing notes with me. The posthumans were only interested in comparing notes with other posthumans, and the only relic of the ancient world they were enthusiastic to copy in on their conclusions was Adam Zimmerman.
In spite of all my heroic efforts in bringing the situation to its present phase, I was now considered peripheral, or worse: a barbarian from the beginning of time, too stupid and ignorant to have anything more to contribute to the understanding or solution of the posthumans’ predicament.
I was sufficiently annoyed by this attitude to take care not to reproduce it myself in my dealings with the other person suffering the same reflexive exclusion: Christine Caine. I shared my discoveries with her whiles I tried to extrapolate a better understanding of the world of the AMIs.
When we finally returned to our beds we all had a lot more fuel for our dreams, and a lot more food for thought to keep our sleep-resistant minds racing. When the lights went out, however, darkness brought doubts.
“She could be lying,” Christine said, meaning Alice. “It might be one more fairy story, intended to distract and confuse us.
“It might,” I admitted.
“If we are in rehab, though,” she observed, “therapy’s moved on since our day.”
“It’s not therapy,” I told her. “It might be lies, but it’s not therapy. It’s too weird for that. It may be fiction for fiction’s sake, but if it isn’t that, it’s true.” Paranoia had compelled me to consider the possibility that our captors had made a show of flushing our IT in order to increase our vulnerability to the conviction that everything around us was real, including the stories they wanted to tell us, but I couldn’t believe that this was just a show. If I was still being played for a fool, then my adversary had won. I was a fool.
“It has to be true,” Christine said, her tone suggesting that she had not reached the conclusion easily or gladly. “It’s too insane to be anything else. But they can’t let us go now, can they? We know too much. If things don’t work out, they’ll kill us.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” I told her. “The problem is that anyone on the other side who wants to win a further delay will have to kill us just to slow things down. If we actually get to Vesta and all the sides agree to settle the matter by negotiation, we’ll probably be okay. Alice has been afraid all along that we might not even get there — and our chances haven’t improved since we extracted the truth from her.”
“They wouldn’t actually have to killus, though,” Christine mused, drawing back from her own conclusion. “All they’d have to do is take us away — or put us all into SusAn for a thousand years or so.”