was striving to recompose himself. Kebe stared at him. "That-was-a-Cheshire," she said. Her hair was still puffy. "So they exist," she whispered. A smile was growing on her lips, and dimples on her cheeks: she looked like a child on Christmas morning. "They are real, Nero! I saw one!"
Nero clapped, trying to stand up.
Kebe massaged her scalp, walking around and looking behind the corners. "Where did it go?" She turned to Nero. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm allergic to Cheshires. I get sick whenever Pook appears–the closer, the worse. Don't you...?"
"No," she shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Did you see the flash?"
"What flash?" Kebe said, lighting up the last cigarette in her supply. "Yes," she puffed, "I should stop this," she said looking at the cigarette. "Tell me about Pook. And let's figure out what to do." She sniffed. "Smells like food," she said. "What about talking over some dinner?"
Nero had thawed a real pork roast for the occasion, which, unfortunately, he also had to cook.
*
They both gnawed hard, candlelight hiding their efforts.
"I can't believe it, Cheshires do exist!"
"Why, you should have asked me," Nero said, waving his fork.
"I wouldn't have believed you. I'd have thought you were trying to bring me here," she said. "And I might have come."
"I'm blushing."
"Tell me about Pook."
"He–it adopted me," Nero said. "Pook shows up now and then, peers around, and vanishes. I guess it's just trying to be friendly, more so than the average Cheshire."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Are they hostile? No." Nero shook his head. "For all I know, Pook could be the last Cheshire on Doka. They value their privacy alright: nobody has ever found their lair." He paused. "What do you know about Cheshires?"
"Pop science; much speculation, little substance."
"That's as much as there is to know."
"I thought you'd know everything by now," Kebe said, putting down her napkin.
"My girl, you've been closer to Pook than I've ever been. I might die if it tried sniffing me," Nero said.
"What's this allergy of yours?"
"I don't know. It feels queasy: no big trouble. Some are more sensitive to Cheshires than others." Nero put both hands under his chin and his elbows on the table, letting his forearms support his head.
Kebe sat back, enjoying her licorice tea.
"I had another idea about the book," Nero added.
She leaned forward. "I'm listening."
"If we can't hide it, why not publish it? What's worse? Not to have the book at all, to let it fall back in their hands, or to let everybody have it?"
She reclined backwards, thinking aloud. "We destroy it, we do them a favor. We let them take it, we do them a favor. We let others have it, we'll hurt a lot of people, unless everybody has it. In which case, many will question its authenticity."
"Truth has a way of proving itself."
"Indeed."
"We can scan the manuscript, and broadcast it."
"How, Nero?"
"There's a very very powerful broadband radio beacon on Doka. It was installed when the planet was quarantined and never removed. I think it still works. We can transmit anything we want."
Kebe pondered just a second, then a dimpled smile flared. "Are you serious?"
"This is something else for them to worry about. Of course, we'll disable the framepost before leaving, so they'll have to worry for a long time. In the meantime, we think."
"The book?"
"We take it along. We can make more microfiches, and etch optical cards, too."
"The proof we have is the original. What about it?"
"Before leaving we dial a few thousand numbers at random with the mailer, shipping rocks. We know it's just noise, but they don't. As you put it, all they can trace is the mass shipped. So the book might be at any one of the destinations we dialed. Later, we rent shuttles from as many different places as possible, set them on autopilot outward bound, and put the book on one. The more
Nero clapped, trying to stand up.
Kebe massaged her scalp, walking around and looking behind the corners. "Where did it go?" She turned to Nero. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm allergic to Cheshires. I get sick whenever Pook appears–the closer, the worse. Don't you...?"
"No," she shook her head. "I'm fine."
"Did you see the flash?"
"What flash?" Kebe said, lighting up the last cigarette in her supply. "Yes," she puffed, "I should stop this," she said looking at the cigarette. "Tell me about Pook. And let's figure out what to do." She sniffed. "Smells like food," she said. "What about talking over some dinner?"
Nero had thawed a real pork roast for the occasion, which, unfortunately, he also had to cook.
*
They both gnawed hard, candlelight hiding their efforts.
"I can't believe it, Cheshires do exist!"
"Why, you should have asked me," Nero said, waving his fork.
"I wouldn't have believed you. I'd have thought you were trying to bring me here," she said. "And I might have come."
"I'm blushing."
"Tell me about Pook."
"He–it adopted me," Nero said. "Pook shows up now and then, peers around, and vanishes. I guess it's just trying to be friendly, more so than the average Cheshire."
"Are they dangerous?"
"Are they hostile? No." Nero shook his head. "For all I know, Pook could be the last Cheshire on Doka. They value their privacy alright: nobody has ever found their lair." He paused. "What do you know about Cheshires?"
"Pop science; much speculation, little substance."
"That's as much as there is to know."
"I thought you'd know everything by now," Kebe said, putting down her napkin.
"My girl, you've been closer to Pook than I've ever been. I might die if it tried sniffing me," Nero said.
"What's this allergy of yours?"
"I don't know. It feels queasy: no big trouble. Some are more sensitive to Cheshires than others." Nero put both hands under his chin and his elbows on the table, letting his forearms support his head.
Kebe sat back, enjoying her licorice tea.
"I had another idea about the book," Nero added.
She leaned forward. "I'm listening."
"If we can't hide it, why not publish it? What's worse? Not to have the book at all, to let it fall back in their hands, or to let everybody have it?"
She reclined backwards, thinking aloud. "We destroy it, we do them a favor. We let them take it, we do them a favor. We let others have it, we'll hurt a lot of people, unless everybody has it. In which case, many will question its authenticity."
"Truth has a way of proving itself."
"Indeed."
"We can scan the manuscript, and broadcast it."
"How, Nero?"
"There's a very very powerful broadband radio beacon on Doka. It was installed when the planet was quarantined and never removed. I think it still works. We can transmit anything we want."
Kebe pondered just a second, then a dimpled smile flared. "Are you serious?"
"This is something else for them to worry about. Of course, we'll disable the framepost before leaving, so they'll have to worry for a long time. In the meantime, we think."
"The book?"
"We take it along. We can make more microfiches, and etch optical cards, too."
"The proof we have is the original. What about it?"
"Before leaving we dial a few thousand numbers at random with the mailer, shipping rocks. We know it's just noise, but they don't. As you put it, all they can trace is the mass shipped. So the book might be at any one of the destinations we dialed. Later, we rent shuttles from as many different places as possible, set them on autopilot outward bound, and put the book on one. The more
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