problem, blotches that robbed dignity, but
supposedly his would clear up in time. A teenage problem. It was as though age brought a cosmic acne here, he mused, that
would never go away. But did that mean no one lived here now?
They were close. He could sense an edgy impatience on the comm line. The crew sent their all-clears in clipped tones. Nobody
detected the slightest signal coming from the Chandelier itself.
He used his blocked-in Shibo Personality to help integrate the calls. It was pleasant, having a kind of interior servant who
could listen to one transmission while Toby paid attention to another.
Quath could do that, all by herself, Toby knew. The alien’s mind was organized differently, so that it processed incoming
information in parallel. Quath said that she had “subminds.” They did their assigned jobs, kind of the way Toby could gnaw
an apple and read a book at the same time. But Quath’s subminds stored it all and could feed it back.
So Quath would have been perfect for this job—only she wouldn’t come along.
the big alien had sent.
Killeen had explained that this Chandelier was not in any sense Family Bishop’s home, since it was incredibly ancient. Still
Quath wouldn’t budge. She sent something about “intimate observances” and would say no more.
Toby’s Shibo Personality emerged, a tickling presence.
All flyers are in optimal position, the 3D scan shows. No unexplained electromagnetic emissions. The Chandelier appears dead.
Toby was used to Shibo giving him straight, impersonal stuff. She had been a good friend while alive, but her Personality
was reserved. She had not mentioned his conversation with Killeen, either. He said to her in his mind, “Say, do you think
this is a good idea?”
Not particularly. Mechs probably expect such a magnificent site to be visited now and then. And mechs plan far ahead.
“What would you do?”
Send in one person. Less risk.
“Ummm, sounds reasonable. Not our style, though.”
Family Bishop has always been impetuous. Perhaps that is why you have survived.
Toby remembered that Shibo had come to them from Family Knight, after that Family had been nearly killed off by the mechs.
She had been born into Family Pawn. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see a Chandelier. I s’pose we all do.”
Mechs know that, too. But I suspect your father has motives beyond curiosity.
“Such as?”
Only a guess. We shall see.
This calm, mysterious distance was typical Shibo. Most Aspects were eager to speak, to be involved again in real-world hustle
and bustle. Shibo had a serenity not shared by Isaac and the others. Maybe that was an attribute of Personalities in general,
but Toby suspected it was just a deep feature of the remarkable woman she had been. Though his true mother was still a firm,
resonant memory, Shibo had been a mother to him in the long years of Family wanderings.
Toby shrugged and reported that the flyers were positioned, swarming like bees around an elephant.
Killeen nodded curtly and ordered,—Teams in!—
Flyers all around the Chandelier angled in. There was no visible movement in response.
The flyers slipped into open entrances. Toby sorted out the transmissions and brought the most important to Killeen’s attention.
There was continual cross talk. Bishops were a gabby lot:
—Looks like a big open auditorium here. Some burn damage.—Yeah, must’ve been fighting all along this passage. Big gouges out
of the walls.—
—A whole section smashed in here.—
—All in vacuum. No air pressure.—
—Burned-out living quarters. From the door heights I’d say they were short people.—
—No signs of recent use, I’d say.—
—Right. I just ran a sample on some burned furniture in an apartment. My Aspect says that the isotope dating makes this to
be
old
—twenty thousand years, at least.—
—Anybody find any records?—
—No. Somebody sure
supposedly his would clear up in time. A teenage problem. It was as though age brought a cosmic acne here, he mused, that
would never go away. But did that mean no one lived here now?
They were close. He could sense an edgy impatience on the comm line. The crew sent their all-clears in clipped tones. Nobody
detected the slightest signal coming from the Chandelier itself.
He used his blocked-in Shibo Personality to help integrate the calls. It was pleasant, having a kind of interior servant who
could listen to one transmission while Toby paid attention to another.
Quath could do that, all by herself, Toby knew. The alien’s mind was organized differently, so that it processed incoming
information in parallel. Quath said that she had “subminds.” They did their assigned jobs, kind of the way Toby could gnaw
an apple and read a book at the same time. But Quath’s subminds stored it all and could feed it back.
So Quath would have been perfect for this job—only she wouldn’t come along.
the big alien had sent.
Killeen had explained that this Chandelier was not in any sense Family Bishop’s home, since it was incredibly ancient. Still
Quath wouldn’t budge. She sent something about “intimate observances” and would say no more.
Toby’s Shibo Personality emerged, a tickling presence.
All flyers are in optimal position, the 3D scan shows. No unexplained electromagnetic emissions. The Chandelier appears dead.
Toby was used to Shibo giving him straight, impersonal stuff. She had been a good friend while alive, but her Personality
was reserved. She had not mentioned his conversation with Killeen, either. He said to her in his mind, “Say, do you think
this is a good idea?”
Not particularly. Mechs probably expect such a magnificent site to be visited now and then. And mechs plan far ahead.
“What would you do?”
Send in one person. Less risk.
“Ummm, sounds reasonable. Not our style, though.”
Family Bishop has always been impetuous. Perhaps that is why you have survived.
Toby remembered that Shibo had come to them from Family Knight, after that Family had been nearly killed off by the mechs.
She had been born into Family Pawn. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see a Chandelier. I s’pose we all do.”
Mechs know that, too. But I suspect your father has motives beyond curiosity.
“Such as?”
Only a guess. We shall see.
This calm, mysterious distance was typical Shibo. Most Aspects were eager to speak, to be involved again in real-world hustle
and bustle. Shibo had a serenity not shared by Isaac and the others. Maybe that was an attribute of Personalities in general,
but Toby suspected it was just a deep feature of the remarkable woman she had been. Though his true mother was still a firm,
resonant memory, Shibo had been a mother to him in the long years of Family wanderings.
Toby shrugged and reported that the flyers were positioned, swarming like bees around an elephant.
Killeen nodded curtly and ordered,—Teams in!—
Flyers all around the Chandelier angled in. There was no visible movement in response.
The flyers slipped into open entrances. Toby sorted out the transmissions and brought the most important to Killeen’s attention.
There was continual cross talk. Bishops were a gabby lot:
—Looks like a big open auditorium here. Some burn damage.—Yeah, must’ve been fighting all along this passage. Big gouges out
of the walls.—
—A whole section smashed in here.—
—All in vacuum. No air pressure.—
—Burned-out living quarters. From the door heights I’d say they were short people.—
—No signs of recent use, I’d say.—
—Right. I just ran a sample on some burned furniture in an apartment. My Aspect says that the isotope dating makes this to
be
old
—twenty thousand years, at least.—
—Anybody find any records?—
—No. Somebody sure
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