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lava, no scarlet-ash sky; we were back in Oarville with mute snow swirling
through the air.
The Pollisand and I stood atop the Tower of Ancestors where I had suffered my
great fall. Some distance off, near the edge of the roof, the small figure of
Starbiter gave a surprised yelp, then bounced speedily toward us. Within
seconds, she was pressed fearfully against my leg, clearly disturbed by the
sudden change of scenery.
I knelt and gave her a reassuring pat. A tiny amount of goo came off onto my
hand, but I could not feel it this was still a simulation, giving me sight and
sound but not touch. Continuing to stroke the worried Starbiter, I glared at
the Pollisand. "Why are we here?"
"Just a visual demonstration, lass." He stomped his foot again, and the city
changed. Instead of the many different buildings it had held before, now it
was filled with Ancestral Towers exactly like the one beneath my feet: tens of
thousands of them, shining brightly but somehow not illuminating the cavern
around us.
"Oar," the Pollisand said, "this is your world and your people. Damned near
comatose as good as dead. Only a few dozen of your species haven't gone
zombie; and how soon before they give in? How soon beforeyou do?"
He lifted one foot and waved it casually at the vista: tower after tower,
stretching back as far as I could see, much farther than the actual wall of
the cavern. "Up till now," he said, "there's only been one way to keep your
gray cells from turning to zucchini throw yourself over and go KERSPLAT. Smash
your body to mush before your brain mushes out on its own. You've taken the
high dive once, Oar, it's still there for you. Cast your cares to the wind and
die a decent death. This time I promise I won't sew you back together. Nor
will angels appear to bear you up safely."
I stared at him. "Why would I imagine angels should appear? That is a most
absurd notion."
The Pollisand gave an ostentatious sigh. "Classical allusions are just lost
on you, aren't they? I suppose there's no point my evensuggesting you turn
stones into bread."
"You may suggest such a thing, but I cannot do it. Can you? I would be most
happy if you did, for I have not eaten in quite some time. But if you do bake
bread from stones, make sure it isgood bread not the horrid opaque substance
Explorers are so proud of cooking."
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"Okay," the Pollisand muttered to himself, "scratch the three-temptations
scenario. Didn't work the last time I tried it either. On to Plan B."
He stomped his foot more forcefully than ever, and in the blink of an eye, we
were back where we started: in the garden, surrounded by steaming lava.
Starbiter bleated with excitement and bounced off to bother the wildlife.
Meanwhile, the Pollisand kicked the heads off a couple flowers and ground the
blooms under his heel. "All right," he said, "We were talking business.
Deals." He gave the plants one more whack, then turned back to me. "I was
proposing you could avoid rampaging senility, if only you play ball with me."
"What sort of ball do you wish to play?"
"It was only a metaphor, damn it!" The Pollisand squashed another patch of
flowers, leaving his foot red with their jukes. "I'm suggesting a simple
agreement. An exchange of favors. My favor is to ensure your brain doesn't go
Tired."
"And what do you wish in return?"
"I wish..." He took deep breath. "I want... well, to put it in terms you'll
understand, I want you to tell the League of Peoples it's okay if I
accidentally get you killed."
The Deal
"It isnot okay if you get me killed! That is very much not okay at all!" I
glared at him in outrage; he had red flower sap all over his foot and I hoped
it would stainforever.
"Why isn't it okay?" he demanded. "Point one, you've already died once and I
was the one who brought you back to life; you owe me big-time, lady. Point
two, your brain's almost curdled to gorgonzola, and when it goes, you're as
good as dead anyway. Point three, I'm so far above you on the ladder of
sentience my IQ can only be measured with transfinite numbers, and I promise
there's only the teeniest-tiniest-eensiest-weensiest chance my plan will go
wrong enough to get you killed."
"Hmph," I said. "Tell me your plan and let me judge for myself."
"Tell you my plan? I can't tell you my plan. My plan is so complex, your
brain doesn't have the capacity to comprehend it. This entireuniverse doesn't
have the capacity to comprehend my plan there aren't enough quarks to encode
the simplest overview. I've got fifty-five million backup universes grinding
away at figuring out what I have to do next, and that's just the underlying
logic, not the user interface. No way I can tell you my plan."
"In other words," I said, "you do nothave a plan."
"Well, I've got a few rough ideas. My greatest strength is improvising."
One of the red eyes in his throat disappeared for a moment, then blazed back
to life; I had an eerie feeling the Pollisand had just winked at me.
"Seriously, kiddo," he said, "I have plans upon plans upon plans, reaching all
the way down to the end of time. I have agendas both social and temporal, I
have schemes both simple and ornate; I create conspiracies and tear them
apart; my name is a byword for foresight and I have honed the blade of
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strategy to a razor's edge."
"If you always talk this much," I said, "it is a wonder you have time for
planning at all."
"Damn, but you're a stick-in-the-mud," he grumbled. "All right, I do have a
plan, okay? It's a good plan, aimed at a noble purpose... but there's a
teeny-tiny-eensy-weensy chance that at a particular point as events unfold
you'll die rather permanently. Under circumstances where I won't be able to
patch you up like the last time. And that's where I run afoul of the League of
Peoples: cuz if I have this foreknowledge, which I do, of a lethal danger,
which there is, to a sentient creature, which you are borderline sentient, but
you're still on the civilized side of the ledger then I'm morally obliged to
ask if it's okay I might get you murdered. Basically, you have to agree you
want to achieve the same lofty goal I do... at which point it ceases to beme
putting your life at risk, butyou accepting the risk yourself because you're
so doggone eager to do the right thing."
"And what is this right thing I so recklessly wish to do?"
"Um. Well." The Pollisand stubbed his toe bashfully into the dirt, a gesture
no doubt intended to appear winningly ingenuous. "Do I really have to tell
you? Couldn't you just take my word, as a being seventy-five trillion rungs
higher than you on the evolutionary ladder, that I'm honestly pursuing the
greatest good for the greatest number?"
"I do not care about the greatest good for the greatest number," I said,
"Most people are poop-heads; I do not care about themat all. And I have no [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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