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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
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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 fiyers 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?"
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40
Gregory Benford
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.--
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--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 scraped this place clean.--
--I'm picking up traces of electrical activity. Something still works here.--
Ki]]een broke i'L curtly.--Proceed carefully. There may be mechs in there.-
Toby didn't think it likely that mechs would stay in a human artifact, even a
glorious ruin like this. But then, he had less experience than his father and
the other Bishop veterans. He knew the long history of betrayals, of
agreements broken, of ambushes and raids and casual obliteration as just
that--history. These men and women had lived through plenty of it; some were
over a hundred years old and still fighting, still vigorous and adamant about
giving any margin to mechs.
--God, they fought all through here.--
--Yeah, smashed. Stripped clean.--
--Somebody pulled out all the metals. Looks like mech scavenging.
Same typical grappler marks.--
--A graveyard of a city.--
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FURIOUS GULF
41
--They clean stripped it. Like Blaine Arcology back on Snowglade, 'member?-
Toby remembered, all right. He had hiked there, taking two days, on his first
major outing with Killeen and his grandfather, Abraham. Blaine
Arcology was a reverential place for Bishops, worth a half-day detour from
their target, a mech factory that housed usable foodstuffs. The colossal ruin
had awed Toby. They had camped there overnight, even though
Abraham grumbled about the danger of mech ambush. He had wandered the smashed
streets, reading hints of former lives among the shadows. The
Arcology had seemed to him a place of privacy, silence, space, and of memories
forever lost. Memories of busy avenues and neighbors, of long afternoons with
time to waste, of barefoot fun and whispery elegance--a city. He had tried to
say as much to Killeen and Abraham, and while Toby talked about the majesty of
the place both the men had looked away, faces pinched and brooding. When Toby
had asked why, Abraham had said sadly that an old Aspect of his had just
reminded him that Blaine was really not an example of the High Arcology Era at
all. It had served as a kind of refugee camp, after the truly great places had
been smashed. And
Killeen had nodded, too.
A refugee camp. Yet Citadel Bishop would have fit in its sports stadium.
That moment long ago came back to Toby. Then it was blown away, the way the
wind carries conversations and shreds them.
--There's everything here. Concert halls, markets, factories, hospitals, huge
shafts for elevators.--
--And blasted parks. Musta been pretty once.--
--Wait a sec, there's an airlock here.--Killeen sent,--Test it for activity.--
--Nothing electrical I can pick up.--
--Try the seals.--Killeen said.
--They seem okay. Intact.--Killeen sent,--Leave a robot mechanical at the
controls and stand back, far back. Then pop the seal.--
--Yeasay, doing it... --Other reports came in, of more damaged vistas. Toby
listened intently, filtering out the repetitious reports. His attention
focused on the team at the airlock. He ached to be in there with them, looking
around.
--We opened the lock. It's cycling.--Killeen sent,--What's the gas?--
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--Ordinary air. Chem-sensors say it's okay, not poisoned.--Cermo scowled next
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