The City Who Fought Part 3

"Sure," Channa said, then sighed with pleasure. "You know, I was looking forward to the Perimeter, ever since they told me SSS-900 would be -"

"SSS-900-C, now, Ms. Hap."

Channa blushed."- would be my next a.s.signment"

The first course arrived. The pink grumawns were coiled steaming on top of a bed of fragrant saffron rice, the sauce to one side. Channa took a sip of the wine, chilled and with a feint scent of violets, then lifted one grumawn on the end of a two-tined fork.

"I did do a lot of work today," she murmured to herself. She opened her mouth, and - The Confederate armor was grinding through the woods and fields north of Indianapolis. The burning city cast a pall of smoke into the sky behind them. Diesel engines pig-grunted as the smooth low-slung shapes of the tanks and tank-destroyers crashed through brush and twelve-foot high cornstalks, past the flaming shards of a farmhouse and barns. The long 90mm barrels of the tank guns swung toward the thin strung-out lines of the Union convoys, caught in the flank as they attempted to switch front The fighting vehicles surged back on their tracks at each monster crack of highvelocity cannon fire, and the air filled with the bitter scent of cordite. Chaos spread through the blue ranks as tracer and cannon fire sent trucks exploding into globes of magenta fire. A Northern tank dissolved, the turret flipping up like a frying-pan, a hundred meters into the air.

Behind the fighting vehicles, long lines of men in gray uniforms followed, advancing with their semiautomatic rifles carried at the port Here and there an officer carried a sword, or the Stars and Bars fluttered from a staff.

"Now!" General Fitzroy Anson-Hugh Beauregard III said into the bulky mike hung from his vehicle helmet His command tank was a little back from the edge of the combat, hull down; the general stood head and shoulders out of the commander's cupola. The turret pivoted under him, the ma.s.sive casting moving smoothly on its bearing race. The long cannon fired in a flash that seared his vision, just as the opening salvos of artillery went by overhead. Down along the road, tall poplar-shapes of black dirt gouted skyward. Another explosion shook the earth and sent heavy vehicles pinwheeling like a child's models under a careless boot; the command-tank's round had hit the tracked carrier for a Unionist self-propelled gun.

The general nodded. "Nothing to stop us short of the Lakes," he said. Nothing to stop them linking up with the British Guards Armored Corps, driving southeast out of occupied Detroit, cutting the Union in two....

"Conceded," Florian Gusky said, and lifted the visor of the simulation helmet. He sighed heavily and took a pull of his beer, then looked around the room as though surprised to find himself alone with Simeon, blinking away the consciousness of a world and war that had never been. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his heavy-browed face and he worked the thick muscles of his shoulders to loosen the tension.

"You could play it out to the end," Simeon's image said from a screen above his desk.

"No dam' point. You've whipped my b.u.t.t in that simulation fo^,fromboth Union and Confederate sides."

"I could take a handicap," Simeon said with much less enthusiasm, Gus noted.

So he nodded. The last time he had beaten Simeon was in a Caesar vs. Rommel match on the site of Carthage, with the sh.e.l.lperson commanding Caesar's spear-armed host against Panzers and Stukas. Even then he had inflicted embarra.s.sing casualties.

"Where is she?" Gus asked. There was no need to identify the female in question.

"She's dining at the Perimeter."

Gus raised his eyebrows in astonishment. "The Perimeter? That's some salary she gets." The Perimeter attracted two sets of guests: the rich, and s.p.a.cers looking to blow six months' pay on one night.

Simeon laughed. "Nab, she's a guest of the management. Patsy's with her."

"Yeah, Patsy likes her," Gus said, his tone indicating that this revealed a serious and heretofore unsuspected flaw in Patsy's character. "Can you see them?"

"Yup."

"What're they doing?"

"Talking."

"About us?"

"I don't know. I'm not listening. Now they're laughing."

"They're talking about us, alright," Gus said gloomily.

"Geesh, Gus, let's get back to the game."

There was a plaintive edge to Simeon's voice. Gus reached for the helmet and then stopped, a slow grin creasing his heavy features. " Isn't it about time we had a drill?" he said, thoughtfully.

"We just had one. About four hours ago, remember?"

"When I was in the Navy we had 'em six times a day, sometimes," Gus replied.

He knew that Simeon badly wanted to pull Navy duty. Only a few staff-and-command vessels used sh.e.l.l controllers and Simeon didn't rate, yet. In the meantime, he put a lot of weight on Gus' experience as a fire-control officer on a patrol frigate. That had been some time ago - Florian Gusky had spent a decade's hard work clawing his way up to regional security chief for Namakuri-Singh, the big drivesystems firm - but Simeon had a bad case of military romanticism. And real talent, he told himself without envy of the brain's abilities.

"I know it's early," Gus went on persuasively, "but it's important not to have predictable intervals. So we don't get complacent."

"Well..."

"I'd love to see the look on their faces."

"Since you put it that way -"

Channa started as the klaxons rang. They sounded like no other she had ever heard, a harsh repeated ouvuuga-ouuuuga sound. The elegant minuet of movement among the waiters turned to an inelegant but efficient scramble for the exits; some moved to a.s.sist guests. Thick slabs hissed up out of the floor along the outer wall and the lights flared bright "BREACH IN THE PRESSURE HULL!" a harsh male voice tone announced. "EMERGENCY PERSONNEL TO THEIR STATIONS. SECURE ALL SUBSECTION REFUGE AREAS."

Patsy stood and looked at her barely touched entree with dismay. "d.a.m.n! That's the second time this s.h.i.+ft!" She threw her napkin down with disgust. "Simeon pulls these drills like a boy kickin* over an anthill to see the bugs scurry."

"Simeon!" Channa shouted.

"Yeah?" The klaxons dimmed in a globe around them.

"Is this a genuine emergency or just a test?"

"Excuse me, brawn-o'-mine, but you're not supposed to be privy to that information." There was the hint of a smug smile in the brain's voice.

"If you think I'm getting up from the best meal that's ever been put in front of me just because you're feeling your oats, you've got another thing coming. Cut it!"

As the klaxon abrupdy ceased, people stopped, puzzled, and milled around uncertainly.

"Tell them it's over, Simeon. Don't just leave them standing there."

"This has been a test," Simeon informed them in the feminine tones he used for such announcements, "Return to your stations. This has been a test"

"We will discuss this later," Channa a.s.sured him icily. "Overdoing drills is dangerous, irresponsible and generally counterproductive."

Ah, h.e.l.l, Simeon thought exhaustedly, why did I listen to you, Gustldan't ihmkyou like the looks on their faces after all, buddy. I know I don't. He wondered what he could do to make it impossible for her to gain access to him for the next week.

Patsy sat down slowly, her wide eyes fixed on Channa's flushed countenance. "You really don't lahk him, do ya?" she said with some astonishment Channa looked at her blandly. "Whatever makes you say that?"

Patsy shook her head. *Just a hunch."

Channa sighed and smiled ruefully. "Well, to be fair, there may be a touch of'transference' there. You see, I've always wanted to work planet-side. I love the feel of wind in my hair and rain on my face. I enjoy splas.h.i.+ng in an ocean, and the feel of earth under my feet So, for the past two years I've been campaigning for a particular a.s.signment" She looked up at Patsy inquiringly. "Have you ever been to Senalgal?"

Patsy nodded and smiled warmly in reminiscence. "I sher have. 1 had my first honeymoon thar. What a gorgeous place! Beautiful beaches, warm ocean, flowers eve'rwhar, and the/ood. I'd love to live thar, at least fer a while." She sighed. "So, go on."

"Well, as you can imagine, the compet.i.tion was incredible. I'd been through twelve interviews, including one with Ita Secand, the city-manager of Kelta, whom I would have been working with. G.o.d! What I wouldn't give to work with her. She's witty, charming, sophisticated. I felt that I could learn so much from her. It had come down to two of us, myself and someone else."

She shook her head. "I never did know who the other candidate was, but my feeling was that it was going to be an extremely difficult choice. When suddenly, after holding on for twelve years, Tell Radon decides that he has to retire right now! And thatsweet little plum, that was almost inmy hand, was s.n.a.t.c.hed away so fast it left scorch marks on my nail polish, '"Vbu're station born and bred,' they told me, 'You're perfect for this a.s.signment,' they said. 'It's an extremely important and prestigious post,' they a.s.sured me. Rurrrgh! Asthesayinggoes, Icouldjustspit"

Patsy looked at Channa's bitter face.

"It's a gyp, alright. Looks like yer skills ah goin' against you instead of helpin* you out. So, maybe you ah takin' it out on Simeon jest a teensy bit?" She grinned and held up a hand that measured out a micrometer between thumb and forefinger. "Hey, maybe that's good fer him. Now, I think," she placed a hand on her bosom, "that we need you mo'n Senalgal does. I mean, Senalgal's gonna be special whoever runs it, right? But a station, well, it can be just a big oT factory with the wrong people in charge. You don't need Ita Secand t' teach you to be witty and sophisticated - you already ah. We need some a' that right here, Ms. Hap, an I'm not kiddin'."

Channa blushed and grinned, taking a sip of her wine to hide her embarra.s.sment "Well, thank you. That's quite a challenge you've set me," she murmured, and changed the subject. "Who was that big, handsome, gray-haired fellow you were talking to last night? Somehow I never met him,"

"FlorianGusky?"

"We call him Gus."

"I can see why."

Patsy smiled warmly. "He's quite a guy - a retired Navy man, a crack navigator. Tlie stories he's got... I mean to tell you, mmhm."

"I see he's spoken for," Channa said with a grin.

"Not so you'd notice," Pasty said primly. "I admit I lahk him, though. I jus* love to heah him talk. When I was a kid, I thought I'd do what he did. You know, join the Navy and scour the universe of evil doers, jus' like some ferocious holo-hero." She sighed. "But heah I am, nothin* but an algae-herder."

"An algae-herder?" Channa asked in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Algae travel in herds?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. Instead of doin' somethin* adventurous, I'm just watchin* these bubblin' vats o* goop. The excitement is not goin* to give me ulcers." She sighed. "Sometimes 1 wish fer a real disaster. Something special."

Channa looked at her seriously. "Be careful what you wish for," she said. "You may get it"

Channa hummed tunelessly as she filled out the adoption forms, looking perfectly content and at peace with the world. The sound irritated Simeon excessively. True, he could in a sense "leave" the area and had done so. But he kept coming back, as though to a blown circuit; drawn to the irritant, checking again and again to see if anything had changed.

Finally he said, "You seem happy." Hap. Happy. Bet that would bug herbad.

"I love filling out forms," she said. "The more complex the better."

Somehow it figures, Simeon thought. When you became a broom, the universe lost a great tax auditor.

"Filling out your side of this is no problem," she said. "Your whole life is on file. But I'm going to have to talk to the child soon."

"I can do that," he said defensively. Icon oho fell out the d.a.m.n forms, in half the time or less and without making obnoxious noises.

She turned to look at the column that held him. "Simeon... while I grant you that we should be as delicate as possible." She paused and gestured helplessly. "I've ... we've, got to get him to Medical. We've got to prove, by retinal patterns and gene a.n.a.lysis, that he exists at all. You know how bureaus are: no tickee, no washee. We've got to do a recorded interview of him. So he's got to emerge, fully grown - well, almost-from the engineering compartments and into the real world," she concluded in a rush. "Okay.I'U talk to him."

"Simeon," she hesitated, "why don't you introduce us? I mean, you can discuss the adoption with him. I can stay out of sight nearby until he wants to meet me." She's being conciliatory, he realized. Why doesn't this rea.s.sure me? He forced down nonexistent hackles and replied in a neutral tone. "Sure, why not?"

Channa could hear them talking from where she sat against the cold bulkhead.

"You want to adopt me?" a young voice asked in disbelief. A yearning hope sounded through it "Yeah," Simeon said, surprised to find that he was getting to like the idea.

Joat's head popped into Simeon's line of sight, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"You can't do that," he said with complete certainty, voice flat again. "They won't let you adopt a kid. You're not real."

Simeon was taken aback. "What do you mean I'm not real?"

Joat's young face was lit with amused wonder. "I hate to be the one to break your bubble, but who's going to let a computer adopt a kid?"

"Where did you get the idea that Ymjust a computer?" Simeon demanded with a hard edge to his tone.

Channa bit down on the fleshy part of her hand. That kid doesn't pull his punches, she thought. Poor Simeon brain, though, dolfttfa offended dignity bit well... Shestifledthe rising guffaw with a swallow. An audible reaction would be out of place. Definitely "You told me," Joat informed him, exasperation creeping into his voice. "You said 'I am, in effect, the station.' That means you're a machine. I've heard about AIs and voice-address systems."

To both his observers, his voice was conciliatory but his expression reflected an inner anxiety that maybe this computer was losing its tiny mind.

And he probably thinks that would be very interesting, the station computer losing function, Simeon thought in exasperation. Kids!

He had noted that, while Joat could keep his voice disciplined, his expression revealed his real feelings. Simeon wondered if he could maintain that duality in the presence of the visually-advantaged. Not that he, Simeon, was in any way visually-dtsadvantaged. Quite the opposite, as Joat would learn soon enough. 'Joat, I think it's time that notion got altered. There's someone nearby I'd like you to meet. She's known as a brawn, and she's my mobile partner." Which was true as far as it went, Simeon amended.

Joat's face went wary. "I don't want to meet anybody," he muttered sullenly, looking cautiously around him. "She, you said?" Another pause. "No, I don't want to meet anyone."

"But we've already met, sort of," Channa called out. Joat vanished instantly. "He's gone," Simeon said.

"No, he's not," Channa contradicted. "He's nearby. Joat? Simeon is a real person, as real as you or me. But heis connected to the station in such a way that the station is an extension ofhisbody. I'd be happy to tellyouabout.i.t."

No answer but a receptivity which she could almost feel beyond her in the narrow access aisle.

"Well," she began, "sh.e.l.lpeople were created as a means of enabling the disadvantaged to live as normal a Hfe as possible. At first that was limited to the creation of miniaturized tongue or digital controls, or body braces. The extension of such devices was to encapsulate the entire body, though some people still think it's just the person's brain - because they're called "brains.' Despite popular fiction, such an inhumanity is not permitted. Simeon is there, body, mind and ..." She paused and then realized that she couldn't permit personal opinion to corrupt the explanation. **... heart. Simeon is a real person complete with his natural body but he is also this station-city in the sense that instead of walking about it, he has sensors that gather information for him and he controls every function of the station from his central location."

"Where is -M Joat paused, too, struggling to comprehend the concept"- he? He is a he, isn't he?"

Tin as masculine as you," Simeon said, accustomed to such an explanation of sh.e.l.lpeople but wis.h.i.+ng to underline his humanity. He did note that his voice had dropped further down the baritone level he used. Weft, whynot?

"Oh!"

"Instead of having to give orders to subordinates," Channa went on, "to, say, check the life-support systems, or Airlock 40, or order an emergency drill, he can do it himself more quickly and more thoroughly than any independently mobile person could.** "And I don't need to sleep, so I'm on call all the time." Simeon couldn't resist adding that.

"Never sleep?" Joat was either appalled or awed.

"I don't require rest, although I do like relaxation and I have a hobby...."

"Not now, Simeon, although -" and there was a smile in Channa's voice **- I admit that that makes you more human."

"Were you human... I mean, were you... did you live like one of us?" Joat asked.

"I am human, not a mutant, or a humanoid, Joat," Simeon said rea.s.suringly. "But something happened when I was born, and I'd never have been able to walk, talk, or even live very long unless the process of encapsulating had been invented. Usually it's babies that become sh.e.l.lpeople. We are more psychologically adjusted to our situation than adults. Though sometimes pre-p.u.b.erty accident victims work out well as sh.e.l.lpeople. I can look forward to a long and very useful life. But I'm human for all of that"

"Very human," Channa replied in a droll voice.

Simeon didn't quite like the implications, but at least she said the right tilings.

"And you run the city?"

"I do, having instantaneous access to every computerized aspect of such a large and multi-function s.p.a.ce station as well as peripheral monitoring devices in a network to control traffic in and out."