Jenna Starborn (11 page)

“They are made of the same material. The building blocks of their construction are interchangeable. The living, breathing human being, when he dies, is returned to the soil of his world, where his bones and his body decompose into their compound atoms. The rosebush planted over his head draws in the chemicals he releases. Until the plot is razed, and the mine is dug, and the dirt that his body has become is compressed and sifted for its metallic content, and he is turned into that very spacecraft you mentioned. Where is the difference? Where does the man end and the starship begin? I cannot tell. Do you think you can?”

He appeared thunderstruck—but, against his will, intrigued. “But Miss Starborn! I say again, with some stupefaction, Miss Starborn! One is a sentient, intellectual creature with some control over his thoughts, actions, and destiny. The others—this rosebush and this orestruck hull—they cannot think, move, feel, speak, argue, fight, change the course of history—they are not in the same league at all!”

“Do you have to be able to debate philosophy to have some value to the universe? Can an oxygen molecule recite the laws of physics? I think not. But you would not want to try to exist without it.”

“But ...” He put his hand to his forehead as if checking his own reality. “But I would not want to try to exist without brandy, either, and yet I am not going to leave my inheritance to that bottle over there! It is not an—not an entity! Surely you must see the difference.”

“Of course I recognize that there are differences in the way all creatures, plants, and objects exist. What I am saying is that those differences do not elevate one over the other.” Casting my mind about for some kind of example, I remembered a news story Ameletta had shown me about Old-Earth animals being resurrected and bred for an interplanetary zoo. “The proud man who lords it over his household today may be eaten by a tiger tomorrow, and the essential equations of the universe will not change. Not an atom will have been lost—not a single cell of his body will not be reused.”

“His soul will have been lost,” Mr. Ravenbeck interjected quickly. “Or do you claim that he has no soul? Or that a soul does not matter?”

“His soul is ineffable and will have been gathered up to the Goddess.”

He leaned forward with a sort of pouncing motion. “Aha! But does not his soul in the very first place render him superior to that rosebush, that tiger, and that piece of metal?”

“How do you know they do not have souls as well?” I countered.

“How do I—but of course a spaceship has no soul!”

“But how do you know?”

“Because it does not! Because it does not live!”

“And a rosebush? A tiger? They do not live?” I asked.

“They live, but not as we do. Certainly they do not live at such a level that they espouse a religious doctrine, and surely, if there is any purpose for a soul at all, it is to be converted by faith.” He half-smiled as he said this; he knew he was muddling his arguments by this slight introduction of humor.

“I understand that it is difficult for you to accept a soul in a piece of machinery or a flowering bush,” I conceded. “But surely even you must acknowledge that animals may be suspected of possessing such a commodity. Why, throughout the history of mankind, animals have been worshiped as gods, or seen as the receptacle of human souls as they make a slow journey from atheism to enlightenment. They meet all your criteria for living creatures—they move, they breathe, they think, they fight. Are you alone to decide that even so, they have no souls?”

“I do not believe they do, but very well! I will admit it is a possibility, though remote. Even so, I will not concede that this—this tiger of yours is any way equal to the man whom he consumes.”

“And why not?”

“Why not? What has a tiger achieved in comparison to what man has achieved? Men have continually refined their environments to sustain a greater and greater explosion of population. That is the most remarkable achievement in the human canon. They have moved from caves to continents to galaxies, always adapting their worlds to suit themselves. No tiger has done that. No tiger has replanted his native rainforest with a more salutary crop or bred a food source that more exactly met his requirements. No tiger has been able to expand his population base exponentially and still managed to support his numbers—and mankind has done that, over and over and over.”

“And that is a good thing?” I asked gently. “The proliferation of mankind?”

“Well, of course it is!” he exploded, and again I saw both Mrs. Farraday and Miss Ayerson look in our direction. They exchanged puzzled glances, then returned their attention to Ameletta. “What sort of question is that?”

I shrugged. “If mankind's greatest achievement is to produce more spaces for mankind to live in, I do not think I am so impressed,” I said. “Particularly since he has continued to need those new spaces because he has fouled his old ones. What men have done is found ways to endlessly reproduce themselves—and that is not such an amazing ability. The smallest, least complex amoeba can do that. Men do it on a larger scale, but they do not do it with any more grace. I will not concede superiority on that score. Indeed, I will not concede it on any.”

Mr. Ravenbeck again put a hand to his brow, but this time he seemed to be offering his own head a precarious means of support. “You, Miss Starborn, are an anarchist,” was his next unexpected observation.

I felt an involuntary smile come to my lips. “I, sir? Merely because I am defending tigers?”

“No. Because you do not recognize social order. That is, in fact, the philosophy that is at the heart of the PanEquist doctrine. If there is no superiority in species or substance, then there is equality throughout the system. The servant is the equal of the master. Everything is level.”

I smiled again. “But surely a desire for social equality abides in the heart of every creature who does not have it?”

“Perhaps, but few of them state it so openly!”

“I assure you, I am very well aware of how society works, and I know that I am the employee here, and you the employer. I believe that in the Goddess's eyes, we are all equal. But the Goddess does not deposit my paycheck. You need not worry that I will agitate for a revolution.”

“You relieve me,” he said, somewhat sardonically. “I was beginning to peg you for just such a radical.”

“If it unnerves you to speak of my religious beliefs, we may discuss your own instead,” I said in a pacifying voice. “I take it you follow some doctrine?”

He shrugged and made a gesture of uncertainty. “Oh, I know the litany of the Reformed Neo-Christian Church, but I confess that I use that knowledge to do little more than add force to an exclamation,” he said. “It is the same with most of my set. Now, Mrs. Farraday is rather more devout than I am, following the evangelistic branch of that same church. You might apply to her if you were looking for a more socially acceptable affiliation.”

As if she had caught the mention of her name, Mrs. Farraday came to her feet and headed in our direction. Her pleasant face was puckered with worry, and she looked at me somewhat uncertainly. I doubted she had understood half our rather exhilarating conversation—I at least had found it exhilarating—but it was obvious that the tenor of it had disturbed her.

“Mr. Ravenbeck, surely you must be growing tired? Your long trip—and your accident—I am wondering how much later you should sit up.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I am quite hearty,” he said. His voice was a bit testy but not, I was happy to hear, unkind. A man who spoke cruelly to his dependents was not to be respected, no matter how quick and fine his mind. “In fact, I am far from tired. Miss Starborn and I have been having the most invigorating conversation on the construction of the universe. Her theories are bizarre, but her rebuttals are good, and she is making me think very hard. Something, to my discredit, I do not often do.”

This explanation, though murky, seemed to reassure Mrs. Farraday a little. At any rate, her face cleared, and she bestowed upon us both a shy smile. “Well, I must say, your talk has sounded very strange to me,” she said. “I would have thought you would have been asking Jenna all about her schooling and her work so far.”

“Indeed! And so I should have!” Mr. Ravenbeck said briskly. “Let us, Miss Starborn, return to those mundane but still important matters. Where did you go to school? And how long have you been out of it?”

Satisfied at the turn our conversation was taking, Mrs. Farraday returned to her own seat again. I answered at once. “I attended Lora Technical and Engineering Academy, where I graduated four years ago. I stayed on as an instructor until I became restless, when I applied for this position.”

“So you have seen only two worlds in your short life? Fieldstar and Lora? That does not seem an adequate exposure for anyone.”

“Three worlds,” I corrected. “I lived on Baldus until I was ten.”

“Lived there? With whom? You said you had no family.”

“I do not. I was raised in a household by a woman who did not like me, and sent away to school when that option arose.”

“She did not like you? Well, if you spouted such radical ideology while you were under her roof, I am not sure I can blame her. Why did she raise you if she did not like you?”

“She felt responsible for me,” I said unhelpfully.

That response earned me a quick, sidelong look, but he dropped the line of questioning. “So you relocated to Lora at a tender age and immersed yourself in nuclear physics,” he said. “I suppose you also have the usual grasp of languages and history?”

“The courses were required for graduation.”

“Which you accomplished four years ago, following that with another stint of mindless existence which they call living on Lora—oh, do not bother to protest! I am familiar with both the world and the academy, and there is nothing exciting or endearing about either. I do not wonder at your desire to escape—I only wonder that you did not feel impelled toward it sooner. And—yes! I wonder one more thing—that of all the places in the inhabited universe you could have wandered to, how you could have managed to end up ... here.”

“Chance—fate—random motion,” I said.

“You have no free will?” he retorted. “You could not have selected a more lively venue, more broadly tenanted? There is much less to see on Fieldstar than there was on Lora, which at least had the advantages of a dense population and an unending supply of technology and commerce.”

“I am a timid woman and am moving my way upward by slow degrees,” I said with a small smile. “Eventually, as I gain confidence, I will migrate to the wilder climates of Karian and Corbramb.”

I had named two of the most sophisticated worlds in the Allegiance, and he laughed aloud at this. “You are anything but timid, Miss Starborn, and that I say with certainty after knowing you only a few hours. But I take your point. You would be out of place in a much more frivolous or frenetic environment. And yet someday you must allow yourself to experience something more urbane than this. I assure you, the universe offers far more exotic treats than you have encountered in your travels so far.”

Almost upon his words, the clock struck the hour, and I realized with astonishment how long we had been talking. The chime was the signal for Miss Ayerson to gather up Ameletta and her things, and for Mrs. Farraday to fold up her household accounts and prepare to vacate the room. I too came to my feet.

Mr. Ravenbeck looked up at me with a frown. “What? Where are you going? I have not given you leave to go.”

“The hour is growing late,” I pointed out. “And—forgive my bluntness—but I believe Mrs. Farraday is right. You have had a trying day and you should be tired, even if you are not.”

“I think I may be able to judge if I am tired or not,” he grumbled, but he did indeed look exhausted. “Very well, then! All of you may go! But I will see you over the following days, I suppose? You do not have some pressing engagements that will prevent you from keeping me company in the next evening or so? I am interested in continuing our conversation.”

I nodded serenely, though I felt anything but calm. To look forward to such discussion over and over again in the evenings to come! What a treat to anticipate! “I am at your disposal, sir,” I said.

“Good. Tomorrow night, then, after dinner. I will expect to see you here with the others.”

I nodded again and then, since I could think of nothing more to say, turned to leave the room. Mrs. Farraday waited for me at the door, smiling but inexorable, and followed me out into the hallway.

“Things are very different when Mr. Ravenbeck is here,” she observed as we began walking down the hallway toward the stairs.

“I can see that,” I said, laughing inwardly at my own understatement. “It's unfortunate that he is here so rarely.”

“Ah, well, it's a pleasant enough life at any time,” she said. We had by this time made it to the foot of the stairwell, though she turned toward the kitchens to make a final inspection. “Good night, Jenna. Sleep well.”

“Yes, you too,” I said, and climbed up the two flights of stairs to my room.

Where I sit at the window, looking out at the ill-lit acres of lawn and expecting no such blessing as a good night's sleep. Instead, I have gotten out my recorder and told it every word I could remember from my extraordinary conversation with Mr. Ravenbeck. My brain feels like it has been turned to tinder for the greediest of fires; thought after thought sparks through my mind, leaving its own trail of brilliance and complexity. Amazing how the chance to express your opinion aloud begets in you opinions you did not know you had and fuels you with a desire to explain the smallest detail of your ideology.