Time Enough for Love (58 page)

“We’ll save it. That makes two cries and a chin quivering he’s got coming. Unless Mr. Foote would
like
to see it.”

“Would you, Mr. Foote?”

“Justin, I’ll sell either one of them cheap. Still better price on a package deal.”

“Uh…thank you, Lazarus, but I’m afraid that they might cry at
me
—then
I
would go all to pieces. Can we change the subject? How did you manage to put over this triple, uh, irregularity? May one ask? Doctor Hildegarde runs a very taut organization.”

“Well, in the case of those two little angels over there—”

“Sarcasm now—”

“—and not clever.”

“—I was flummoxed quite as much as Nelly Hildegarde. At the time, Ishtar Hardy, that one’s mother—”

“No,
her
mother.”

“You two are interchangeable parts, and besides, you were mixed up the week you were born, and nobody knows which you are; you don’t know yourself.”

“Oh, yes, I do! Sometimes she goes away, but I’m always right here.”

Lazarus paused in midflight, looked thoughtful. “That may be the most succinct statement of the solipsist thesis I’ve ever heard. Write it down.”

“If I did, you’d take credit for it.”

“I simply want to save it for posterity…a notion incompatible with the thesis itself. Minerva, you preserve it for me.”

“Recorded, Lazarus.”

“Minerva has almost as exact a memory as she had when she was a computer. I was saying: Ishtar was temporarily Clinic boss, Nelly having gone on leave, so access to my tissue was no problem. I was then in a state of acute anhedonia, and their mothers cooked up this notion for restoring my interest in life. The only problem was to do gene surgery not permitted by the rules of Secundus Clinic. How and who—I was told firmly not to inquire. You can ask Minerva; she was in on the swindle.”

“Lazarus, that was a memory I did not bring along when I was selecting what to fit into this skull.”

“You see, Justin? I’m allowed to know only what they think is good for me. As may be, this heroic treatment worked; I have not been bored since. Other descriptives might apply—but not that one.”

“Lori, do you sense a double entendre?”

“No, merely a thinly veiled innuendo. Ignore it with dignity.”

“But at first I didn’t know my odd relationship to this pair. Oh, I couldn’t help knowing that Ishtar, and Hamadryad—one of Ira’s daughters; you’ve met her?”

“Years back. A lovely girl.”

“Quite. Both of their mothers are lovely. I couldn’t help knowing that both were pregnant; they were spending most of their time with me. But although they were swelling up like poisoned pups, they ignored it, so I didn’t inquire.”

Justine nodded. “Privacy.”

“Naw, just hard-nosed. I’ve never let the privacy custom keep me from snooping when it suited me. I was miffed, that’s all. Here two girls are with me every day and like daughters to me and obviously as knocked up as Pharaoh’s Daughter—and they tell me nit. So I got stubborn and outsat them. Till one day Galahad—he’s their husband—well, not exactly; you’ll see—Galahad invites me downstairs, and here they have, one each, the two prettiest little redheads I ever saw.”

“Shall we let him off one cry?”

“You got over it; you both look like
me
now.”

“Or do we add a third cry for
that
?”

“I still don’t smell a mouse; I’m simply pleased. As well as amazed that they had produced babies that looked like identical twins—”

“Which we are, except that we’re triplets.”

“But some weeks of playing with these babies causes my natural genius and suspicious mind to infer that the girls have pulled a whizzer. I was not then in the sperm bank so far as I knew, but I am well aware of tricks that can be played on a helpless client undergoing antigeria, so with unerring logic I reach the wrong answer: These babies are my daughters by artificial insemination unmentioned to me. So I accuse them of it. And they deny it. And I explain that I am not angry, but quite the contrary I
hope
these little cherubs are mine.”

“‘Cherubs.’”

“Ignore it. He’s simply trying to con Mr. Foote.”

“Cherubs at that time, I mean, aside from a tendency to bite. That I
want
them to be mine and share my name and fortunes. So they confer with their fellow conspirators—Minerva and Galahad—Minerva was in it up to her overload safeties.”

“Lazarus, you
needed
a family.”

“Quite right, dear. I’m always better off with a family; it keeps me harmlessly occupied and unbored. Justin, did I mention that Minerva allowed me to adopt her?”

“
We
weren’t asked!”

“Look, kids, under the loose rules of this termite hill I can unadopt you this minute, if such be your wish. Cut the tie. Be just your genetic brother through circumstances I had no more part in than you had. Renounce all authority over you two. Let me know.”

The two girls looked at each other briefly. Then one said, “Lazarus—”

“Yes, Lorelei?”

“Lapis Lazuli and I have discussed it, and we both think that you are just exactly the father we want.”

“Thank you, my dears.”

“And to confirm it, we are canceling two cries and a chin quiver.”

“That’s most pleasing.”

“And besides that, we want to be cuddled…because we are feeling very immature, insecure, and frightened.”

Lazarus blinked. “I don’t want you to feel that way, ever. But—Well, can the cuddling wait?”

“Oh, certainly—Father. We know we have a guest. But perhaps you and Mr. Foote would join us in bathing? Before dinner?”

“Well, Justin? Bathing with my hellions is squirmy but fun. I don’t do it often because they turn it into a social event and waste time. Suit yourself; don’t let your arm be twisted.”

“A bath I certainly need. I was clean when I was sealed into that pod—but how long was I in it? I really don’t know. And a bath should always be a social event if there is time…and good company. Thank you, ladies; I accept.”

“And I accept, too,” put in Minerva. “I’m inviting myself. Justin, Tertius is primitive compared with Secundus, but our family refresher is nice and quite large enough for sociability. ‘Decadent,’ as Lazarus calls it.”

“I designed it to be decadent, Justin. Good plumbing is the finest flower of decadence and one I have always enjoyed when I could get it.”

“Uh—my clothes are still in Ira’s office. Even my toiletries. Absentminded, I’m sorry.”

“No matter. Ira may fetch your bag, but he’s absentminded, too. Depilatories, deodorants, scents—no problem. I’ll lend you a toga or something.”

“Buddy Boy! I mean ‘Father.’ Does that mean we
dress
for dinner?”

“Call me Buddy Boy; I’m hardened to it. Go as far as you like, darlings…except that as usual Mama Hamadryad must okay any cosmetics. Back to how I acquired these daughters who are my sisters, Justin: Having conferred, this gang of genetic pirates came clean and threw themselves on the mercy of the court. Me. So I adopted these two, and we registered them, and the registration will be straightened out one day, as I explained. How Minerva gave up the profession of computer and assumed the sorrows that flesh is heir to is a longer story. Want to synopsize it, dear?—and fill him in later if you wish.”

“Yes, Father.”

“None of your lip, dear; you’re a grown woman now. Justin, when we woke this darling, she was about the size and biological age of those two reformed hellions—remind me to take their temperatures, Minerva. I adopted Minerva because she needed a father then. Doesn’t now.”

“Lazarus, I will always need you as my father.”

“Thank you, my dear, but I take that only as a pleasing compliment. Tell Justin your story.”

“All right. Justin, are you familiar with the theories concerning self-awareness in computers?”

“Several of them. As you know, my work is mostly with computers.”

“Permit me to say, speaking from experience, all theories are empty. How a computer becomes self-aware remains as much a mystery, even to computers, as the age-old mystery of flesh-and-blood self-awareness. It just
is
. But, so far as I’ve heard—quite far in view of the library that was locked in my memories then and is still in Athene’s memories—self-awareness
never
arises in a computer designed only for deductive logic and mathematical calculations, no matter how big it is. But if it is designed for inductive logic, able to assess data, draw hypotheses therefrom, test them, reconstruct them to fit new data, make random comparisons of the results, and change those reconstructions—exercise judgment the way a flesh-and-blood does, then self-awareness may occur. But I don’t know why and no computer knows. It just
does
.”

She smiled. “Sorry, I did not mean to sound pedantic. Lazarus figured out that I could go into a blank human brain, a clone brain, using techniques used to conserve memories in rejuvenation clinics. When we discussed this, I had the entire technical library of Secundus Howard Clinic in me—stolen, in a way. I no longer have it; I had to pick and choose what to take along when I went into this skull. So I don’t remember much of what I did, any more than a rejuvenation client knows all that is done to him; you would have to get details from Athene, who still has them—and who, by the way, never had the rather painful awakening that a computer goes through when it first begins to know itself, because I left a piece of me in Athene, oh, like a yeast starter. Athene dimly remembers having been Minerva at one time—about the way we flesh-and-bloods”—Minerva straightened up, smiled, and looked proud—“remember a dream as something not quite real. And I remember being Minerva the Computer somewhat the same way. I remember all my contacts with people very sharply—because I chose to keep them, replicate them into this skull. But if anyone were to ask how I handled the transport system of New Rome…well, I know that I did. but not
how
I did it.”

She smiled again. “That’s my story: A computer who longed to be a flesh-and-blood and who had loving friends who made is possible…and I’ve never regretted it; I love being flesh-and-blood—and want to love everybody.” She looked at Justin Foote very soberly. “Lazarus spoke sooth; I have never been a guest wife; I am only three years old as a flesh-and-blood. Should you choose me, you may find me awkward and shy—but not reluctant. I owe you much.”

“Minerva,” said Lazarus, “back him into a corner some other time. You didn’t tell Justin what he wanted to know; you left out the hanky-panky.”

“Oh.”

“And when you were philosophizing about awareness in computers, you left out the key point, it seems to me, one
I
know but you may not even though you’ve been a computer and I have not. Because this key point applies both to computers and to flesh-and-bloods. My dear—and Justin—and it won’t hurt you two erratic geniuses to listen—all machinery is animistic—‘humanistic,’ I want to say, but that term has been preempted. Any machine is a concept of a human designer; it reflects the human brain, be it wheelbarrow or giant computer. So there is nothing mysterious in a machine designed by a human showing human self-awareness; the mystery lies in awareness itself, wherever it’s found. I used to have a folding camp cot that liked to bite me. I don’t say that it was aware—but I learned to approach it with caution.

“But, Minerva, darling, I’ve seen some big computers, almost as smart as you were, that never developed self-awareness. Can you tell us why?”

“I confess I can’t, Lazarus. I’d like to ask Athene when we get home.”

“She probably doesn’t know either; she’s never met any other major computer but Dora. Captain Lazuli, how far back do you remember? Once you—or your comrade in crime—claimed to remember nursing. Suckling, I mean.”

“Of course we do! Doesn’t everybody?”

“No. Me, for example. I was a bottle baby; I don’t remember even that. Not worth remembering. In consequence I’ve been looking at tits and admiring them ever since. Tell me, one of you, when you remember nursing, can you recall which of your mothers was giving you suck?”

“Of course!” Lorelei said scornfully. “Mama Ishtar has big tits—”

“—and Mama Hamadryad has much smaller ones even when they’re filled with milk—”

“But she gave just as much milk.”

“Different flavor though. Made it nice to trade off each meal. Variety.”

“But we liked
both
flavors! Tell him, Laz.”

“Enough. You’ve made the point I wanted. Justin, these kids were self-aware and aware of other people—their mothers at least—at an age when a crèche baby is just a doughy blob…which says something about why crèches have never worked well. I want the counterpoint: Minerva, what do you remember of the time when you were an unawakened clone?”

“Why, nothing, Lazarus. Oh, some odd dreams when I was putting me—my selected memories—into my new me, this one. But I didn’t start that until Ishtar said the clone was big enough. That was not until shortly before I withdrew from my former me and Ishtar woke me. It could not be instantaneous, Justin; a protein brain won’t take data at computer speeds, Ishtar had me be very slow and careful. Then for a short time—short human time—I was both places, computer and skull; then I surrendered the computer and let it become Pallas Athene, and Ishtar woke me. But, Lazarus, a clone in vitro is not aware; it’s like a fetus in utero. No stimuli. Correction: minimum stimuli and nothing that leaves a permanent memory track. Unless you count reports of regression under hypnosis.”

“No need to count them,” Lazarus replied. “True or false, such cases are irrelevant. The relevant counterpoint is ‘minimum stimuli.’ Honey, those big computers with awareness potential but without self-awareness are that way because nobody bothered to love the poor things. That’s all. Babies or big computers—they become aware through being given lots of personal attention. ‘Love’ as it’s usually called. Minerva, does that theory match up with your earliest years?”

Minerva looked soberly thoughtful. “That was about a century ago in human time—call it a million times that in computer time. I know from the records that I was assembled a few years before Ira took office. But the earliest personal memories I have—and those memories I saved and did not leave in Athene or in the computer in New Rome—the earliest I can remember of
me
is waiting eagerly and happily for the next time Ira would speak to me.”