Maximum Ice (5 page)

Her voice dropped a few degrees in temperature. “I very much doubt that you do.”

Swan wished to move past such posturing. The quickest way was to put on a light show. A small one might do. He touched the wall. A lavender splash of light came to his hands from the depths of Ice. In the purple glow, his fingers looked like neon tubes.

Her eyes flicked to the display. This oh-so-minor display. He had her attention.

“Solange—may I call you Solange?”

“Certainly not.” But she was staring at his hand.

He let the glow subside. “Well then, you must tell me what to call you. Mother Superior won’t do. It smacks of—hierarchy.”

“It’s supposed to.”

Silently, he called on Ice for a simple math proof. In answer, a coral line of light snapped from deep in the wall straight to his palm. Ice followed that with a brief flash of crimson, and the equation was clear to him. He had her absolute attention. All that she hoped her device might do, Swan could accomplish with a touch. All that her order had sought for over several thousand years lay in the palm of his hand, so to speak.

Yes, she was interested. She walked slowly toward him,
looking at him, his clothes, his rail-thin condition. “You may call me Solange, then,” she murmured, an arm’s reach away “What do you want, Swan?”

He rather imagined at that point he could have anything he wanted. And he would require everything, eventually, but not yet. “The ship…” He paused, waiting for her to show understanding. The nuns had as much to lose as he did, with the arrival of the ship. It was no doubt why she was here, at coretext; one last go at Ice before her dominion was challenged.

“It upsets me,” he finished, sounding more peevish than he wanted to.

She laughed, a deep, musical laugh. “Yes, it upsets me too.”

“The ship is one of the old generation ships, Solange. From the time before Advent, as you call it. They’re upset by what they found. This is not what they expected.”

“So we might assume. But how do you know?”

“I’ve been monitoring their radio communications. Haven’t you?”

By her expression, she didn’t like to be caught wanting. “Their communications are scrambled.”

“Yes. But not to Ice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not to you.”

“No, not to me.”

She looked around the hall, the architecture of Ice, and spoke in a hushed tone. “You have broken Ice’s encryption, then.”

That was close enough for now. “Ice has no secrets from me.” He assumed that was true, but Ice was on a new scale these days.

“No secrets…” She was processing the notion. Looking at him with new respect—no, with what might be
longing.

Swan continued, “My interest now is with the ship. Its crew fears Ice. Such a vessel must have great powers of
technology to use against us. Against Ice. Would the Sisters of Clarity want that?”

She didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“The ship is counter to my goals as well.” He looked down on her. He had spent his whole adult life looking down on people from his remarkable height. But he must remember that
small didn’t mean weak.

“You haven’t told me who you are, where you come from,” she said.

“Perhaps when we get to know each other better.” It was a foolish thing to say, flirtatious, almost.

From the twitch of her mouth, she didn’t have an interest in getting to know him better. Well, why would she? She wanted to know, but not to know
him.

She persisted in her curiosity. “What is your goal, Swan?”

“Let’s say that I wish for Ice to grow and develop—further. To achieve its full potential. I believe you share that goal. Am I wrong?”

She wasn’t used to people second-guessing her, and didn’t like it now. But, “No,” she murmured, “you’re not wrong.”

She greatly counted on people being wrong about the Sisters of Clarity. For millennia, they had used the trappings of the Church to confuse and confound. The nuns looked like a spiritual society. They pretended to be, at least in a humanitarian sense. God, of course, had nothing to do with it. But that was well, that the sisters were nonreligious. Swan had enough obstacles without confronting God.

The order was a phenomenal success. Brilliantly co-opting the surface of Catholicism, they created a garment for their own agnostic philosophy. Its roots lay in the twenty-first century’s climate of breakneck scientific change, with its deeply troubling genetic, medical, and environmental dilemmas. These were disturbing
to the Church, and to many people of faith. The Church began to speak out against science without a moral rudder. Against a materialistic life without serenity.

Meanwhile, the order of the Sisters of Clarity—at first just a small think tank—began styling itself as a contemplative society, aspiring to divert human civilization from its science-based trajectory to one of ethical and moral purpose. An alternative to religion. Learning from the failures of other utopian societies, the sisters adopted the organization and hierarchy of the most successful institution in human history: the Catholic Church. Rather than fight it, they imitated it.

It was ironic how the Church hastened its own downfall. In an effort to update, it had undergone a makeover propelled by the Lifestyle Encyclical of Pope Innocent XIV The Pontiff removed a number of troubling theological burrs, and pruned articles of faith to a few key messages.

The unintended consequence of the Encyclical was the ease with which believers could transition to the order. The Sisters of Clarity had the rituals, the hierarchy, the high purpose. All one had to give up was God.

Swan had to admit he admired the sisters. It was why he was dealing with them.

Continuing, Solange said, “But that’s not all we want.”

“Yes, you want access to Ice.” That was how he would control them. By metering their access to Ice. “You have your philosophical interests. Meaning, et cetera.”

She looked wary, careful of being mocked. “Yes.”

“A high calling.”

“There is no higher.” It brought a flush to her cheeks. She had the look of an idealist. Or a fanatic, more like. “What gives our lives meaning, Swan? How can we guide ourselves and our technology? Or find freedom from life’s torments? Or find tranquillity?”

“Leave that to religion, perhaps.” He couldn’t help the little jab.

She ignored this. “Religions disagree. Religion becomes faith, dogma. We aspire to be unfettered by devotion. If we’re devoted, you could say it’s to philosophical truth.”

“You’ve had a long time for philosophy. No answers yet?” It was fun to goad her. She was so earnest.

“Nothing ultimate, nothing lasting. I fear we’ve reached the limits of the human inquiry. We need the next larger thing.”

“Not God, then.”

She managed to say with decorum: “No.”

The next larger thing. Swan considered. Such philosophical pursuits might
be programmed into Ice. Ethical judgments, discernment about human happiness—complex operations, indeed. It nudged up against ideas of consciousness. When does subtle “thinking” arise from sheer computing power? Does it ever? It was an old dilemma, and one he didn’t need to resolve. It was only important that Solange
believed
Ice capable of it.

He spread his hands, looking around him. “I can share this with you, Solange. I
will
share it. There is no limit to the computational powers of Ice, at the size it is. At the size it will be.” To himself, he admitted that size wasn’t the only factor in intelligence. The human mind was extraordinary because each cell with its DNA was, in a sense, like a computer, with the ability to replicate the entire organism. By contrast, at each point in Ice, there was possible only an on/off decision. So, even at the size it had become, Ice wasn’t like the human mind. Still, he couldn’t help but feel flattered by the notion.

He could see by her rapt attention that she would grab the bait. He said, “The ship, however, will be against us. Generation ships don’t come back unless they’ve failed. So naturally
they want the old earth. Trees, fish, commerce, war—the usual.”

She nodded. “We’ve already seen that they’re capable of violence against us.”

Yes, that shuttle. So the sisters knew about that. They had excellent sources.

“What do you propose?” she asked.

“An alliance. To achieve things of the spirit for you, things of… Ice for me.”

“An alliance? Between you and me?” Her gaze swept over his ashen face, his attire.

He took a breath to calm himself. Oh, no doubt she would rather not have such an ally. Such an unkempt pariah. No doubt she was used to more refined company. And to uncontested control. And she might still doubt him.

He stepped forward, grasping her arm. “Yes, Solange, you and me.” She smelled of soap and flesh. He placed his free hand on the nearby plane of Ice.

Light came to him, erupting into his palm. “That is the language of Ice, dear lady. It is a communion that I direct.” He pulled her closer. “What would you know from Ice? Ask me.”

Her eyes flared violet in the light storm.

“Ask,” he whispered, close to her face.

Between lips held thin across her teeth, she whispered, “If you command Ice, tell me the names of my predecessors. The mothers superior. All of them.”

He began to speak. The names tolled down the decades, the centuries. Though the list was long, it was too easy. This sort of thing was the least that Ice could do.

At last she covered her ears, pulling away. “Enough.”

He was panting from exertion. He needed to lie down.

“Why do you need me—with all this power?” Her gaze took in the chamber of coretext.

“Because I’m alone.” That was the truest thing he had told her. “You have resources: your nuns, the inhabitants of the preserves. Your soldiers.”

“I have no soldiers.”

“The brothers.”

“I hadn’t thought of them as soldiers.”

“Now that the ship is here, perhaps you should.” His voice shredded for a moment, and he swallowed. It was warm in the cavern. He felt sweat pop out on his face as his stomach clenched in one of its contractions. It was hunger, of course.

“You are not well, Swan.”

“I’m fine.”

“I think not. You’re sick. I think you need me.”

“I’ve
said
so, woman.”

She pressed her advantage. “You will not dismiss me or summon me. If we work together we’ll be equals.”

He nodded, acquiescing. She didn’t quite understand the gulf that separated them, and he didn’t want to argue about pecking order.

Still, she hesitated. “There should be some—amity—between us, Swan.”

“Amity,” he murmured, feeling ill indeed. “Things of the heart, yes?” But when he thought of
heart
, Ice came to mind.

“Yes. Come, embrace me for a surety.”

He paused, not wanting to find himself engulfed in her black robes.

“A seal for our alliance?” She spread her arms.

Sweat poured from his scalp and armpits. He stepped forward, towering over her. Embraced her. The scent of flesh was strong. Then he pushed her away, to keep his mind on business. “If we’re done with
amity…”

“Of course.” One corner of her mouth turned up. Perhaps she was satisfied that she’d made him obedient for a moment.

Then there was strategy to discuss. For taking on the ship. For taking over the ship. She warmed to the topic quickly.

Solange knelt in the sanctuary, knees cold, mind heated. It was supposed to be brisk in the chapel, to aid in mental clarity while the nuns and postulants sat their meditations. Yet despite the bracing cold,
clarity
eluded Mother Superior tonight. Her thoughts were all of Swan, Swan… the man with the name of a bird, the man with the control of Ice.

The image of Mother Superior Carmen smiled down on her from the chancel surrounding the altar, her holographic presence selected at random from the hundred revered laureates. Mother Superior Carmen’s only claim to laurels was a minor improvement that the society overvalued. She had died young and still beautiful, another thing Solange held against her. Easy to be deemed a laureate when you hadn’t had time to stumble.

At the rear of the chapel her attendants had been standing for the better part of two hours, with no cough or fidget. From early childhood her nuns had trained in standing meditation. For the purpose of mental clarity, as was everything.

Solange shifted her position and continued her meditation on the one called Swan, and her conversation with him. She had stayed kneeling until she was able to recall each word.

She recalled the man’s violet fingers, shot through with the thoughts of Ice. She hadn’t let him see her stunned reaction, hoping to hide her own inadequacies. Swan wasn’t fooled.

He had access to Ice, she did not. Simply stated, this was the power equation.

Who this man was, where he had come from—these
questions preoccupied her. Had the preserves produced the genius the Sisters of Clarity had failed to find within their own ranks? His clothes and sickly condition argued that he was from the preserves, yet his accent and manner of speaking was cultivated. By his eyes, he was tainted with madness, or perhaps it was only a terrible pain. If the man was dying, she must learn his secrets quickly

But he’d told her nothing. Nothing beyond the litany of the Mothers Superior and the other tests of knowledge that she’d put to him before their interview concluded. Whatever he knew of Ice, it was far beyond her own knowledge. And, therefore, it was a good alliance. Together they would bring the great ship to heel, take command of its technology and the loyalties of its crew. That would take care of the threat from space.

Then there was the threat from Swan.

She didn’t intend to ally with such an individual past this temporary crisis. He was unsavory in the extreme—reeking, arrogant, and unstable. No, he wouldn’t do as an associate. He could never be a
sister
, nor could he be a brother, unless he bowed to her. Gender was unfortunately against him. That and his madness.

But none of this could dampen her exultation.

Behind the stronghold of the Keep an uplifted slab of Ice sheltered her order, but until today it had kept a silent watch. Now she felt herself on the precipice of a world change, an Ice change. Every Mother Superior hoped that in her lifetime the Enunciation would occur. Since the Advent of Ice, the lineage of mothers superior had been waiting, the order had been waiting. Now it truly seemed that Ice had spoken. It was just a matter of getting Ice to speak to
her.