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Authors: Vernor Vinge
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BOOK: The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge
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“However, if for some reason he suddenly wondered what differential equations were, it would be a different matter, because he couldn’t
understand
the information presented, and so would have to wade through the same preliminary material that every child must in order to arrive at high-school math. But he could do it very much faster, because of the ease with which he could pick different explanations from different texts. I imagine he could get well into calculus from where he is now in algebra with a couple hours of study.”
understand
the information presented, and so would have to wade through the same preliminary material that every child must in order to arrive at high-school math. But he could do it very much faster, because of the ease with which he could pick different explanations from different texts. I imagine he could get well into calculus from where he is now in algebra with a couple hours of study.”
“In other words, the longer he has this information, the more dangerous he’ll be.”
“Uh, yes. However, there
are
a couple things on our side. First, it’s mighty cold and damp on the surface, for Norman at least. He is likely to be very sick in a few hours. Second, if he travels far enough away from the First Security District, he will become mentally disoriented. Although Norman doesn’t know it—unless he has specifically considered the question—he could never get much farther than fifteen miles
away and remain sane. Norman’s mind is a very delicate balance between his organic brain and the hidden computer. The coordination is just as subtle as that of different nerve paths in the human brain. The information link between the two has to transmit more than a billion bits of information per second. If Norman gets beyond a certain point, the time lapse involved in transmission between him and the computer will upset the coordination. It’s something like talking by radio with a spacecraft; beyond a certain distance it is difficult or impossible to maintain a meaningful conversation. When Norman goes beyond a certain point it will be impossible for him to think coherently.”
are
a couple things on our side. First, it’s mighty cold and damp on the surface, for Norman at least. He is likely to be very sick in a few hours. Second, if he travels far enough away from the First Security District, he will become mentally disoriented. Although Norman doesn’t know it—unless he has specifically considered the question—he could never get much farther than fifteen miles
away and remain sane. Norman’s mind is a very delicate balance between his organic brain and the hidden computer. The coordination is just as subtle as that of different nerve paths in the human brain. The information link between the two has to transmit more than a billion bits of information per second. If Norman gets beyond a certain point, the time lapse involved in transmission between him and the computer will upset the coordination. It’s something like talking by radio with a spacecraft; beyond a certain distance it is difficult or impossible to maintain a meaningful conversation. When Norman goes beyond a certain point it will be impossible for him to think coherently.”
Dunbar was struck by an unrelated idea. He added, “Say, I can see one reason why this could get sticky. What if Norman got picked up by foreign agents? That would be the biggest espionage coup in the history of man.”
Pederson smiled briefly. “Ah, the light dawns. Yes, some of the information this Simmons has could mean the death of almost everyone on Earth, if it were known to the wrong people. Other secrets would
merely
destroy the United States.
merely
destroy the United States.
“Fortunately, we’re fairly sure that the Reds’ domestic collapse has reduced their overseas enterprises to about nil. As I remember it, there are only one or two agents in all of Michigan. Thank God for small favors.”
BORIS KUCHENKO SCRATCHED AND WAS MISERABLE. A FEW MINUTES BEFORE, he had been happily looking forward to receiving his weekly unemployment check and then spending the afternoon clipping articles out of the
NATO Armed Forces Digest
for transmission back to Moscow. And now this old coot with his imperious manner was trying to upset everything. Kuchenko turned to his antagonist and tried to put on a brave front. “I am sorry, Comrade, but I have my orders. As the ranking Soviet agent in the Upper Peninsu—”
NATO Armed Forces Digest
for transmission back to Moscow. And now this old coot with his imperious manner was trying to upset everything. Kuchenko turned to his antagonist and tried to put on a brave front. “I am sorry, Comrade, but I have my orders. As the ranking Soviet agent in the Upper Peninsu—”
The other snapped back, “Ranking agent, nothing! You were never supposed to know this, Kuchenko, but you are a cipher, a stupid dummy used to convince U.S. Intelligence that the USSR has given up massive espionage. If only I had some decent agents here in Marquette, I wouldn’t have to use idiots like you.”
Ivan Sliv was an honest-to-God, effective Russian spy. Behind his inconspicuous middle-aged face, lurked a subtle mind. Sliv spoke five languages and had an excellent grasp of engineering, mathematics, geography, and history—
real
history, not State-sponsored fairy tales. He could make brilliantly persuasive conversation at a cocktail party or commit a political murder with equal facility. Sliv was the one really in charge of espionage in the militarily sensitive U.P. area. He and other
equally talented agents concentrated on collecting information from Sawyer AFB and from the elusive First Security District.
real
history, not State-sponsored fairy tales. He could make brilliantly persuasive conversation at a cocktail party or commit a political murder with equal facility. Sliv was the one really in charge of espionage in the militarily sensitive U.P. area. He and other
equally talented agents concentrated on collecting information from Sawyer AFB and from the elusive First Security District.
The introduction of Bender’s fusion pack had produced world-wide depression, and the bureaucracies of Russia had responded to this challenge with all the resiliency of a waterlogged pretzel. The Soviet economic collapse had been worse than that of any other major country. While the U.S. was virtually recovered from the economic depression caused by the availability of unlimited power, counter-revolutionary armies were approaching Moscow from the West
and
the East. Only five or ten ICBM bases remained in Party hands. But the Comrades had been smart in one respect. If you can’t win by brute force, it is better to be subtle. Thus the planetary spy operations were stepped up, as was a very secret project housed in a system of caves under the Urals. Sliv’s mind shied away from that project—he was one of the few to know of it, and that knowledge must never be hinted at.
and
the East. Only five or ten ICBM bases remained in Party hands. But the Comrades had been smart in one respect. If you can’t win by brute force, it is better to be subtle. Thus the planetary spy operations were stepped up, as was a very secret project housed in a system of caves under the Urals. Sliv’s mind shied away from that project—he was one of the few to know of it, and that knowledge must never be hinted at.
Sliv glared at Kuchenko. “Listen, you fat slob: I’m going to explain things once more, if possible in words of one syllable. I just got news from Sawyer that some Amie superproject has backfired. An experimental animal has escaped from their tunnel network and half the soldiers in the U.P. are searching for it. They think it’s here in Marquette.”
Kuchenko paled, “A war virus test? Comrade, this could be—” the fat Soviet agent boggled at the possibilities.
Sliv swore. “No, no, no! The Army’s orders are to
capture
, not destroy the thing. We are the only agents that are in Marquette now, or have a chance to get in past the cordon that’s sure to be dropped around the city. We’ll split up and—” He stopped and took conscious notice of the buzzing sound that had been building up over the last several minutes. He walked quickly across the small room and pushed open a badly cracked window. Cold air seemed to ooze into the room. Below, the lake waters splashed against the pilings of the huge automated pier which incidentally contained this apartment. Sliv pointed into the sky and snapped at the bedraggled Kuchenko. “See? The Amie airbornes have been over the city for the last five minutes, at least. We’ve got to get going, man!”
capture
, not destroy the thing. We are the only agents that are in Marquette now, or have a chance to get in past the cordon that’s sure to be dropped around the city. We’ll split up and—” He stopped and took conscious notice of the buzzing sound that had been building up over the last several minutes. He walked quickly across the small room and pushed open a badly cracked window. Cold air seemed to ooze into the room. Below, the lake waters splashed against the pilings of the huge automated pier which incidentally contained this apartment. Sliv pointed into the sky and snapped at the bedraggled Kuchenko. “See? The Amie airbornes have been over the city for the last five minutes, at least. We’ve got to get going, man!”
But Boris Kuchenko was a man who liked his security. He miserably inspected his dirty fingernails, and began, “I really don’t know if this is the right thing, Comrade. We—”
THE FOG HAD DISAPPEARED, ONLY TO BE REPLACED BY A COLD DRIZZLE. JIM Traly guided the ore carrier through Marquette to the waterfront. Even though drunk, he maintained a firm grip on Norman’s neck. The carrier turned onto another street, and Norman got his first look at Lake Superior. It was so gray and cold; beyond the breakwater the lake seemed
to blend with the sullen hue of the sky. The carrier turned again. They were now moving parallel to the water along a row of loading piers. In spite of the rollagons, the carrier dipped and sagged as they drove over large potholes in the substandard paving material. The rain had collected in these depressions and splashed as they drove along. Traly apparently recognized his destination. He slowed the carrier and moved it to the side of the street.
to blend with the sullen hue of the sky. The carrier turned again. They were now moving parallel to the water along a row of loading piers. In spite of the rollagons, the carrier dipped and sagged as they drove over large potholes in the substandard paving material. The rain had collected in these depressions and splashed as they drove along. Traly apparently recognized his destination. He slowed the carrier and moved it to the side of the street.
Traly opened his door and stepped down, dragging Norman behind him. With difficulty the chimpanzee kept his balance and did not land on his head. The drunk driver was muttering to himself, “Las’ time I drive this trash. They can pick up the inventories themselves. Good riddance.” He kicked a rollagon. “Just wait till I get some Bender fusion packs. I’ll show ‘em. C’mon, you.” He gave Norman a jerk, and began walking across the street.
The waterfront was almost deserted. Traly was heading for what appeared to be the only operating establishment in the area: a tavern. The bar had a rundown appearance. The “aluminum” trim around the door had long since begun to rust, and the memory cell for the bar’s sky sign suffered from amnesia, so that it now projected into the air:
The D-unk PuT pavern
Traly entered the bar, pulling Norman in close behind. Once the fluorescents had probably lighted the place well, but now only two or three in a far corner were operating.
He pulled Norman around in front of him and seemed eager to announce his discovery of the “talkin’ monkey.” Then he noticed that the bar was almost empty. No one was sitting at any of the tables, although there were half empty glasses of beer left on a few of them. Four or five men and the barkeeper were engaged in an intense discussion at the far end of the room. “Where is everybody?” Traly was astonished.
The barkeeper looked up. “Jimmy! Right at lunch President Langley came on TV an’ said that the government was going to let us buy as many Bender fusion boxes as we want. You could go out an’ buy one right now for twenty-five bucks. When everybody heard that, why they just asked themselves what they were doin’ sittin’ around in a bar when they could have a job an’ even be in business for themselves. Not much profit for me this afternoon, but I don’t care. I know where I can get some junk copters. Fit ’em out with Bender packs and start a tourist service. You know: See the U.P. with Don Zalevsky.” The bartender winked.
Traly’s jaw dropped. He forgot Norman. “You really mean that there’s no more black market where we can get fusion boxes?”
One of the customers, a short man with a protuberant beak and a bald pate, turned to Traly. “What do you need a black market for when
you can go out an’ buy a Pack for twenty-five dollars? Well, will you look at that: Traly’s disappointed. Now you can do whatcher always bragging about, go out and dig up some fusion boxes and go into business.” He turned back to the others.
you can go out an’ buy a Pack for twenty-five dollars? Well, will you look at that: Traly’s disappointed. Now you can do whatcher always bragging about, go out and dig up some fusion boxes and go into business.” He turned back to the others.
“And we owe it all to President Langley’s fizical and economic policies. Bender’s Pack coulda destroyed our nation. Instead we only had a little depression, an’ look at us now. Three years after the invention, the economy’s on an even keel enough to let us buy as many power packs as we want.”
Someone interrupted. “You got rocks in your head, buddy. The government closed down most of the mines so the oil corporations would have a market to make plastics for; we get to produce just enough ore up here so no one starves. Those ‘economic measures’ have kept us all hungry. If the government had only let us buy as many Packs as we wanted and not interfered with free competition, there wouldna been no depression or nothing.”
From the derisive remarks of the other customers, this appeared to be a minority opinion. The Beak slammed his glass of beer down and turned to his opponent. “You know what woulda happened if there wasn’t no ‘interference’?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Everybody woulda gone out an bought Packs. All the businesses in the U.S. woulda gone bankrupt, ’cause anyone with a Bender and some electric motors would hardly need to buy any regular goods, except food. It wouldn’t have been a depression, it woulda been just like a jungle. As it is, we only had a short period of adjustment,” he almost seemed to be quoting, “an’ now we’re back on our feet. We got power to burn; those ore buckets out in the bay can fly through the air and space, and we can take the salt out of the water and—”
“Aw, you’re jus’ repeating what Langley said in his speech.”
“Sure I am, but it’s true.” Another thought occurred to him. “And
now
we don’t even need Public Works Projects.”
now
we don’t even need Public Works Projects.”
“Yeah, no more Public Works Projects,” Traly put in, disappointed.
“There wouldn’t have been no need for PWP if it wasn’t for Langley and his loony ideas. My old man said the same thing about Roosevelt.” The dissenter was outnumbered but voluble.
NORMAN HAD BECOME ENGROSSED IN THE ARGUMENT. IN FACT HE WAS SO interested that he had forgotten his danger. Back in the District he had been made to learn some economics as part of his regular course of study—and, of course, he could remember considerably more about the subject. Now he decided to make his contribution. Traly had loosened his grip; the chimpanzee easily broke the hold and jumped to the top
of the counter. “This man,” he pointed to the Beak, “is right, you know. The Administration’s automatic stabilizers and discretionary measures prevented total catastro—”
of the counter. “This man,” he pointed to the Beak, “is right, you know. The Administration’s automatic stabilizers and discretionary measures prevented total catastro—”
“What is
this
, Jimmy?” The bartender broke the amazed silence that greeted Norman’s sudden action.
this
, Jimmy?” The bartender broke the amazed silence that greeted Norman’s sudden action.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys. I picked up this monkey back in Ishpeming. He’s like a parrot, only better. Jus’ listen to him. I figure he could be worth a lot of money.”
“Thought you were going into the trucking business, Jimmy.”
Traly shrugged. “This could be a lot greener.”
“That’s no parrot-talk,” the Beak opined. “The monkey’s
really
talking. He’s smart like you and me.”
really
talking. He’s smart like you and me.”
Norman decided that he had to trust someone. “Yes I am, yes I am! And I need to get into Canada. Otherwise—”
The door to the Drunk Pup Tavern squeaked as a young man in brown working clothes pushed it halfway open. “Hey, Ed, all of you guys. There’s a bunch of big Army copters circling the bay, and GI’s all over. It doesn’t look like any practice maneuver.” The man was panting as if he had run several blocks.
“Say, let’s see that,” moved the Beak. He was informally seconded. Even the bartender seemed ready to leave. Norman started.
They
were still after him, and they were close. He leaped off the counter and ran through the half-open door, right by the knees of the young man who had made the announcement. The man stared at the chimpanzee and made a reflex grab for him. Norman evaded the snatch and scuttled down the street. Behind him, he heard Traly arguing with the man about, “Letting my talking monkey escape.”
They
were still after him, and they were close. He leaped off the counter and ran through the half-open door, right by the knees of the young man who had made the announcement. The man stared at the chimpanzee and made a reflex grab for him. Norman evaded the snatch and scuttled down the street. Behind him, he heard Traly arguing with the man about, “Letting my talking monkey escape.”
He had dropped his blanket when he jumped onto the counter. Now the chill drizzle made him regret the loss. Soon he was damp to the skin again, and the water splashed his forearms and legs as he ran through spots where water had collected in the tilted and cracked sections of sidewalk. All the shops and dives along the street were closed and boarded up. Some owners had left in such disgust and discouragement that they had not bothered even to pull in their awnings. He stopped under one such to catch his breath and get out of the rain.
BOOK: The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge
13.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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