ensure your brain doesn’t go Tired.”
“And what do you wish in return?”
“I wish…” He took a deep breath. “I want…well, to put it in terms you’ll understand, I want you to tell the League of Peoples it’s okay if I accidentally get you killed.”
The Deal
“It is not okay if you get me killed! That is very much not okay at all!” I glared at him in outrage; he had red flower sap all over his foot and I hoped it would stain forever.
“Why isn’t it okay?” he demanded. “Point one, you’ve already died once and I was the one who brought you back to life; you owe me big-time, lady. Point two, your brain’s almost curdled to gorgonzola, and when it goes, you’re as good as dead anyway. Point three, I’m so far above you on the ladder of sentience my IQ can only be measured with transfinite numbers, and I promise there’s only the teeniest-tiniest-eensiest-weensiest chance my plan will go wrong enough to get you killed.”
“Hmph,” I said. “Tell me your plan and let me judge for myself.”
“Tell you my plan? I can’t tell you my plan. My plan is so complex, your brain doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend it. This entire universe doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend my plan—there aren’t enough quarks to encode the simplest overview. I’ve got fifty-five million backup universes grinding away at figuring out what I have to do next, and that’s just the underlying logic, not the user interface. No way I can tell you my plan.”
“In other words,” I said, “you do not have a plan.”
“Well, I’ve got a few rough ideas. My greatest strength is improvising.”
One of the red eyes in his throat disappeared for a moment, then blazed back to life; I had an eerie feeling the Pollisand had just winked at me. “Seriously, kiddo,” he said, “I have plans upon plans upon plans, reaching all the way down to the end of time. I have agendas both social and temporal, I have schemes both simple and ornate; I create conspiracies and tear them apart; my name is a byword for foresight and I have honed the blade of strategy to a razor’s edge.”
“If you always talk this much,” I said, “it is a wonder you have time for planning at all.”
“Damn, but you’re a stick-in-the-mud,” he grumbled. “All right, I do have a plan, okay? It’s a good plan, aimed at a noble purpose…but there’s a teeny-tiny-eensy-weensy chance that at a particular point as events unfold you’ll die rather permanently. Under circumstances where I won’t be able to patch you up like the last time. And that’s where I run afoul of the League of Peoples: cuz if I have this foreknowledge, which I do, of a lethal danger, which there is, to a sentient creature, which you are—borderline sentient, but you’re still on the civilized side of the ledger—then I’m morally obliged to ask if it’s okay I might get you murdered. Basically, you have to agree you want to achieve the same lofty goal I do…at which point it ceases to be me putting your life at risk, but you accepting the risk yourself because you’re so doggone eager to do the right thing.”
“And what is this right thing I so recklessly wish to do?”
“Um. Well.” The Pollisand stubbed his toe bashfully into the dirt, a gesture no doubt intended to appear winningly ingenuous. “Do I really have to tell you? Couldn’t you just take my word, as a being seventy-five trillion rungs higher than you on the evolutionary ladder, that I’m honestly pursuing the greatest good for the greatest number?”
“I do not care about the greatest good for the greatest number,” I said. “Most people are poop-heads; I do not care about them at all . And I have no confidence you are as clever and advanced as you claim to be—all I have seen you do is simulate visions using Starbiter.”
The Zarett heard her name and began bouncing toward me…until she became distracted by a bug flying by, and bounced after it instead. I turned back
“And what do you wish in return?”
“I wish…” He took a deep breath. “I want…well, to put it in terms you’ll understand, I want you to tell the League of Peoples it’s okay if I accidentally get you killed.”
The Deal
“It is not okay if you get me killed! That is very much not okay at all!” I glared at him in outrage; he had red flower sap all over his foot and I hoped it would stain forever.
“Why isn’t it okay?” he demanded. “Point one, you’ve already died once and I was the one who brought you back to life; you owe me big-time, lady. Point two, your brain’s almost curdled to gorgonzola, and when it goes, you’re as good as dead anyway. Point three, I’m so far above you on the ladder of sentience my IQ can only be measured with transfinite numbers, and I promise there’s only the teeniest-tiniest-eensiest-weensiest chance my plan will go wrong enough to get you killed.”
“Hmph,” I said. “Tell me your plan and let me judge for myself.”
“Tell you my plan? I can’t tell you my plan. My plan is so complex, your brain doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend it. This entire universe doesn’t have the capacity to comprehend my plan—there aren’t enough quarks to encode the simplest overview. I’ve got fifty-five million backup universes grinding away at figuring out what I have to do next, and that’s just the underlying logic, not the user interface. No way I can tell you my plan.”
“In other words,” I said, “you do not have a plan.”
“Well, I’ve got a few rough ideas. My greatest strength is improvising.”
One of the red eyes in his throat disappeared for a moment, then blazed back to life; I had an eerie feeling the Pollisand had just winked at me. “Seriously, kiddo,” he said, “I have plans upon plans upon plans, reaching all the way down to the end of time. I have agendas both social and temporal, I have schemes both simple and ornate; I create conspiracies and tear them apart; my name is a byword for foresight and I have honed the blade of strategy to a razor’s edge.”
“If you always talk this much,” I said, “it is a wonder you have time for planning at all.”
“Damn, but you’re a stick-in-the-mud,” he grumbled. “All right, I do have a plan, okay? It’s a good plan, aimed at a noble purpose…but there’s a teeny-tiny-eensy-weensy chance that at a particular point as events unfold you’ll die rather permanently. Under circumstances where I won’t be able to patch you up like the last time. And that’s where I run afoul of the League of Peoples: cuz if I have this foreknowledge, which I do, of a lethal danger, which there is, to a sentient creature, which you are—borderline sentient, but you’re still on the civilized side of the ledger—then I’m morally obliged to ask if it’s okay I might get you murdered. Basically, you have to agree you want to achieve the same lofty goal I do…at which point it ceases to be me putting your life at risk, but you accepting the risk yourself because you’re so doggone eager to do the right thing.”
“And what is this right thing I so recklessly wish to do?”
“Um. Well.” The Pollisand stubbed his toe bashfully into the dirt, a gesture no doubt intended to appear winningly ingenuous. “Do I really have to tell you? Couldn’t you just take my word, as a being seventy-five trillion rungs higher than you on the evolutionary ladder, that I’m honestly pursuing the greatest good for the greatest number?”
“I do not care about the greatest good for the greatest number,” I said. “Most people are poop-heads; I do not care about them at all . And I have no confidence you are as clever and advanced as you claim to be—all I have seen you do is simulate visions using Starbiter.”
The Zarett heard her name and began bouncing toward me…until she became distracted by a bug flying by, and bounced after it instead. I turned back
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