people to trust the new developments? So when people augmented themselves and the machine minds augmented themselves even more, people were led to believe that was a good thing, right?"
Esner sat back. The conversation wasn't going where he'd wanted it to go. Tensi had turned away, I guess, to hide her response.
"Should we even read their fiction?” Gale said. “They told us to embrace these changes. Look at what happened. Aren't they, in some metaphorical sense, traitors to the human race?"
I don't remember the rest of the morning all that well but I remember the silence that followed. Esner had us get in the reading chairs; he'd take the writing chair. As people moved about, Sonisa went up and placed her metal hand on Gale's forearm and said something quietly; Sonisa had that look, half-friendship, half-condescension, of someone giving advice. Gale's face hardened and she pulled her arm away. Last night everyone had wanted to sit next to Gale; now there was a vacancy in the reading chair next to her. The young guy from Angkor sat as far away as he could.
Esner did this exercise several times where we would go through a section of one of his books in progress; one day it was Invasion Minds , another time it was The Resurrection , but he would give us scenarios where we would hope the character would do something different. As he'd respond to the new situation, he talked about the response he was making and why, and how he handled different readings because in the end, the book would sit on a world and have concurrent readers wanting different things at the same time.
I think it was that afternoon, but maybe it was the next day, when Gale and I were assigned neighborhood watch. Esner showed us how to handle the cell phones, so we went out to each item indicated on the phone screen, made a call to the building or the bench or the tree by the bench, and made sure the cells were functioning fine. At some point, we were told, there might be a little blip, some anomalous growth, which had to be corrected right away. It was boring work, but you had to concentrate on the screen, so it wasn't like pulling the weeds where we could talk while we worked. I expected Gale to point out how easy it would be for the Minds to interfere with the programming, to turn all these organics cancerous.
"You know,” she said, “only one of us needs to do this. Would you mind if I went to the library to look some things up?"
How could I say yes? I wanted to be with her. How could I say no? I wanted to say yes to everything she asked.
She didn't go directly to the library, she told me later. She first went to Esner's place. Tensi was out with the gardeners and Esner was supposed to be left alone to write. According to Gale, or according more to my memory of what Gale said, Esner was happy to see her. She apologized, and he accepted. She told him she wanted to hear more about these stories. He told her titles—none of which I remember—and the names of the writers, back in the days when writers actually applied ink to paper. He had copies. She could read them. He'd go get them. She said she would love to read them later, she'd taken up enough of his time. When she told me this, I wasn't sure if she was taking advantage of his sincerity or of his attraction to her.
She next went to the library to read about these stories, to find out about these people. She found me calling the tables and chairs in a restaurant. She was clearly agitated, and I, knowing nothing of her adventures, wondered what had happened. I asked if she was okay; she said something to the effect that she was fine. She wanted to use the phone. “I'm just too full of energy to watch you work.” At first I was happy just to watch her, but she held her body so tightly, she stared too intensely at the screen, she moved directly from the exterior of a store to the internal cabinets, to the counter, that my gaze felt invasive. I ended up staring at the curve of wood, taken in by
Esner sat back. The conversation wasn't going where he'd wanted it to go. Tensi had turned away, I guess, to hide her response.
"Should we even read their fiction?” Gale said. “They told us to embrace these changes. Look at what happened. Aren't they, in some metaphorical sense, traitors to the human race?"
I don't remember the rest of the morning all that well but I remember the silence that followed. Esner had us get in the reading chairs; he'd take the writing chair. As people moved about, Sonisa went up and placed her metal hand on Gale's forearm and said something quietly; Sonisa had that look, half-friendship, half-condescension, of someone giving advice. Gale's face hardened and she pulled her arm away. Last night everyone had wanted to sit next to Gale; now there was a vacancy in the reading chair next to her. The young guy from Angkor sat as far away as he could.
Esner did this exercise several times where we would go through a section of one of his books in progress; one day it was Invasion Minds , another time it was The Resurrection , but he would give us scenarios where we would hope the character would do something different. As he'd respond to the new situation, he talked about the response he was making and why, and how he handled different readings because in the end, the book would sit on a world and have concurrent readers wanting different things at the same time.
I think it was that afternoon, but maybe it was the next day, when Gale and I were assigned neighborhood watch. Esner showed us how to handle the cell phones, so we went out to each item indicated on the phone screen, made a call to the building or the bench or the tree by the bench, and made sure the cells were functioning fine. At some point, we were told, there might be a little blip, some anomalous growth, which had to be corrected right away. It was boring work, but you had to concentrate on the screen, so it wasn't like pulling the weeds where we could talk while we worked. I expected Gale to point out how easy it would be for the Minds to interfere with the programming, to turn all these organics cancerous.
"You know,” she said, “only one of us needs to do this. Would you mind if I went to the library to look some things up?"
How could I say yes? I wanted to be with her. How could I say no? I wanted to say yes to everything she asked.
She didn't go directly to the library, she told me later. She first went to Esner's place. Tensi was out with the gardeners and Esner was supposed to be left alone to write. According to Gale, or according more to my memory of what Gale said, Esner was happy to see her. She apologized, and he accepted. She told him she wanted to hear more about these stories. He told her titles—none of which I remember—and the names of the writers, back in the days when writers actually applied ink to paper. He had copies. She could read them. He'd go get them. She said she would love to read them later, she'd taken up enough of his time. When she told me this, I wasn't sure if she was taking advantage of his sincerity or of his attraction to her.
She next went to the library to read about these stories, to find out about these people. She found me calling the tables and chairs in a restaurant. She was clearly agitated, and I, knowing nothing of her adventures, wondered what had happened. I asked if she was okay; she said something to the effect that she was fine. She wanted to use the phone. “I'm just too full of energy to watch you work.” At first I was happy just to watch her, but she held her body so tightly, she stared too intensely at the screen, she moved directly from the exterior of a store to the internal cabinets, to the counter, that my gaze felt invasive. I ended up staring at the curve of wood, taken in by
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