equipment, makes. There are more of her. There will always be. She can be stamped out like tires."
"Well, then don't offer her very much money." Galina laughed.
"I feel sorry for her," Bulkowsky said. How must it feel, he asked himself, not to exist? That's a contradiction. To feel is to exist. Then, he thought, probably she does not feel. Because it is a fact that she does not exist, not really. We ought to know. We were the first to imagine her.
Or rather—Big Noodle had first imagined the Fox. The Al. system had invented her, told her what to sing and how to sing it; Big Noodle set up her arrangements … even down to the mixing. And the package was a complete success.
Big Noodle had correctly analyzed the emotional needs of the colonists and had come up with a formula to meet those needs. The Al. system maintained an ongoing survey, deriving feedback; when the needs changed, Linda Fox changed. It constituted a closed loop. If, suddenly, all the colonists disappeared, Linda Fox would wink out of existence. Big Noodle would have canceled her, like paper run through a paper shredder.
"Procurator," a robot serving assembly said, coasting up to Bulkowsky.
"What is it?" he said irritably; he did not like to be interrupted when he was conversing with his wife.
The robot serving assembly said, "Hawk."
To Galina he said, "Big Noodle wants me. It's urgent. You'll excuse me. He walked away from her rapidly and into his complex of private offices where he would find the carefully protected terminal of the A.I. system.
The terminal indeed pulsed, waiting for him.
"Troop movements?" Bulkowsky said as he seated himself facing the screen of the terminal.
"No," the artificial voice of Big Noodle came, with its characteristic ambiance. "A conspiracy to smuggle a monster baby through Immigration. Three colonists are involved. I monitored the fetus of the woman. Details to follow." Big Noodle broke the circuit.
"Details when?" Bulkowsky said, but the Al. system did not hear him, having cut itself off. Damn, he thought. It shows me little courtesy. Too busy deconstructing the Ontological Proof of the Existence of God.
----
Cardinal Fulton Statler Harms received the news from Big Noodle with his customary aplomb. "Thank you very much," he said as the A.I. system signed off. Something alien, he said to himself. Some sport that God never intended should exist. This is the truly dreadful aspect of space migration: we do not get back what we send out. We get in return the unnatural.
Well, he thought, we shall have it killed; however I will be interested to see its brain-print. I wonder what this one is like. A snake within an egg, he thought. A fetus within a woman. The original story retold: a creature that is subtle.
The serpent was more crafty than any wild
creature that the LORD God had made.
Genesis chapter three, verse one. What happened before is not going to happen again. We will destroy it this time, the evil one. In whatever form it now has taken.
He thought, I shall pray on it.
"Excuse me," he said to his small audience of visiting priests who waited outside in the vast lounge. "I must retire to my chapel for a little while. A serious matter has come up.
Presently he knelt in silence and gloom, with burning candles off in the far corners, the chamber and himself hallowed.
"Father," he prayed, "teach us to know thy ways and to emulate thee. Help us to protect ourselves and guard against the evil one. May we foresee and understand his wiles. For his wiles are great; his cunning also. Give us the strength—lend us thy holy power—to ferret him out wherever he is."
He heard nothing in response. It did not surprise him. Pious people spoke to God, and crazy people imagined that God spoke back. His answers had to come from within himself, from his own heart. But, of course, the Spirit guided him. It was always thus.
Within him the Spirit, in the form of his own proclivities, ratified his original insight. "Thou
"Well, then don't offer her very much money." Galina laughed.
"I feel sorry for her," Bulkowsky said. How must it feel, he asked himself, not to exist? That's a contradiction. To feel is to exist. Then, he thought, probably she does not feel. Because it is a fact that she does not exist, not really. We ought to know. We were the first to imagine her.
Or rather—Big Noodle had first imagined the Fox. The Al. system had invented her, told her what to sing and how to sing it; Big Noodle set up her arrangements … even down to the mixing. And the package was a complete success.
Big Noodle had correctly analyzed the emotional needs of the colonists and had come up with a formula to meet those needs. The Al. system maintained an ongoing survey, deriving feedback; when the needs changed, Linda Fox changed. It constituted a closed loop. If, suddenly, all the colonists disappeared, Linda Fox would wink out of existence. Big Noodle would have canceled her, like paper run through a paper shredder.
"Procurator," a robot serving assembly said, coasting up to Bulkowsky.
"What is it?" he said irritably; he did not like to be interrupted when he was conversing with his wife.
The robot serving assembly said, "Hawk."
To Galina he said, "Big Noodle wants me. It's urgent. You'll excuse me. He walked away from her rapidly and into his complex of private offices where he would find the carefully protected terminal of the A.I. system.
The terminal indeed pulsed, waiting for him.
"Troop movements?" Bulkowsky said as he seated himself facing the screen of the terminal.
"No," the artificial voice of Big Noodle came, with its characteristic ambiance. "A conspiracy to smuggle a monster baby through Immigration. Three colonists are involved. I monitored the fetus of the woman. Details to follow." Big Noodle broke the circuit.
"Details when?" Bulkowsky said, but the Al. system did not hear him, having cut itself off. Damn, he thought. It shows me little courtesy. Too busy deconstructing the Ontological Proof of the Existence of God.
----
Cardinal Fulton Statler Harms received the news from Big Noodle with his customary aplomb. "Thank you very much," he said as the A.I. system signed off. Something alien, he said to himself. Some sport that God never intended should exist. This is the truly dreadful aspect of space migration: we do not get back what we send out. We get in return the unnatural.
Well, he thought, we shall have it killed; however I will be interested to see its brain-print. I wonder what this one is like. A snake within an egg, he thought. A fetus within a woman. The original story retold: a creature that is subtle.
The serpent was more crafty than any wild
creature that the LORD God had made.
Genesis chapter three, verse one. What happened before is not going to happen again. We will destroy it this time, the evil one. In whatever form it now has taken.
He thought, I shall pray on it.
"Excuse me," he said to his small audience of visiting priests who waited outside in the vast lounge. "I must retire to my chapel for a little while. A serious matter has come up.
Presently he knelt in silence and gloom, with burning candles off in the far corners, the chamber and himself hallowed.
"Father," he prayed, "teach us to know thy ways and to emulate thee. Help us to protect ourselves and guard against the evil one. May we foresee and understand his wiles. For his wiles are great; his cunning also. Give us the strength—lend us thy holy power—to ferret him out wherever he is."
He heard nothing in response. It did not surprise him. Pious people spoke to God, and crazy people imagined that God spoke back. His answers had to come from within himself, from his own heart. But, of course, the Spirit guided him. It was always thus.
Within him the Spirit, in the form of his own proclivities, ratified his original insight. "Thou
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