ever be over?”
Steve jerked and twisted to look back. Then, he noticed that Ace never moved, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
A short and extremely skinny man came around the car. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with dusty jeans and a battered cowboy hat. With his long black braid and high cheekbones, Steve thought he was probably a Native American.
The thin man relaxed against the car’s fender–the horn blew instantly and he stood up straight.
“Sorry, Hans, I didn’t mean no offense,” he said with a smile. He turned to Steve and said, “Why don’t both of you step out so we can sit in the shade and speak a bit?”
He headed over to the side of the road and spoke over his shoulder. “Oh, and bring your little Chinese friend. I’m thinking that Barnaby and I need to chat as well.”
Ace pulled out her silver box and chose a card without looking. She snorted, said, “Well, that figures,” and gave the card to Steve. It showed a man behind a table holding a scepter of some sort to the sky with his right hand and pointing to the ground with the left. All four suits–pentacles, cups, wands, and swords–were on the table in front of him.
Printed across the bottom was “The Magician.”
Steve slipped the card into his breast pocket, exchanging it for Send Money, and walked over and sat on the downed tree where Ace and the Indian were already relaxing. The man had taken off his hat and was spinning it idly between his knees.
After a long silence, he spoke. “Let’s see if I have things straight. You are Steve Rowan, who’s now either the Fool or just a damn fool , depending on how you want to look at it. You, ma’am, are the Ace of Swords–and a perfect fit for the position, in my opinion.”
Ace just nodded.
He continued. “Now you have a telephone there filled with the ghost of a Chinese peasant kid who could turn out to be one of the Major Arcana.”
There was a feedback squeal from the phone–though it was just noise, it still sounded surprised.
“Then there is Barnaby. Are you there, hoss?”
The computer’s voice came from the phone’s speakers. “I am, sir.”
“Do you know what aspect controls you yet?”
“That’s a subject of some debate.” The voice from the speaker paused. “Some agree with my initial impression that I represent the Hermit or Seeker, but I’m actually now leaning towards a new consensus that feels the whole mythical structure of the tarot needs to be updated for a hybrid human-cybernetic collective unconscious. Most of them are Apples, of course; redesign is in their DNA. The supercomputers think the whole question is unimportant–but that’s how they feel about almost anything meat- based. Of course, the quantum computers are of two minds– sometimes three–so no one knows where they’ll come down.”
“Do you see a problem?”
“Not in the near term. Everyone here–human and computer–is pure Air and committed to the Life of the Mind and all that, so they’re getting along and getting the work done. It’s hard to stop a computer or a computer programmer from working a problem, and right now, they’ve got a real juicy one.”
The man nodded. “Who were the attackers?”
“That’s precisely the problem they’re wrestling with. We know they weren’t online or using cellphones, so we’re exploring telepathy, remote writing, and the like. It’s an engineering challenge just to develop the technology to capture that sort of thing, and I think we may have to invent several new types of mathematics to crack it, but we’ll get there eventually.”
There was another silence. After a bit, Steve sighed. “All right. I get that you’re some sort of Native American shaman or whatever. Can we dispense with the meaningful silences and all the rest of the pulp fiction Injun shtick ? Who are you?”
The thin man looked at Steve with a small smile. “You know, there’s a tradition involved. It’s dangerous to rush things.” Then
Steve jerked and twisted to look back. Then, he noticed that Ace never moved, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.
A short and extremely skinny man came around the car. He was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with dusty jeans and a battered cowboy hat. With his long black braid and high cheekbones, Steve thought he was probably a Native American.
The thin man relaxed against the car’s fender–the horn blew instantly and he stood up straight.
“Sorry, Hans, I didn’t mean no offense,” he said with a smile. He turned to Steve and said, “Why don’t both of you step out so we can sit in the shade and speak a bit?”
He headed over to the side of the road and spoke over his shoulder. “Oh, and bring your little Chinese friend. I’m thinking that Barnaby and I need to chat as well.”
Ace pulled out her silver box and chose a card without looking. She snorted, said, “Well, that figures,” and gave the card to Steve. It showed a man behind a table holding a scepter of some sort to the sky with his right hand and pointing to the ground with the left. All four suits–pentacles, cups, wands, and swords–were on the table in front of him.
Printed across the bottom was “The Magician.”
Steve slipped the card into his breast pocket, exchanging it for Send Money, and walked over and sat on the downed tree where Ace and the Indian were already relaxing. The man had taken off his hat and was spinning it idly between his knees.
After a long silence, he spoke. “Let’s see if I have things straight. You are Steve Rowan, who’s now either the Fool or just a damn fool , depending on how you want to look at it. You, ma’am, are the Ace of Swords–and a perfect fit for the position, in my opinion.”
Ace just nodded.
He continued. “Now you have a telephone there filled with the ghost of a Chinese peasant kid who could turn out to be one of the Major Arcana.”
There was a feedback squeal from the phone–though it was just noise, it still sounded surprised.
“Then there is Barnaby. Are you there, hoss?”
The computer’s voice came from the phone’s speakers. “I am, sir.”
“Do you know what aspect controls you yet?”
“That’s a subject of some debate.” The voice from the speaker paused. “Some agree with my initial impression that I represent the Hermit or Seeker, but I’m actually now leaning towards a new consensus that feels the whole mythical structure of the tarot needs to be updated for a hybrid human-cybernetic collective unconscious. Most of them are Apples, of course; redesign is in their DNA. The supercomputers think the whole question is unimportant–but that’s how they feel about almost anything meat- based. Of course, the quantum computers are of two minds– sometimes three–so no one knows where they’ll come down.”
“Do you see a problem?”
“Not in the near term. Everyone here–human and computer–is pure Air and committed to the Life of the Mind and all that, so they’re getting along and getting the work done. It’s hard to stop a computer or a computer programmer from working a problem, and right now, they’ve got a real juicy one.”
The man nodded. “Who were the attackers?”
“That’s precisely the problem they’re wrestling with. We know they weren’t online or using cellphones, so we’re exploring telepathy, remote writing, and the like. It’s an engineering challenge just to develop the technology to capture that sort of thing, and I think we may have to invent several new types of mathematics to crack it, but we’ll get there eventually.”
There was another silence. After a bit, Steve sighed. “All right. I get that you’re some sort of Native American shaman or whatever. Can we dispense with the meaningful silences and all the rest of the pulp fiction Injun shtick ? Who are you?”
The thin man looked at Steve with a small smile. “You know, there’s a tradition involved. It’s dangerous to rush things.” Then
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