Mind Over Ship

have to finish our shift. There’s not enough replacements to go around.”

Ten-Thousand-Year Reunion

When Merrill Meewee arrived at the frontier gate of the Mem Lab, a detail of russ guards was loading shipping shells and crates into a special freight car. Among the stacks of cargo were cryocapsules, about fifty of them. Meewee tapped the nearest guard on the shoulder and said, “Who’s in those?”

The guard recognized him but said, “Sorry, myr, that’s classified information.”

“It’s all right. I’m LOG 1.”

The guard seemed a little embarrassed. “Sorry, myr, but your status has changed. You are no longer a LOG.”

“Oh, there you are,” said a beloved voice. With a twinge of apprehension Meewee turned and greeted Dr. Koyabe. It had been weeks since they had talked. Although his new Arrow made it possible to communicate with her while he was outside the Mem Lab, Koyabe had decided that in order to be fair she would have to remain isolated like everyone else until they lifted stealth altogether.

“Yes, here I am,” he said, as pleased as he could be, “but tell me, who are in these capsules, and where are they going? The guard won’t tell me.”

“New colonists on their way to the ESV Garden Hybris. Come, let’s talk on the way.” She led him across the frontier gate and out into the hall. “Several of our scientists have signed up to accompany Eleanor, but most of the capsules have russes in them.”

Meewee already knew of Eleanor’s plan to join the colonists. That was why they were hoping to have at least six viable clones — five to go and one to stay — but he didn’t know she was taking such a large entourage of muscle. When he thought about it, though, he decided he should be more surprised if she didn’t. Why not a detachment of russ guards? Why take chances?

As soon as they turned the corner and found themselves in a deserted hallway, Meewee and Koyabe fell into each other’s arms. He kissed her with a passion that both surprised and embarrassed him, and he felt about fifty years younger. The sound of footsteps interrupted them, and they hastened to regain a professional demeanor.

“Are you staying the night?” she asked.

“Depends on Eleanor, I guess. I hear I’ve been demoted.”

“Yes, only two LOGs now, Eleanor and Cabinet. You go back to being the ‘wild card.’ ”

“The what?”

“That’s what she calls you, her secret wild card.”

Meewee wasn’t sure what to make of that. “And those capsules, is she in one of them?”

“No, Dr. Ito says her new bodies are still too delicate. We’ll hold out till the last minute to put her down, or maybe she’ll have to go initially in a quickened state.”

“They’ve decided which — uh — bodies will go?”

“Body,” Koyabe said. “Only two have survived. One will go and one will stay. Why don’t you ask them yourself? They’re doing a hardening session in our clinic.”

“They’re here? I mean, in this module in realbody?”

“Yes, we have the better health-care facilities here.”

THE TWO YOUNG Eleanors lay on pads in the light booth wearing nothing but bikini bottoms and eyecaps. It was a perfect opportunity for Meewee to examine them for physical differences. They looked to be about twenty years old in developmental maturation, which was a testament to Dr. Ito’s accelerated growth regimen. That only two of the original sixty-four beans had survived to this point was a testament to its severity. The two girls were truly identical twins, from the reddish blond hair on top of their heads to the shapes of their toes. They both had the famous Starke eyebrows that spanned their brows in a solid stroke. One did have a mole on the side of one breast, but that wasn’t something he would typically see.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” Koyabe said.

Meewee blushed. “I was looking for differences.”

“Bishop Lucky!” one of the girls said when she heard his voice.

“I have a distinctive freckle here,” the other one said, blindly pointing to the base of her throat.

“Ah, I see it,” Meewee said.

“And I’m the smarter one,” the other one rejoined.

“But I’m better-looking.”

Meewee said, “Do you have names yet?”

“Oh, yes. I’m Elaine.”

“And I’m Elizabeth.”

Right, Meewee thought, trying to fix them in his memory: Elaine has the mole; Elizabeth the freckle.

“Don’t let them fool you,” Koyabe said. “While our two beauties might appear to be identical, they have subtly different personalities. Not even our vegetative cloning technique can normalize all gestational factors. And our memory migration techniques are still idiosyncratic in effect.”

“I see,” Meewee said, not sure that he did. “But tell me, which one of you is going into space?”

In a suddenly subdued tone, one of the Els said, “Whichever one of us lives that long.”

The answer upset Meewee who looked to Koyabe for explanation.

“Not to worry, Bishop; Dr. Ito halted his forced march a couple of weeks ago. And these two are very stable and aren’t likely to expire anytime soon. I think what Liz was expressing is her grief over the deaths of their last four most recent sisters.”

“They had names too,” Liz said.

“We have their memories,” Elaine said.

“We remember being them,” Liz added.

“Now I’m lost,” Meewee confessed. “You share memories among yourselves?”

“Yes,” Koyabe said. “The final six clones shared their new memories with each other, as well as with the brainfish Eleanor.”

The lights in the hardening booth clicked off, and an arbeitor rolled in bearing two glasses of a chalky liquid.

“Speaking of the devil,” Liz said as she and her sister sat up and removed their eyecaps.

Meewee said, “That drink, it’s got memories in it?”

“Ugh,” Elaine said. “Yeah, fishy memories.” The two Els made identical grimaces as they choked down the potion.

Meewee turned a confused look to Koyabe, who said, “Not ‘memories’ per se, Bishop.” She paused a moment to think about how best to explain it. “We should probably ask Dr. Strohmeyer; she has a way of simplifying this stuff, but I’ll give it a shot.

“Biological memory has three distinct phases: working, short-term, and long-term. Working memory involves increasing or decreasing potentiation of synaptic spikes.” She frowned and began again. “There are approximately 500 trillion synapses in the human brain . . .”

The girls laughed, and Elaine said, “Tell him about the Christmas trees.”

“Oh, yes, one of Dr. Strohmeyer’s analogies. Think of a neuron in your brain like a Christmas tree with many separate strings of lights attached to its many branches. If you energize one string, one pattern of lights is visible. A second string gives you a second separate pattern, and so on. Now imagine you’re looking down from space on a hundred billion of these Christmas trees. Some of them are in a lot called auditory cortex, while others are in the visual cortex lot, prefrontal cortex lot, and so on. Strings on some trees are connected to strings on trees in other lots. Say you energized a set of related strings and observed the pattern of lights that results among the billions of trees. That’s like a memory trace. The branches of the trees are the dendrites of the neuronal cells, and the lights themselves are the synapses.

“In reality, the synapses also involve axons from other neurons, but what’s important in this analogy are the