Too many questions; his father was used to getting the answers he wanted. Spur went back to the tell. A refined search showed that millions of Leungs lived on Blimminey, Eri-dani Foxtrot, Fortunate Child, Moy, and No Turning Back, but there also appeared to be a scattering of Leungs on many of the Thousand Worlds. There was no help for it; Spur began to send greetings at random.
He wasn't sure exactly who he expected to answer, but it certainly wasn't bots. When Chairman Winter had bought Walden from ComExplore IC, he decreed that neither machine intelligences nor enhanced upsiders would be allowed in the refuge he was founding. The Transcendent State was to be the last and best home of the true humans. While the pukpuks used bots to manufacture goods that they sold to the Transcendent State, Spur had never actually seen one until he had arrived at the hospital.
Now he discovered that the upside swarmed with them. Everyone he tried to greet had bot receptionists, secretaries, housekeepers or companions screening their messages. Some were virtual and presented themselves in outlandish sims; others were corporeal and stared at him from the homes or workplaces of their owners. Spur relished these voyeuristic glimpses of life on the upside, but glimpses were all he got. None of the bots wanted to talk to him, no doubt because of the caution he could see scrolling across his screen. It warned that his greeting originated from 'the Transcendent State of Walden, a jurisdiction under a consensual cultural quarantine.'
Most of bots were polite but firm. No, they couldn't connect him to their owners; yes, they would pass along his greeting; and no, they couldn't say when he might expect a greeting in return. Some were annoyed. They invited him to read his own Covenant and then snapped the connection. A couple of virtual bots were actually rude to him. Among other things, they called him a mud hugger, a leech and a pathetic waste of consciousness. One particularly abusive bot started screaming that he was 'a stinking useless fossil.'
Spur wasn't quite sure what a fossil was, so he queried the tell. It returned two definitions: 1. an artifact of an organism, typically extinct, that existed in a previous geologic era; 2. something outdated or superseded. The idea that, as a true human, he might be outdated, superseded or possibly even bound for extinction so disturbed Spur that he got up and paced the room. He told himself that this was the price of curiosity. There were sound reasons why the Covenant of Simplicity placed limits on the use of technology. Complexity bred anxiety. The simple life was the good life.
Yet even as he wrestled with his conscience, he settled back in front of the tell. On a whim he entered his own name. He got just two results:
Comfort Rose Joerly and Prosper Gregory Leung
Orchardists
Diligence Cottage
Jane Powder Street
Littleton, Hamilton County,
Northeast Territory, TS
Walden and
Prosper Gregory Leung c/o Niss (remotely - see note)
Salvation Hospital
Benevolence Park #5
Concord, Jefferson County,
Southwest Territory, TS
Walden
Spur tried to access the note attached to Dr. Niss's name, but it was blocked. That wasn't a surprise. What was odd was that he had received results just from Walden. Was he really the only Prosper Gregory Leung in the known universe?
While he was trying to decide whether being unique was good or bad, the tell inquired if he might have meant to search for Proper Gregory Leung or Phosphor Gregory L'ung or Procter Gregoire Lyon? He hadn't but there was no reason not to look them up. Proper Leung, it turned out, raised gosdogs for meat on a ranch out in Hopedale, which was in the Southwest Territory. Spur thought that eating gosdogs was barbaric and he had no interest in chatting with the rancher. Gregory L'ung lived on Kenning in the Theta Persei system. On an impulse, Spur sent his greeting. As he expected, it was immediately diverted to a bot. L'ung's virtual companion was a shining green turtle resting on a rock in a muddy river.
'The High Gregory of Kenning regrets that he is otherwise occupied at the moment,' it said, raising its shell up off the rock. It stood on four human feet. 'I note with interest that your greeting originates from a jurisdiction under a consensual…'
The turtle didn't get the chance to finish. The screen shimmered and went dark. A moment later, it lit up again with the image of a boy, perched at the edge of an elaborate chair.
He was wearing a purple fabric wrap that covered the lower part of his body from waist to ankles. He was bare-chested except for the skin of some elongated, dun-colored animal draped around his thin shoulders. Spur couldn't have said for sure how old the boy was, but despite an assured bearing and intelligent yellow eyes, he seemed not yet a man. The chair caught Spur's eye again: it looked to be of some dark wood, although much of it was gilded. Each of the legs ended in a stylized human foot. The back panel rose high above the boy's head and was carved with leaves and branches that bore translucent purple fruit. That sparkled like jewels. Spur reminded himself to breathe. It looked very much like a throne.
Three
It takes two to speak the truth - one to speak and another to hear. - A Week on the Concord and Merrimack rivers
'Hello, hello,' said the boy. 'Who is doing his talk, please?'
Spur struggled to keep his voice from squeaking. 'My name is Prosper Gregory Leung.'
The boy frowned and pointed at the bottom of the screen. 'Walden, it tells? I have less than any idea of Walden.'
'It's a planet.'
'And tells that it's wrongful to think too hard on planet Walden? Why? Is your brain dry?'
'I think.' Spur was taken aback. 'We all think.' Even though he thought he was being insulted, Spur didn't want to snap the connection - not yet anyway. 'I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.'
The words coming out of the speakers did not seem to match what the boy was saying. His lips barely moved, yet what Spur heard was, 'I'm the High Gregory, Phosphorescence of Kenning, energized by the Tortoise of Eternal Radiation.' Spur realized that the boy was probably speaking another language and that what he was hearing was a translation. Spur had been expecting the censors built into the tell to buzz this conversation like they had buzzed so much of his chat with Leaf Benkleman, but maybe bad translation was just as effective.
'That's interesting,' said Spur cautiously. 'And what is it that you do there on Kenning?'
'Do?' The High Gregory rubbed his nose absently. 'Oh, do! I make luck.'
'Really? People can do that on the upside?'
'What is the upside?'
'Space, you know.' Spur waved an arm over his head and glanced upward.
The High Gregory frowned. 'Prosper Gregory Leung breathes space?'
'No, I breathe air.' He realized that the tell might easily be garbling his end of the conversation as well. 'Only air.' He spoke slowly and with exaggerated precision. 'We call the Thousand Worlds the upside. Here. On my world.'
The High Gregory still appeared to be confused.
'On this planet.' He gestured at the hospital room. 'Planet Walden. We look up at the stars.' He raised his hand to his brow, as if sighting on some distant landmark. 'At night.' Listening to himself babble, Spur was certain that the High Gregory must think him an idiot. He had to change the subject, so he tapped his chest. 'My friends call me Spur.'
The High Gregory shook his head with a rueful smile. 'You give me warmth, Spur, but I turn away with regret from the kind offer to enjoy sex with you. Memsen watches to see that I don't tickle life until I have enough of age.'
Aghast, Spur sputtered that he had made no such offer, but the High Gregory, appearing not to hear, continued to speak.
'You have a fullness of age, friend Spur. Have you found a job of work on planet Walden?'
