Permutation City

difference doesn't rate the definite article or the pronoun 'who.''

'I'll rerun the program, and the two of you can fight it out.'

'No thanks.' He took a sip of his drink. 'Any non-junk mail? Any contracts?'

'No.'

'So . . . another day of terminal boredom?'

'Mostly.' Maria hesitated. Aden usually only pressed her for news when he had something to announce himself -- and she was curious to find out what it was. But he volunteered nothing, so she went on to describe her encounter with Operation Butterfly.

Aden said, 'I remember hearing something about that. But I thought it was decades away.'

'The real thing probably is, but the simulations have definitely started. In a big way.'

He looked pained. 'Weather control? Who do they think they're kidding?'

Maria suppressed her irritation. 'The theory must look promising, or they wouldn't have taken it this far. Nobody spends a few million dollars an hour on supercomputer time without a good chance of a payoff.'

Aden snickered. 'Oh yes they do. And it's usually called Operation something-or- other. Remember Operation Radiant Way?'

'Yes, I remember.'

'They were going to seed the upper atmosphere with nanomachines which could monitor the temperature -- and supposedly do something about it.'

'Manufacture particles which reflected certain wavelengths of solar radiation -- and then disassemble them, as required.'

'In other words, cover the planet with a giant thermostatic blanket.'

'What's so terrible about that?'

'You mean, apart from the sheer technocratic hubris? And apart from the fact that releasing any kind of replicator into the environment is -- still, thankfully -- illegal? It wouldn't have worked. There were complications nobody had predicted -- unstable mixing of air layers, wasn't it? -- which would have counteracted most of the effect.'

Maria said, 'Exactly. But how would anyone have known that, if they hadn't run a proper simulation?'

'Common sense. This whole idea of throwing technology at problems created by technology . . . '

Maria felt her patience desert her. 'What would you rather do? Be humble in the presence of nature, and hope you'll be rewarded for it? You think Mother Gaia is going to forgive us, and put everything right -- just as soon as we throw away our wicked computers and promise to stop trying to fix things ourselves?' Should have made that 'Nanny Gaia.'

Aden scowled. 'No -- but the only way to 'fix things' is to have less impact on the planet, not more. Instead of thinking up these grandiose schemes to bludgeon everything into shape, we have to back off, leave it alone, give it a chance to heal.'

Maria was bemused. 'It's too late for that. If that had started a hundred years ago . . . fine. Everything might have turned out differently. But it's not enough any more; too much damage has already been done. Tip- toeing through the debris, hoping all the systems we've fucked up will magically restore themselves -- and tip- toeing twice as carefully every time the population doubles -- just won't work. The whole planetary ecosystem is as much of an artifact, now, as . . . a city's microclimate. Believe me, I wish that wasn't the case, but it is -- and now that we've created an artificial world, intentionally or not, we'd better learn to control it. Because if we stand back and leave it all to chance, it's just going to collapse around us in some random fashion that isn't likely to be any better than our worst well-intentioned mistakes.'

Aden was horrified. 'An artificial world? You honestly believe that?'

'Yes.'

'Only because you spend so much time in Virtual Reality you don't know the difference anymore.'

Maria was indignant. 'I hardly ever --' Then she stopped herself, realizing that he meant the Autoverse. She'd long ago given up trying to drum the distinction into his head.

Aden said, 'I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot.' He made a gesture of retraction, a wave of the hand more impatient than apologetic. 'Look, forget all this depressing ecoshit. I've got some good news, for a change. We're going to Seoul.'

Maria laughed. 'Are we? Why?'

'I've been offered a job. University Music Department.'

She looked at him sharply. 'Thanks for telling me you'd applied.'

He shrugged it off lightly. 'I didn't want to get your hopes up. Or mine. I only heard this afternoon; I can still hardly believe it. Composer-in-residence, for a year; a couple of hours a week teaching, the rest of the time I can do what I like: writing, performing, producing, whatever. And they throw in free accommodation. For two.'

'Just . . . hold it. A few hours' teaching? Then why do you have to go there in person?'

'They want me, physically. It's a prestige thing. Every Mickey Mouse university can plug into the networks and bring in a dozen lecturers from around the world --'

'That's not Mickey Mouse, it's efficient.'

'Cheap and efficient. This place doesn't want to be cheap. They want a piece of exotic cultural decoration. Stop laughing. Australia is flavor of the month in Seoul; it only happens once every twenty years, so we'd better take advantage of it. And they want a composer-in-residence. In residence.'

Maria sat back and digested it.

Aden said, 'I don't know about you, but I have a lot of trouble imagining us ever being able to afford to spend a year in Korea, any other way.'

'And you've said yes?'

'I said maybe. I said probably.'

'Accommodation for two. What am I supposed to do while you're being exotic and decorative?'

'Whatever you like. Anything you do here, you could do just as easily there. You're the one who keeps telling me how you're plugged into the world, you're a node in a logical data space, your physical location is entirely irrelevant . . . '

'Yes, and the whole point of that is not having to move. I like it where I am.'

'That shoebox.'

'A campus apartment in Seoul won't be much bigger.'

'We'll go out! It's an exciting city -- there's a whole cultural renaissance going on there, it's not just the music scene. And who knows? You might find some exciting project to work on. Not everything gets broadcast over the nets.'

That was true enough. Korea had full membership of ASEAN, as opposed to Australia's probationary status; if she'd been living in Seoul at the right time, if she'd had the right contacts, she might have ended up part of Operation Butterfly. And even if that was wishful thinking -- the right contacts probably took a decade to make -- she could hardly do worse than she'd been doing in Sydney.

Maria fell silent. It was good news, a rare opportunity for both of them, but she still couldn't understand why he was unloading it on her out of the blue. He should have told her everything when he'd applied, however poorly he'd rated his chances.

She glanced at the stage, at the twelve sweating musicians playing their hearts out, then looked away. There was something disconcertingly voyeuristic about watching them without tuning in: not just the sight of them emoting in silence, but also the realization that none of the bands could see each other, despite the fact that she could see them all.

Aden said, 'There's no rush to make up your mind. The academic year starts on January ninth. Two months away.'

'Won't they need to know, long before then?'

'They'll need to know by Monday if I've accepted the job -- but I don't think the accommodation will be a big deal. I mean, if I end up alone in an apartment for two, it'll hardly be the end of the world.' He looked at her innocently, as if daring her to give the time and place he'd ever promised to turn down a chance like this, just because she didn't want to come along for the ride.