The Mind Pool

Mondrian to and from it through a dark maze of tunnels.

“Someday we must discuss what each of us means by intelligence ,” she said as they moved into a stygian corridor. “I suspect that there too we will find surprises. I think we can agree that, whatever our differences, humans, Tinkers, Angels, and Pipe-Rillas are all intelligent — perhaps of comparable intelligence. But equality does not imply identity. We are different, for this reason: we did not follow the same road to the light.

“Humans evolved from a rather small and weak animal, on a planet with powerful predators. You had to be clever, inventive and aggressive or you would have died out. That is why you conquered fire, made tools, changed the face of Earth, and went to space. But compare that with the others of the Group, who never thought of leaving their home worlds until humans arrived. We Pipe-Rillas are twice the size of any other life form on our planet. We are strong, and we had no natural competition for living space and food. We did not need intelligence to avoid or neutralize our enemies. But a few million years ago, our planet S’kat’lan went through a major change in its climate. Our intelligence developed in response to that need. Only through drastic changes in our life-style and habitat were we able to survive. But the forces that we faced were all impersonal ones, of winds and weather and earthquake. We learned early to cooperate, and to control our population. But we never learned to hate. We never fought each other, nor were we ever threatened by another species.”

Skrynol extended a tough and whiskery palp behind her for Mondrian to hold on to, and led the way up a thirty-degree slope. “As for the Tinkers, at the level of individual components they know aggression, and they fight over food, living space, and mates. But a Tinker Composite has no such needs. It does not eat, drink, or mate in the Composite form. It is in some sense immortal, and in another sense it has no permanent existence at all. It has no sense of danger at the Composite level, because at the first sign of danger its instinct is simply to disperse. And resolved to elements, the Composite no longer exists to feel fear or danger. Mercantor is a cold world, and to a Tinker ‘intelligence’ is a synonym for ‘closeness and warmth.’

“As for the Angels, their form of intelligence remains as much of a mystery to us as I suspect it does to you. The Chassel-Rose will live and bud and die, and know little more than a yearning for light and fertile soil. But the Singers live a long, long time, and no one knows how they came to be intelligent, or what purpose that intelligence evolved to serve. Perhaps some day, after another few hundred years of interaction and mutual effort …”

Skrynol’s musings in the darkness had occupied only half of Mondrian’s attention. He had a new problem to worry about. The Pipe-Rilla had told him to roam Earth and seek his early childhood. But where was he supposed to begin the search? In the Gallimaufries, up in the polar resorts, on the open ocean, or out in the great equatorial nature preserves? Mondrian had vague childhood memories of all those areas. The crucial experience that Skrynol was seeking could have happened anywhere. Worst of all, how could Mondrian spare time for any of that when the Pursuit Team operations were moving ahead at an increasing tempo?

They were approaching the lighted levels of the deep basement warrens. Mondrian arrived at his own conclusion: the Anabasis had first priority. No matter how bad his nightmares, he would have to live with them for a while longer.

As for exploring Earth, he could make a detailed list of the places that he might have been when he was very young. What he would need was somebody to go to each of the locations and make full sound and vision recordings. His review of those could provide the mental key to unlock his memory. Not for the first time, Mondrian needed help. By the time that he reached Tatty’s apartment he knew what he must say and do.

Chapter 21

The room had been set up as a briefing facility and battle station, complete with conference table, projection equipment, terminals and interactive map displays. The Adestis battlefield was at the rear, overlooked by a spectators’ gallery. Twenty-five men and women sat at the desks serried across the body of the room. In front of them, dressed in a close-fitting black outfit that closely resembled the uniform of a Security Force commander, stood Dougal MacDougal. His expression was totally serious as he presented a series of graphics. Luther Brachis had never seen the Solar Ambassador so deeply involved in anything.

“This is the enemy,” said MacDougal. “In case any of you may be inclined to underestimate it, let me remind you that there has never been a successful attack on this type of stronghold using an attack force of fewer than forty members. And even in those cases, there was substantial loss of simulacra and several human deaths.”

The three-D imaging system showed a dark, walled pit, descending to unknown depths in a fibrous black soil. Above the players, in large glowing letters, stood a sign: ADESTIS — YOU ARE HERE.

Luther Brachis was sitting in the audience about halfway back. He had had his private word with Dougal MacDougal, hinting at the security network rumors of human expansion plans. Now he was stuck. He could not easily leave without going through the whole Adestis exercise. He was watching Ambassador MacDougal closely, concealing his own irritation and skepticism. A morning of Adestis was not his idea of time well-spent, but Lotos Sheldrake had been very explicit: “If you want an informal word with the ambassador in the next week this isn’t just your best chance, it’s your only chance. Part of the time he’ll be on Titan with a new industrial plant, then he’ll be heading for the Procyon colony. It’s Adestis, and it’s tomorrow, or it’s nothing. Take it or leave it.”

Luther Brachis took it — grudgingly. When the briefing began he had been cynically amused to see that Mac-Dougal conducted the game as though it were some major military operation, with complete attention to detail. A few minutes’ later Dougal MacDougal gave them their first look at the adversary; at that point Brachis lost his bored look and became the most attentive member of the audience.

“Remember the scale.” MacDougal moved the light pointer from one side of the display to the other. “That’s roughly three and a half centimeters. Sounds like nothing, but your simulacrum is a lot smaller than that. You’ll be less than half a centimeter tall. As you see, the quarry is more than three times as big as that across the body. This is a full-grown specimen of the family Ctenizidae; sub-order Mygalomorphae, order Araneae, class Arachnida. In short, a trapdoor spider. A female, and gram for gram one of Earth’s deadliest creatures. She won’t be afraid of you — but you’d better be scared of her. Let me show you some of the danger points.”

The screen moved in on the dark brown form, crouched ominously at the bottom of the smooth-sided pit. The length of the body was divided into two main sections connected by a narrow bridge between head and body. Eight bristly legs grew from the front section, and near the mouth were another two pairs of shorter appendages. Eight pearly eyes were distributed along the dark back of the upper body.

Dougal MacDougal aimed his pointer at the head section. “Here’s the place to hit her, in the cephalothorax. Most of the nervous system is here, so that’s the best place to shoot. It’s also the most dangerous place to be, because the jaws and poison glands are here, too. Don’t forget that your simulacrum is as vulnerable to venom as a real organism. You’ll be completely disabled — and in real agony — if there is even a small injection of poison. So watch out for the fangs, and stay well clear of them.” He moved the pointer farther to the rear. “This is the pedicel, the place where the cephalothorax joins the abdomen. If you can get an accurate hit here, do it. The body is very narrow at this point and it’s even possible to blow the two pieces completely apart. But you have to be very accurate, because the exoskeleton is as tough as hell there.

“What else? Well, you can see for yourself what the legs are like. Four pairs, each one seven-jointed. A hit where a leg attaches to the cephalothorax might do some damage, otherwise forget them. The breathing spiracles and lung slits are on the abdomen, on the second and third segments. There are two pairs of lungs, but you may as well ignore them. Even if you got a hit, the spider can breathe for a while through its tracheal tubes, more than long enough to finish you off. “The heart is in the abdomen here. See the four spinnerets, back on the fourth and fifth segments? Keep an eye on those, too. You’ll never break free of the silk if once you’ve been wrapped in it, and it dries instantly as soon as it’s in contact with air. The spider can squirt silk at you, too, so you’re not safe unless you stay at least your body length away from her.”

MacDougal turned to look at the audience. “That’s all I have to say about the spider. Any questions before