Isn't that in none of your books and stuff, Mr Zoliparia? I asks him. Isn't that nowhere?
Doesn't seem to be, Bascule, he says; doesn't seem to be. Some of us have been looking for the answers to those questions for longer than we've been able to record, and we seem to be no closer now than when we started. We've looked in books and films and files and fiches and discs and chips and bios and holos and foams and cores and every form of storage known to humanity. He drinks his wine. And it's all from before, Bascule, he says, sounding sad. All from before. There's nothing from the time we want to know about. He shrugs. Nothing.
I don't know what to say when Mr Zoliparia sounds all sad and sorry like this. People like him have been trying to work this sort of thing out for generations, some through the old stuff like books and so on and others by using the crypt, where supposedly everything is but you just can't find it. Or if you find it you can't get back with it.
I once said to Mr Zoliparia it sounded a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack and he said, More like looking for a particular water molecule in an ocean and even that's probably underestimating the task by several orders of magnitude.
I've thought about being the one to dive into the crypt proper — really deeply — and bring back the secrets Mr Zoliparia wants, but apart from the fact that means serious implant work and I want to show Mr Zoliparia I only use my implants for telling and nothing else as a rule, it's also been attempted and proved pointless.
It's chaos in there, you see.
The crypt (or cryptosphere or data corpus — it's all the same thing) is where everything really happens here, and the deeper you go the less likely you are to come out; it's like it's an ocean and consciousness is soluble, like diving into acid, beyond a certain depth. It scars you for life if you go too deep, you come back as something shrivelled and dying if you go deeper still, and you just don't come back at all if you go really really deep; you just disintegrate totally as a distinct personality and that's that.
Of course you personally are still alive and kicking, back in physical reality and none the worse for wear (usually; unless you have a bad trip like they say and get feedbacks and deadbacks and flashbacks and flashforwards and nightmares and daymares and trauma and stuff), but the crypt-copy you sent in there, that's just gone forever you can kiss its ass bye-bye, and that's factual.
Ergates is playing with her food; she's molding the bready-bits into funny shapes with her mouth-parts and front legs and not bothering to eat it at all no more. Right now she's making a tiny bust of Mr Zoliparia and I wonder if he can see her doing that or if he's so dead against implants and improvements in general that he has ordinary old-type eyes and can't zoom in on details like I can.
Do you think it's a good likeness, Bascule? she asks me.
Mr Zoliparia is looking thoughtful and staring into space, or into the atmosphere anyway; bunch of birds circling way in the distance over a bartizan — maybe he's looking at them.
Anyway I decide to risk whispering to Ergates: Very good. Now you want to get back in your box?
What's that Bascule? Mr Zoliparia says.
Nothing, Mr Zoliparia, I says. I was just clearing my throat.
No you weren't; you said something about getting back in your box.
Did I? I says, stalling.
You weren't referring to me I trust, he says, frowning.
O absolutely not Mr Zoliparia, I tell him. I was actually addressing Ergates here, I says, deciding to make a clean breast of it. I look at her sternly and wag my finger at her and say Get back in your box now, you naughty ant. Sorry about this, Mr Zoliparia, I tell him, while Ergates quickly changes the bust she's working on to one of me with an enormous nose.
Does she ever talk back? Mr Zoliparia asks, smiling.
O yes, I says. It's quite a talkative little critter actually and very intelligent.
Does it really talk though, Bascule?
Of course, Mr Zoliparia; it's not a figment of my imagination or an invisible friend type of thing, honest. I had a invisible friend but he left when Ergates came on the scene last week, I tell him, feeling a bit embarrassed now and probably blushing.
Mr Zoliparia laughs. Where did you get your little pal? he asks.
She crawled out the woodwork, I says, and he laughs again and I'm even more embarrassed and getting quite sweaty now. That damn ant! making a fool of me and making my face all big and bloated in that bust she's working on now and still not going back in her box either.
She did! Mr Zoliparia I says. Crawled out of the woodwork in the refectory at supper time last Kingsday. She came here with me the next day to see you, but hid in my jacket that time on account of being shy and a bit awkward with strangers. But she really talks and she hears what I say and she uses words I don't know sometimes, honest.
Mr Zoliparia nods, and looks with new respect upon Ergates the ant. Then she's probably a micro-construct, Bascule, he tells me; they crop up now and again, though they don't usually talk, least not intelligibly. I think the law says you're supposed to take such things to the authorities.
I know that Mr Zoliparia but she's my friend and she don't do no one no harm, I says, getting hotter still because I don't want to lose Ergates and I'm wishing I hadn't said nothing to brother Scalopin now because I didn't think people bothered with such finicky rules but here's Mr Zoliparia saying they do and what am I to do? I look at her but she's still working on that infernal bust and giving me big buck teeth now, ungrateful wretch.
Calm down, calm down, Bascule, Mr Zoliparia says; I'm not saying you ought to turn her in. I'm just saying that's the law and you better not tell people she can talk if you want to keep her. That's all I'm saying. Anyway she's just little and so nice and easy to hide. If you look after her you'll be fine. May I — ? he starts to say, then he stares above me and his eyes go wide and he says, What the fuck? and I'm quite shocked because I've never heard Mr Zoliparia swear like that and then there's a shadow over the balcony and a noise like a snapping sail-wing and a gust of wind, and — before I can do anything except start to turn round — a huge bird, grey and bigger than a man, suddenly clatters down onto the parapet of the balcony, grabs at the box and the bread and flaps its wings down and launches away again screeching, while Ergates goes '
TRANSLATION — TWO — 4
Bascule, I know this is hard for you, but for goodness sakes boy, it was only a damn ant.
It was a most special and unique ant Mr Zoliparia I tell him and I feel responsible for what happened to her.
We're inside the eyeball of the septentrional gargoyle Rosbrith, in Mr Zoliparia's study. Mr Zoliparia has a thing called a telephone in his study you can speak into (didn't even know he had it — think he's a bit embarrassed about it to tell the truth). Anyway, he just got in touch with the guard to report what happened after I'd insisted, though he'd only report that the bird had stolen a valuable antique box, not an ant. (Actually, the box isn't an antique at all but that isn't what matters.) I'd have tried calling the guard myself as soon as it happened but I know from past experience they wouldn't listen to me because I'm young.
We'd been hoping that maybe the bird what had stolen Ergates was one of them ringed eyes with cameras and stuff, or one of them being followed round by little buzzer-bugs for a wildlife screen program or the purposes of scientific research but I guess it was a bit of a long shot and sure enough the answer was no to both. The guard took some details but Mr Zoliparia doesn't hold out much hope of them doing anything.
You mustn't blame yourself, it was an accident, Bascule.
I know that, Mr Zoliparia, but it was an accident I could have prevented if I'd been more observant and watchful and just plain diligent in general. What was I thinking of, letting her eat that bread on the balustrade like that? Especially when I seen them birds in the distance. I mean; bread! Everybody know birds love bread! (I slap
