Sixty percent of human communication is miscommunication.
—De Rerum Comoedia
Tay was playing happily. The games room in the Johnnie Ray hummed and buzzed and fizzed and crackled with electrical toys of all kinds. She was lost in her own world, punching keys, occasionally leaning forward to stare at the screen. The bug surveyed her carefully. It had been awakened by a signal from the Iceman. Now it was hungry. Almost any of the electro-mechanical games would provide a decent power source, but it sensed a big problem: Tay. Silently it edged towards her. Its metal antennae sweeping the air. She played on, oblivious. The bug scanned her, checking its files. This was not an electrical source, this was something alien, something dangerous to it. Slowly the bug moved closer and closer to her. She was too engrossed in her game to notice. It hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Then it made up its mind. It would eliminate the problem. This dangerous alien must be destroyed. Carefully it aligned itself and took aim at the young girl. She would never know what hit her.
Tay looked up sharply. Her little brow furrowed. The bug froze, registering its own danger.
“Bug,” said Tay and ran out of the room.
Lewis was in with the shrinkbot. He’d asked for an extra session. Normally he spent two hours a day with the shrinkbot. He required a lot of attention. It’s one of the signs of the White Face, says Carlton, all this self-obsession.
“Envy,” Lewis was saying, “a kind of jealousy of Alex. Especially now that she’s here.”
“But you have Tay.”
“Hardly the same thing.”
“No. But it must be nice for you.”
“Of course. I adore her. She’s a great kid.”
“And Miss Wallace?”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Is it sexual jealousy?”
“You mean, am I attracted to her?”
“If you like.”
He thought about it for a moment and was surprised when the door flew open and Tay came running in.
“Daddy, Daddy,” she said excitedly.
“Not now, dear,” said Lewis. “Daddy’s with the shrink.”
“Nice to meet you,” said the shrinkbot.
“This is Dr. Max. He helps me,” said Lewis.
“Hi,” said Tay. “Daddy, I have to tell you something.”
“Really, Tay, I’ll be out in a minute.”
“But there’s a bug in the games room.”
“I’ll get Carlton to fix it,” he said.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“No, sweetie, just play another game. Carlton will fix it when he has a minute,” he said. “We get ’em all the time.”
How could he know? Of course he thought she meant a bug in the machine. Wouldn’t you? Carlton calculates humans misunderstand each other at least 60 percent of the time. Even he, listening in, didn’t get it.
Tay was puzzled.
“Can I play with it then?”
“Yes, run along and play,” he said. “There’s plenty to do.”
“Can’t I stay with you, Daddy?”
“No, Tay, don’t be a pain, run along to the games room and let me finish up here and I’ll be right with you.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
§
Yes, of course he was obsessed with himself—it’s the burden of the White Face clown—but he could hardly be blamed. Carlton made the same mistake. Ought Carlton to have been listening in while Lewis visited the shrink? Of course not. It violates all rules of privacy. Talking to a shrink is quality time, a time to be purely selfish, to be flagrantly self-obsessed, a chance indeed to star. It is the one-sidedness of the conversation that is so utterly satisfying. But Carlton was listening in as usual, recording everything and filing it away for future use, when he heard there was a bug in the games room, and he figured, like Lewis, what the hell, there’s lots of games for Tay to play with, and he was distracted by a control panel which told him something was sucking in great gulps of electricity from somewhere. So he didn’t go immediately to the games room.
Alex was showing Katy around the ship. She was beginning to feel much better.
“I have a little cure for you,” said Alex.
“Really,” she smiled, “and what is it?”
“Oh, it’s a little secret. Come.”
He took her firmly by the hand and they set off around the oak-paneled corridors of the Johnnie Ray. They looked first at the electronic art gallery, an oak-panneled room with several elegant empty gilt frames. He requested a Velazquez and it immediately appeared in an appropriate frame. Katy was delighted. He added a Braque, a Degas, and a Sisley. She was thrilled.
“Can I have a go?”
“Anything you like.”
She requested a Renoir.
It magically appeared.
“This is great.”
“Thank you.”
They played with the art for a while, looking at some fabulous Bellinis, until Carlton popped his head in.
“Oh excuse me,” he said. “I’m looking for a leak.”
“There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall,” said Alex.
“No, I don’t need to use a bathroom, I’m looking for a power leak.”
“Show me the Monet,” said Alex to the art gallery.
Monet’s famous bridge over the water lilies popped into the frame.
Carlton held up a small meter and let it sniff the air by the Monet. He shook his head, puzzled.
“Don’t you like Monet’s bridge?” asked Alex.
He glanced at the bridge, puzzled.
“There’s nobody on it,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s just an empty bridge. Is it a joke?”
“Of course it isn’t a joke,” said Alex, outraged.
“Sorry,” said Carlton, “I don’t see the point of an empty bridge.”
To be fair, he couldn’t really see the point of art. It seemed to have no discernible meaning. He understood abstract. At least that didn’t pretend to have any meaning. But empty bridges. What was the point of looking at a picture of an empty bridge?
“Philistine,” said Alex as he left.
“He’s weird, your droid,” said Katy.
“Ah, here’s my favorite,” said Alex, selecting a fresco by Melozzo da Forli from the Vatican Museum. “Don’t you love that blue? I had a suit made in it. I call it High Renaissance. Oh look out, here comes Mr. Quattrocento in the fabric to die for. Stand back Lucrezia, it’s gorgeous for the Borgias.”
He waddled camply round the room, like a runway model played by an overweight queen. His voice was deep-dyed homosexual, the harsh rasping voice of a thousand cigarette packs. She marveled at the way he could play with language.
“Si, yais I am da pope, can I speak to Mike Angelo. He’s on his back? Vat, is he taking a nap? Oh he’s painting da ceiling? Vat color? No, no, I said blue. Who asked him to put figures up there? And another ting, his David. Ya. The naked guy. What’s wrong with it? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. It’s the wiener, that’s what’s wrong with it. It’s too little. It was cold that day? Who cares it’s lifelike, this is art. Listen, you stupid prick, get me a bigger wanger or no more lire for you, signore.”
He beamed happily in the grace of her laughter. She was so lovely. He moved towards her, but she waved him away. She needed air. He smiled and stepped back. The moment passed.
Alex showed her the swimming pool. One whole end was built as a Provencal villa, with a terrace off the upstairs bedrooms and a wide patio below. Real trees lined the poolside. She was enchanted with it.
“We could be in the country,” she said, delighted.
He clicked on a switch and crickets stirred. She smelled lavender. He rolled back the starscreen and suddenly there was the galaxy above their heads.
“To swim under the stars,” she said. “How wonderful. Alex, I love this ship.”
He grinned contentedly. “Fancy a dip?” he asked. “No,” she laughed, “I have no suit.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I can take it.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“Hot tub? Massage? Sauna?” She giggled.
“Walk this way, madam.”
He led her beside the villa into a little garden with herbs and grass and a wrought-iron rustic table.
“How about a spot of lunch,” he said in a British accent. “Tu manges, ma petite?”
“Non, merci, monsieur. Je n’ai pas faim.”
“Oh, vachement tu es femme,” he said.
He was definitely pursuing her now, and she realized she was enjoying the pursuit. She knew if she kept still for five minutes he would kiss her.
“C’mon,” she said. “Show me the rest.”
He showed her the gymnasium with its variable gravity exercise machines, the Jacuzzi, the steam room, and then led her along the corridor towards the main reception area. They passed the Washing Machine coming back from the tower, relieved of her responsibilities.
“Don’t talk to me,” she grumbled. “I’ve been up there for hours. Searching for icebergs. That’s not my job. And what’s this?” She held out the sex doll accusingly. Alex grabbed for it. “Oh that. That’s just a toy, Mrs. Greenaway,” he said.
“She began taking her clothes off again!”
Alex was embarrassed. Katy was looking at him. He could feel himself beginning to blush.
“Then she asked me if I wanted to play with her.”
“Yes,” said Alex, grabbing it and stowing it on a shelf above the door, “she is really very friendly. I think it belongs to Lewis,” he said. “He probably got it for Tay to play with. Thank you, Mrs. Greenaway.”
Katy was laughing at him. He smiled.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Hey,” she said, “like I didn’t notice you were a guy?”
He led her into their den. It was an impressive, almost baronial hall, lit by a huge fireplace with a virtual fire blazing away in the hearth.
“Oh, this is lovely,” said Katy. “Oh, I like this. Is that you?”
She walked over to an oil painting which had been carefully repainted with Alex’s features.
“That’s me as Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough,” he said.
“You look good in a skirt,” she said.
“Thank you, so do you,” he said.
She was enjoying him. He was great company. So different from Emil, she thought. They lingered for a while at the Joke Box. Alex punched up some of their early routines. They leaned together over the domed top and looked down at the tiny figures below. Two tiny 3-D hologram figures of Alex and Lewis began performing in miniature. They were funny. She kept asking for more routines. She hadn’t quite appreciated the subtle balance, the long-suffering patience of Lewis as counterpoise to the mad antics of Alex. She glimpsed a hint of anguish in this patient waiting of his.
“Is Lewis happy?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t be happy if he was happy,” said Alex.
“What about Tay?”
“Oh, it’s something else he can beat himself up with.”
“No, where is she?”
“I think she’s in the games room.”
“Let’s go find her.”
“Okay. But first let’s go look at the stars. You have to see the tower.”
So they turned away from the games room.
Tay had done as she was told and returned to the games room. So, where was the bug, she wondered? Oh, there it was. In the corner. She slowly advanced on it. The ability to reproduce itself was one of the nastier features of this sophisticated destructive machine. What strangely perverted mind could have conceived of adding a womb to a smart bomb? Nevertheless here it was, going into labor. Lucky for her it was distracted, for they were deadly when threatened. It had hooked into an electronic game called Waterloo, End of an Emperor, and was sucking up massive amounts of electricity from it, swelling, its belly distended, its whole being intent and focused. It had become a miniature fallopian tube. Inside its sticky metallic interior something was growing and pushing out. Tay leaned forward eagerly to see. To her amazement something was coming out of one end. Beneath it, miniature models of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard lay in wait for the outcome of the fighting at Quatre Bois. The surface of the game was vibrating so hard she wondered if the glass would hold. Or would the tiny bug be sent plunging into another world, filled with mechanical soldiers all trying to kill each other on the Road to Brussels?
“Ah,” said Tay. “A baby.”
Think of a scorpion, a tarantula, a baby shark; but there is nothing remotely lovely about a newborn baby bomb. Tay stared at it, fascinated. It seemed so helpless, no more than two inches long, and its little antennae sniffed the air uncertainly.
“Oh, it’s so cute,” said Tay.
She reached forward and touched it with her finger. With a shock she realized that it was still warm. It recoiled from her touch and its antennae searched for the source of this alien contact.
“Where’s your mommy?” said Tay. “You want your mommy, don’t you?”
But Mommy had gone. Abandoning baby at birth, momsy had scurried off to find other energy sources, for it was programmed to reproduce every twenty minutes. It was a very sophisticated self-replicating automaton.
“You poor thing,” said Tay. “I’ll be your mommy.”
She picked up the tiny bug and held it in the palm of her hand. It waggled its antennae uncertainly. It was not programmed for this. It had no concept of friend. It recognized only concepts like threat, enemy, kill, destroy. It began to vibrate, emitting a high-pitched sound at the extreme edge of the audible range for the human ear. Tay giggled.
“You’re tickling,” she said delightedly. But the bug was not tickling, it was activating its molecular structure. It was preparing to explode.
“Don’t move,” said a voice behind her. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”