“Certainly, Dirigent.” The man went off to fetch one.
Hamish came trotting up in response to a farspoken command and sat at Davy’s heel.
Cordelia regarded her old friend calmly. “Will you report this conversation to the First Magnate?”
Davy leaned down, hands on the tabletop, and spoke softly. “To hell with the First Magnate!… No, I’ve no intention of discussing your ploy with Paul. Let him do his own spying. But here’s a wee bit of sensitive data to share with your fellow connivers: The Fury monster’s back, and so is its stooge, Hydra. And I’m going to see both of them polished off no matter what Remillards get caught in the crossfire—Rebels or loyalists. You have my word on it.”
Cordelia said nothing.
The waitron came up with the bag, and Davy dumped Hamish’s meal into it. “As for Unity,” he said, “I’m keeping my mind open. I’ll neither oppose it nor promote it. Tell your fewkin’ Oxbridge associates they’ll get no joy from me. But neither will Paul Remillard.”
The Dirigent of Earth, Scottish terrier at heel, strode off in the direction of the elevators. After a few moments a hairy, broadly smiling head rose up across the table from Cordelia Warshaw. She gave a rueful laugh.
“So, Ignacy! Have you come to console your master for her abject failure as a diplomatist?”
The Polski Owczarek Nizinny said: Blintzes for me?
“I might have known.”
Cordelia Warshaw put Davy MacGregor’s plate on the ground. Then, after a moment, she also set down her own.
At a table not far away, the four Lylmik Supervisors rose, summoned their dogs, and set off down a tanbark track toward the shady Bone Garden, where they would await the arrival of Atoning Unifex. They had done as their superior had instructed, observing the small drama of Cordelia and Davy from a safe distance, and now they mused over its significance.
“The event, although interesting, was clearly neither cuspate nor nodal,” said Homologous Trend.
“One is mystified,” said Noetic Concordance, who walked beside him, “at Unifex’s insistence that we come here to observe it in person. It has been aeons since It required us to physically excurse from Concilium Orb.”
“Even more bewildering,” said Eupathic Impulse, “was Its request that we wear these awkward human bodies once again rather than simply watching the proceedings invisibly. One might have thought that the usefulness of a tangible disguise had expired some time ago.”
“One does not lightly question the dictates of Atoning Unifex,” Asymptotic Essence remarked rather prissily. Her straight black hair was cut in a fringe above her brows and done up in a chignon held with carved ivorywood sticks. She wore a striking cheongsam of sky blue.
“One must demur,” said Noetic Concordance reluctantly, “for intuition seems to adumbrate that challenge is not only permissible in the current situation but perhaps even required.”
The other three entities pondered this uncomfortable notion in silence.
“It is to be hoped that there will be an eventual clarification,” Concordance said.
“And that it comes sometime before Omega,” Impulse muttered.
The forms that temporarily housed the negligible Lylmik material substance represented four different human races. Except for their unusual eyes, which had the appearance of backlit aquamarines, and their mindscreens, which were wondrously opaque, the Supervisors seemed to be youngish men and women dressed (except for the gorgeous Asymptotic Essence) in unobtrusive casual clothing. Arriving at the Bone Garden, they sat down on wooden benches beneath a chestnut tree while their dogs explored the little glade.
“Whatever else may be going on, one is simultaneously gratified and made apprehensive by Davy MacGregor’s reaffirmation,” Homologous Trend remarked with ponderous gravity. He was incarnate as a hawk-nosed, physically impressive Native American. His dog, a standard Xoloitzcuintli, hairless and attractively spotted, began digging zealously beneath a bridal-wreath bush.
Trend’s fellow male, Eupathic Impulse, repressed a snort of impatience. “Would one care to explain one’s emotional dichotomy?”
“MacGregor’s refusal to cooperate with the Rebels is praiseworthy,” Trend said, “while his persistent doubts about the future of the Human Polity within the Milieu provoke serious worry. How have we failed in our explication of the Unity prospect, that an intelligent being such as MacGregor cannot see its overarching merits?”
“Humans are funny that way,” said Impulse. He wore a pink-skinned, blue-eyed body with dishwater-brown hair. His canine companion was a Kavkazskya Ovcharka, a massive fawn-colored guard dog of the Caucasian Mountains that set about marking every tree trunk in the vicinity. “In their present immature stage of development many humans place an inordinate value upon rugged individuality and absolute mental autonomy. Unfortunately for us, this recalcitrant segment of the human population includes some of their finest minds.”
Noetic Concordance, the gentle poet, said, “It’s a pity that Unity, like love, cannot be casually sampled, analyzed, or demonstrated.”
“Its manifest benefits can be perceived easily enough in the other coadúnate races,” Asymptotic Essence pointed out with a touch of asperity, “provided one has mental eyes to see with!” She snapped her enameled fingers and delivered a reproving coercive tap to her Chinese Shar-Pei puppy, which was poised to pounce upon the tail of Noetic Concordance’s dignified Azawakh gazehound.
The copper features of Homologous Trend clouded with melancholy. “One must ask whether humanity is merely obtuse when it fails to appreciate Unity’s exemplars, or whether the race is perhaps fundamentally incompatible with the ultimate form of socialization.”
“They’re bloodyminded, for sure,” said Eupathic Impulse.
“Only the dear little Poltroyans are deemed fully congenial entities by humankind,” Concordance noted. Her tall African body, elegant even in simple white Levi’s and a red bandanna-print shirt, was complimented by the regal hound that now reposed beside her, resting its narrow head on her knee. “Humans think of our earnest Simbiari friends as cold, cloddish, and lacking in humor—”
“It’s hard to appreciate your ex-proctors,” Impulse put in, “especially when they’re prone to drip green on the carpets and furniture.”
“Humans do appreciate Gi aesthetics,” Concordance continued. “But they tend to deplore the giddiness and flamboyant sexuality of that race. And the estimable Krondaku, for all their mental brilliance, are viewed by humanity as alien and fearsome merely because their invertebrate bodies and tentacular appendages fail to meet human standards of beauty. As for ourselves …” She gave a wry, expressive shrug, and the other entities laughed appreciatively.
“Humans are paradoxical.” Eupathic Impulse insisted, “and when one resides in a human body, reality takes on unfamiliar and even disturbing nuances. Haven’t you felt it, colleagues?”
“Certainly not!” Asymptotic Essence retorted, with suspicious vehemence. The skirt of her cheongsam was slit nearly to the thigh and she had arranged her slender legs in a graceful pose. Unfortunately, the effect was marred by her puppy’s insistence upon chewing on her shoes. The Shar-Pei, a droll little creature with loose, folded skin that seemed much too large for its body, had an obstinate nature. Essence was having a hard time controlling it without coercing it to the point of stupefaction.
“Davy MacGregor has proved to be an exceptional Earth Dirigent,” said Homologous Trend, returning to the original matter under discussion. “He is possessed of both wisdom and empathy—although he often hides the latter beneath a curmudgeonly façade. One must respect his motive for declining the position, but one still feels he would have made an outstanding head of the Panpolity Directorate for Unity. One is quite certain that in time, he would have modified his present skeptical views and become a doughty apologist for the Unification of the Human Mind.”
“MacGregor would certainly have kept the Directorate on its toes,” Asymptotic Essence said. She firml
y bespoke her Shar-Pei to divert it from an overenthusiastic inspection of another dog’s droppings. “He is even more incisive than Anne Remillard. One might have hoped he would lead the nonhuman members of the Directorate to do a better job defining the Unity concept, thus encouraging human acceptance.”
Noetic Concordance was surprised. “Does not one feel that Jon Remillard will also pursue this goal when he heads the Directorate?”
“One suspects,” said Essence, “that Jack the Bodiless already partakes of the Unified state—at least in spirit—and thus he fails to understand why humans of a less exalted mindset would find the prospect unappealing.” She uttered a small sound of disgust and firmly coerced her wrinkle-skinned puppy to abandon its fascinating find. “Where are the mobile sanitation modules when one needs them?” she complained.
“I’ll get a poop-robo right away,” Impulse said. “Don’t be distressed, colleague.” There was a soundless flash of light. One of the turtle-shaped MSMs materialized in the glade and set about its business.
Asymptotic Essence gave a fastidious sigh. “These canine creatures are appealing companions, but one might wish they were not quite so … animalistic.”
Homologous Trend chuckled. “They are animals, after all.” His hairless Xoloitzcuintli had dug up a bone and proudly brought the treasure to be admired. “Good boy,” said the Lylmik absent-mindedly. The Mexican dog looked slightly disappointed, but settled down at its master’s feet and began chewing.
The Shar-Pei puppy suddenly became tired and whimpered to be taken up by Asymptotic Essence. “Poor baby,” she said, lifting it into her silken lap, where it promptly fell asleep. Only Impulse’s huge Caucasian Mountain dog continued to pace about the glade restlessly, sniffing every rock and shrub.
Then suddenly it stiffened and gave a soft growl.
A very tall man with curling white hair and a short beard, wearing Cazal sunglasses and dressed in a crisp pale tan seersucker suit, came strolling into the Bone Garden. He was accompanied by a foxy-looking reddish dog.
“High thoughts, colleagues!” said Atoning Unifex.
The other Lylmik Supervisors greeted the Overlord solemnly. Impulse hastily compelled his animal to stop growling and lie down.
“I hope you’ve found the dogs entertaining,” Unifex said, seating himself. “Mine is a New Guinea Singer. The breed is alleged to be very close to the canine foundation stock. I call him Caruso. He doesn’t bark. His voice is a kind of yodel.”
The little animal had its eye on the much larger Caucasian dog. Its body stiffened and the hairs along its spine rose ominously.
Unifex laughed. “Keep your beast under coercion, Impulse. Caruso gets feisty if he thinks I’m likely to be attacked. We’ve bonded, you see.”
“Fascinating,” said Impulse. He patted his own dog and it subsided after giving his hand a quick lick.
“Caruso really does love you, Unifex.” Noetic Concordance was awestruck after a brief examination of the New Guinea canine’s mind. “That’s amazing! I must confess I have detected the beginning of a similar devotion to me in my own Azawakh hound. I thought at first I was imagining things …”
“What’s her name?” Unifex inquired.
“Name?” Concordance was taken aback. “But that would imply personhood.”
“Yes.” The Overlord waited.
“I—I shall call her Samira,” said the poet suddenly, stroking the dog’s silken ears and smiling.
The other three Supervisors gasped at her daring.
“Don’t be silly,” Unifex reproved them. “Even though these animals aren’t completely sapient, they’re certainly persons. They want your approval and love. Give it to them. It’s good practice.”
“For what?” Eupathic Impulse asked apprehensively. But the Overlord did not reply.
Asymptotic Essence cradled her sleeping puppy. “One admits to being astonished at the warm emotions provoked by these creatures. This immature specimen is a continuing nuisance—and yet one cannot help but feel tenderness when it surrenders itself, completely trusting. One wonders if a human maternal parent might experience a similar satisfaction caring for her own dependent, pestiferous young.”
“Oh, a human mother would feel even happier,” Unifex assured her. “Even human fathers get all mushy about sleeping babies.”
“Would you like a summary of the meeting between Davy MacGregor and Cordelia Warshaw?” Eupathic Impulse inquired. When the Overlord nodded he presented the data. “We had been discussing MacGregor as an example of a highly intelligent entity who still has serious reservations about Unity with the Galactic Mind.”
“The unspoken question,” said Homologous Trend, “involves MacGregor’s suitability to continue as Dirigent of Earth during the perilous future, given his demonstrated lack of wholehearted loyalty.”
“Oh, he must certainly remain in office,” Unifex declared. “Davy’s the only man for the job.” He bent down to scratch the small triangular ears of his dog. Caruso appeared to smile adoringly. He wagged his bushy, white-tipped tail and uttered an odd musical cry.
Noetic Concordance said, “Now that the first evidence of their mental coadunation has been detected by the humans themselves, the Unity controversy is bound to escalate. The probability lattices show a truly dreadful prognosis unless the Quincunx undertakes stringent preventative measures.”
“Yes,” Unifex said. “Awful things will happen, because we will not intervene to prevent them.” He took off his sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them into an inside pocket.
The four Supervisors looked into his cavernous gray eyes, aghast. After a moment of silence, Trend spoke.
“Will the Milieu survive?”
“One may hope so. The impending disaster is as inevitable as it is necessary.”
“Surely not!” cried the scandalized Asymptotic Essence. “By the Prime Entelechy, one demands that you clarify that statement!”
But Unifex only said, “We have such high hopes for humanity. The Lylmik race is moribund, and humans are the only ones fit to succeed us as guides and guardians of galactic mental evolution.”
“We have accepted this asseveration of yours with reluctance, even though the truth of it is arguable.” Eupathic Impulse said. “However, the necessity for a hostile confrontation between humanity and the Coadunate Milieu is a hell of a lot tougher to swallow.”
Unifex inclined his head in appreciation of the Supervisor’s use of idiom. “One knows for a certainty that humanity will not soon accept Unification as an evolutionary inevitability, as the other races did. Left to itself, the Human Mind would not fully coadunate until some twelve galactic millenaries had gone by—at which time we Lylmik would have already passed into extinction, with a concomitant decay of the Milieu social structure and a distinct possibility of spontaneous dissolution. To prevent this fatal calamity, it is necessary that we allow the predicted events to take place, introducing the Percruciate Progressive Principle into the probability equation.” [Data.]
“Ah!” said the four Supervisors.
The Overlord’s voice was quiet, almost weary. “Again and again in human history, this principle has paradoxically accelerated and enhanced evolution—and not only physical advancement but also mental and moral growth. There is even an apposite human proverb: ‘Things will get a hell of a lot worse before they get better.’ ”
“Is one certain,” Essence asked, “that the conflict will have a felicitous outcome?”
“No,” Unifex admitted. “The past, present, and future are, but my own prolepsis—or what I might call my prolepsis—is imperfect, just as my atonement is still imperfect. What I do know is that this confrontation is fast approaching, and we of the Supervisory Body must stand aloof from it, giving no warning, vouchsafing no aid to either side. We may only coerce the All in all, praying for a happy dénouement.”
“And if it is not forthcoming?” Noetic Concordance inquired.
“Then, given your gracious consent, we fall back on Plan
B.” The Overlord smiled his mysterious smile. “Tell me: How are you getting along in your bodies?”
“Fairly well,” said Homologous Trend, not bothering to conceal his perplexity.
“Good. Do you think you could wear them from now until the next Plenary Concilium Session begins? Could you live quietly here on Earth in this place with your canine companions?”
“For thirty-two days?” Impulse murmured in horror.
“That’ll do for starters,” Unifex said.
Noetic Concordance kept her eyes downcast. Of all the Supervisors, only the poet had begun to suspect what Unifex was up to. “Does one truly believe that mere residence of the psyche in a corporeal envelope has the potential to reinstate atavistic behavioral patterns?”
“Yes. And the pets will help, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Eupathic Impulse demanded.
“Everything in your bodies works,” Unifex said to Concordance. “I’m a much better creator than Jack. You’re under no compulsion, of course, and one doesn’t expect instantaneous success. Still, if you don’t find incarnation totally repugnant, it’s worth trying. As I said, it might provide the first step toward a backup if the worst should happen during the Metapsychic Rebellion.”
Comprehension was also dawning in Asymptotic Essence’s almond eyes. She held her puppy close. “But is such a thing possible?”
“Ensoulment is ensoulment,” Unifex observed airily. “Trend and Concordance did manage it once before, way back in Fa-Time.”
“Yes,” the two of them agreed. But they still exuded doubt and incredulity.
“I’ll be going now,” Unifex said. “There are things I must see to.”
He got up from the bench. Caruso came to heel and the two of them disappeared among the trees.
“Will anyone condescend to tell one what’s going on?” Eupathic Impulse demanded with some heat.
Noetic Concordance explained.
Impulse stared at her openmouthed, his expression of consternation only partially mirroring a mental turmoil so profound that it perturbed the very mental lattices in the immediate vicinity. The aetheric warpage was beyond human perception, but suddenly all of the canines in the promenade began to howl, including those temporarily assigned to the four Lylmik.