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Authors: Catherine Asaro
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it evaporated into nothing.
“It doesn’t work,” Althor said.
“What are you trying to do?”
He looked at me. “I fly this Jag many years. I can reach it, in a limited sense, even if we have no physical link. But the farther away I am, the weaker the interaction. It is too much far away for me to reach it now.”
“What happened to your English?”
“My English?”
“Your accent got heavier.”
His unease shimmered in the air. “I never separated. I left my brain running as a subshell on the Jag’s EL”
I blinked. “Its what?”
“El. Evolving Intelligence. The Jag and I, we are one brain that evolves together. I provide the ‘human’ component. Creativity. Ingenuity. Imagination.” Sweat rolled down his temple. “When I leave the ship, I can centralize my programming into my own brain. I ‘put it back’ into myself. This is what separating from the Jag means.”
“But you didn’t do it this time.” Because he hadn’t expected to meet me.
He nodded. “A large part of my brain is still in the ship.”
“But you were fine before. Your English was great.”
“I think my mind, it has been in a subshell.”
“A what?”
“You know what is a supercooled liquid?” When I shook my head, he said, “If you lower the temperature of „a liquid below its freezing point and it doesn’t freeze, it is supercooled. Perturb the system and it freezes all at once. My biomech system makes an analogous state to protect me if I am cut off from the Jag. A subshell. But the shell is unstable. One disturbance and it collapses all at once.”
“And trying to reach the Jag made it collapse?”
“Yes.”
I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to suggest.”
“I need information. About the Yeager base, to start.”
“I’ll call in sick today. Then we can go to the library. Maybe we’ll find something.”
Althor exhaled. “I hope so.”
The San Carlos branch of the Los Angeles Public Library was in a small mall, sharing a plaza with the cleaners on its left and a bowling alley on its right. As we crossed the plaza, heat rose from its tiles. The sunlight had lost its freshness. It felt tense, like glass under stress.
I saw the librarian, Martinelli, through the window, a plump man with gray hair and glasses. He was cleaning off the counter where people checked out books. The library was empty except for an elderly couple at a nearby table. As we came in, they were setding down to read the newspaper.
Martinelli glanced up. “Hi, Tina—” He looked past me and his smile vanished like a cigarette stubbed out in an ashtray.
The elderly couple were suddenly getting ready to leave. Following their looks, I saw Althor standing in the doorway, over two hundred pounds of muscle, dressed from head to foot in black, bare arms bulging, leather guards on his wrists, purple hair uncombed. He looked hardcore, ready for the state penitentiary.
I drew him next to me and spoke in a low voice. “Try to look less threatening.”
“How? This is the way I look.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. We went to the counter and Martinelli came over, giving me an odd smile. “Got a late shift at the bank today, Tina?”
I had no idea what he meant. He knew I worked in a restaurant. I didn’t understand why he was giving me that strange smile, either, as if his face were too stiff for it.
Then it hit me. Martinelli was frightened for me. He was trying to give me a way to send him a message if I were in trouble but couldn’t talk. I gave him my most reassuring smile. “I’m not working today. This is my friend Althor. From, uh, Fresno.” Martinelli nodded to Althor, and Althor nodded back. Then Martinelli turned back to me. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have any books on Yeager Flight Test Center?” I asked.
He motioned toward the card catalog. “You can look there. If you don’t find what you need, I’ll check the computer.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I took Althor over to the catalog. As
“It doesn’t work,” Althor said.
“What are you trying to do?”
He looked at me. “I fly this Jag many years. I can reach it, in a limited sense, even if we have no physical link. But the farther away I am, the weaker the interaction. It is too much far away for me to reach it now.”
“What happened to your English?”
“My English?”
“Your accent got heavier.”
His unease shimmered in the air. “I never separated. I left my brain running as a subshell on the Jag’s EL”
I blinked. “Its what?”
“El. Evolving Intelligence. The Jag and I, we are one brain that evolves together. I provide the ‘human’ component. Creativity. Ingenuity. Imagination.” Sweat rolled down his temple. “When I leave the ship, I can centralize my programming into my own brain. I ‘put it back’ into myself. This is what separating from the Jag means.”
“But you didn’t do it this time.” Because he hadn’t expected to meet me.
He nodded. “A large part of my brain is still in the ship.”
“But you were fine before. Your English was great.”
“I think my mind, it has been in a subshell.”
“A what?”
“You know what is a supercooled liquid?” When I shook my head, he said, “If you lower the temperature of „a liquid below its freezing point and it doesn’t freeze, it is supercooled. Perturb the system and it freezes all at once. My biomech system makes an analogous state to protect me if I am cut off from the Jag. A subshell. But the shell is unstable. One disturbance and it collapses all at once.”
“And trying to reach the Jag made it collapse?”
“Yes.”
I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to suggest.”
“I need information. About the Yeager base, to start.”
“I’ll call in sick today. Then we can go to the library. Maybe we’ll find something.”
Althor exhaled. “I hope so.”
The San Carlos branch of the Los Angeles Public Library was in a small mall, sharing a plaza with the cleaners on its left and a bowling alley on its right. As we crossed the plaza, heat rose from its tiles. The sunlight had lost its freshness. It felt tense, like glass under stress.
I saw the librarian, Martinelli, through the window, a plump man with gray hair and glasses. He was cleaning off the counter where people checked out books. The library was empty except for an elderly couple at a nearby table. As we came in, they were setding down to read the newspaper.
Martinelli glanced up. “Hi, Tina—” He looked past me and his smile vanished like a cigarette stubbed out in an ashtray.
The elderly couple were suddenly getting ready to leave. Following their looks, I saw Althor standing in the doorway, over two hundred pounds of muscle, dressed from head to foot in black, bare arms bulging, leather guards on his wrists, purple hair uncombed. He looked hardcore, ready for the state penitentiary.
I drew him next to me and spoke in a low voice. “Try to look less threatening.”
“How? This is the way I look.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. We went to the counter and Martinelli came over, giving me an odd smile. “Got a late shift at the bank today, Tina?”
I had no idea what he meant. He knew I worked in a restaurant. I didn’t understand why he was giving me that strange smile, either, as if his face were too stiff for it.
Then it hit me. Martinelli was frightened for me. He was trying to give me a way to send him a message if I were in trouble but couldn’t talk. I gave him my most reassuring smile. “I’m not working today. This is my friend Althor. From, uh, Fresno.” Martinelli nodded to Althor, and Althor nodded back. Then Martinelli turned back to me. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have any books on Yeager Flight Test Center?” I asked.
He motioned toward the card catalog. “You can look there. If you don’t find what you need, I’ll check the computer.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I took Althor over to the catalog. As
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