This is the first chapter of a metaphoric novel.  Literary agents take note.

Download  chapters 1- 4 in pdb doc format.

Chapter 2 can be found here.

IMPLAC

a novel by

ZVI ZAKS

Knowing annihilation was near, the machines linked 20 of their remaining high level CPUs to decide where to hide their latest member. Their needs were specific. First, the new implac had to have protection from the deadly radiation of the neutron blast that the robots expected their organic enemy to explode. Next, the site had to let the newbie return in secret to the factory to restart the production of robots and resume the war. Secrecy was crucial since the humans had an uncanny ability to trace the movements of the thinking machines, an ability that the implacs had never been able to understand.

Finally, because the humans were sure to examine the assembly plant after 'killing' the robots, no trace of a tunnel to the hidden implac could remain there.

A tunnel straight down under the moon’s surface to a chamber five feet beneath the factory would protect against radiation and would allow easy return access for the robot when it awoke 100 years later. But because humans would be sure to find such a passage, the thinking machines drilled the tunnel from the center of the lunar crater to the chamber instead of boring from the production center itself. That way no trace of the hidden robot would remain in the factory. As an additional measure, they lined the tunnel with an impermeable alloy, one that no known technology could detect. The robot would have to bore a hole upward back to the factory, but that was easy.

The organics could destroy almost every existing implac. Almost wasn’t enough. The humans and all living creatures in the solar system were still doomed.

*

150 years later, not all had gone according to plan. The sun still beat down on the lunar plain, miles of glaring bright craters and ridges outlined by razor sharp shadows, but the crater now held a crimson ball tethered where the tunnel began, a drop of color that broke the black and white monotony of the scene like a tiny bull’s eye in a desolate target.

The lunar surface, hotter than boiling water, still radiated heat down beneath the lunar surface to the implacs' tunnel, a passageway straight as a ruler and wide enough for two tall men to walk through, but now a huge pile of boulders blocked the heat from the tunnel's southern end.

That southern end was where the machine stood.

The robot looked a little like a six foot ant. A humanoid “head,” contained a speaker grid mouth and two camera eyes, the middle section, a "thorax", was ovoid with two limp metallic limbs on each side, and the base was a one meter sphere. Three balls under the base enabled the robot to glide over almost any surface.

But at this moment, it couldn’t move. The rocks over its head had blocked too much heat for even its super efficient energy scavengers to function as they should have. As decades passed, its batteries had discharged to the point that they were almost dead, leaving it unconscious, all but comatose. The creature had enough power to keep its tripartite “brain” (to use an anthropomorphic term) from deteriorating and to react if an intruder happened to stumble down the tunnel. It could then rouse itself for a few minutes and extend its limbs to seize an attacker, but it couldn't pursue enemies, activate weapons or even flash its dazzling strobes to paralyze the inefficient central processing units of organics. With its current energy starvation, it could only – and only from time to time – “think.”

And wait.

Chapter One

Thomas Lawrence McPherson, left foot up on a low, gray-white moonstone coffee table, slouched back in a visitor’s chair, his six foot form stretching almost halfway across the small anteroom. He wore a “freedom suit” – a leatherplast vest, yellow and brown plaid shirt, and high, silver embossed boots – based on modern ideas of pre-war Texas. This style had been popular on Venus for several months after the fall of Enoch Stohl’s brutal dictatorship, but that was decades in the past. Now the suit was ostentatious. Even Venusians wore it only on formal occasions. On the moon no one wore it at all unless they were actors in a play. No one would ever wear it to a judicial hearing.

McPherson perched a broad brimmed hat just far enough forward to appear blasé without obstructing his vision. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, a cynical smile flickering off and on. He looked like an arrogant showoff, and he knew it. The brash appearance was an illusion, a deliberate performance. He wasn’t vain; he was indeed acting in a play – his own play, written not for the stage but for a different purpose.

He rubbed his boot on the rough synth-grass rug and turned to look at the wall hologram, a placid meadow scene where evergreens swayed in the breeze and two fawns grazed in the background. The aroma of pine trees tickled his nose. Animated wall holos didn’t use computers but they were expensive nonetheless, he thought, even more so when the scenes included fragrances. Yet Andrew Wxcom, the magistrate he was to meet with that morning, presented himself as just a minor Lunar official – an assistant something or other in the department of public safety. Petty bureaucrats like Andy didn’t warrant such luxury. Or, he corrected himself, petty bureaucrats like Andrew Wxcom made himself out to be.

The door to his right opened. The first member of his unwitting audience entered the room and went to her desk. The woman, a secretary named Sylvia Margolis, rippled as she walked, her body undulating while her eyes, ignoring the man in the chair, stared straight forward. Her round, pretty face matched a soft, Rubenesque figure. She was in that plateau between 25 and 65 when age, for the time being stymied, chiseled no lines and raised no blemishes on the face. Sensuality and intelligence gleamed in her eyes. Brown hair flowed over a plain sleeveless white robe, belted in the middle, which ran from her neck to just below her knees. Though Lunar fashion that year hid the feminine figure, her garment managed to accentuate it.

Tommy stared at her, aware that, though they were both in their sixties, he looked older, as if he was almost middle aged. “Good morning, Sylvia. You look quite pretty.” His gaze went to the ceiling.

Sylvia sat down at a light brown desk and sorted a pile of discs. She wrinkled her nose. “You look like a clown.”

He had been aiming for that kind of reaction, but from her it stung. “I miss those nights we spent together. Why won’t you sleep with me any more? You know I love you.” He swallowed. This was the most difficult part of the act because, though his voice was mocking, the words were true. In truth, he did love her. Hopelessly and without control. He gazed at her with both longing and cold calculation.

Sylvia snapped her head towards at him, grabbed a few discs, and slammed them with a loud smack onto the desk. “Because you’re an obnoxious, conceited boor. Power Be, I don’t care who you are. You can’t have every woman on the moon in your bed.” Her face red and her back rigid, she sat at her desk, adjusted a computer screen, and began typing. Her facial muscles softened. “Not if you want me back there.”

Tommy turned his head toward the round computer tower next to her desk. It was big enough to hold at least one eighth megabyte RAM – 128 full kilobytes. Few secretaries merited that much computing power. After all, 64 kb were more than enough for word-processing, filing and the like. That she had twice what her job required was interesting enough to keep in mind. The disks she had been holding were also interesting because they indicated restricted information, data that someone did not want to entrust to communication lines or central memory banks.

But Thomas had not come to check RAM or secret disks. Sylvia finished typing and carried the disks to a tall earth-moon transceiver near McPherson’s chair. Tommy stretched and sat up straight. She was two feet away when, still watching her face, he reached out, shoved his hand three inches up her robe to the level of her knee. That should be far enough, he thought.

It was.

With a scream of rage, she threw the disks in his face, grabbed his wrist with both hands and twisted so hard that, had McPherson not been prepared, or had they been on Earth, she would have dislocated his arm. But he was ready as always and in lunar gravity was able to roll out of the chair and onto the floor in just the right direction to save his hand, though not his dignity, from fracture. Her face glistening with purple fury, she kicked him in the ribs.

That last was not in the script.

“You bastard! How dare you do that? I could have you thrown right back in jail. We’re not lovers now. You have no right...”

To Tommy's astonishment, she stopped shouting mid-sentence and stared into space as if entranced, but just for a moment. Then, face burning with contempt, she pointed to the inner office. “Get in there, you son of a bitch. Mr. Wxcom will see you now,” she said through clenched teeth.

Though his side hurt, Tommy grinned, though in a somewhat wan manner. This reaction had been more violent than he had expected, but was still what he had planned for. He stood, his normally imposing frame less towering as he bent over and clutched his bruised ribs. He walked, almost staggered, towards the inner office. “I’m sorry Sylvia,” he said, not sounding sorry. “I’ll explain later.”

She glowered, lips pressed together, and didn’t answer.

Tommy opened the door to the main office, noting the door’s heavy, well-balanced weight. He entered and closed the door behind him, feeling, as he did so, a precise thud as it slid into the doorframe. He grinned again.

Wxcom’s office would have been large even by Earth standards. On the moon, it was enormous. Paintings with gobs of oil so thick they cast shadows hung on the walls. A six foot beige leather sofa flanked by matching easy chairs stood next to the door. Chairs of what looked like genuine wood – even to having grain and whorl - surrounded a desk also of wood. Tommy leaned over and rapped on the back of one of the chairs. The thunk even sounded like real wood, not that many people on the moon could recognize the difference. He smiled with satisfaction.

Next to Wxcom’s desk stood a huge computer tower in a shiny black case at least a meter tall and half a meter diameter. It looked like a full one-megabyte machine.

An office like this indicated money, power or both. Thomas McPherson could have afforded it if he wanted it – though it struck him as pretentious – but he didn’t know many other people who could. He sat on the sofa, a more comfortable and luxurious piece of furniture than he had expected, without waiting for an invitation. It even smelled of leather. He greeted his primary target for that afternoon. “Hello Andrew.”

Andrew Wxcom was a black man who, with a paunch and a fringe of graying hair around his temples, had to have reached his second century. He glanced at his visitor and resumed typing. “I didn’t know the famous Hero of Venus dressed like a refugee from a historical melodrama.”

Tommy looked offended. “I don’t ask people to call me a hero, Andy.”

“‘Andy?’ Since when are we on a first name basis?” His voice, mellow and deep, resonated like a cello but his face was rigid. He finished typing, saved his work and, without warning, turned towards his visitor. “You have no respect for rules or for other people, McPherson. God damn it, I could lock you up for that little episode just now, lock you in the dormitory, not your apartment like this past week. You assaulted Sylvia. That’s a lot more serious than an illegal moonwalk.” Wxcom’s voice remained smooth but his eyes glowered.

Tommy slouched back in the chair and resumed his mantle of insolence. If Wxcom became angry enough, he might let slip the information Tommy needed. “Why do you say I assaulted her?”

“For crying out loud, I heard her scream when you mauled her.”

Tom sat up straight. “You heard her? But this office is soundproof. That door is too heavy, and fits with too much precision into the frame for a normal door. Its weight and meticulous smoothness must mean this room is sound proof. So how could you know she screamed? From here you can’t hear the anteroom.” Wxcom stared at the younger man, his brows furrowed. Tommy lowered his voice, “You have a mind link with her, Andy. That’s how you knew what happened, isn’t it?”

“Mind link?” Wxcom furrowed his brows. “What’s that? I have a standard intercom between our offices.” His voice lacked conviction.

McPherson made a show of suppressing laughter. “Intercom? Is that why she stopped in mid scream and said you wanted to see me? Because she heard your voice on the intercom? Which I didn’t hear at all? I have excellent hearing, you know.” With a look of satisfied smugness, he studied his fingernails.

“Where in the world did you hear about mind links?”

“I have friends, Andy, and excuse me if I don’t give you their names.”

Wxcom stared at him, then slammed his palm on the desk. “Your friends are telling you damned nonsense. Don’t try to distract me with fairy tales. We’re talking about assault. I heard Sylvia scream. If she files a complaint I will lock you up, and make no mistake.”

McPherson chuckled. Whether Wxcom wanted to or not – whether he knew it or not – the two of them were indeed talking about mind links. “Upset that I grabbed your personal meat?”

Wxcom clenched his teeth. “Vulgar today, and arrogant also, aren’t you?”

McPherson shrugged. “Vulgar? Maybe, but arrogant? No, not at all. How can I be arrogant when I don’t know who I’m being arrogant towards?”

Wxcom sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, your emails while under house arrest keep asking for my true identity. I should have saved those messages to laugh at when this job gets too depressing. It seems that restricting you to your quarters was a blow to your ego. You want to think the Hero of Venus is above local laws, so you imagine that no one other than an important magistrate with extraordinary authority can lock you up. I’m the assistant director in charge of the department of public safety for New Kansas County – nothing more. It seems that my being such an ordinary justice is insulting to you. That’s nonsense. Anyone, celebrity or bum, who breaks our Lunar safety laws gets slapped on the wrist by the nearest judge. It isn’t a big punishment because it isn’t a big crime, but what you are and who you are doesn’t entitle you to a high level judicial review.”

“Delete the analytical psychobabble, Andy. You’ve been lying to me, and I know it. You’re no local magistrate. For one thing, you speak of ‘our’ lunar laws but you’re not a Lunar resident. Your accent, those loose pants and that reddish brown shirt scream out Earthie from South America.

“But residency isn’t important; authority is. You’re much higher than a city judge. You’re an assistant district manager at least. So I ask again, why are you judging my case? As you said yourself, an unauthorized moonwalk isn’t serious, no more so than a traffic ticket back on earth. Why is a high level official like you involved with a simple out of dome stroll?”

Andrew’s puzzlement looked genuine. “Me, an ADM? You’re more grandiose than usual today. Why do you say that?”

Tommy sat back in the chair and smirked. How like a bureaucrat, to answer one question by asking another, thereby admitting as little as possible. He, Thomas McPherson, was on the right path; he was sure of it. “I’m not stupid, Andrew. Level with me!”

Wxcom picked up a pencil, tapped it on the desk, dropped it and started typing on the keyboard.

“That computer is huge. It must have at least 4 meg RAM in it,” McPherson said.

Wxcom scowled. “Computing capacity has nothing to do with size. You know that.”

Tommy pretended to stifle a laugh. “You’re joking, right? From an engineering standpoint computing power has nothing to do with size, but from a legal standpoint it sure does, even in South America. To put more RAM in a box than it’s supposed to hold is a significant crime even if the extra RAM itself is legal. It’s a lot more serious than an illegal moonwalk. And you know that.”

“My computer has one megabyte of RAM and runs at 95 megahertz. That’s 100 percent legal. It isn’t a lot of processing power. You couldn’t load even part of the operating systems of pre-war computers with just one meg.” Andrew said, looking annoyed.

Tommy laughed out loud. “Pre-war machines, sure. And look where those pre-war machines got us. We’re talking about now, Andrew, not 150 years ago. By today’s standards your computer is huge. It’s four times the normal legal limit for civilians. I can imagine the permits needed to own such a machine, though an important official could manage it.”

Wxcom pursed his lips. “All right, what do you want me to level with you about?”

“Tell me why an ADM is involved with a petty matter like an unauthorized stroll out of the dome.”

The silence in the room was broken only by the faint hum of the air circulators. “If I’m not even a Lunar resident, how could I be Assistant District Manager of the moon?”

“The Five Worlds government has many districts, too many. Several of them are bureaucratic, not geographic. You don’t have to live on the moon. Your district could be an administrative one without physical boundaries,” McPherson said and stifled a yawn.

“Why are you so certain I’m a high level official?”

That Wxcom was now asking questions, rather than issuing denials showed he was beginning to soften up. McPherson savored the moment. “It’s obvious. For one, local magistrates don’t have soundproof, armored offices, let alone with luxurious furnishings and wall hangings like yours. Even more they don't have computers like yours that laugh at the usual AI limit. But most important,” he raised his voice, clipping his words, “local magistrates don’t have mind links with their secretaries. To rate that you must have a rank equal to the goddamned Deputy Director of the Moon!”

Andrew Wxcom frowned. “You mean you staged that episode with Sylvia to find out if I had a mind link?” He grabbed the pencil and shook it at the other man. “Damn it, you’re still on probation. I can lock you up again, mind link or not, Hero of Venus or not. Besides, how do you know I have a mind link? You don’t even know if mind links are real or fiction.”

Tommy snickered.

“Where the hell did you hear about mind links anyway?”

Tommy lifted his eyebrows without saying a word.

Wxcom threw the pencil on the desk. “All right, you win. I have a mind link. So what?”

Ah, victory. Thomas felt ebullient, though to tell the truth, he had expected, even hoped for more resistance before Andrew yielded. This had been too easy to be fun. “Andrew, you could convince me that a computer which has four times the AI limit isn’t so important. People don’t have as much paranoia about Artificial Intelligence as they did a few decades ago. But a mind link? I happen to know that there are only – what – three thousand mind links throughout the Five Worlds? Out of a population of how many billion? Which includes how many local magistrates of the kind you claim to be?”

“The asteroids shouldn’t be included among the five worlds. They don’t have a big enough population.”

“And they aren’t even a world. So what? You’re changing the subject.”

Andrew stroked his chin. “You are smart, McPherson, but if Sylvia files a complaint, I’ll lock you up no matter how smart you are. Okay, I’m not a local magistrate, but I’m not an ADM either. I work for a para-governmental investigatory bureau that surveys unrest among civilian populations. And by the way, I am happy in a permanent contract, a true marriage, and I do not stray. No vacations, no ‘understandings,’ in particular not with my employees. Sylvia is in no way my ‘meat’ as you put it.”

Tommy put his tongue in his cheek. How interesting that Wxcom, surrounded by ancient furnishings, should emphasize monogamy, an ancient habit on Luna and even on much of Earth. This interview was becoming more informative than he had anticipated. Andrew continued speaking, his voice low and soothing. “Now, I’ve leveled with you, so you level with me. Why were you wandering around the Mariposa last month?”

“Do you know why it’s called the Mariposa crater?”

Wxcom raised his eyes to the ceiling. “No, I don’t know why it’s called the Mariposa.”

Tommy’s grin widened at Wxcom’s impatience. “The wall of mountains comprising the south rim of the crater has a defect left over from the Great War. Towards the end of the war, a scout ship found an implac factory in that area and called the army. The generals wanted to irradiate the structure with a neutron bomb and examine it later, but the factory was too close to an inhabited dome. So the lunar regiment shot it out.” Tommy’s grin faded. “They destroyed the factory and the robots that tried to escape but vibration from the shelling started an avalanche in the mountains that buried the dome under a huge pile of rubble and killed the people anyway. Over 200 Loonies died, The avalanche left a hole in the mountain wall, a symmetrical gap that looks a little like a butterfly. They call it Mariposa because that’s the word for butterfly in one of the old languages used before Esperanto.”

Andrew looked bored. “That’s very interesting. Now, why were you in that crater last month?”

“I was looking for crystals. What’s so important about that? For Power’s sake, you, an outside, high level judge are brought in, you confine me to quarters for a week, and now this interrogation, all this hassle because of a Lunar safety violation. Why are you so interested in a simple walk for crystals? The moon doesn’t belong to anyone”

“It’s a safety matter, not a matter of property rights. More to the point, the Hero of Venus doesn’t come to the moon just to look for lunar crystals.”

Tommy looked away in disgust. “I happen to have a fine collection of crystals.”

“That may be but it still isn’t why you came here.” The two stared at each other. “You came to Luna to look for an implac, didn’t you?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up and his face was wreathed in glee. At last, his opponent had revealed himself. The prologue was over and the main act could start. “An implac? You think I came here to hunt for ancient robots? Why?”

“C’mon Tommy. You’re not the only smart person on the moon. We’ve had plenty of time to check on you. One week before booking passage to Luna you had received a planet-gram from a friend of yours here on the moon,” Wxcom hit a couple of keys on his computer, “name of Murray Feinstein. As a matter of fact, he works for me. Murray was reviewing a survey of old mining tunnels using the new seismic electro-magnetic field technique. He thought one tunnel under the Mariposa looked suspicious, too regular for his tastes for an ordinary tunnel and, because he couldn't find that tunnel on any of the older scans, jumped to the conclusion that it must have been dug by implacs. So he asked you to come and help him investigate it.”

Shit, thought Tommy. Feinstein had sent the message with encryption that should have been unbreakable. Phil Olsen, his security chief, would have some explaining to do. But all he said was, “A mining tunnel?”

“Yes, a mining tunnel. The settlement destroyed by falling rock in the butterfly crater was a mining town. There are excavations all over. What Murray saw there was just one tunnel of many.”

“You say it’s just a mining tunnel.”

“Yes, of course. What else could it be? And don’t tell me it’s an implac artifact.”

“This particular mining tunnel goes straight towards the exact center of the crater. No other tunnel does that. And none of the other tunnels is as linear as this one. Look at the seismograms yourself, Andy. Tunnels twist and turn as they follow the ore. They aren’t straight like the one Murray found. Why do you call it a mining tunnel?”

Wxcom said, “All right. Maybe it’s a natural cave or something. Or if it's too straight for a natural structure, maybe it’s a sub lunar transport tube which early settlers started but couldn’t finish. And maybe there are no records of such a tube because they were destroyed in the war. That must be what happened. We can determine the details later, but we can not afford to terrify everyone on the moon with wild-eyed stories about implacs hiding in tunnels. This isn’t Venus, Tommy. This is Luna. This is a civilized, populous planet.”

Tommy shook his head slowly. “A transport going to the literal middle of nowhere? And why didn't scans using older techniques find this tunnel? It's almost like it hd been hidden with deliberate intent. Andy, it is because the moon is so populated that we have to consider other possibilities – in particular that this is an implac tunnel. You know the legends as well as I do.”

“Legends? You mean the fairy tales about hidden implacs?”

“Of course”

“Nonsense. Those are just horror stories made up to frighten little children so they’ll behave.”

Tommy gnawed his lower lip. “Imaginary fairy tales – nothing more.”

“Right”

“You mean, like mind links are fairy tales?”

Wxcom sighed in disgust.

McPherson said, “Don’t hurry to dismiss the old tales, Andy. Myths can be misleading. Old stories often appear fanciful and almost invite people to think they aren’t serious but they often have an underlying level of truth. Every sector on each of the five worlds has tales of a lone surviving implac waiting in some isolated spot to return and build another army. Who is to say that these stories are pure fiction? Maybe one robot did survive the war and is now in hiding, as legends say. If so, it must be found.”

“And you, the Hero of Venus, are the one to find it, the sole individual of all the billions in the five worlds who has the skill and cunning to uncover the danger and thereby save – not just one planet like last time – but the entire human race.”

“Don’t ridicule me, Andy.”

“Then don’t talk nonsense.” Wxcom slammed his palm on the desk again. “Those EMF seismograms show nothing more than a mining tunnel, not some implac still alive one and a half centuries after the war. You’re just starved for the attention and glory you used to have.”

Tommy’s jaw dropped. “You are going to ignore this tunnel because you think I’m hungry for glory?”

“Let’s face it, McPherson. Modesty has never been your strongpoint. The plain fact is that this tunnel does not warrant special attention.”

The two stared at each other. “All right, Andy, consider this. You say your job is to prevent civil disturbance? What if rumors started spreading and you had no answer to them.”

The older man leaned forward, his voice the rumble of an impending earthquake. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, of course not, but you know how rumors grow. You and I know about the tunnel, but we aren’t alone. Your deputies know about it, the people who intercepted Murray’s message know, and I would guess their girlfriends and boyfriends know. Of course, they’re all loyal and able to keep secrets. But what if just one of them says the wrong thing to the wrong person?”

Wxcom pursed his lips and stared at the younger man for several seconds. “It still sounds like a threat to me.”

McPherson leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have my word I won’t volunteer any information, and maybe no one else will either. But if someone does… And if a reporter then asks me what I think of the matter…”

“All right. All right. We’ll investigate. We’ll be sure everything is as it appears. If you like,” Andrew held out his hands in an expansive gesture, “I’ll even send you a copy of the final report. I don’t have to but I will just to shut you up. Just don’t spread rumors yourself and start a riot.”

McPherson looked at the other man without replying. Wxcom continued, “Well, perhaps we’ve settled some matters now. You’ve finished your confinement for an unsafe moonwalk and I’ve assured you that this funny finding on the EMF survey will be studied. If Sylvia doesn’t say you assaulted her, and if you make no more trouble for the remaining week’s probation, you’re a free man. Do you want to stay on Luna, go back to Venus, or what?”

Tommy stared straight into Andrew’s eyes. “I think I want to go to Earth for a while and research the legends on a lone surviving implac.”

Andrew hesitated before answering. “Good idea. I’d like to get rid of you. When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as possible – the day my probation is up if we can arrange it. By the way, most of the records are classified. Since you think the research is a good idea, will you give me clearance?”

“I think it’s a good idea for you to leave the moon. I don’t have the authority to give you clearance for some damn fool project that will be a complete waste of time. In all honesty, I don’t give a damn what the hell you do once you’re out of my jurisdiction,” Andrew said, typing commands on that huge machine of his. “The sooner you’re out of here, the better I’ll like it. Now, if I cut a few corners I can get you passage to Earth in,” he hit another key, “27 days.” Andrew looked up at Tommy and smiled at him but with a grim look.

Tommy smiled in a pleasant way back at the magistrate. “Well, I would have liked to get back sooner, but I do understand red tape.” The two men stood, looked at each other and shook hands stiffly. Then Tommy left, a broad grin on his face as soon as he was out of the office. Had he in fact directed the actors, his play could not have turned out better.

*

Tommy leaned over Sylvia’s desk in the outer office. “I do want to apologize,” he said, a sheepish look on his face.

“God, I hate it when you smirk like that. You’re such a liar.” The secretary typed as she talked, the keyboard clicking under her flying fingers. Her cheeks still burned.

He stood close enough to smell her perfume, a gentle floral scent that he always loved. “It’s no joke. I am sorry. I had to prod Andy into revealing that he had a mind link because I had to know who he was. How else could I have found out?”

“That was an offensive, abusive attack. I felt violated.”

He walked over to the sofa and sat down. “But we made love just two weeks ago. Is touching your knee now that serious?”

“Yes, it is. You shoved your hand under my robe without permission. What happened two weeks ago doesn’t matter, especially since you’ve been ‘entertaining’ so many other women.”

He sighed without making a sound. “You’re right. I was a boor and I’m sorry, but I had to provoke Andy. Unmasking him was crucial. You know me, Sylvia. We go back a while. I wouldn’t say it was critical if it wasn’t.”

She considered that. “Okay, you weren’t going to rape me, but it still was a brutish act. Couldn’t you just have asked me about the mind link?” she asked with a pout.

“Never. You’re too good a secretary to give out secrets like that. You wouldn’t have told me.”

She stopped typing and looked at Tommy. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you. I tricked Wxcom. He’s the one who used the device and gave himself away.”

Silvia’s features softened. “Tommy, you’re so clever with words. You can twist just about anything. Now I don’t know what to think.”

Tommy assumed his best boyish grin and shook his tousled bright red hair. Sylvia laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“Well, I have taken cruel advantage of you. Is there any way I can make amends?”

“I doubt it,” she sighed, and resumed typing, the keys sounding like static.

“How about dinner at the Surface Club tonight?”

She looked up in surprise. “I know you’re rich, Thomas McPherson, but I can’t accept an offer like that.”

“Do you prefer McCrater?”

“It’s not right.”

“Are you refusing dinner with the Hero of Venus?”

“Tommy, you can’t have your way on everything.”

“I’ll pick you up at 7:30. The head waiter will save my favorite table.”

“I’ve never seen anyone as conceited as you.”

“Don’t be late.”

*

Thomas McPherson scrutinized the fine white lunar sand under his feet and drew a small circle in the dust with the tip of his boot. Half hearing the clanking of dishes and the surrounding conversations, he looked at Sylvia and smiled though with a mild uneasiness. He was happy she had agreed to join him at the club, but was a bit surprised that her anger had cooled in such a short time. After all, shoving his hand up her robe was indeed a loutish action. Yet here she was.

Perhaps she had forgiven him because in her heart she felt a little for him what he felt for her.

He turned his gaze to the other tables. Every one had a small turquoise vase holding a rose, iris or other bloom – each a living flower, not an imitation. Live flowers, even more than the elegant silver lined tables or the gold plated tableware, marked the restaurant as a place of extravagant luxury. People, seated around the tables, talked and laughed. This was a comfortable locale to enjoy dinner.

Tommy’s gaze wandered past a small crater just beyond the tables, over to the airless lunar surface, and out onto the Armstrong Spaceport where a shuttle was just now making its slow and silent descent onto the landing pad. The Surface Club occupied the 53rd and 54th floors of the Earthlight Residential Complex, but he and the other diners appeared to sit on chairs right on the moon’s airless surface just a few hundred yards away from the spaceport. Tommy studied the area between the launching pad and the tables, looking for the point where reality ended and the hologram of the lunar surface began. If he were to walk beyond the tables he could find the transition spot, but that would be cheating.

“Do you always have this table?” Sylvia asked with noticeable awe. For this restaurant she had loosened her white robe, leaving it more stylish and less flattering, but the long hair streaming without abandon down her back was beautiful.

“Best seat in the house,” he said, turning his hands up expansively.

A waiter in a loose cut, formal purple suit materialized within the space of an instant near the crater and approached them. Tommy stared at the spot where the man had appeared, but still couldn’t see the boundary between the hologram image and reality. The server greeted them, held out a wine bottle for Tommy’s approval, and poured. Dark cobalt liquid splashed into two glasses. “Mr. McPherson, Ms. Margolis, may I take your orders?”

Sylvia blushed and looked away. “We never have human waiters on the moon. I can’t get used to them,” she mumbled. The waiter chuckled.

“You know what I like, Ronald. I’ll trust your judgment.” Tommy nodded.

“I’ll trust your judgment also, Ronald,” Sylvia said quietly.

“Would you like local beef?” Tommy offered.

She shook her head. “Oh no, that is just too extravagant. Tommy, I shouldn’t come here with you. My God, this is so luxurious I feel at a disadvantage.”

McPherson’s grin widened. “That’s the idea.” He turned to the waiter. “My companion will have the local beef, Ronald. And if you have any fresh vegetables, she’ll have them also.”

“To tell the truth, Mr. McPherson, we received a shipment of green beans just three days ago.” He leaned over in a conspiratorial manner. “They are delicious. I confess that I took a few for myself.”

“Tommy, you shouldn’t. Reconstituted is fine. I’ve been on the moon so long I’m almost a Loony myself and Loonies like reconstituted vegetables.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ronald.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. McPherson. Your platters will be ready in just a few minutes,” the waiter said and left.

Three musicians, each wearing a purple suit similar to the waiter’s, walked with their instruments over to a circular stage in the center of the dining room and began to play. Baroque chamber music filled the hall. The server brought a covered, silver tray, placed it on the table between them and, with ceremony, pulled off the top to reveal the main dish, brown cubes of beef that sizzled and gave off an aroma to stimulate anyone's appetite.

“Live musicians, fresh beef. Tommy, the price of this dinner must be exorbitant. Why do you bring me here? You don’t need to spend money on me.”

“Local lunar beef is famous throughout the five planets. It’s the moon’s most profitable export. The low Lunar gravity is ideal for raising tender cuts of meat.”

Another server arrived, bearing plates with green beans and salad.

“But it’s so expensive. I feel obligated.”

“I’m sure we can think of some way for you to pay me back.”

She looked at him with a lascivious smile. “Aha. Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I was hoping you would give me more information about Andrew Wxcom.”

With a sudden frown she looked down at her plate and, without mercy, jabbed her fork into the beans. “I thought you were talking about something else.”

“That also, but I do need to know more about your boss. Sylvia, do you know why Andy’s here? Or even who he is? All he said was that he works for an outside agency. I couldn’t get anything more out of him.”

“Oh no, I’m too good a secretary to give that kind of information out, least of all to just released prisoners who have all sorts of female visitors in the middle of the night.” She spat out the last words. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”

“Why does my sleeping with someone else bother you? You and I haven’t had a contract for years, and when we did, you were the one who didn’t want to renew.” She turned to her meal without answering him. “It’s not like I promised exclusivity to Barbara, or even to see her again.”

Sylvia looked him straight in the eye. “Will you see her again?”

He leaned back, bent his head to the side, and smiled with genuine appearing shyness. “Not if someone more desirable will keep me company.”

Silvia laughed. “You are so full of it. No wonder your eyes are brown.”

He laughed also. They ate in silence for a while. Then Tommy said, “In all seriousness, I need to know what’s going on with Andy. Who is he? Where does he come from? He was the one who brought up the subject of implacs – I didn’t even have to mention them. Why is he interested in implacs? Can’t you tell me anything?”

“To be honest, no. I don’t know much and what I do know I’m not to discuss with anyone, in particular not with you. I know he’s convinced you think an implac is hiding somewhere on the moon, maybe close to this city. And he has an inordinate interest in your plans. But there is not much more I can say.”

“Yeah, he knows I’m looking for an implac.”

“Tommy,” her voice had a new urgency. “Is there a live implac on the moon, or anywhere else?”

“Functional, not live.” He gnawed his lower lip. “None of the implacs were alive. They hated life. They wanted to destroy all living things. Wxcom doesn’t want me to talk about it. He’s afraid I’ll start a riot.”

“I won’t tell anyone. You know I can keep a secret.”

You sure aren’t telling me anything, Tommy thought. He chose his words with care. “Well, I think there might be just such a beast. That’s what I’m here to find out.” He hesitated, desperate to share his plans with someone, to confide this terrible fear which he had kept to himself since receiving Murray’s message. Then he told her the details.

Sylvia shivered. “That’s terrifying. You mean the old stories might be true after all?”

“I’m going out again next week to look for crystals. This time I’ll get the necessary permits for a moonwalk. With luck I may get a few answers. And maybe also a few crystals.” He chuckled feebly.

“Good luck in finding the gems, but in all sincerity I hope you don’t find anything else.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They turned again to the meal, but the enjoyment had gone.

*

A few minutes after midnight, the sound of rustling leaves aroused Tommy to instant alertness, a mode of awakening he had acquired on Venus. He turned onto his back, looked up and saw the Milky Way behind a canopy of vines and ferns. He laughed without making a sound. Loonies bragged about their freedom from Earth’s influence but imitated Terran nature settings whenever they could. Decorating styles on Earth’s satellite were so predictable, it was funny.

Feeling relaxed and satisfied, he stretched, his feet rubbing on warm satin sheets. A faint aroma of jasmine filled the room. The day had been long and busy, but quite productive. Thank the Universal Power he was out of house arrest. Restriction to his own quarters – luxurious though they were – for an entire week had almost driven him crazy. The number of problems waiting for him and demanding his attention made the confinement even worse.

But he had made a good start.

Now, why couldn’t he fall asleep?

He rolled onto his side and started caressing Sylvia’s knee. After a few moments he moved his hand up her nightgown along her inner thigh.

Sylvia murmured, “So soon? I hope you’re not starting something you can’t finish.”

“When I did this in your office earlier today you responded differently.”

“You were in a different position then.”

“Is that literal or figurative?”

She laughed. “Both. Do you want me to twist your arm again?”

“No thank you,” he said quickly, pulling his hand away. He stared up at the holographic ceiling once more, then turned towards her, nuzzled her breast out of the plunging pink nightgown, and kissed her nipple, nibbling on it as it stiffened. The woman moaned softly. Without warning, he lifted his head.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I was just wondering. Can Wxcom hear us now through that mind link of his?”

Sylvia chuckled. “No. Don’t be silly. It’s turned off. I always disconnect it when I leave the office.” She took his hand and put it back on her inner thigh.

Tommy stroked her leg through the nightgown though his mind was elsewhere. “I don’t know much about mind links. Can’t he turn it on and listen?”

“Mind links are classified, boyfriend. You shouldn’t even know they exist.”

“I’m not asking for technical details. I just want to know he can’t eavesdrop on, ah, our activities.”

She laughed. “No worry about that. He can activate the link when it’s on standby, but not when it’s specifically deactivated. Then I have complete privacy from him.”

“He looked like he had you hypnotized.”

She smiled in the faux starlight of the holograph. “I know, but that’s just an illusion.”

“You looked like you were under his spell.”

“It looks that way to someone watching, but he doesn’t have any more control over me than he would with a communicator.”

“He can’t force you to listen to him or to do what he wants?”

“No, no. Links are for people to communicate with each other, nothing more. They can be set for one way communication, but why bother? I’ve heard stories about link enslavement, people forced by a voice inside their heads to obey whoever is commanding them, but I’m sure those are just fables. I don’t think you could set a link to compel someone else even if you tried.”

Tommy listened to the musical call of a whipporwill. .“Why not just use a regular communicator?”

“The mind link gives incredible convenience. You don’t have to interrupt what you are doing to reach over and touch a communicator button. You just have to think in a certain way and a message is on its way. Not just short notes either. You can send or receive long messages with large amounts of information without mistakes in just a few seconds. It’s a tremendous time saver, much better than any physical intercom.”

“So much that it’s worth undergoing major surgery?” He moved his hand up from her thigh and caressed her belly.

She didn’t seem to notice. “It isn’t major surgery. Tommy, you don’t know as much as you think you do. Inserting a mind link requires a half-millimeter hole in the skull, an electrode so thin it could go right through an artery without causing bleeding, and a transceiver outside the skull under the skin. The whole procedure takes about three hours and you go home that afternoon with nothing worse than a tender spot on your scalp.”

“And what kind of computer technology is in that transceiver?”

Sylvia laughed out loud. “That’s the problem. The circuitry for a mind link would make people riot if they knew it existed again. This is as good as anything made before the implac war. It’s all legal with all the necessary permits for RAM, processor speed and miniaturization, but I’m told that designing the system and making it small enough to fit under the skin was easier than writing and rewriting the paperwork countless times to get it approved. How do you know about something as top secret as mind links?”

“Why not just leave the links in standby instead of turning them off,” Tommy said, ignoring her question.

“Then you wouldn’t have any privacy. Someone could eavesdrop if they wanted to.”

Tommy scowled. “Privacy. Yes. If it were left on by accident, Andy could listen to us right now.”

“You mean have Mr. Wxcom listen to us in bed?” She sounded horrified. “You think I’d want my boss to hear this?” She rolled to nibble Tommy’s nipple, just as he had nibbled hers a few minutes earlier. “Or this?” She reached down and started squeezing him.

No sounds for Wxcom to hear in either of those actions, Tommy thought, but his body ignored the rational ideas and responded predictably.

She laughed and said, “Oh my. I guess you are ready for more. Is that why they call you the Hero of Venus?” She rolled embraced him, and pulled him on top of her. She guided him into herself and began moving up and down, kissing him with passion. Though a little surprised, he responded, thrust for thrust. After a few minutes she arched her body in repetitive spasms, uttering soft, whimpering cries. He climaxed soon afterwards.

The man dozed a few minutes until he awoke to find himself being rolled off of the woman back onto the bed. He kissed her. “In all seriousness, I am sorry about this morning,” he said, his voice sleepy. “I didn’t know how else to get Wxcom to admit his true objective.”

She kissed him back. “Don’t worry about it, love.”

He turned on his side away from her. She embraced him spoon fashion. “Am I better than Andy Wxcom?” he asked innocently.

She laughed. “There is only one man in my bed and I’m not comparing him to anyone else. And you shouldn’t either.” She rubbed his chest.

“I guess it’s none of my business what you do on your own time.”

“Right you are.” A few minutes later she released him, turned away and started snoring, a gentle sound like a cat’s purr.

Thomas couldn’t sleep. A stanza from a prewar opera he had studied in college ran through his mind:

Things are not all that they seem,

Skim milk masquerades as cream.

This scene didn’t fit. For Sylvia to feel jealous of Barbara was just plain silly. Few places on Earth, and none on the moon, cared who slept with whom if no contract was involved. Also, after that groping incident, she should have been hostile for days. Sylvia was a tough and independent person. When she became angry, she stayed angry. To calm down just an hour later, like she did this time, was out of character.

Most important was the mind link. Though he trusted his informants, he was astonished that they had been right even about this matter of direct brain to brain communication. Devices to translate brainwaves into radio frequencies and back again demanded the development of enough technology and computing power to frighten even a blasé liberal like himself. The miniaturization needed to fit the links under the skin was in itself scary; technology of that nature screamed for a comparison with the techniques used to create the implacable robots. It was obvious that governments had to hide such developments. But how was such an important secret kept? Governmental covert activity must be far more extensive than he had ever dreamed.

And the fact that Sylvia, a secretary who seemed as neurotic as anyone about artificial intelligence, could wear, without any discomfort, a device with this technology was bizarre. Sylvia had even laughed at his worry.

None of this made sense.

Was there indeed an implac in the Mariposa, or was he just trying to recreate former glory, as Wxcom had said? He didn’t need more glory. The thought of the implac gave him an uncomfortable chill, not excitement or lust for fame. He lay in the warm bed, between luxurious satin sheets, near a voluptuous woman, and felt alone. He reached over to her and put his hand on her hip. She stirred. “Is something wrong, Andy?”

Andy? Lord in Heaven, what was going on? But he said only, “No, nothing,” and turned away. After several minutes, he fell asleep.

Why not write Zvi the Fiddler and let him know how much you liked this story?

Revised 11/03