Factoring Humanity

No, she’d doubtless tuned it out at the time; Kyle often lamented budget cuts. Heather felt chastened — it had been important to him, and she’d paid no attention. But after a moment, Kyle began mentioning Dejong’s problems with his wife, and Heather did recognize the exchange. Was she that shallow, ignoring the serious problem and homing in on the gossip?

It was startling to see herself as Kyle saw her. For one thing — God bless him — she looked perhaps ten years younger than she really was; she hadn’t had that shirt long enough for him to ever have seen her in it looking this young.

Becky came in and took a chair. She had much longer hair back then, tumbling halfway down her back.

“‘Evening, Pumpkin,” said Kyle.

Becky smiled.

They had been a family once. It pained Heather to be reminded of what they’d lost.

But now she had an image of Becky to lock onto. She used it as a starting point to explore her husband’s memories of Becky. She could, of course, jump into Becky’s mind from his, but how would she ever justify that? Although violating Kyle’s privacy was wrong — she knew that and hated herself for doing it — there was a reason for it. But to invade Becky’s mind…

No, no, she wouldn’t do that — especially since as yet she didn’t know if there was any way to distinguish false memories from real ones. She’d continue her searching, her archeology, here, in Kyle’s mind. He was the one on trial.

She pressed on, wondering what the verdict would be.

Kyle arrived at the lab early Monday morning. As he left the elevator on the third floor and came around the curve of the corridor, his heart jumped. An Asian woman was leaning against the railing around the edge of the atrium.

“Good morning, Dr. Graves.”

“Ah, good morning, — um — ”

“Chikamatsu.”

“Yes, of course, Ms. Chikamatsu.” This dark-gray suit looked even more expensive than the one she had worn last time.

“You have not returned my phone calls and you have not replied to my e-mail messages.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve been rather busy. And I haven’t solved the problem yet. We’ve stabilized the Dembinski fields, but we’re still getting massive decoherence.” Kyle pressed his thumb against the scanning plate by the lab door. It bleeped in acknowledgment and the door bolt snapped free, sounding like a gunshot.

“ ’Morning, Dr. Graves,” said Cheetah, who had been left running since Saturday. “I’ve got another joke for — oh, forgive me, I didn’t realize you had anyone with you.”

Kyle put his hat on the ancient rack; he always wore a hat in the summer, to protect his bald spot. “Cheetah, this is Ms. Chikamatsu.”

Cheetah’s eyes whirred into focus. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Chikamatsu.”

Chikamatsu lifted her thin eyebrows, perplexed.

“Cheetah is an APE,” said Kyle. “You know, a computer simulation that apes humanity.”

“I really do find the use of the term ‘ape’ offensive,” said Cheetah.

Kyle smiled. “See? Genuine-sounding indignation. I programmed that myself. It’s the first thing you need in a university environment: the ability to take offense at any slight, real or imagined.”

The opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth issued from Cheetah’s speakers.

“What was that?” asked Chikamatsu.

“His laughter. I’m going to fix that at some point.”

“Yeah,” said Cheetah. “Get rid of those Vienna string instruments. How about a woodwind instead? Maybe a Bonn oboe?”

“What?” said Kyle. “Oh. I get it.” He looked at Chikamatsu. “Cheetah is trying to master humor.”

“Bonn oboe?” repeated the woman.

Kyle grinned despite himself. “Bonn is where Beethoven was born; a bonobo is a pygmy chimp — an APE, see?”

The Japanese woman shook her head, perplexed. “If you say so. Now, about my consortium’s offer? We know you will be busy once you do make your breakthrough; we want you to give us a commitment to immediately deal with our problem.”

Kyle busied himself with the coffeemaker. “My wife, she really thinks that whatever Huneker detected belongs to all of humanity — and I guess I agree. I’d gladly undertake to decode the message for you, but I won’t sign an NDA about its contents.”

Chikamatsu frowned. “I am empowered to sweeten the deal. We can offer you a three-percent royalty — ”

“It’s not that. Really, it’s not.”

“We will have to approach Dr. Saperstein, then.”

Kyle gritted his teeth. “I understand that.” But then he smiled. “Tell Shlomo I say hi.” Let Saperstein know that they came to me first — that he was getting my discards.

“I really wish you would reconsider,” said Chikamatsu.

“I’m sorry.”

“If you change your mind,” she said, proffering a plastic business card, “call me.” Kyle took the card and glanced at it. It had only the word “Chikamatsu” printed on it, but there was a magstripe along one edge. “I will be at the Royal York for another two days — but swipe that card through any phone anywhere in the world and it will call my cellular at my expense.”

“I won’t change my mind,” said Kyle.

Chikamatsu nodded and headed for the door.