Inferno

“You ask the most difficult questions, Prospero,” Fredda Leving said, a fleeting smile on her face. She hesitated, and then spoke again, her voice almost too low even for robot ears to catch. “Legally, yes. Realistically, no. If it all gets to be too much of a headache for the Settlers, they’ll just walk away from the whole reterraforming project. The island of Purgatory would then revert to local control-but without the Settlers to run the Center, the island of Purgatory won’t matter anymore.”

“For that matter, without my Settlers repairing the climate, it won’t even be an island anymore,” a new voice volunteered.

“Greetings, Madame Welton,” Caliban said.

“Hello, Tonya,” Fredda said, suddenly feeling a bit unsure of her ground. Tonya Welton was the leader of the Settlers on Inferno, and she and Fredda had often found themselves on opposite sides of an issue. They had good reason not to be glad of each other’s company. Fredda would not have gone out of her way to seek Tonya out, and she was a bit surprised that Tonya would come to her. Tonya seemed to be acting civilly enough, but the operative words there were “seemed” and “act. ” Things could degenerate quickly.

Tonya Welton was tall, long-limbed, graceful, and dark-skinned, with a reputation for clothes that verged on the garish and the scandalous, compared to Infernal styles. Tonight was no exception. She wore a long red sheath dress that accentuated her profile and clung to her body as if painted on, the bodice cut daringly low. She was tough, hard, brash-and, improbably enough, still cohabitating with Gubber Anshaw, Fredda’s very shy and retiring former colleague.

“Hello, Caliban,” said Tonya Welton. “Hello, Fredda, Prospero. And, Fredda, next time you are trying not to be heard at one of these functions, bear in mind I’m not the only one who has practiced lip-reading.”

“I’ll remember that,” Fredda said.

“How is it that Purgatory is going to stop being an island?” Prospero asked.

“Sea levels are dropping,” Tonya said. “The ice cap is thickening. We’ve spotted three new Edge Islands emerging in the last month.”

“So the Edge Islands are finally corning true,” Fredda said.

“That is a serious development,” Caliban said.

Fredda was forced to agree. The island of Purgatory sat dead center in the middle of the Great Bay, and the bay was nothing more or less than a huge and ancient drowned caldera, its northern edge forming the coastline of the Great Bay. The island of Purgatory was the collapsed crater’s central peak, and the southern edge of the crater was hidden under the waves of the Southern Ocean.

But now the ocean waters were retreating, evaporating to fall as snow on the thickening north polar icecap. The highest points of the drowned caldera’s southern rim were emerging, forming a new-and most unwelcome-chain of islands. The doomsayers-and the more responsible climate scientists-had been predicting the advent of the Edge Islands for a long time.

“It’s not exactly a surprise,” Fredda said, “but it does put that much more pressure on the Governor. It’ll throw a scare into a few people.”

Tonya Welton smiled unpleasantly. “The question is,” she said, “what will being scared inspire those people to do? Nice to see you all. “ And with that, she nodded and turned away.

“Nice sort of person, isn’t she?” Fredda asked. “Why do I get the feeling she was not trying to set us at ease?”

“I never have gotten very good at dealing with rhetorical questions,” Prospero said. “Did you actually wish for one or both of us to venture an answer?”

“Believe me, if you have any useful insights as to what goes on in Tonya Welton’s mind, I’d love to have them.”

“I doubt anything we might say could be of much use,” Prospero replied in thoughtful tones. “It did seem as if she had more on her mind than polite conversation, but I have never pretended to understand very much about human politics.”

Fredda Leving laughed and shook her head. “Nobody does, Prospero. Humans spend a huge amount of time and effort on it precisely because no one knows for sure what they are doing. If we understood it fully, if the same things always worked or failed, then politics would be no use whatsoever. It is only valuable because we don’t know how it works.”

“I would submit,” Caliban says,, ‘that you have just offered a splendid summing up for all the contradictions of human behavior. Only humans would work hardest on what they do not understand.”

And Fredda Leving found that she had no useful answer to that.

Sero Phrost put a small, faint smile on his face as he stepped from a side room into the Grand Hall. He had watched Beddle’s grand entrance with more than a little amusement. Simcor always did need to grab the whole stage for himself. Sero watched as Simcor sent the robots away. He had made his point, and apparently didn’t want the great silver robots coming between him and his audience.