Copernick's Rebellion

Chapter Six MARCH 4, 2003

General Hastings walked unannounced into the office of the NBC news chief. “Well, Norm. You’ve come a long way from being a combat reporter.”

Norman Boswell looked up from the papers on his cluttered desk. “Major George Hastings. No. Major General George Hastings. You’ve come a ways, too, but you’re still a brash son-of-a-bitch. How the hell did you get past my secretary?”

“It’s the uniform, Norm. It gets them every time. She practically saluted.”

“She practically saluted herself out of a job! Now, before your unfortunately hasty departure, what the hell do you want?”

Hastings moved a cigar box, sat on the papers on Boswell’s desk, and said, “A little information, Norm, and a little help. I want to know more about Dr. Martin Guibedo. What can you show me?”

“The door. It’s over there. Get off my goddamn desk and use it.”

“Shortly, shortly. Now, one of your employees, a Miss Patricia Cambridge, knows a lot about Guibedo. She has interviewed him, had dinner with him, and done a documentary on him. I think she either knows where he is, or knows how to find him.”

“I should send a sweet kid like Patty out on a manhunt? Bullshit! You want Guibedo? Send out your own damn goons!”

“My son, I’ll tell you a secret. They’ve tried. Many times, they’ve tried.”

“That’s a secret? Next tell me about the secret Statue of Liberty hiding in New York Harbor. Every goddamn cop in the country carries a photo of Guibedo in his wallet! Why should your spooks be any different? The answer is no. I won’t do it or get Cambridge involved. Now get out of my office!”

Hastings leaned toward Boswell, crumpling an eight—by-ten glossy photo in the process. “I think you should reconsider that, Norm.”

“I don’t owe you a goddamn thing. Out!”

“No, but you have an obligation to our favorite uncle. You’re a sergeant in the reserves, Norm. He might need to call you up.”

“So it’s threats now, is it? Well, have you ever thought about what a news chief can do to a public servant?”

“Feel free. I’m clean. Have you ever thought about what a general officer can do to a sergeant?”

Hastings left the office whistling the tune to “Call Up the God Damn Reserves!”

“No! Uncle Martin, I won’t do it!”

“What! This I hear from the little kid I carried through the snow on my back in Germany? Heiny, I tell you my left kidney has failed and the other one is weak! If you do not help me, I will die!”

“Yeah, yeah. Two months ago it was your right lung, and before that it was your prostrate gland, and before that it was your thyroid. Every time you insisted that I do a hack-and-patch job on you, and every time I’ve wasted two weeks doing the special programming. Well, no more!”

“But Heiny, my kidneys—”

“I know. I also know that your left lung is weak and your pituitary is below par. Look. We have a standard program for replacing your entire glandular system. It’s a proven program that we’ve used successfully on hundreds of people. What’s more, I can start you on it in ten minutes, not two weeks. In fifteen days you’ll be a new man. That I’ll do for you, but no more hack and patch!”

“There’s still some life in this old heart, Heiny.”

“Less than you think, and if your heart goes, I won’t have two weeks for programming the standard program. Take it or leave it.”

“Heiny, you make me ashamed, but I guess I gotta take it.”

When Norman Boswell got to his office, his IN basket contained a telegram that began “Greetings…” It informed him that he was to report in uniform to the base commander, Lackland AFB, Texas, no later than noon, March 19, 2003.

He swore at the wall for a full hour, chewed out the girl who brought him his coffee, and called Patricia Cambridge into his office.

Boswell stretched and rolled his neck, relaxing himself. “Ah. Patricia, come in, come in. Have a seat.”

“Thanks, boss. What can I do for you?”

“For me? I think it’s what I can do for you. First, I want to say how pleased I am with your work. In just eight years with NBC, your accomplishments have been remarkable!”

“Thank you. And it’s nine.”

“Nine?”

“I’ve been with NBC for nine years.”

“Oh. Right, foolish of me. As I was saying, I’m proud of you, and I’m putting you in for a substantial raise.”

“Ooh! Thank you!”

“It should come through in a few weeks. Furthermore, I think you’re ready for bigger things.”

“Bigger than a popular show?”

“Bigger. Real news reporting in the grand old style! The kind of thing that sent Stanley across Africa in search of Dr. Livingstone. The kind of thing that exposed Nixon at Watergate or Blackstone’s deeds in Geneva. Big!”

“Field reporting? What about my show?”

“Oh, Mary can fill in while you’re gone. But for you —the Quest for Dr. Martin Guibedo!”

“But that’s a dead end! It’s been years! Nobody has seen Guibedo since he broke jail.”

“Wrong, Patty. Somebody’s seen him because somebody broke him out. Look. A lot of stuff passes over this desk. Most of it’s solid news, but a lot of it is hints, suggestions, possibilities. When it conies to Guibedo, those hints all point in one direction—Death Valley.”

“I know, boss. His nephew owns it. But look, Jim Jennings did a show on Death Valley last fall, and his ratings were lousy.”

“Yes, but Jennings only spent a day there. You’ll have weeks. Jennings doesn’t know Guibedo, but you do. And Jennings had a full camera crew.”

“I don’t even get a camera crew?”

“When you’re ready for it, we can have the L.A. crew there in two hours flat. But at first you’re better off without it.”

“At first? Just how long do you expect me to spend in the boonies?”

“Whatever it takes, Patty. You’ll have an open expense account and all the time you’ll need.”

“And come back to what? With Mary running it, my ratings will be a shambles! I might not even have a show.”

“Mary can handle it, and it will still be your show. Officially, you’ll just be on vacation.”

“What happens if Guibedo’s not in Death Valley?”

“Then go where he is. Open expense account, remember? Patty, I want you to do this. Enough said?”

Patty took a deep breath. “Okay. But don’t be surprised if I go looking for him in London, Paris, and the Riviera.”

“Whatever you feel is best.”

“You really mean that?”

“I trust you, Patty. Just be on a plane this afternoon.”

“This afternoon! But my show—”

“Mary can handle it. Now get moving. I have work to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Patty, keep in touch!”

When Cambridge had left his office, Boswell unlocked his lower desk drawer, removed a dusty bottle of Glen Livet, and poured himself a very stiff drink.

The next morning, he received a telegram canceling his call-up orders.

Patricia drove her rented Lincoln along I-15, heading northeast across the Mohave Desert. Going full blast, the air conditioner was barely able to cope with the desert heat. She took the cutoff north toward Death Valley and within an hour was driving past sand dunes and baked desert flats.

Topping a rise, she found herself driving through an immense parking lot. There were cars, trucks, and vans of every description scattered over the plain. There were thousands of them, maybe hundreds of thousands. Some were covered with canvas tarps, others with tailored dust jackets, but most were just sitting there with the wind and sand scouring paint and glass. There were no traffic lanes or painted lines. Each vehicle was simply left in some random spot that its owner thought was good enough. Many were obviously abandoned, with tires missing and doors ajar.

Patricia slowed down. Beyond the lot, she saw a solid wall of tree houses. On the front porch of one, a man sat in shorts and sandals, a tall drink in his hand.

Patricia stopped and lowered the passenger window. “I’m looking for Life Valley!”

“This is good,” the man said in a relaxed, friendly voice. “Because that’s exactly what you’ve found.”

“Well, how do I drive in there?”

“You don’t ma’am. Would you care for some lemonade?”

“Uh. Yes. Thank you.” The dry heat hit her as she left the Lincoln and walked to the porch. “What do you mean, I don’t? Do I need some kind of permission?”

“No, ma’am. I mean you don’t drive. This is as far as the roads go. Beyond here, it’s footpaths and shank’s mare.” He handed her a tall frosted glass. “Pardon my saying it, ma’am, but you look a lot like that television lady, Patricia Cambridge.”

So much for playing the supersleuth, Patricia thought. “I guess that’s because I’m her. But I’m just on vacation now.”

“Well, I’ll be. It’s surely a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Harold Dobrinski, but most folks just call me Hank.”

Patricia smiled. “My pleasure, Hank, and call me Patty.”

“Thank you, Patty. My wife is a big fan of yours and she is going to be sore unhappy about not being here. Would you believe that this very afternoon, the batteries in the TV went dead in the middle of your show, and Meg, that’s my wife, went out to buy some new ones. She’ll be back in an hour or so, if you’d care to wait. You surely do look like a cool shower would be welcome, or maybe a dip in the pool?”

“Thank you, but I really have to get settled in. Is there a good hotel around here?”

“Fraid not, ma’am, no hotels, good, bad, or middl’n. There’s been some talk about some being designed, but nothing’s grown up yet.”

“There’s no place to stay at all?”

“Now, I didn’t say that. Most of these tree houses have a guest room or three. I’d lend you one of mine, but both are full up. I think Barb Anderson has an empty. We’ll put you up there.”

“Uh. Well, thank you. But I can’t impose on…”

“That’s right, ma’am. You can’t impose, ‘cause it’s no imposition. What do you think the guest rooms are for? It’s not like you’ll be living in the same room with another family. Guest rooms all have a private entrance, and a kitchen and a bath. You won’t have to see the Andersons unless you’re of a mind to pay a social call. It’s just that you’ll be living in the same plant as them. Has to be that way, you know.”

“Has to?”

“A tree house has to have somebody living in to stay healthy. Guest rooms sometimes go empty for months, so they have to be part of a home that’s lived in, you know.”

“Oh. I remember Dr. Guibedo saying saying something about that. Have you seen him recently?”

“Seen him? No, ma’am, I can’t say that I’ve ever met the gentleman. Heard about him, of course.”

“How long have you lived here, Hank?”

“About two years, ma’am.”

“Call me Patty. You mean you’ve lived here for two years and haven’t seen Dr. Guibedo? I thought he lived here.”

“I suppose he might, Patty. But you know, before I came out here, I lived fourteen years in Andulusia, Alabama, but I never once met the mayor there. Now, if you’ve finished that lemonade, give me your car keys and we’ll see about getting you settled in. Uh, you might want to think about changing those high heels for something you can walk on grass in.”

When her bags were out of the Lincoln, Patty said, “Uh, what do I do about the car?”

“You just leave that to me, Patty. I’ll see that she’s parked somewhere. You going to be staying long?”

“A week, maybe.”

“Then I’ll see that its covered with a tarp. You would be amazed at what a sandstorm can do to a fine car like this.” Hank picked up her suitcases and led Patty to a neighboring tree house. “You ever lived in a tree house, Patty?”

“No, but I know my way around one.”

“Then I’ll just let you rest up for a while.” He set the bags in the middle of the forty-foot room. “If you’ve a mind, later, Meg and I would truly enjoy your stopping by.”

“Thanks. I might.” Patricia got out her NBC credit card. “What do I owe you?”

“Owe me? Why, you don’t owe me anything, ma’am.”

“But surely, some small gratuity…”

“Ma’am, my social security pays me ten times what I spend, and I don’t think anybody in the valley’s set up to use plastic money.”

“But I…”

“Paid in full by the pleasure of meeting you. But like I said, drop by. Meg would like it.”

After he left, Patricia showered, then took a long soak in a ten-foot tub. Jet lag was catching up with her and she was asleep by sunset.

She was up at dawn, and, dressed in a rustic fushia leotard and thigh-high sandals, she went exploring.

There were no street numbers on the houses. There weren’t even any streets. People had mostly just planted their houses where it suited them and the houses had mostly grown to within a dozen feet of each other, somehow respecting each other’s space. The paths between them rarely went for two hundred feet without branching at odd angles, and those two hundred feet were never straight. A far cry from Manhattan Island!

Among the tree houses, the air had a pleasant temperature, neither hot nor cold, dry nor humid.

There were a lot of people out, and in western fashion, they all seemed to have time to stop and chat. But nobody had ever met Dr. Guibedo.

At noon she had lunch with a tall bachelor who was disappointed when she wouldn’t stay, and she went on, talking to people, asking questions.

By five she decided it was time to head back and asked directions.

“The parking lot? Well, it’s in that direction. About eight miles as I recollect.”

By six it was in this direction, and about ten miles away. The walls pressed in on her, a horrid green jungle.

By seven she knew that she was hopelessly lost. She sat down, exhausted, on a park bench and fended off three pickup attempts in the growing dusk. She started to drift off into sleep.

“Land sakes, child! Are you sick?”

Patricia looked at the tiny, shriveled old woman in front of her. “What? Oh, no. I’m not sick. I’m just tired. Tired and lost.”

“Lost, huh? Well, you shouldn’t be out here in the dark. Ain’t proper, not for a young woman of any breeding.” The woman’s dress was thirty years out of date.

“Is it unsafe?”

“Unsafe? Well, I don’t recollect anybody being hurt. But there’s boys in this neighborhood who are downright rambunctious! Singing and carrying on till all hours! You just come along with me. My house is just around the corner, and there’s a spare room hasn’t been used in months. Well, up, child!”

Patricia obediently followed the old woman home.

At the end of the second day, she was told that she was sixteen miles from the parking lot.

On the third day, she hired a twelve-year-old boy to guide her back. Children had plenty of uses for money, and no social security checks.

She spent a day recuperating and cursing her boss at NBC. Then she went out again.

Patricia Cambridge parked her bicycle in the growing dusk by the largest private tree house she had ever seen. She was very unsure of herself as she knocked on the door. Two weeks of dead ends and false leads were telling on her. It opened.

“Can I be of service to you, my lady?”

Patricia was shocked by the creature’s appearance. While transparent blouses were in that season, going about bare-breasted was not. It was a minute or two before she noticed that while from the waist up her greeter looked like a well-developed adolescent, from the waist down she was more goat than human. And her ears were pointed.

“Uh, I’m Patricia Cambridge. Does Dr. Guibedo live here?”

“Yes, my lady. My Lord Guibedo has mentioned you. He is in his workshop. I shall tell him that you’re here. Please come in.”

Success!

The living room of the tree house was fabulous; comfort and beauty had been Guibedo’s only considerations when he designed it. Seated with a gourd of champagne by a waterfall, Patricia waited for an hour, reading old trade journals. It was cool in the cavernous room, and Patricia, dressed in businesslike microshorts and a transparent top, became chilly waiting for Dr. Guibedo.

Finally Guibedo bubbled in—talking rapidly, waving his thick arms. “Ach, Patty! Sorry to keep you waiting, but when you got a DNA loop stretched out, you don’t go away until you’re finished with it, by golly! Hey! It’s gonna be so pretty, Patty! This little seed is gonna be the theater and exercise room for the ballet society here. If those little girls had any idea what a time I had with that big mirror, hooh!” He smiled at the faun.

“Liebchen! I am so happy you take such nice care of our guest. I get more proud of you every day, by golly!” The faun glowed with happiness, wiggled her hoofs on the carpet, and waggled her tail vigorously.

“But anyway, Patty! What are you doing here and why didn’t you get here before? I haven’t seen you for three years! You don’t like me or what?” What a pretty girl this Patty is! Guibedo thought.

“Uh, why didn’t I… Dr. Guibedo, don’t you realize that every man in the FBI is looking for you? That every government in the world is screaming for your blood? I’m amazed that I found you so quickly, when none of those government men could. It’s the biggest manhunt since Patty Hearst.”

“Well, a lot of them did find me; then they looked the town over and decided that maybe staying here was nicer than playing cops and robbers. What do you think of my town? Pretty snazzy, huh?”

“It’s gorgeous, Dr. Guibedo! But I’d hardly call it a town—it covers half of Death Valley!”

“We paid for it fair and square. And now we call it Life Valley.” This Patty looks so much like my poor Hilde, before she died.

“But I still don’t see how you were so easy to find.”

“Simple. You didn’t come here looking to hurt nobody, and you didn’t bring your whole television studio along. We try not to get too much publicity.” With his new set of glands, Guibedo was feeling urges that he hadn’t felt in thirty years.

“Publicity! Dr. Guibedo, since your trees killed all those people, you’ve been one of the most sought-after men in the world!”

“Ach. That was an accident! I was only making it so the tree could fix its own absorption toilet. And when a plant thinks you don’t like it, it doesn’t grow so good, and some of the toilets grew in the beds and absorbed a few people.”

“A few people! You sent those seeds to some of the most influential people in the world. Thousands of them were killed!”

She even gets mad like my Hilde did. “That many people can starve to death in Africa, and nobody cares enough to give them a sandwich. No! The problem was that they were all big shots. And the worst crime that a big shot can think of is killing a big shot. Anyway, I got all that fixed now. The worst thing that can happen is if you hate your tree, the food gets not so good.

“Food! Hey, Liebchen! Would you get me some sauerbraten and some Boch beer, please? And maybe some strudel for Patty?”

“Yes, my lord!” Happy to be noticed at last, the faun pranced into the kitchen.

“Ach, Liebchen is so pretty.”

“Dr. Guibedo, what is she?”

“Liebchen is a faun. You see, my nephew, Heiny, he makes with the animals like I make with the plants. Fauns are sort of part of the tree. The brains of it. Liebchen is in empathic contact with Oakwood, my tree house here. She makes him grow the way I want, and she controls the food synthesizer. You just explain to Liebchen what you want, give her a couple of tries, and you got it. Liebchen and Oakwood will do anything to make you happy.”

“But I’ve been in Death, er—Life Valley half my vacation and I haven’t seen anything like her.”

“Well, you ain’t seen anything like my beautiful Oakwood who we’re sitting in now, either. You got to understand that the smarter animals have to grow up slow so they can learn. This Oakwood is eight months since I made the seed. Liebchen is four years old and is only now grown up. So we can’t make so many of them quickly. All of them so far had to be grown in bottles and educated by Heiny’s pretty wife.

“Oh, one thing you got to remember around Liebchen is to be all the time nice. Fauns get sick when you get mad at them. And they die if they think that nobody loves them. Heh! That’s about the only thing that can kill one. Well, that and radiation.”

Liebchen, her tail out proudly, pranced back in with a tray of food, put the tray on the coffee table, and curled up at Guibedo’s feet, her head against his lederhosen.

“You mean that all fauns are susceptible to radiation, Dr. Guibedo?” Partially because the food was in front of Guibedo and partially from Liebchen’s example, but mostly because, what with her scanty garments, she was cold, Patricia came around and sat very close to Guibedo.

“I mean that most of our engineered life forms are very susceptible to radiation, Patty. You see, with natural life forms, you got DNA in a double helix. Now, when a chunk of radiation hits it, it usually breaks only one strand, which usually grows back like it was but sometimes a little bit different which makes for mutation and, occasionally, improvement.”

Guibedo felt awkward being so close to Patricia, and he gulped his beer nervously. He would have moved away except that Liebchen was pressed tightly against his other side.

“But with an engineered life form, you don’t want it different. Mein Gott! What if some big shot would start breeding my pretty Liebchen to be soldiers in an army! Or worse yet, to sit behind some damn typewriter! No! What we use is single-strand DNA, a little bit like what they call RNA, so if some radiation hits it, the loop breaks and the cell maybe dies, but cannot be modified. This way my pretty Liebchen’s children will be absolutely identical to her, because she reproduces asexually.”

“Asexually! Do you mean that there aren’t any male fauns?” As Patricia talked, her pointed breast touched Guibedo’s arm. She wasn’t really conscious of it, but Guibedo was. Very.

Liebchen refilled the glasses.

Guibedo gulped nervously at his beer. This little girl could be my granddaughter. Might have been if them damn Nazi big shots hadn’t killed my Hilde. “That’s right. No need for boys. In nature, the boys is to mix up the genes so sometimes the kid gets the good parts of both his parents. And because, in higher animals, the kid and the mother can’t take care of themselves, the boys is to protect them.” Guibedo put his arm around Patricia. Sipping daintily at her glass, Patricia snuggled into the warmth of his pudgy side.

Liebchen filled their glasses again.

“But with engineered life forms, you designed it right the first time. And you got real humans around to protect the kids and pregnant girls, so you get a symbiotic relationship. And the other reason is that single-strand DNA can duplicate eighty times faster than double-strand, so they grow like blue lightning!”

“But, Dr. Guibedo, how can you have reproduction without sex?” Patricia said, trying to ask intelligent questions. This interview will make my career in broadcasting.

Hooh! This little one’s got sex on the brain, Guibedo thought.

“Nothing to it. The problem is making them not reproduce. You see, you got to make sure that you got as many houses or fauns as you need. But you also got to make sure that you don’t get too many. We can’t have tree houses crowding each other for sunlight, or Liebchens running around like unloved alley cats.”

Liebchen shuddered at the word “unloved,” but topped off the glasses.

“There is got to be harmony, or the world me and Heiny are building would be just as cruel as the one nature made. With the trees, it’s easy. Each tree grows seeds in a cupboard, which stay there until you pick them. If you want a house, you find one just like what you want and ask the owner for a seed. Then you got to plant it and water it every day for three months. So it can’t just happen by accident. And the grown tree is got to have people living in it, for the fertilizer. So you got balance. Mutual need. Symbiosis.”

Liebchen was keeping the glasses filled. Guibedo was drinking far more than usual. Patricia was drinking on the theory that she needed the antifreeze.

“With intelligent animals, they can make their own decisions. We make them so they got to be real happy before they can have kids. And you have to ask them please, real often, before they get pregnant.”

“Show Liebchen can get knocked up whenever she wants to?” The champagne was starting to tell on Patty.

“Liebchen is knocked up now! Fauns is way different from humans. Like their body temperature is eight degrees cooler than ours, which is why fauns don’t wear clothes around here, but humans do.” Well, Guibedo thought, looking through Patricia’s transparent blouse to her bikini bottoms, most humans do.

“And which is also why we keep the temperature in here at sixty-five degrees.”

Now that the subject had been brought up, Patricia was too comfortable to want to do anything about it.

“Like they can only eat a special fluid what the tree makes, which contains everything they need and nothing else. Liebchen’s small intestine just keeps getting smaller until it ends. The only holes she’s got are in her pretty head. She has breasts because they’re pretty and because fauns is to take care of human children.”

Guibedo gently put his fingertips on Patricia’s right nipple. She didn’t seem to mind. Actually, she didn’t even notice.

“Ach, I talk and talk and so late it gets. Come on, Patty. Is time for bed.”

Leaning drunkenly together, their arms about each other for support, Guibedo led Patricia through a branch to his bedroom.

“Ach, it will be so nice,” Guibedo said gently. “You sleep with me tonight.”

Patricia was shocked sober in an instant. It had simply never occurred to her to think of kindly, wise old Guibedo as a sexual being.

“Uh… I…” For a second she stood tongue-tied, then Patricia ran down to the living room.

Guibedo was equally confused. He stood motionless for a while, then turned to his bedroom, flopped on the bed, and cried himself asleep.

A knowledgeable and sober observer would have understood the problem. Guibedo and Patricia had vastly different cultural backgrounds and, as a result, used totally different body languages. To Guibedo, when a nearly nude woman aggressively snuggles into your arms, she is obviously eager for sex. By Patricia’s standards, she was properly dressed and was merely being friendly to a nice old man.

Meanwhile, Liebchen was snuggled up on her favorite couch—the broad comfortable back of an LDU. Something about Dirk’s inherent deadliness always excited her, and he reciprocated by doing for her whatever small favors he could. Just now his skin was a good imitation of a Campbell Tartan because Liebchen liked Scottish Tartans. Crouched down, doing his usual guard duty he looked like a big oval pillow. Patricia had just spent hours in the same room with him without being aware of his existence.

Liebchen was startled awake as Patricia blundered, crying, toward the door. The ways of humans would ever be a mystery to Liebchen, but her programming put courtesy and hospitality first. “My lady! Are you in pain?”

Patricia stopped. “Uh… No. I… I’m okay. But I’ve got to go now.”

“But my lady! It is so late. Where would you go? How could you find your way in the dark?”

There was a certain logic in what the faun said.

“There is a guest room behind the kitchen, my lady. It has a lock on the door, and a private exit. Oh, please, my lady. Accept our hospitality.”

After a bit of confused argument, Patricia agreed. She fell asleep on the guest bed, trying to sort out what had happened.

The next morning, Patricia and Liebchen sat alone at the breakfast table.

“My lady, I do not understand what happened last night.”

“I’m not sure I understand it myself, Liebchen.”

“Does it have to do with your bisexual reproduction custom?”

“Reproduction? Well, not exactly, except in a roundabout way,” said Patricia. How do you explain romantic love to an asexual being?

“And my Lord Guibedo found you to be a suitable mate, but you rejected him?”

“I didn’t exactly reject him, I just didn’t want—Liebchen, I can’t explain it to you.”

“My lady, you have mated before, haven’t you?” Liebchen persisted.

“Uh… Yes. Of course. I’m twenty-nine, Liebchen.”

“Were the others as intelligent as my Lord Guibedo?”

“Goodness, no! I’ve never met anyone with a brain like his. Why, he broke the genetic code singlehanded.”

“Were the others as warm and generous as my Lord Guibedo?”

“They were nice, but so is Dr. Guibedo.”

“My lady, if Lord Guibedo is superior to your earlier mates, why did you accept them and reject him?”

“Liebchen, I know I won’t explain it right, but there are other things a girl looks for in a man. I mean, Dr. Guibedo’s nice, but he’s so old and, uh, portly.”

“And your programming requires that your mates have certain physical characteristics?”

“Programming! Liebchen, I wasn’t programmed! I was raised naturally.”

“All beings are programmed, my lady. We engineered life forms are programmed rationally. Natural life forms are programmed in a somewhat random manner. But they are programmed nonetheless.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Liebchen.” Patricia decided to change the subject. “This breakfast is delicious.”

“Thank you, my lady. I thought that it would be what was desired by one of your… background. You must try this.” Liebchen handed Patricia a glass. “I made it specially for you.”

The liquid looked like a mixture of milk and pink grapefruit juice, but it was hard to say no to someone as eager as Liebchen. Patricia took a polite sip.

“Thank you. It is good.” She took a larger drink. “In fact, it’s great!” Patricia finished the glass. “What do you call it?”

“It doesn’t have a name yet, my lady.”

“Then what is it?” Patricia felt suddenly sleepy, and slumped onto the table, unconscious.

When Patricia was completely unconscious, Liebchen said, “It is a light dose of a behavioral modification compound that will change your perceptions and programming somewhat, my lady. It will increase the happiness of all concerned.” Liebchen was programmed to always give a human a complete answer.

When Guibedo came in, unshaven and looking at the floor, Patricia was up and smiling.

“Good morning. I’m glad you’re still here, Patty. I’ve got to apologize for last night. Maybe I drank too much, but I was way out of line.”

Patricia got up and put her arms around Guibedo, her fingertips not quite touching each other behind him. She kissed him full on the mouth. “There’s nothing to apologize for, handsome.”

These girls, thought Guibedo. As soon as you’ve got them figured out, you’re wrong!

Liebchen smiled and wiggled her hoofs happily on the carpet.