Humans

Chapter Twenty

There was an irony, Ambassador Tukana Prat knew, in this particular man desiring privacy. And yet who could blame him for being a recluse? He was famous around the planet, honored wherever he went. And, indeed, soon the entire world would celebrate the thousandth month since his great invention. He would be expected to make hundreds of public appearances then—assuming, as one always had to when dealing with a person of his age, that he was still alive. He was a member of generation 138, one of fewer than a thousand individuals left in that group—and nobody from any earlier generation still lived.

Tukana had met 138s before, but not recently. It must have been fifty months since she’d last been in the company of one, and never before had she seen someone looking so old.

They say gray hair is a sign of wisdom—but the great man’s hair was completely gone, at least from that famous, incredibly long skull. To be sure, he still had fine, almost transparent hair covering his arms. It was an odd sight: a man ancient and shriveled, with skin mottled gray and brown, but with piercing blue artificial eyes, eyes that consisted of polished metal balls and segmented irises, eyes that glowed from within. Of course, he could have gotten artificial eyes that matched his originals cosmetically, but this man, of all people, had no reason to hide implants. Indeed, Tukana knew that other implants governed the functioning of his heart and kidneys, that artificial bones had replaced major portions of his crumbling skeleton. Besides, she’d heard him quip once during a conversation with an Exhibitionist that when people were as old as he was, it was good for others to see that they had replacement eyes, because then they stopped assuming that you’re too old to see anything.

Tukana entered the vast living room. The owner was old enough that the tree from which his home was made had reached a prodigious diameter, and he had hollowed out more and more of its interior as the months went by.

And how many months it’d been! A member of generation 138 would have seen over thirteen hundred moons by now—a staggering 108 years of life.

“Healthy day,” said Tukana, taking a seat.

“At this point,” said the surprisingly strong, deep voice, “I will take any day I can get, healthy or otherwise.”

Tukana wasn’t sure if the comment was meant humorously or ruefully, and so she just smiled and nodded. And then, after a moment, she said, “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you, sir.”

“Try,” said the old man.

Tukana was flustered. “Well, it’s just that we owe you so much, and—”

But the man held up his hand. “I’m kidding, young lady.” At this Tukana Prat did smile, for it had been ages since anyone had referred to her as “young lady.” “In fact, you would honor me most if you spared me the honors. Believe me, I’ve heard them all before. In fact, in deference to how little time I have left, I would appreciate it if you wasted none of it. Please immediately tell me what you want.”

Tukana found herself smiling again. As a diplomat, she’d met many important world leaders, but she’d never thought she would ever come face to face with the greatest inventor of them all, the renowned Lonwis Trob. Still, it was unnerving to look into his mechanical eyes, and so she found her gaze dropping to his left forearm, to the Companion implanted there. Of course, it wasn’t the original Companion that Lonwis had invented all those many months ago. No, this was the latest model—and all its metal parts, Tukana was astonished to see, where made of gold.

“I don’t know how much of this stuff about the parallel Earth you’ve been following, but—”

“Every bit of it,” said Lonwis. “It’s fascinating.”

“Well then, you must know that I’m the ambassador selected by the High Gray Council—”

“Squabbling brats!” said Lonwis. “Fools, every one of them.”

“Well, I can understand—”

“You know,” said Lonwis, “I hear some of them dye their hair gray, just to make themselves look smart.”

Lonwis seemed quite content to waste his own time, Tukana noted, but she supposed he’d earned that privilege. “In any event,” she said, “they want to close the portal between our world and the Gliksin one.”

“Why?”

“They’re afraid of the Gliksins.”

“You’ve met them; they haven’t. I’d rather hear your opinion.”

“Well, you must know that one of them tried to kill Envoy Boddit, and discharged a weapon at me, as well.”

“Yes, so I heard. But you both survived.”

“Yes.”

“You know, my friend Goosa—”

Tukana couldn’t help interrupting. “Goosa?” she repeated. Goosa Kusk?”

Lonwis nodded.

“Wow,” said Tukana, softly.

“Anyway, I’m sure Goosa could figure out a way to protect against those projectile weapons the Gliksins use. The projectiles are propelled by a chemical explosion, as I understand it—which means although they’re going fast, they’re nowhere near as fast as light. So there’d be plenty of time for a laser to target and vaporize them. After all, my Companions are already scanning out to a radius of 2.5 armspans. Even if the projectile had reached the speed of sound, there would still be—” He paused for the barest instant, and Tukana wondered if he was doing the math himself, or listening to his Companion; she rather suspected it was the former. “—0.005 beats for the laser to target and fire. You’d need a spherical emitter—no time to swivel a mechanical part—probably mounted in a hat. A trivial problem.” He looked at her. “So, was that what you needed? If so, I’ll contact Goosa on your behalf, and get on with my day.”

“Um, no,” said Tukana. “I mean, yes, something like that would be fabulous. But that’s not the reason I came here.”

“Well then, get to it, young lady. What exactly do you want?”

Tukana swallowed. “It’s not just a favor from you; we’ll need a few of your esteemed friends, as well.”

“To do what?”

Tukana told him, and was pleased to see the ancient man’s face splitting into a grin.