Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [109]
"I told her," Lindsay said, "that I had a place for us. You remember I mentioned to you that there might be a Ring Council breakaway."
"Yes."
"It was as quiet as I could make it, but not quiet enough. Constantine got word somehow, exposed the breakaway. She was indicted for treason. The trial would have implicated the rest of her clan. So she chose suicide."
"She was courageous."
"It was the only thing to do."
"One supposes so."
"She still loved me, Wellspring. She was going to join me here. She was trying to do it when he killed her."
"I recognize your grief," Wellspring said. "But life is long. You mustn't be blinded to your ultimate aims."
Lindsay was grim. "You know I don't follow that post-Cataclyst line."
"Posthumanist," Wellspring insisted. "Are you on the side of life, or aren't you? If you're not, then you'll let the pain overwhelm you. You'll go against Constantine and die as Nora did. Accept her death, and stay with us. The future belongs to Posthumanism, Lindsay. Not to nation-states, not to factions. It belongs to life, and life moves in clades."
"I've heard your spiel before, Wellspring. If we embrace the loss of our humanity then it means worse differences, worse struggle, worse war."
"Not if the new clades can reach accord as cognitive systems on the Fourth Prigoginic Level of Complexity."
Lindsay, despairing, was silent. Finally he said, "I wish you the best of luck here, sincerely. Protect the damaged, if you can. Maybe it'll come to something."
"There's a universe of potential, Lindsay, think of that. No rules, no limits."
"Not while he lives. Forgive me."
"You'll have to do that for yourself."
AN INVESTOR TRADE SHIP: 14-2-'86
"This is not the sort of transaction we prefer," the Investor said.
"Have we met before, Ensign?" said Lindsay.
"No. I knew one of your students once. Captain-Doctor Simon Afriel. A very accomplished gentleman."
"I remember Simon well."
"He died on embassy." The Investor stared, his dark eyeballs gleaming with hostility above the white rims of his nictitating membranes. "A pity. I always enjoyed his conversation. Still, he had that urge to meddle, to tamper. You call it curiosity. An urge to value useless data. A being with such a handicap runs a great many unnecessary risks."
"Without a doubt," Lindsay agreed. He had not heard of Afriel's death. The knowledge filled him with bitter pleasure: another fanatic gone, another gifted life wasted....
"Hatred is an easier motive to fathom. Strange that you should fall prey to it, Artist. It makes me doubt my judgment of your species."
"I regret being a source of confusion. Chancellor-General Constantine might explain it better."
"I'll speak to him. He and his party have just come aboard. He is not a fit model, though, for a judgment on human nature. Our scanning reveals that he favors severe alterations."
Many did these days, Lindsay thought. Even the very young. As if the existence of the Neotenic Republic, with its forced humanity, freed the other factions from a stifling pretense. "You find this odd in a spacegoing race?"
"No. Not at all. That's why there are so few of them left."
"Nineteen," Lindsay said.
"Yes. The number of vanished races within our trading realm is larger by an order of magnitude. Their artifacts persist, though, such as the one we plan to lease to you presently." The Investor showed his striated, peglike teeth, a sign of distaste and reluctance. "We'd hoped for truly long-term trade with your species, but we cannot dissuade you from aiming for breakthroughs in questions of metaphysics. We will soon have to put your solar system under quarantine for fear of being caught in your transmutations. In the meantime we must abandon a few scruples to make our local investments worthwhile."
"You alarm me," Lindsay said. He had heard this before: vague warnings from the Investors, intended to freeze humanity at its current level of development. It amused him that Investors should preach Preservationism.
"Surely the War is a greater threat."
"No," the Investor said. "We ourselves