The Fresco (21 page)

I think of T'Fees often when I learn of Earth people who fail at their chosen lives, or those like your Van Gogh, who become a success only after they are dead. On Pistach, we do not change our opinions of former persons. What good does it do an unhappy man to become a genius after his death? Or a living person to be a failure at his dreams? Among Pistach, all except glusi are successful, and even glusi are encouraged to believe they are. All must believe in their success; otherwise meager aptitudes breed great rancor.

During the voyage from Assurdo to Quirk, I spent many pleasant hours with T'Fees, usually playing sheez or bactak. I remember well the occasion, toward the end of one day shift, when T'Fees asked by what right Vess and Chiddy had disrupted teros life and the life of others on Assurdo.

I asked if te had ever seen the Fresco. Te replied that te had not. Te had never been on Pistach-home. The ceremonial buildings on ter homeworld did not, of course, contain a copy of the Fresco. Te had, however, seen the Glumshalak Compendium with the sketches drawn shortly after the Fresco was finished. The ship carrying the Compendium had stopped on Assurdo for refueling, and for some inexplicable reason had, while there, allowed the local populace to file past the revered book.

“You ask what gives us the right,” I said. “Panel fifteen of the Fresco,
The Blessing of Canthorel
, shows us Mengantowhai, foreseeing the martyrdom that would give him divine authority, passing this authority to Canthorel. When Canthorel came to Pistach-home, it was passed to aisos successors through the holy Fresco. Mengantowhai's holy authority has descended to the athyci of Pistach down the centuries, each receiving it from those who have received it before in an unbroken line.”

“And who gave it to Mengantowhai?” te asked.

“Universal Purpose,” I replied. “This Purpose was made manifest when Mengantowhai first came into contact with the Jaupati. Panel one of the Fresco,
The Meeting
, shows us they were a primitive race. They warred among themselves. It is even said the Jaupati were personophagic, though the truth of that assertion is unproven. In panel two of the Fresco,
The Steadfast Docents
, we are shown teachers, appointed by Mengantowhai, asking the Jaupati if they desire peace and freedom from want and pain, and they are crying as with one voice that they do. The Jaupati put themselves in his hands, and he worked with them for many years.”

“What did he do to them?”

“He did nothing
to
them. He did a great deal
with
them. He taught them how to differentiate their young toward ultimate contentment. He taught them how to structure an economy so there would be work for all. He taught them how to breed one offspring at a time instead of litters, like pfiggi, for it is absolutely true that no nootch—or parent—can civilize a litter! He taught them how to educate their young in order to avoid being glutted by whole families of glusi. And they were grateful. In panel six,
The Offerings
, we see the Jaupati bringing gifts to Mengantowhai.”

“Yet I have heard Mengantowhai died a martyr's death at their hands.”

“That assertion is heretical. Mengantowhai was not killed by the Jaupati but by the Pokoti. In panel nine,
Evangelism
, we see the Jaupati leader, Kasiwees, raising a force to defend Mengantowhai against the Pokoti. In panel ten,
The Envious Pokoti
, we see the Pokoti plotting against the Jaupati. In panel eleven,
The Attack
, we see the abduction of Mengantowhai by the Pokoti. The Pokoti tried to force him to tell them the secrets of selection, the skills of economic design, the way to have one offspring at a time. These are not things one can tell, like a recipe for flosti-gut paté! They are not things one should communicate except by example. Mengantowhai was badly wounded during his abduction. In panel twelve,
The Rescue
, we see Canthorel arriving to save
him. Mengantowhai did not die for some time following, for panels thirteen, fourteen and fifteen show him still alive.”

“And what are those panels called?” T'fees asked.

“Thirteen is
Mengantowhai's Sermon
, his teaching to his people. Then,
The Fearful Faithless
, the departure of the Pistach who feared another attack by the Pokoti, and finally,
The Blessing of Canthorel
, which I have already mentioned. This is followed by panel sixteen,
Departure of Canthorel
.”

“And what happened to the Jaupati?”

“Maddened by Mengantowhai's passing, they locked themselves in a death-struggle with the Pokoti. Canthorel was unable to bring peace, as there was too much hatred on both sides, and ai departed from the world. Panel seventeen, the final panel of the Fresco, the one that lies between the left-hand doors, shows the last Jaupati, Kasiwees, kneeling in prayer before the shrine of Mengantowhai while the last Pokoti sneaks from behind him with a blade. We know from the associated Pistach symbols of renewal—flying flosti, bulbs, worm jars—that Kasiwees is praying for Mengantowhai's return. Kasiwees is our exemplar. When we enter the ranks of the athyci, we swear to respond to the Plea of Kasiwees. This Kasiwean Oath commits us to meeting the needs of others by bringing Mengantowhai's help, as set out in the Fresco of Canthorel.”

“Is the Fresco very beautiful?” te asked me, after a long, thoughtful pause. “Though I am now only a former artist, I judged that the Compendium was not very artistically done.”

Though it was painful for me to tell T'Fees it was virtually invisible behind its veils of grime, in the interest of truth I did so, explaining that its holiness prevented our cleaning it. “As for beauty, we know that Canthorel painted only beauty,” I replied. I knew this had to be true, regardless of how it was conveyed in Glumshalak's Compendium.

T'fees and I grew to be almost friends upon that journey. I was hurt by the look te gave me when ton'i parted on Quirk. By that time, of course, all those from Assurdo knew that only adults come to Quirk and no real children are ever born there. They also knew why: because the people of
Quirk value their own individuality over the welfare of the whole, and Mengantowhai's rule allows no young to be brought into a world that has not prepared an orderly, safe and peaceful place for them.

You will be sympathetic to this, I know, dearest Benita. Though not all human receptors or nootchi are good ones, you fulfilled those roles ably. You bore children, and you labored mightily to be sure they had an orderly, safe, and peaceful place. It is a sorrow that one of your children was unable to appreciate this. Some other races in the Confederation do not have our ways. They are like some of your people on Earth. They demand that children be born, even without a place for them or a good person to nootch them. If the children die, well, say they, it is the will of their gods. I do not like such ways; certainly I would not follow such gods.

I remember often what you said the night of our dinner with your people, about your people improving while your god stayed the same. I think of the races I have known who defined their gods when they were still savages, giving their gods the power and cruelty they themselves displayed. The gods of the Fluiquosm, for example, are invisible spirits of death. And the Wulivery carve their hungry gods into immortal stone, while the Xankatikitiki recite long sagas of their heavenly hunters. So they have gone on, generation after generation, unchanging, and in following them, their peoples have shut off all avenues to a better way of life. Would it not be a good thing if we could retire old gods, like old soldiers, to a peaceful place in the country? Let them live like retired warriors whose time of violence is past? Or like old politicians, perhaps, who have learned the wrong lessons in striving youth and have not had enough lifetimes to unlearn them.

MONDAY

On Monday, the Pistach Questionnaires were delivered by postmen to every household. They came in a plain brown envelope containing individual packets for various members of the family. Some were for adult women, some for adult men, some for children between eight and twelve, others for teenagers. The instructions specified that each person must first select the age and gender appropriate packet, affix his or her own thumbprint on the sticky patch at the top of each page, then answer the questions below, without help, in pencil or pen.

“If the person filling out the questionnaire is someone other than the thumb printer, the questionnaire will self-destruct,” said the instructions. “If the person filling out the questionnaire is under duress or being helped, the questionnaire will self-destruct. Please, do this individually and honestly.”

Benita, reading this, was most amused. They had found a use for old
Mission Impossible
technology after all.

The questionnaires included several hundred questions about society, about people's positions in society, about behavior, work habits, morality. Even people who did not
read at all, or at all well, found the questions easy to understand. Many questions asked that certain behaviors be ranked in order of preference or by degree of sinfulness, such as, “Is sex outside of marriage more or less sinful than a) not paying one's employees a living wage, b) cheating on taxes, c) passing laws to benefit the rich by further oppressing the poor?”

Millions of thumbs were pressed onto waiting sticky patches, and in each sticky patch a hundred thousand Pistach nanobots waited, quiescent. At the moment of pressure, chemical restraints dissolved, allowing the nanobots their freedom. Chemical sensors detected warmth and blood and crawled upward, following microfibers that had already penetrated the skin to obtain blood and DNA samples. When the hand was pulled away from the sticky patch, a hundred thousand nanobots tunneled rapidly into the flesh, where they began harvesting atoms from the surrounding flesh, assembling more of themselves until they totalled several millions and had spread to all parts of the body.

Millions of questionnaires were puzzled over and answered. By the time each person had finished the first dozen or two innocuous questions, his or her body was completely colonized. During the answering of each successive question, nanobots measured blood pressure, respiration, endocrine function, brain waves, and subvocalizations to determine if answers were true or not. If any answer was false, it was ignored.

Some of the nanobots migrated to the palm of the hand and emerged at the surface of the skin as a complicated dark red ideogram. Cheaters, parents who had tried to fill out their children's forms, or family members who had taken it upon themselves to speak for other family members, plus those who had discarded the questionnaire or simply ignored it, received on the following day a stern note and a new questionnaire. Though the questionnaires were in fact returned to a central depository—from which they subsequently disappeared—the work of tabulation had already been done. Newly assembled nanobot structures inside each person now identified that person. Roving structures mi
grated throughout each person's body, correcting minor physical problems as they went. Crippling diseases were ameliorated. Incapacitating pain was relieved, but fatal diseases were let alone. No attempt was made to reduce drug addiction, alcoholism, smoking, or any other self-destructive behavior.

When anyone shook hands, hugged or kissed, took a receipt from a cashier's hand, took a ticket from a parking attendant or money from a teller, nanobots passed from one body to another. Except for a few thousand eremitic individuals, within a few days even those who had resolutely refused to fill out a questionnaire were colonized and identified. Since the opinions of the hermits could, the Pistach thought, be accurately inferred, they were not required to answer questions.

Except for the clearly visible marks on the palms of their hands, the nanobot invasion went totally unnoticed by the people of the United States.

MONDAY

Captain Riggles, Morningside Precinct, looked up from his desk impatiently. “What?”

“This box for you, Boss.”

“What's in it, McClellan?”

“I don't know, Boss. Says it came from
them.
”

“Them who?”

“Them, sir. You know. The ETs.”

Captain Riggles smiled grimly and commented, “As I was just saying this morning to Lieutenant Walker, McClellan, I'd be really surprised if you make it through the next few weeks to retirement. Aren't you a little old for—”

Mac drew himself up, scowling. “Captain, the box says it comes from the ETs. Right there. Ex-tra-ter-rest-rial Envoys. Now if you don't want it, sir, you just say so, and I'll dump it down in the basement with the old files.”

“Give it here.” He frowned at the box, a sizeable one. “Maybe it's a bomb.”

“No, sir. It's been through the scanner. I've slit the tape, you just need to—”

“McClellan, I know how to open a box.”

He opened it, disclosing a great number of closely
packed smaller boxes, one of which, on being upended and shaken, dropped a wrist-watch on his desk. Something that looked like a wristwatch, at any rate.

“What th…” He picked it up and turned it in his hands. An expansion band. A round dial. A single hand, pointing down. Left-hand side of the dial green, no numbers. Right-hand side red, numbered from the top down, one to ten. Legibly lettered on the left, the words, “No probable cause.” On the right, “Probable cause.”

“There's directions, Boss.”

McClellan handed him the thin booklet that had been wedged between the smaller boxes and the carton.

Introducing the Causometer, for use by police, drug enforcement officers and the U.S. Customs. Provided with our best wishes by the Extraterrestrial Envoys.

“The instruments in the carton you have just received are units in a new system designed by the ETs to provide you with better tools for your work. All illicit drugs entering the U.S. will henceforth emit a harmless form of radiation which can be picked up by the devices you are now examining. To turn on the device, simply press the button on the right side. A small light will flash at the bottom of the dial indicating your position. The dial is the area in front of you. If there are illicit drugs in the area, the light will split into two, white and red, and the red light will move in the direction of the drugs. At the same time, the hand will move through the green zone toward the red zone.

“As you move in the direction indicated by red light, the two lights will come closer together. When the two lights converge, this indicates you are standing upon or at the drugs in question. Touch the device for three seconds to whatever person, container, vehicle or surface is nearest. If there are several persons or things, touch each in turn. If the thing or person touched is or has been carrying drugs, the hand will move into the red zone of Probable Cause. When the hand reaches Probable Cause, the causometer also records and emits data regarding the time, the geographical and physical location, the identities of all per
sons in the immediate vicinity as well as the type and quantity of drug present. This information is then sent to you in official form.

“Though the radiation is harmless, it does accumulate in persons, vehicles, or buildings repeatedly exposed to the manufacture, storage, transport, or sale of illicit drugs. The higher the reading, the more involvement there has been. A reading of four or higher indicates consistent and continuous presence of illicit material. If drugs have been dropped or deposited in a noncontiguous location, press the button on the left side, then apply the meter to the drugs first, and then to persons one at a time. DNA traces on the drugs or their packaging will be matched to the person who carried or processed them. The meter will sound an audible alarm when the right person is identified.”

McClellan had been reading over his shoulder. “They're kidding.”

“Somebody's idea of a joke,” the captain muttered, tapping the gadget on his desktop. “Just for the hell of it, let's try it. Go down to the evidence locker and bring up some stuff. Any stuff. Hide it out there and yell.”

“You mean, now?”

“No, McClellan. Next Tuesday. Of course I mean now!”

Fifteen minutes later, responding to McClellan's hail, the captain, device on his wrist, eased out of his office observed by a sniggering clutch of on and off duty cops. He pushed the right button, blinked for a moment, moved to his left, touched a desk. The needle went to red three, moving to four as he opened a drawer and took out a plastic packet with an evidence tag on it. The light had begun blinking again. He went left, right, straight ahead, uncovering five more packets of varying substances. The audience of cops, who had stopped sniggering when the first package was found, mostly had their mouths open.

“It's like a sniffer dog on your arm,” said one.

“You got ‘em all, Boss,” said McClellan.

“No, there's more,” said the captain, still moving, bumping into an off duty cop who was standing in the door. “Sorry, Stevens.” He went around him, stopped, turned
around, came back, reached out and touched Stevens with the device. The needle hit the five.

“Hey, what's this,” Stevens blurted, turning brick red.

The captain stared at the dial which was giving him an unequivocal “Probable Cause.” “Search him,” he said to McClellan. “Now.”

“Oh, come on, Captain,” Stevens cried.

“Do it, damn it.”

They found the packet of cocaine stuffed under his belt, in back, where Stevens had put it when he came off duty at the evidence locker. He hadn't even taken the trouble to remove the evidence tag. While they were still standing around, muttering about it, the clerk brought a fax that had just printed out. Headed with an official-looking letterhead, it gave the date, time, location, amount and type of drugs in each discovery, place found or person in possession, list of all other persons present, and a cryptic signature.

When Stevens had been taken below and locked up, the captain brought out the carton of wrist sniffers. “McClellan, you and Brown distribute these things to the men, see the other shifts get them too. Run off copies of these two pages that tell how it works. When the day shift gets it figured out, send two cars over to the Morningside Project. No, make it four cars and a wagon. Don't bring in any kids under ten. I got a feeling we'll make a clean sweep.”

 

The ETs had misled the captain, though only a little. The radiation emitted by illicit drugs was high-frequency sound, a supersonic howl coming from assemblies of nanobots that had been sown some time ago throughout the coca plantations and poppy fields of the world. Nanobots, Chiddy and Vess had agreed, made more sense than any other form of tracer, because they were self-perpetuating. Designed to utilize only molecular assemblies found in drugs for replication materials, they settled in and procreated like bacteria, making millions of themselves virtually overnight. Whenever an area became overcrowded, millions migrated away to other plants or trees, carrying the useful assemblies with them. Within a period of days, there was no source of either co
caine or opiates anywhere in the world that was not fully tagged.

The nanobots had been designed to be impervious to refining processes. They didn't show up on scanners. They didn't show up on anything manmade except electron microscopes, and even then, only if someone knew what to look for. Their supersonic howls were detectable by the wrist sniffers, of course, but wrist sniffers could not be taken apart for examination. Any attempt to do so resulted in a foul stench and a puddle of unpleasant and rapidly evaporating goop.

The drug-bots were designed to penetrate wrappings, they were programmed to move out of the drugs into the clothing of the carrier, into the hair and body of the carrier, into the vehicles the carrier used, into the money the carrier received. If there were no drugs in the environment, they could not replicate, and their life spans were designed to be short, thus eliminating the possibility of innocent persons being identified as carriers. They were designed to take particular actions in response to specific signals. With a wary eye on the economics of the situation, neither Vess nor Chiddy had ordered them to do anything else, yet.