“Separating Helen’s body wasn’t a cost-saving measure?”
“Well, it saved money, but the body was worthless, all used up, nothing left to revive. No matter, now. I’m here, and I have my Fred, my Arthur. We talk whenever we want to, don’t we, hon?”
Tears were running down Arthur’s cheeks. He nodded his head, smiled, and blew his nose loudly in the handkerchief.
“He keeps us right in his living room,” added Annie. “It was worth the extra cost, but there’s where I got into trouble with Blanche. I never thought she’s miss a couple of million; she always had more than Fred and I. I just got over enthused about the project, I guess. I was wrong. I was wrong because I promised Blanche the money for her foundation. But then the blackouts started, and Arthur was so upset and alone, and we—we just wanted to be together, at least until he finds that special girl.”
Arthur began blubbering again. Everyone in the room avoided eye contact with each other.
“Dear God,” said Blanche.
Annie bristled. “Oh shut up, Blanche. I don’t expect you to understand, but there is nothing stronger than the love of a mother for her only son. You never had children because you didn’t want them. I did, so try to respect that.”
Her voice had risen in pitch. Her male companion came into the room, walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “The ice is melting. I miss you.” He kissed the crown of her head.
Annie put her hands on his, and pointed directly at Blanche. “See anyone there you recognize?”
The man looked closely. There was no doubt in Blanche’s mind that she was looking at an image of Fred Winslow from at least thirty years before he’d died.
“Is that Blanche? How did she get to be so old?”
Again that husky laugh. “I’ll explain later, sweet. Pull the cork. I’ll be there in a minute. Kiss, kiss.”
He kissed Annie delicately on the mouth, and went away.
Annie gave Blanche a sultry look. “More upgrades coming, but he’s already quite a man. I’ve kept him waiting long enough, so let’s get to it, Blanche. I’m Helen whether you like it or not, but I’m also a damn good AI. The judge here isn’t going to help us. There are too many precedents involved: legality of AI testimony, the AI as a legal substitute for a human, dead or alive, et cetera, et cetera. I don’t think he cares to appear in the legal journals that many times. Is that an accurate statement, Your Honor?”
“That is a reasonable approximation of what I’m thinking,” said Maxwell, looking vaguely amused.
“So it’s you and me, Blanche. How much will it take for you to drop all this mess? Two million? Three? How about four? That’s tops. Otherwise you’re going to trial, and there isn’t a jury around that’s smart enough or imaginative enough to believe I am who I say I am. And you will get nothing.”
Blanche looked at Arthur. “I’ll write a check for whatever amount Mother says, and make it payable to your arts foundation in the names of my parents,” he said.
Randal shrugged his shoulders, and wiggled an eyebrow at her. The rest of the lawyers at the other table looked away. There was a long silence, horrible for everyone who waited.
“Three million,” said Blanche.
“Write the check, Arthur,” said Annie, standing up and smoothing her robed hips with her hands. “I’ll talk to you tonight. Right now I have a date with your dad. Blanche, do come over for tea sometime. We must stay in touch, and Arthur will set up the machine for you, won’t you dear?”
Arthur nodded numbly, not obviously pleased with the request.
“We should talk more often, and I’d really like to see how your foundation plays out. It’s good for me to keep up a variety of interests, now that I have so much time. Promise you’ll come soon?”
Blanche moved her lips, but could not bring herself to answer.
“Bye, then,” said Annie, and left the room. Arthur turned off the machine, and the white room with red furnishings was gone. Annie was gone—and so was Helen.
“Let the record show the parties settled this matter out of court,” said Maxwell, looking pleased and relieved. “This hearing is ended.”
Everyone filed out of the courtroom. Arthur waited for Blanche at the door. “You’ll have the check in a day or two,” he said, then, “You know, Mother was really serious about visiting with you. Just give me some warning when you want to come over. I don’t have to be home. My secretary knows how to boot AINI for her.”
Blanche looked away from him. “I really don’t think I’ll be doing that, Arthur,” she said.
Later, she changed her mind.
BACON ’N’ EGGS
There were rats in the soufflé again.
At least that’s what we told our cook when black speckles appeared on the eggs he served up. Now John Redcloud is the best chef you’ll find on any probe between here and Sol, and he knows it, but it still pissed him off when his scrambled eggs were criticized. “You don’t like it, there’s toast and oatmeal,” he said, and everyone groaned. We’d been eatin’ that stuff for four-hundred and fifty days on Roosevelt’s run to Procyon C and its trio of steamy planets. Even the sight of freeze-dried eggs and bacon bits was heaven to most of the crew. Me, I don’t eat breakfast. Anyway, the crew laughed, picked out the little black things hiding among the bacon bits and snarfed it all down, leaving little for John to put back in the oven for warming.
I’d been operations chief for ten years, and it was my second planet fall. A probe crew spends most of a lifetime just traveling, and two drops was already pretty good for a career. We were all grateful for that, and there were worse places to explore. We’d picked Emerald because the other two planets were just hot rock and old lava flows, and here we were surrounded by plant life so thick we’d had a hard time finding a place to put down. It was botanical heaven: ferns and gnarled trees like arthritic hands draped in thick mosses in yellows and emerald green, red and purple flowers big as a dinner plate all over the place. Harry Burns and his botany team were spending as much outside time as their refrigeration units would allow, collecting plants somehow thriving at a temperature of a hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit.
Our third day on Emerald I was just finishing morning coffee when the intercom squealed, “Carl Doser down there?”
Harry’s voice. I jumped up and answered quick because he wasn’t due back in for five hours. “Yeah, Harry, what’s up?”
“Meet me in lock three, Chief. I’ve got a problem here.”
“On my way,” I said, and moved quick as I always do when I hear concern in a man’s voice.
Lock three was aft; two flights up so it took a minute. When I got there two people were stripping E suits and the UV was on behind the port so someone was still decontaminating. The door snapped open and there was Harry, red-faced, bending over a suited figure huddled on the floor. The others were busy stripping so I rushed straight to him. “What’s up?” I asked,
