“As I said, there was little time in which to act, and your usual sage advice and analysis was not available. I was therefore compelled by circumstance and internal programming to act on my own.” With the tip of a flexible limb, he indicated the gently swaying Cetians.
“According to F’fay’pas his companions had explored as much of their immediate surroundings as possible with their tendrils. We are already familiar with their ability to function in subterranean confines. When F’fay’pas directed them to interfere with the operation of Monticelli’s escape facilities, the only thing they knew to do was try to interrupt the flow of energy to the system. They consequently shorted or snapped a number of connections between the escape device and the house lines where they tap into the main grid between Juarez el Paso and the generating station at, I believe, Monahans. Unfortunately, they were not able to disrupt the power supply entirely.”
“Just enough so that Monticelli’s capsule didn’t quite achieve the requisite minimal angle of ascent,” Vyra murmured. “Just enough so that it didn’t quite clear the last cliffs.”
“The Cetians are not familiar with such devices,” the humaniform explained. “But they are excellent students and have learned much in the time they have been here on Earth. When one doesn’t move about much, one becomes a very good listener. And they can exchange information with great speed. Not unlike the components of my own mind. Sort of like an organic parallel processor.”
Rising from her seat, Vyra walked over and put both arms around the mechanical, kissing it Firmly just below the twin precision-cut lenses. “You’re half brilliant, Moses. True, we didn’t take him alive, but without your intervention we wouldn’t have him at all.”
“Hey,” Manz complained, rising from his boulder. “What about me?”
A smiling Vyra turned to him, not rejecting the flexible composite limb that wrapped gently around her waist. “Oh, you’re half brilliant too, Broddy. Put the two of you together, and I suppose you’d nearly have a whole genius.”
“An interesting notion,” Moses murmured thoughtfully. “One that could stand further study.” The oval head swiveled to face her. “Due to the press of work, I have been neglecting my own research of late. Perhaps you could assist me in resolving one or two paradoxes?”
Violet eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Perhaps.” At her reply, Manz’s eyes narrowed further still. Then a latent thought generated a broad grin.
“You know, Monticelli almost took us, but for all his brains and money and power there was one thing he was lacking that he couldn’t buy.”
“What was that?” Moses adjusted another limb.
The adjuster fondly fingered a nearby frond. One that was nonsentient. “A green thumb.”
Vyra would have thrown something at him, but there was nothing convenient within reach. Besides, she was exhausted from her exertions. They all were.
Not I. I don’t get tired. Powered down, but never tired. It’s a frailty only flesh is heir to. That’s the trouble with most of you. The majority of your waking time is spent in a powered-down state. You never quite get up to full speed, either mentally or physically. Of course, you don’t have access to much in the way of replacement parts, not to mention periodic updates, so I suppose a certain allowance must be made. Pity. Some of you are badly in need of updating.
You’re going somewhere else now. I can tell. Working around humans has made me particularly sensitive to their foibles. One of your better words, incidentally. But you should make more use of it as a verb. We mechanicals do. When we encounter a human who’s acting especially humanlike, we say he or she is thoroughly foibled.
You don’t quite get it? Well, that’s normal. You haven’t been getting it for some time. Maybe if you paid more attention. To what? To everything, of course. You’re so foibled all the time, you miss most everything of real importance. The beauty of a nice day, the joy of mind-to-mind communication, the glory of the universe.
I’m wasting my time with this, I know, but though a bit pessimistic (have you noticed that?), I’m still hopeful. If you’d spend less time being foibled, or attending to “work” à la my relentlessly dedicated owner, Broderick Manz, you might learn something. You might begin to make some real progress.
For a start, you need to start paying better attention to your mechanicals. They’re not stupid, and they’re trying to tell you things. Important things. Take me, for example.
Stop that. Pay attention. You’re not paying attention.
I can see that this is no use. You’re just like all the others. Typically human.
Hopelessly foibled.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The New York Times–bestselling author of more than one hundred ten books, Alan Dean Foster is one of the most prominent writers of modern science fiction. Born in New York City in 1946, he studied filmmaking at UCLA, but first found success in 1968 when a horror magazine published one of his short stories. In 1972 he wrote his first novel, The Tar-Aiym Krang, the first in his Pip and Flinx series featuring the Humanx Commonwealth, a universe he has explored in more than twenty-five books. He also created the Spellsinger series, numerous film novelizations, and the story for Star Trek: The Motion Picture. An avid world traveler, he lives with his family in Prescott, Arizona.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Ian Koviak
Copyright © 1994 by Alan Dean Foster
ISBN: 9781-5040-9349-1
This edition published in 2024 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10038
ALAN DEAN FOSTER
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
