And why do I think of you as a -person?
Because you are. Not human; however, an awareness . . . a soul?
”You were eloquent,” said Terra Central, “and with an insight beyond mine.”
Startlement answered, “How?” What am I, that you are mindful of me?
”Shall I explain tonight, or would you rather wait till you have rested?”
Always Terra Central was considerate of her interfaces. Almost always, she guessed rightly. Laurinda’s heart leaped. “Please, now.”
The voice paused before continuing-to calm her a little? “I am dedicated to the well-being of life on Earth. No change I make in myself will change that. Your race is the sentient part of life. But I as I am cannot fully understand it.
”Texts, relics, perceptions, talk, are not the same as direct experience. I can follow the thoughts-even a shadow of the emotions-of gentle, rational humans such as you. But I have not the capability, the empathy if you will, to interpret why others do what they do or why your history as a whole has followed the courses it did.”
”Who, who does?” Laurinda stammered.
”It appears to me that your race is mad-not you, dear, nor most people by themselves, but your race-torn between instinct and intellect, the animal and something beyond the animal. Is this a misinterpretation? If not, then most likely, without guidance, humankind will put an end to itself long before the cosmos would. I cannot as I am understand it well enough to know, or to provide that guidance.
”Help me, Laurinda.”
”How?” she asked, atremble, wondering what further she could do in what years were left to her.
”Do not die. When your body is worn out, let me upload your mind and memories.”
Cold struck through. “No! No. I’ve . . . thought about it, of course, but everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve heard-I don’t want to be a robot.”
”I know. But would you become one with me?
”A kind of Nirvana, yes, you no longer a uniqueness but an enrichment of the whole. Yet you’ll be there for millions of years or more, and, as need may be, I can resurrect you in emulation as you were.
”It’s an offer I can only make to a few. This is a newly created capability, and my capacity for it is limited thus far. Later—But I would like to take you, Laurinda, before you are gone forever,
”Think about it. Remember, though, your last hour for choosing is not so very far away.”
VI
Seventeen hundred years later, a thing occurred that lived in people’s memories for generations, until lifeways changed too much for them to make sense of it.
In those days communities, fellowships, nations, and ethnoi all had their own ways of observing New Century’s Eve. In Tahalla it climaxed a month of ceremonies and celebrations. Some of these equalled Creation Day or Remembrance in solemnity, others rivaled Fire Night or the Festival for Children in joyousness. The quinquennial Darvic Games now took on an even greater importance; the glory that winning players brought to their clans would heighten the standing of every member and the influence of every captain for the next decade or more.
The opening procession moved grandiose down Covenant Boulevard. Sunlight out of a hard blue sky flared off metal and seemed to set banners afire. Folk stood ten deep on either side. One did not sit at home and merely watch an occasion like this. One came, partook, joined in the hymns and the cheers, saw high-born and heroes pass by in the living flesh, felt the surge and throb of exultation, and needed no psychotrope for the spirit to soar. Most had arrived in groups, wearing the special garb of guild or society, but the groups had mingled randomly. The white gowns and red sashes of educators might be wedged between the purple-and-gold tunics of Magnificos and the scarlet cloaks and plumed headdresses of Torchmen, or some Falcons in close-fitting blue and gray cluster by some green-clad physicians. Only the philosophers kept individually apart, a scattering of hooded gray robes trimmed with iridescent flickercloth. As was their traditional right, the Terpsichoreans cavorted in front of everybody, on the street itself, limbs, long hair, and filmy garments flying. The morning was already hot, but nobody heeded. It baked fragrances from the pavement.