The Gentle Seduction Read online

  Table of Contents

  Masters of the Mortal God

  Too Loving A Touch

  Petals Of Rose

  The Bully and the Crazy Boy

  Evolution Of Entropic Error

  A Simple Case Of Suicide

  The Gentle Seduction

  Hypermedia and the Singularity

  The Gentle Seduction

  Marc Stiegler

  The Gentle Seduction

  Marc Stiegler

  These stories by Marc Stiegler are about hope: hope that technology is not the destroyer of the human race, but will lead to a future we can hardly imagine. The transformation of humanity through nanotechnology has begun, and Marc Stiegler’s tales, most of which appeared in Analog Science Fiction Magazine, take us to a dangerous, wonder-filled future that may await us, ready or not. For Stiegler, technology is the “gentle seducer” that eases us from mere denizens of planet Earth to Masters of the Universe.

  THE GENTLE SEDUCTION

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1990 by Marc Stiegler

  "Too Loving a Touch" is © copyright 1982.

  "Petals of Rose" is © copyright 1981.

  "The Bully and the Crazy Boy" is © copyright 1980.

  "Evolution of Entropic Error" is © copyright 1982.

  "A Simple Case of Suicide" is © copyright 1983.

  'The Gentle Seduction" is © copyright 1989.

  "Hypermedia and the Singularity" is © copyright 1989.

  These stories were previously published in Analog.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  260 Fifth Avenue

  New York, N.Y. 10001

  ISBN: 0-671-69887-7

  Cover art by Corey Wolfe

  First printing, July 1990

  Distributed by

  SIMON & SCHUSTER

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, N.Y. 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-349-2

  Electronic Version by Baen Books

  www.baen.com

  Masters of the Mortal God

  Some years ago I allowed a close friend to go through all my writings, not just the ones that I have published, but all of them, including the scribbled attempts at stories I wrote when I was in high school. When she was done, I asked her what themes, if any, were shared by all my stories. I myself had already concluded that there were no such unifying points, but I thought it at least faintly possible that a less subjective eye could spot what was invisible to me.

  Well, my friend paused but for a moment before nodding her head. "All your characters are moral," she asserted. "I noticed it right off."

  I started to object. After all, Gibs Stelman lies and cheats and steals. He even runs for political office. Surely he is not a moral being!

  And yet, even he shares this common thread. I wonder how many of us would hold up as well as Gibs does, given the accident of his gift: the ability to grant life or death, the ability to rejuvenate the old and make them young again.

  Masters Of the Mortal God

  Yesterday, four more people died.

  I stared at the glass in my hand, watching my splintered reflection in the crystal. The blood red liquid muted the pallor of my skin. I slouched in the cushions of my acceleration couch, just as I had the day before.

  Today, four more people would die.

  "Gibs, we have just entered normal space. The Forma quarantine area is just ahead," a woman's voice informed me.

  I exhaled, and could barely notice the vile alcoholic stench when I breathed again.

  Fortunately, there was no one aboard my impregnable hospital ship to be horrified by the smell, or to be shocked by the appearance of a once-great mindshifter. Only Safire, the ship's computer, could see me; perhaps only she cared.

  I waved my left hand; the drink sloshed over, to puddle in the couch. "Thanks, Safire, let's see the place." Safire lit the overhead viewpanel. I gasped despite myself. I understood why some people thought Forma might be an artifact of an alien civilization.

  The most striking characteristic was the Eye: the huge circle of permanent white clouds that stared forever back at the star Pelocampus.

  The Eye existed because Forma rotated once for each revolution around Pelocampus. Beneath the Eye it was always high noon. Beneath the Eye the ocean simmered despite the protection of clouds of steam.

  Theoretically, the planet should have lost its atmosphere millions of years ago. All gases should have either boiled off at the Eye, or frozen at the Pole, on the far side. Indeed, Forma was losing its atmosphere, but much more slowly than expected: clouds reflected much of the heat at the Eye. Fierce currents of wind and water carried heat around to the wasteland at the Pole. Even the planet's core, with a thinned mantle at the Eye and the Pole, acted as a heat exchanger.

  Between the winds and the water, the weather sometimes whipped wicked. Therefore a large research expedition had come here soon after the development of the Hawking stardrive. For a long time they had been beyond even the Frontier.

  Eventually civilization expanded to surround Forma. Yet Forma remained quarantined: the descendants of the researchers liked to be alone. Intruders were not welcome. The Federation respected their wishes.

  "It is beautiful, is it not, Gibs?" Safire's soothing contralto interrupted my reverie.

  I turned away from the scene, tossing down the rest of my drink. My head ached. "Yeah." How I hated beauty! All beauty now reminded me of beauty now gone forever.

  How could I have lost her! I had been a god, giving life and death throughout the reaches of space, and still I had not been able to change one woman's fate. "Safire, another drink," I said.

  "Very well." I heard the sound of a mixer humming.

  I shook my head. "Wait. How long before we can set down?"

  "On Forma? We can't land there. It's quarantined."

  I stared at the Eye again. Did Forma have what I needed? The people were rumored to be bright, friendly, and cheerful. I needed that; I needed to surround myself with people who were happy.

  But more importantly, the people of Forma had never heard of Transfer, or immortality, or Gibs Stelman. They were innocent. I needed that more than anything else.

  "I don't care about the quarantine. I want to land."

  "What about the warships?"

  I cursed. "What warships?"

  Spaceship representations grew around the image of the planet. A fleet of detector satellites sailed in a symmetric sphere. Two starship task forces hovered above the Eye and the Pole.

  I squinted at the cruisers. "Earth?"

  "No. Sirius and Omegar."

  "What?! I thought Sirius and Omegar were at war."

  "So they are, Gibs. When Sirius offered to enforce the quarantine, Omegar demanded a joint force."

  "Why would either of them care about a weather research outpost?"

  "I don't know."

  Forma's innocence would end suddenly, it appeared. I was a little drunk. I closed my eyes to prevent the tears. I had come here to escape the troubles of Man, not to solve them! Yet, perhaps there was still time. "Do they know we're here?"

  "I don't believe so," Safire replied. "We're flying dark, using only passive sensors. I only saw them because they're using active sensors."

  "Good." Well, I couldn't sneak a behemoth like Safire past the cordon without being seen, but I might be able to sneak through in my sport boat. "Prep Glitte
r for me, Safire."

  "Very well, Gibs. But from this distance I won't be able to operate her."

  "What? Oh, I guess not." The relays would be a bit slow for outmaneuvering hostile warships. "I'll fly her myself."

  I could feel Safire's sensors scanning me.

  "What's your problem?" I continued, "I can handle her."

  "Very well, Gibs." The voice was perfectly level, and Safire was a computer after all—but still I thought I heard a note of doubt.

  A robot rolled in with my drink. "Thanks," I said as I leaned forward. But I faltered before gripping the glass. Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand. "Safire, is Glitter's bar well stocked?"

  "All the bottles are topped off."

  "Um. Well, uh, maybe you should empty them out."

  "Very well, Gibs." This time, I knew I heard relief in the voice. Safire cared. It was part of her programming.

  A mindshifter's skill, such as mine, can put an old man into a young body. Such skill is too rare and valuable to be purchased with money. The coin with which one purchases such Transfer is technology—the most advanced technology, often the most secret technology, of the planets.

  Thus Glitter was an extraordinary vessel, almost as extraordinary as Safire herself. Her engines were built on Athens, her sensors on Cassandra, her shields on Mary Jane. Glitter could beat any one of the cruisers in the fleets around Forma. Safire could take a whole task force with ease.

  But I hadn't come for fighting; I had come for surcease. All I wanted was a quiet landing. So I used minimum power, and I used a single tight beam to Safire for tracking. I almost made it through.

  One of the unmanned satellites pinged me just outside the atmosphere. Vessels converged from all sides. "So much for the quiet approach," I muttered as I applied full thrust and plunged toward Forma. Two muffled ion beams lanced my hull before the atmosphere thickened enough to scatter space weapons.

  I sat back in the pilot's seat, rather pleased with myself. "I told you I could get through," I told Safire through the tight comm beam.

  At that moment the ship jerked to the left and started tumbling. A clap of thunder sounded in my ears, and lightning tried to turn half my cringing instruments to junk parts.

  Unbelievable! Here I was, in a spaceship impregnable to the fiercest blasts of a battleship, getting whipped around by a little rough weather!

  The landing still shouldn't have been difficult, but my head ached, and my body trembled from three years of fervent abuse. So Glitter tumbled and spun and hurtled into the ground at a crushing velocity. It was an ignoble ending to a life over seven lifetimes old.

  Today, four more people would die.

  Minutes later I realized that I was still alive. The viewplate was shattered; I skittered over the crazy-tilt floor and starboard bulkheads to the airlock and threw it open.

  Powdered snow poured through the opening. The draft numbed my fingers even as I let the lock snap shut. I and Glitter lay buried beneath several hundred feet of snow.

  With that information, several of the instrument readings took on meaning; they were not broken, just surprised. And the engines still worked.

  An hour later, Glitter rested snug in an arctic valley. I needed a drink.

  No chance, of course, since I had denied myself any sensible refreshments in a moment of Safire-induced self-retribution. I settled for a breath of fresh air.

  It took me less than thirty seconds outside to realize that I'd made a mistake. Like the cat that stuck his nose through the door into the blizzard, I scurried back inside.

  Dammit, I had come prepared with a bathing suit, not a snow parka. I had planned to land some thousands of miles closer to the Eye. I suppose I was lucky I landed here; the snow saved my life. Nevertheless, now that I was saved, the snow should have had the decency to evaporate.

  It took me another day, with Safire's help, to fix enough of the viewplate so I could see to navigate.

  I started Eyeward, taking Glitter into the air for a few minutes, skimming along for a hundred miles or so, and grounding once more to look around. On my second landing I saw the skeleton.

  At least, it looked like a skeleton, floating high in the freezing air—the skeleton of an airplane, with wings of gauze. I lifted and ran Glitter as fast as I could; it was not in my plans to be found by the authorities. I left the skeleton far behind, then turned a few times at random to throw off any trackers.

  When I landed again, I quickly spotted another skeleton floating in the distance.

  With an oath, I roared away again. Three times I landed before finding a place where I wasn't in line of sight of one of the damned things.

  The climate was milder here; I could inhale the outside air without a burning sensation in my lungs. There wen- scattered clumps of pine-like trees. I parked Glitter beneath one clump and pulled a camouflage net over the top. The netting had been designed to camouflage her in the deciduous forests of Springform; it looked obscene here, but not as obscene as a flashy chrome spaceyacht.

  "How long will the repairs take, Safire?" I asked as I watched robots scurry about.

  "Three or four days. The damage reports are incomplete as yet."

  I had no intention of being cooped up that long. "Is there anything I can do to speed things up?"

  "Yes, Gibs. You could relax."

  "Ha! Better yet, I'll get out of your way." I smiled. "I'll take the slipjet. When Glitter's ready, she can catch up."

  There was a long pause. "Very well, Gibs."

  It started as a chilly ride, which was not much of a surprise. What I had forgotten was how much colder it is to sit still in a strong wind, than it is to be throwing camouflage netting in calm air. Damn! I had coddled myself too long aboard starships and inside protected buildings. How could I have forgotten the meaning of weather, and the coldness that crept slowly into your bones?

  By the time I realized I had made a grave error, I knew it was too late to get back to Glitter; my hands would be frozen before I returned.

  I landed and ran in circles around the slipjet, but I couldn't get really warm again. I climbed aboard and flew a few more miles before I lost feeling in my hands and landed.

  "Safire," I yelled into my wristcom; the wristcom was linked to Glitter, which was in turn linked to my beautiful starship, "I'm stuck in the middle of a wasteland." I quickly explained the situation. "Can you send Glitter after me?"

  "I can fly Glitter, Gibs, but her instruments are a wreck. I can't locate your position with anything she has left."

  "Well, fly her in the right general direction. I can tell if she's gone past me." At least my wristcom showed Glitter's direction. "If I see her, I'll yell."

  "She's lifting now," Safire replied.

  All I could do was wait. I ran in circles, and yelled, and held my hands inside my jacket. My current body was tough and healthy, but it wouldn't last long here. My teeth chattered.

  Today, four more people would die.

  This was my second fatal mistake in two days. Yet neither fatal mistake was as unforgiveable as the mistake I had been making for the last three years. For all the deaths in all those years, this silly ending was richly deserved.

  But Death missed me again. I saw a vehicle float out of the crisp blue-blackness of the horizon. "Safire, I see her!" I cried joyfully. "Turn about 10 degrees clockward, and—" I stopped in horror.

  "Gibs? What's wrong?"

  "Belay that order, Safire," I replied thickly. "It's a skeleton." The machine drifted closer, turning 10 degrees clockward just as if it had heard my order.

  Thunder roared behind me. I turned to see a different kind of vessel descending. As it landed I saw the emblem of Winterform on its side.

  A hull section snapped down, and a uniformed woman stepped out. "You're under arrest for unlawful trespass and malicious interference with a research task," she stated in tones as crisp and cold as the winter winds.

  "Great," I said with a shiver, "Throw me into confinement." I ran toward her. "And hurry."


  "Freeze," she commanded, drawing a lethal-looking instrument from her belt.

  "You can count on it, my lady." I stopped. She came nearer and ran a second instrument over my body. She stopped at my wrist.

  "What's that device?"

  "It's a wristcom, to let me communicate with my ship."

  "Put out your arm, slowly."

  I did, and she removed my communicator. Her fingers felt surprisingly warm as they brushed my hand.

  She nodded to tne ship. "Better get inside. I have medication for frostbite."

  I lay on a couch not unlike an acceleration couch as she smeared excruciatingly hot cream over my arms, legs and nose. I kept my teeth clenched and winced occasionally.

  "Go ahead and scream," she said gently—her voice sounded so concerned that I opened my eyes to see if it was the same person. "I know how painful this must be."

  I suppressed a spasm as she rubbed my nose again. I groaned. "My body was made for sandy beaches and warm summer nights, not for arctic blues." It was true: I typically wore a tan, lean body with soulful blue eyes and an enigmatic smile. More recently my smile was grim, my eyes were bloodshot, and my body was an emaciated ghost, but I still wasn't suited to cold weather.

  She snapped the medikit shut. "It looks like you'll survive. You won't even have to re-grow any toes, amazingly enough. You were lucky."

  "You were my luck, my lady. Thank you." I felt very warm toward this cold savior.

  "Yes." She stood up. "Now tell me what you're doing here."

  I sighed. How much of the truth should I tell? "I have come seeking surcease. I require gentle harmonies and melodious laughter, to return from the edge of insanity."

  The hard outline of her face did not change. "You sound like a half-baked poet. Is that what you do when you're not cavorting around the galaxy in your toy space-yacht? Or is poetry the latest fad among the Federation's playboys?"