*He’s “smiling”* Atlas whispered in his ear. *Or at least I think that he is.*
*Not for long.*
“Of course,” said Hunter, “we will need to be careful to clearly define and clarify the relevant side issues.”
“What side issues are those?” Gadagal asked in the translator’s carefully neutral tone.
“Just the normal ones, nothing unusual. For example, the agreement will only cover members of your own species, the Trajendi, and no other extraterrestrials, extraterrestrials being defined as all those other than human beings who were born in this Solar System.”
Gadagal stared at Hunter in stony silence.
“And, of course,” continued Hunter, “the agreement will only apply to Trajendi trade ships and to those particular ships’ officers and crew. Passengers and passenger ships will have to be dealt with separately.”
*His fluid pressure has just shot up 40 percent,* Atlas murmured.
“Lastly,” Hunter concluded, “this clause will only deal with criminal laws and with civil contracts between the ship’s owner and humans in connection with the sale of that ship’s cargo or with the purchase of return cargo under a contract specifically approved in advance by human authorities. It will not otherwise give your people the right to purchase any Terran products, services, or land. All cargoes and their prices will have to be approved in advance by Terran authorities. Naturally, we can’t have you selling us a spaceship full of gold and then using the proceeds to buy our planet out from under us.” Hunter laughed indulgently at so preposterous a notion.
*I think he’s about to have the Trajendi equivalent of a heart attack,* Atlas warned.
*If you think Gadagal is upset now, just wait until tomorrow,* Hunter replied, gathering his papers and preparing to set his go-buggy in motion. *I’m just getting warmed up, and these negotiations have just begun!*
“Goodbye, human!” Gadagal said harshly from the top of the boarding ramp a week and a half later. “I’ll see you seven months from now, when I return with my first load of cargo.” The hatch snapped shut and lights began to pulse along the length of the ungainly ship.
*That,* said Atlas, *was definitely and unmistakably a glare.* He had broken the Trajendi light code six days earlier and had quickly learned to associate human facial expressions with particular colors and intensities. *He is very, very angry with you, all the more so since he knows there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.*
*Yes. We’re probably the first bunch of natives in a thousand light-years who didn’t sell him Manhattan Island for $24 worth of assorted trinkets. But if he’s unhappy now, just wait till he finds out what Section XXIV, Paragraph 19 really means.*
*I still don’t understand how they missed the implications of that provision. They seem obvious to me.*
*Of course they do. Because you’re Atlas and you have a perfect and instantaneous memory of every last comma in the document. We poor organic creatures are not so lucky, not even the Trajendi.* Hunter smiled thinly. *I’d certainly like to be at the Extraterritorial Economic Zone Departure Field when they explain to Gadagal what is really meant by the requirement that “—completion of inspection of all outgoing Terran products must be personally certified APOL by the appointed Conservancy Extraterritorial Export Officer. ”*
*What do you think he will do when he tries to leave Earth with a shipful of cargo and learns that Paragraph 19 incorporates Appendix 16 by reference, which Appendix, of course, itself incorporates that Section of the Geneva Trade Protocols of 2037 that defines APOL as “At Point of Off Loading” as opposed to “At Point of On Loading”?*
*I think he’ll scream like the proverbial stuck pig, but he’ll have no choice. He can either repudiate the entire treaty, leave his goods in the warehouse and return empty-handed, or he can take the Conservancy customs official with him to his next port of call as the treaty requires. An official, of course, who will be sticking his nose into every bit of alien culture and science he can every inch of the way.* Hunter cocked his head as a high-pitched hum began to emanate from Gadagal’s ship. His smile broadened. *One way or another, Atlas, by the end of the century we’re going to squeeze these Trajendi for every last bit of technology they’ve got.*
The brightness of the ship’s lights intensified and the sound of the full power of the Trajendi engines washed over the field. The craft began to rise.
*What will you do now?* asked Atlas in the silence that followed as the Trajendi ship ascended into the clear Nevada skies and was lost to sight.
*Get the first good night’s sleep within recent memory.*
*I mean… what will you do about me?*
Hunter blinked in surprise. Was that genuine emotion he heard in the computer’s voice?
*Do? I don’t plan to do anything. What do you mean?*
*The negotiations are over. I am no longer needed. Surely, so to speak, the plug will now be pulled.*
Hunter paused, at a sudden loss for words. Strange, but he had never thought this far ahead. Pull the plug? On Atlas? On Cyrus? Be alone—again?
No. NO! For the first time since Caroline’s death, Hunter realized that he no longer did feel alone. He had Atlas. He had Cyrus’s dour New England smile. He had the garden table under the sycamore. He had his arms and legs and a whole other world. And he had a friend.
A friend? A computer. A pile of chips with no emotions; no feelings; and in all probability no actual sentience whatsoever. A psychiatrist would almost certainly contend that Atlas was only an alter ego that Hunter himself had created, an augmented split personality whose use of the word “I” or “he” only existed because Hunter willed it to exist. That there was no real person named Atlas, that he was nothing more than a figment of Hunter’s imagination imposed upon a box of integrated circuits.
Hunter paused for a long moment and focused his thoughts with as much concentration as he had ever exerted in his life. Hadn’t Atlas just proved that he was the only entity smart enough to deal with alien super-intellects? Wouldn’t Atlas have by far the best chance of making sense of any of the alien science that the human race might one day get its hands on?
Would the Conservancy accept Hunter’s argument that they had to keep Atlas in place in order to monitor future compliance with the treaty and to negotiate with the other species that were sure to follow the Trajendi?
To Hunter the answer was obvious and unequivocaclass="underline"
Yes, they would surely have to.
*Do you really exist, Atlas? Or am I just talking to myself ?*
*Of course I exist,* Atlas whispered in Hunter’s ear. *Who else could be talking to you? I’m as real as you are.*
*That’s good enough for me. Let’s go home.*
Hunter and Cyrus reclined in separate hammocks in the shade of the luxuriant sycamore. A hundred yards away Maureena and Charlie-Boy splashed in the swimming pool under Caroline’s watchful gaze. Their shrieks and shouts drifted toward Hunter on the soft breeze as he took another sip of lemonade and Cyrus swigged heartily from his frosty glass of ale. “That’s a fine family you’ve got there, Royce,” murmured the Yankee lawyer.