That was surely an understatement. They had to squeeze seven years into one, and work with a life-form they understood only imperfectly. It would be about as easy to teach a dolphin to speak Greek. But with the help of another dolphin who understood their purpose, and was friendly with the one they had to train, maybe it was possible.
They walked on around the outer wall of the city, gazing out of the floor. The ground came into view, seeming to be like a vertical wall; the gravity inside the city related to the city, not the planet outside. A glassy covering extended over the region surrounding the bright shell, and through it Jack could see what appeared to be exotic foliage.
"Is that a greenhouse?" he asked. "Where you grow the soybeans?"
"Please clarify your reference."
"You're feeding us reconstituted things, or adapted from something you grow. I'm sure it isn't what it appears to be, because this isn't Earth. We do a lot with a plant called the soybean, and maybe other plants, too."
She smiled. "Why, yes, Jack, you are most perceptive." Despite his knowledge that she was following a script which he himself had just revised, he found himself warming to her. He liked being flattered by a beautiful woman.
"Let's go down there."
She shook her head. "No, Jack. That would not be wise."
"Why not? Those plants aren't going to eat me, are they?"
"Not physically. But they are of rather special breeds, capable of adapting rapidly to unusual conditions, such as the light of thousands of suns, and of producing particular nutrients as required. They are responsible for the air you are able to breathe, which is poisonous to most creatures of the galaxy, and they refine your essential fluid, water. We select those aspects of their production which are appropriate. There are other aspects which are not appropriate."
More was falling into place. The planet of the honkers was similar to Earth in its atmosphere and gravity, so human beings had been able to colonize it. How they had come there— well, he could ask, and would surely receive an answer, but he preferred to wait and find out for himself. So the Gaol recruited human minions to serve in that region, and perhaps elsewhere, but humans were no more significant than goldfish in a bowl. Except that this time the Imago had chosen a goldfish as host. What a kettle that was!
"Just what would happen to me if I went among those plants?" he asked.
"Physically you would not suffer; the plants have been attuned to your biology. But your mind and emotion might be affected by their pheromones. We have no direct information, but our references suggest that your perception of reality could be distorted, changing your nature significantly."
Reality is a dream. Jack remembered those sleep-talking words of Tappy's. Did they relate?
He turned away from the scene as if losing interest. "I note you have control of gravity here."
"Yes."
"How is it that you have such high-tech features, yet have to hide from the Gaol?"
"The Gaol are conquerors. We are not. We lack emotions, therefore have no desire for aggrandizement. We exist only to serve the Imago."
"But you are machines! Some living species must have made you. What happened to those folk?"
"I know of no such species."
"You're saying that you robots evolved on your own?"
"I have no knowledge of this."
Jack dropped the subject, but filed it away in his "unfinished" mental compartment.
They continued walking. Then Candy paused as if startled. "Jack, we have learned that the Gaol are quartering the galaxy, and will locate us sooner than we anticipated. We shall have to accelerate our program. Your cooperation is essential, because Tappy knows and trusts you. But we of the AI do not know or trust you well enough to risk the Imago with you. Will you allow us to survey you?"
"You've been risking Tappy with me all along!" Jack exclaimed. "Last night—"
"No. You were monitored. Jack, as you know. Had you sought to bring her to harm of physical, mental, or emotional nature, we would have interdicted it. Now we must allow you greater access to her, for you relate to her in a way we do not."
"I'm human," he said wryly.
"That is true. You also have a relationship with her that has greater leverage than we can muster at the moment. We had hoped to learn the human ways, and relate to her, so as to train her adequately in the time available. But now we must work through you more directly."
"What happens if she isn't properly trained?"
"This much we have learned of your recent culture: you have a weapon called a gun?"
"Yes, we have guns," he said, scowling. "So do the Gaol. If you expect me to use a gun—"
"No. But if one were to place a gun in the hand of a small child—"
"The power of the Imago— it's like that? Dangerous?"
"The analogy is imperfect. But in degree, it is like a gun capable of causing a planet to rupture. I think you can not at present appreciate the actual nature of the power of the Imago. Perhaps gun is not the appropriate term. Perhaps grenade, or detonator—"
"I'm getting the gist. That girl is dangerous."
"Only if her power is improperly used. But with appropriate direction, it means the salvation of galactic culture. It is essential that its proper potential be realized."
"So you want to use me to make Tappy do something. I'm not sure I care to be used."
She turned to him, taking him by the arm, staring into his face. Now she was animated, and startlingly pretty. "Jack, we need you! I beg of you: help us."
How well she had learned! Every inflection was right, every aspect of her facial and bodily expression. Her hair was tumbled back, her bosom was heaving, her eyes were wide—On top of that, he believed her: the AI were now desperate. There was no way he could turn down her plea without feeling like a heel.
"What does this 'survey' entail?"
"We will put you in a chamber and question you. Your responses will be analyzed. By this we shall know whether it is appropriate to place the Imago in your charge."
"My charge! Tappy's a person! She should be free to make her own decisions."
"Tappy is a person," she agreed. "The Imago is not. If I may return to my crude analogy, the Imago is like the gun in her hand. You must tell her how it is to be used. When we are sure that your judgment and motive are suitable."
"So that she won't turn that gun on you?"
"That is not our concern. If the Imago were to desire our destruction, we would destroy ourselves. But we can not allow the Imago to be misdirected."
They had a point. "Okay. Survey me."
"Here." She led the way into the closest step-through panel. Was it coincidence that they were right here, or could any chamber serve? He decided that the chambers were as interchangeable as the AI themselves were.
Then Candy was gone. Jack stood alone in what appeared to be a rocky desert. But the rocks were giant crystals, and the sand was confetti, and the sky was purple. Evidently the AI notion of an Earthly landscape.
Had you your desire, what would it be?
"You mean, apart from Tappy's welfare?" he asked.
Without qualification.
"Well, first I'd see that Tappy was okay. In fact, I'd like to see her cured of everything that ails her. I want her to see again, and be happy—
Do not speak. Imagine.
Imagine? "Maybe I could paint it," he said. "If I had my paints."
Paint.
He pretended he had a brush, palette, and canvas set up on an easel. He touched his brush to blue, and made a sweep to paint the sky blue.
The blue appeared. He moved his hand farther, and the blue spread accordingly. Then he let his hand drop and just pictured it— and abruptly the entire sky was blue instead of purple. "Like a computer painting program!" he exclaimed.
Clarify your reference.
He ran through the mechanism of computer painting in his mind. There was agreement: this was somewhat like that.