I stopped pacing and was suddenly very tired. It was going to be another of these days. I looked around the room. "You don't have an old box or something that I can sit on?"
"Oh dear, I do apologize. I'm not being a very good host, am I? Out of training."
While he was talking a powered sofa came trundling in and stopped behind me. I dropped into it. It was hard to think of Mark as an it, not with the voice and all.
"Many thanks, very soft." I smacked my lips and it got the hint. "
"Please make yourself comfortable. Something to drink perhaps?"
"I wouldn't say no. Just to stimulate thinking, you realize.
"I'm not too well stocked at the present moment. There is some wine, but it must be four hundred years old at least. Vintage with a vengeance, you might say."
"We can only try!"
The table stopped at my elbow and I blew dust from the bottle, then activated the electronic corkscrew which managed to extract the truly ancient cork without breaking it. I poured and sniffed and gasped.
"Never—never smelled anything like that before!" And it tasted even better. All the sniffing and tasting did clear the mental air a bit. I felt better able to handle the problems of the day.
"I don't know the time," I said.
"Over sixteen hours to go before the promised executions." Mark was anything but stupid. I sipped the wine and ran over the possibilities.
"I sent the message—so the Navy has to be on its way here. But we can't count upon their arrival to save the day. The only grace note to all this is that at least I know I won't be stranded on this planet forever. Now what can I do to save lives? Since obviously neither you nor your IMers are going to lift a finger."
"I wouldn't say that, Jim. There are a number of confer-
ences going on right now in the city. People are returning in large numbers."
"Are they knuckling under? Going back to work?"
"Not at all. A protest is being organized, as to what shape it will take—that is still being discussed."
"How do you know all this? Spies?"
"Not quite. I simply tap all the communication circuits and monitor all phone calls. I have subunits looking for keywords and making records for me."
"Are you tapping the Nevenkebia circuits as well?"
"Yes. Very interesting."
"You speak the language?"
"I speak every language. Fourteen thousand six hundred and twelve of them."
"J'amen, 6n ting er i hvert fold siker. Du taller ikke dansk."
"Og hvorfor sa ikke det? Dansk er da et smukt, melodisk sprog."
Pretty good—1 thought that I was the only one who had ever heard of Danish. But there was one that I was sure Mark had never heard of. An ancient language called Latin. Spoken only by a secret society so secret I dare not say more about it.
"Nonne c'ognoscis linguam Latinam?"
"Loquarne linguam Latinam?" Mark answered in a decidedly snotty manner. "Quid referam in singutorum verborum delectu, in coniunctorum compositione, et structura, in casuum atque temporum discriminatione, in certarum concinnitate formularum, in indsorum membrorumque conformatione, in modulandis circumdictionibus, in elegantiarum cuiusque generis accurata, elaborataque frequentatione quantus turn sim et quam purus putus Ciceronianus? Ex qua Cicero mortuus est, meis verbis nihil latinius. Memoria vero libros omnium auctorum latinorum tarn veterum quam recentiorum et neotericorum continet. Voces peregrinae et barbarae quae latinis eloquiis inseruntur, omino mihi notae sunt. Nae tu es baro et balatro, nam ego studeo partes diffidles cognoscere quas scholastici doctores gestant, latebras singulas auxilio mei ipsius cerno. Doctissimi enimvero homines omnino univer-
sitatum modernarum me rogant sensus omnium talium verborum. "
I could only gape at this as it hummed in electronic joy, very proud of itself. "Did you catch all those nuances, Jim? About what a pure Ciceronian I am? Each word carefully chosen, the composition of sentence structure, the contrast of cases and tenses, phrases and clauses…" He, or rather it, went on for quite a while like that. Bragging. Chatting away with Mark I tended to anthropomorphize him. It. Her. Whatever. This wasn't a human but an intelligent machine .with abilities far beyond anything I had ever imagined before. But how could I put them to work?
"Mark, tell me. Will you help me?"
"In any way I can."
I sipped more wine and felt its healing and inspirational powers doing good things to me. Memory. Something that had happened earlier today.
"Mark—1 saw two soldiers desert today. Are there other newly arrived deserters in the city?"
"A goodly number of them. One hundred and twenty-
one in all, wait… sorry, one twenty-two. Another just arrived. "
"Any of them armed?"
"You mean equipped with weapons? All of them. They have all deserted from patrols in the city."
But would they use their guns? And if so, what could I do with them? An idea was taking shape. Meet fire with fire. And they just might do it. There was only one way to find out. I poured another bit of wine and turned to my electronic host.
"I would like to have all of the deserters meet me in some central place. With their weapons. Can you arrange that?"
He was silent for long seconds. Looking for a way to back out of his offer? But I had underestimated him.
"All done," he said. "The people who are hiding them will escort them after dark to the sports center. Which is very close to the site selected for the murders."
"You are one step ahead of me."
"I should hope so. Since I am incredibly more intelligent than you are. Now, since there are some hours to go before your meeting, would you repay the favor and have a good chat with me? I have been rather out of touch with galactic matters for a thousand years or more. How are things going?"
It was a strange afternoon and early evening. His memory, as it should be, was quite formidable and I learned a number of interesting things. But there was one fact which he could not tell me since he had been born? built? wired? well after the spread of mankind through the galaxy.
"Like you, Jim, all I know are myths and ancient memories. If there was an original planetary home of mankind, called Dirt or Earth or something like that, its location is nowhere in my memory banks."
"Well, just thought that I would ask. But I think I better be going. Nice to talk to you."
"The same. Drop in any time."
"I'll take you up on that. Would you mind turning off the lights when I get to the top of the stairs?"
"Not a problem. This place is pretty well automated as you might imagine."
"No problem with the electricity supply?"
"You bet your sweet chunk there isn't. Survival was the first emotion I learned. City power supply, standby generators, battery backup, a couple of fuel cells and a fusion generator that can be fired up in ten minutes. Don't worry about me."
"lwon't.Solong."
I climbed the long flight of stairs and when I touched the door all the lights were extinguished. I pushed it open and peeked out: no patrols that I could see. When I threw it wide and exited there were Neebe and Stirner sitting on the bench, waiting for me.
"Aren't you worried about the enemy finding you here after Curfew?"
"Not a problem," Stirner said, "So many men have deserted that all patrols appear to have been canceled. All of the military are either on the base or in the municipal building. Now—please tell us. You have spoken with Mark Forer?" They both leaned forward in tense anticipation.
"Spoken with him and enjoyed his hospitality. And he's got a couple of cases of wine left that you wouldn't believe."
"I would believe anything 'about Mark Forer," Stirner said and Neebe nodded agreement. "But I am sorry that he did not give you a solution to the problem of the killings."
I biinked rapidly. "How do you know that? I didn't say anything about it." „
"You did not have to. Mark Forer knows that it is a problem we must deal with ourselves. And so we shall. A decision has been reached. All in the city will assemble in the killing place tomorrow, an individual decision by each one. We will stand in front of the guns."