Visions of Liberty Part 7

"All libertarianism is illegal," Bretygne stated the obvious, "but I've known you were somewhere on the radical side for a long time. You should be the last person to threaten us!"

"No threat, my dear lady. I've done things just as illegal as the two of you. We can hold each other hostage. How wonderful that we meet through our sordid occupation of providing information to the state!"

They listened to each other's silences. The distant clinking of gla.s.ses and low hum of voices seemed comforting somehow. The thick cloud of paranoia began to part as the light of mutual advantage touched their faces.

"Is this a safe place to have our conversation?" asked Bretygne.

"None better," said the professor. "The amba.s.sador has made this a high-tech coc.o.o.n of privacy. We need only worry about human ears. Besides, we are higher-ranking spies than anyone sent to keep an eye on us."

"So what do you want?" asked Palmer.

"Profits for all of us, and maybe something even better. What would you say to freedom?"

The ballroom music began, an arrangement of cla.s.sic rap-Muzak. This conservative choice of music inspired Palmer to better understand the mind behind the wrinkles.

"Bretygne told me that you think the world went to h.e.l.l back in the twenty-first century. That's long before the current system took over."

"One thing leads to another." Astaroth smiled, glad of an audience. "You seem to know about the North American Bill of Rights. Have you studied the Welfare War that led to the collapse of the American Empire?"

"Only what I was told in school."

"The causes of that war continue to fester even in the present day. They were the actual reason the world state eventually outlawed both capitalism and socialism. And so we descended to a new rung of h.e.l.l, the Maternal Ageist Society."

"He's quoting from one of his private books," Bretygne told Palmer, then added proudly: "I read the whole thing!"

Emboldened, Astaroth continued. "Then you remember that capitalism was outlawed as too individualistic and the cause of social atomism. Socialism was forbidden as too egalitarian and unable to punish certain groups at the expense of others, an important matter when the new chrono-charts determined everyone's place in society according to maturity levels. Our duties and obligations and guilts are calibrated before we even pop out of the womb!"

"I forgot the length of your essay" admitted the lady Lamarr.

"I need another drink," said Palmer.

Instead of a servo-mech, a ten-year-old chose that moment to wander over. He had no drinks to offer but provided an excellent prop for the prof.

Placing his hand on the blue sphere surrounding the kid, Astaroth lectured some more: "I curse the day that social scientists and religious leaders were ever allowed to fraternize. That's carrying free speech too far. In an orgy of bipartisanship, they threw out all their good ideas and joined ranks on the bad ones.

There was no need to actually burn the old Bill of Rights if it only applied to adults-and the rules for adulthood were constantly changed. Some of us can't vote until we're eighty. Some of us can't marry until we're fifty. The drinking age for everyone is forty. Heaven help those who are finally judged mature at all levels, and so condemned to eternal slavery for an ever-growing population of the immature."

Professor Astaroth finally ran out of steam. They all looked at the smiling face of the ten-year-old boy in his protective bubble. He'd been watching the professor's mouth move. Astaroth did have a most expressive face. Palmer gave the ball a friendly push and sent the kid on his way, back to his parents or state warders. One was as likely as the other.

"Well," said Palmer, "life's an itch. What's anyone to do?"

"Order more drinks," said Astaroth, his most successful speech of the evening. "If I can't have an ideal society, I'll settle for more vodka."

Just then a figure appeared at the service entrance, but it was too tall to be a servo-mech. The figure moved fast. Palmer instinctively reached for a gun that he'd left behind, a condition of attending the emba.s.sy ball. But the figure didn't attack. It stopped running and stood next to the threesome, a huge grin on its face-and an even huger cigar sticking at them between very white teeth.

Hardly anyone smoked cigars anymore.

The man wasn't easy to recognize. He was wearing a strange costume with baggy pants. A black mustache was painted on his upper lip. His eyebrows looked as if two Martian caterpillars (genetically bred to enrich the soil) had crawled on his forehead to die.

Palmer recognized the man first. After all, he'd spent time with him. A blessedly short amount of time.

This exasperating excuse for a human being had kept trying to convince Palmer that he was his own identical twin; and then he'd pretended to be the brother! And so on. And on.

"Konski." Palmer said it like a curse.

"Professor Astrolobe, you old fraud," said the guest of honor amiably. "Are you still looking for Freedonia?"

"What are you doing in that costume?" asked Bretygne who had seen the amba.s.sador on the uniweb many times. Researching his predilections and outre writings had hardly prepared her for this.

"Never mind that," said Konski. "Pick a card."

"You don't have any cards," Astaroth observed in a tired voice.

"It's because of the Nano Collapse. So hard to have physical stuff any longer."

The lady present was genuinely offended. "You don't have to use the 'n' word!"

"We must never forget the hard lessons," said Konski. "I'm sure old Professor Astringent will agree that there were unexpected benefits to the Nano War. Or collapse. Or c.r.a.p-out. Or crash. Or dissolution.

Or . . . I forget the rest. Well, no matter. It was impressive, we'll all agree. Lots more special effects than any other war. Why, if Earth military forces hadn't used those molecular decompilers we'd all be so rich now we wouldn't have anything to do."

He took off his hat-no one else was wearing a hat-and held it over his heart. "Let's shed a tear for the end of the nano-trick era. We wanted the treats instead."

The solemn moment over, he threw the hat over his head and watched a servo-mech glide out of the service entrance he'd used a moment before. Konski crouched and feigned great excitement as to whether the robot's silver tentacle would snag the ancient headgear before it touched the floor. The robot succeeded and Konski jumped up and down, clapping his hands.

The threesome so diligent in plotting subversion only a short time before now stared at the maniac who was central to their plans. Konski stared back and then noticed his cigar had gone out.

With a flourish, he produced an old-fashioned lighter in the shape of a gun. Once again it was time for the lady present to gasp. (Fainting, feigning shock and blushing with artificial aids were all part of her Feminist Finishing School charms. She only flunked fainting.) Even possessing the likeness of a gun was forbidden on Earth. Everywhere one could attend Museums of the Gun to learn of the iniquity of firearms.

Bretygne looked at Palmer and noticed his lack of concern. Sometimes she forgot that soldiers and special agents were deprogrammed from the anti-gun conditioning everyone received from birth.

While the drama of the lighter was taking place Astaroth noticed a servo-mech and gestured it over.

Everyone must have been standing too close together because just as the amba.s.sador successfully lit his cigar the robot jostled his arm and he dropped the smoldering black rope of tobacco to the antiseptically clean floor.

"Mechanical imbecile!" he shouted. "Lowly metal egg, clean up that mess!"

Suddenly there came the dread cry of "Laissez faire!" The terrifying words rose up from the general noise of the crowd. The air was filled with electric tension.

Then the same mysterious voice shouted, "End robot slavery now!"

"Oh, no," muttered Palmer.

"What is it?" asked Bretygne.

"Not what. Who."

Palmer peered into the crowd. The voice cried out again but the words were garbled.

"I can't believe it," said Palmer. "The voice is the same. I always thought Konski was kidding me. The idea seemed too horrible to credit."

The crowd parted. Bretygne grabbed Palmer's arm. Astaroth shook his head and ordered another martini. Approaching them was not merely the twin brother of the amba.s.sador. Worse, the other maniac of the evening was in the same costume presenting a perfect mirror image. He was even smoking another cigar.

The amba.s.sador stood tall, reached into his pocket as if to brandish a weapon and then pulled out another cigar that quickly found its way to his mouth. "Konski, Part Two," thundered the amba.s.sador, "you have no authority here."

"Robots of the world unite!" came an even more thunderous reply. "They have nothing to lose but your chain-smoking!"

"I repeat, you have no standing in this official and officious emba.s.sy."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Astaroth exploded, a new drink in his hand. "You're both insane anarchists.

How can there even be an anarchist emba.s.sy? The whole idea is preposterous."

The two looked at him and sneered.

"You are a minarchist," said the first Konski.

"You are therefore a deviationist," said Part Two.

"Furthermore," continued number one, "Palmer will verify that I am indeed in a position to represent trade deals with Lysander."

"Well, I . . ." began Palmer, but to no avail.

Konski, Part Two, was having none of it. "This slaveholder cannot possibly represent the free and autonomous beings that inhabit the paradise of Kropotkia."

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" Astaroth wanted to know.

Konski the former was helpful. "Oh, it's just Lysander. My brother refuses to call the planet by its proper name."

"More drinks!" suggested Bretygne. "Make them doubles."

"Triples," amended Palmer.

Amba.s.sador Konski started to touch the servo-mech but it shied away from him. With one last suck of its suction tentacle, it removed the final remains of the fallen cigar and fled. Ashes to ashes, and thence to the garbage recycler.

"It doesn't like you," said Part Two.

Konski shrugged. "Nonsense, a robot can neither like nor dislike anything. Fortunately it has departed before you can violate my private property."

"Ha! You cannot own a self-aware being."

"You can't make a contract with a household appliance."

By this point, the twins were face to face, cigar to cigar. There seemed nothing in heaven or Luna that could stop them.

"Even if they could make contracts," complained Part Two, "such agreements would be null and void, for they cannot sell their primary property which is themselves."

Konski's new cigar quivered with indignation. "Oh, yeah? If you can't sell aspects of your primary property then how can we have the most beloved trade of all true lovers of liberty, namely the fine social work performed by prost.i.tutes throughout the ages?"

"Your area of expertise, eh? Hookers can get away from you but not these poor servo-mechs."

"They don't need liberty any more than your d.a.m.ned cigar needs to escape your incisors!"

"How do you know? Maybe they only lack initiative. I'm fighting for their honor which is more than they ever did."

It went on like that for another five minutes until the Lady Bretygne Lamarr found deep inside her soul the power of two words almost equal to the power oflaissez faire .

"Shut up!" she explained.

She was so loud that her voice was heard throughout the entire ballroom. Dead silence fell over the throng and brought all revelry to a grinding halt. Then someone in the crowd finally realized that underneath the grease paint mustaches and wild hair lurked at least one guest of honor.

The crowd surged forward. A beautiful young girl of twenty-nine was first to speak as children are wont to do. "Rockets away! Seeing two of you is pure lox. May I have dual autographs?"

"Only I am the true amba.s.sador," said Konski.

"But my autograph is more valuable," said Part Two. "It doesn't come free, by the way."

"Mine costs the same!" piped in Konski.

The autographs kept the two of them out of trouble for a while while Palmer, Bretygne and Astaroth discovered a heretofore-unrealized capacity for c.o.c.ktails. Finally a servo-mech floated above the mult.i.tude and announced that dinner was about to be served.

Alas, Part Two heard the announcement. "Will we be violating animal rights tonight?" he wanted to know. "Or perhaps vegetable rights?"

Palmer was starting to feel his fifth drink of the evening. That played no small role in his responding to the terrible twin. "I know for a fact, Mister Brother of the Anarchist Amba.s.sador, that all our food tonight is completely synthetic. The only violation of rights has been on the molecular level."

"Don't ask this one what he thought of the Nano War," pleaded Bretygne in his ear.

"You used the 'n' word," he chided.

Somehow the unwieldy ma.s.s of well-dressed and undressed humanity wandered over to the dining area.

Part Two went with them. As for Amba.s.sador Konski, he grabbed Lady Lamarr by the arm and announced, "This is our chance. Follow me!"

"Why are you grabbing me by the arm?" asked Bretygne, but not really resisting. "Isn't that a violation of my elbow rights or something?"

"I'll make rest.i.tution," he grinned. "Besides, this way I know your boyfriends will follow."

They all went through a service entrance where a s.p.a.ce cadet limo was waiting. They piled in and Konski ordered the robot driver to take them out into the lunar night.

Konski's tone of voice lost its strident quality. He sounded like a different person when he said, "Tonight reminded me of an observation by the twenty-first century philosopher Garmon. He said that the truth of all technological societies lies in the manner by which we come to resemble our tools. But I don't want to look like a silver egg with tentacles! I don't want to belong to any labor force that would have me as a member."

Bretygne suddenly felt relaxed for the first time that evening. "You know, Palmer thinks I'm a spoiled brat."

"I've never said that!" he protested.

"But it's true," she said, and not a single man in the limo asked her if she meant it was true that she was spoiled or that it was true that Palmer thought so.

The professor sounded happy, too. "Freedom is learning to balance responsibility along with being spoiled. Both are essential."