He took out a written statement, and there was another squawk of laughter.
He droned. Mae wanted to understand. It was the first time she had heard a professor talk, and she expected wisdom, and it was no surprise to her that she could not follow what was said.
But she did begin to find it difficult to breathe.
There was something called Juh-ee Em. Another English word. Was all the world English? GM was something about very small things. It was about growing things. It was also, somehow, about making people smarter. The professor wanted to change things in people.
He started talking about children who could read after six months, who were doing advanced mathematical work at thirteen. That, she could understand. That, she could picture. He was saying that people were stupid, but they could be cured.
He was having to raise his voice. 'GM is one area in which Karzistan could push ahead, becoming a new centre of advancement for the world.'
'More like a playground for crooks!' someone shouted.
'Karzistan is not a garbage pail for the rest of the world!'
The professor was shouted down.
'We're here to talk about Air. Go play with your own Juh Nee Sus!'
An Airhead got overexcited. He leapt up, like a dancer, and he didn't need the Focus. He yelled, voice breaking, 'Air can do anything GM could do! In New York, they merge minds for a hobby to make new music! We are still talking about it as if it were television! We still use the word "screens"!'
'The blind could see!' roared the Army Boot Woman next to Mae.
'School's out. No more need for Teachers!'
'Or Talents! That's her real problem.'
Is this a war? Mae wondered. The shouting was so unlike the Karzistani way. It was ugly, showed lack of control, lack of harmony, even lack of Islamic discipline. Lack of everything. Who were these… these… children? In their goggles and crazy clothes?
And were people so very stupid that they all were to be erased, made better?
The Shark stood up. He smiled slightly and flicked a finger toward the Talent. The air around him seemed to brighten.
'Hikmet Tunch, Green Valley Systems.' His voice, typically Karz, was gravelly, but surprisingly high, almost like a woman's. He said nothing else, but immediately the noise in the hall reduced.
'Professor Li Ho is correct, of course. GM is a technology with immense potential and one that Karzistan must not ignore. At Green Valley Systems we are looking at all aspects of Medical Interface. We have a programme to see how the Gates Format could be used in our cultural setting, perhaps alongside the UN Format. One of the applications we are looking at is the use of Air to artificially augment intelligence, which does avoid some of the ethical issues surrounding GM.'
There was an admiring murmur and a scattering of applause.
The next question was respectful, from a colourless young man in a loose grey shirt and not a trace of Airhead finery. 'I would like to ask Mr Tunch-sir what is he finding out about the Gates Format and the ways it differs from the UN Format.'
That, thought Mae, is someone who was told to ask him that question. Sharks have little fish that follow them for scraps.
For some reason people chuckled. The Army Boot Woman gave a kung fu kick of joy.
'The Gates Format is very… confusing,' began Mr Tunch-sir, and there was a fresh wave of comment as if there had been some kind of admission. The Talent gave the same embarrassed grimace as Mr Oz.
Mr Tunch seemed very aware of the effect he was having. His face became hooded, hazy somehow, smiling like a mask, his eyes screened. 'Once you are beyond the Gates, everything merges, with no neat divisions. It is a little bit slower than the UN Format, but once the Gates are open, it becomes very intuitive. For all of those reasons we hope that augmented functions will be able to merge invisibly with the user's own functions.' He smiled again and Mae saw teeth.
Mae felt vertigo. She understood none of it, not the words, not the disputes, not what people wore, or even how they moved. Her future had seemed settled and in order. It had felt like a staircase up to a door that was clearly labelled: Air. You only had to make that climb once.
Instead the future was a pit. It went down in layers, each layer stranger than the next. And there was no bottom to it.
The Talent intervened, smiling, embarrassed, heightened in the Focus. 'I am sure that we are very interested in Mr Tunch's insights into the Gates Format. Which, of course, he has never entered himself, as the creation of second imprints is illegal.'
A murmur of laughter and collusion. Panic gripped Mae. Here, a scant thirty miles from Red Mountain, people were talking a new language, about things she had never heard of, dreamed of. All of them were lazily familiar with it. It was a whole Way of which she knew nothing. Nothing except that it was death to her village. Death not only to her village, but to all human beings, as they once had been. Blood seemed to drain from Mae's head.
Did none of them love being human? Did they all so badly want to become machines, to be measured? Mae's fingers and knees buzzed.
'Why do you want us all to die?'
Mae was suddenly aware that she had spoken aloud. She had spoken aloud without willing it. She tried to say, to Sunni, I did not say that. I shouted but it was not me.
And she couldn't. She, Mae, couldn't speak.
She sat frozen in her chair, unable to move, everything numbed except her mouth. Her mouth seemed to snap by itself, like a turtle's. She heard herself shout.
'We built you! We built this City, we put in the drains, we nurtured you. And now you want us to die? You want us to put ourselves to the knife? Fade back into the earth, to be despised by you… you automobiles. You, you, streetlamps. You, you radios, you parrot radios!'
'It's happening again,' Sunni said quickly.
'It's never been anything like this,' said Sezen, sitting up in alarm. 'Look, she's fighting it. She's trying to stop it. Mae, Mae, it's not you talking, is it?'
Mae managed to make her body nod once: Yes.
Mr Oz looked appalled, embarrassed. Mr Wing crouched around out of his chair and knelt in front of Mae and looked deep into her eyes.
'We will not go without a fight! Humankind will not go without a fight!'
'Stop it, Mae!' pleaded Sunni.
Mae's wide eyes tried to say, mutely, I can't!'
And Sezen suddenly stood up, jaw thrust out, and signalled the Talent. The Talent saw they were peasants, saw it was an emergency, and yearned for order. The Talent acquiesced and passed the Focus.
'All you city people,' said Sezen.
Mae kept shouting. 'In the olden days, ancestors were worshipped!'
'You talk as if most of your own people do not exist. I am a peasant. I live on the top of Red Mountain. My mother keeps a goat in the living room and we sit on the corncobs we eat for furniture!'
'I want to go home! I want my home!'
Fighting made it worse. Fighting made the thing resist. Mae decided to try to calm it. Sssh, Mrs Tung, dear Old Mrs Tung. Quiet, my love. I am sorry you are dead, but all things die. How many times has our village died, one people after another? You said that yourself.
Something was halted and grew confused. 'Where is this? What is this?' it asked in miserable confusion. The hall itself had fallen silent.
Sezen had turned to the room and was pointing at Mae. 'That woman, my boss, was in your Air, when you tried your Test. And another woman died in her arms because of your Test. And the other woman's mind still lives in her! Are you happy! Are you proud of Juh-ee Em now?!'
The Talent grew concerned in a professional voice: 'How… How was this not reported?'
Sezen answered. 'We live thirty miles up a mountain! There is no one to report to!' There was an unreadable noise of reaction in the hall. Sezen kept shouting: