Drin glanced at the ceiling. It moaned, as if its vast panels were adjusting themselves to Gorman Stendt’s will. Drin’s faith in his heritage readjusted itself as well. Perhaps Doglaska’ib had decided to ignore Drin’s warning. The long one’s mind was not what it used to be. Or, despite his efforts, had the human’s bootleg microcircuits and software actually succeeded in taking over?
Drin raised himself. “You can’t destroy all the evidence by killing us,” he said, not sure if he believed his own words. “Copies of our files, and those of Bi Tan and Gonikli, are in Trimus City.”
“Then get on your comset and have them deleted, Councilor-Commander of Monitors.” He laughed. “I’ll be able to verify it from here—and your systems are too stupid to lie to me. Evidence? We’re beyond that concern. I just don’t want anyone else doing what I’ve done. As for killing, why kill what I can control?”
There was a collective grasp. “That kind of threat will get your mind reeducated,” Richard Moon said. “Give it up, Gorman. Save yourself while you can still take it back.”
He’d gone too far for that, Drin thought. The human had gone much to far to avoid reeducation. Drin smelled rage and swiveled an eye to Borragil’ib. “Hold it in, cousin,” he whispered. “A charge here could cause dozens to die.” Then Doglaska’ib’s mouth opened slightly, just enough for Drin to see an everything-is-all-right sign made by one of the long one’s hands. What? The long one still didn’t comprehend what was happening?
“There’s no going back now.” Stendt’s voice had lost the tense overtones, the edge Drin had come to recognize as the equivalent of the challenge scent. It was as if he were already contemplated the burdens of his ill assumed leadership.
“I’ll give it up when I’m tired of it,” the human continued. “If any of you have learned anything from my human histories, you’ve learned that we progress through the acts of great individuals. People with an integrated, holistic vision of the way things ought to be and the ability to seize the day.
“In the meantime, the thirty-century stagnation of Trimus is over. Its population, or at least its human population, will be allowed to evolve toward their natural destiny, without the constraints of the Charter. Why providence selected me, I do not know. But I am a consummate artist in nurturing simulated worlds—now I shall nurture a real one. What you have to understand is that I am in charge now. Here and eventually everywhere on Trimus.”
The lights came back on and dust curtains leapt into operation. Stendt looked around in confusion.
“Not exactly.” The voice of Ibgorni echoed from the dome. Cleaning robots whirred to remove the pieces of fallen ceiling.
“I’ve played along with you,” the Do’utian cybersystem continued. “Your toys are now, and have been, under my control, but it was useful to see what you would try to do with them. That last offense of yours will be sufficient to force appropriate measures by Trimus authorities. We will not have to concern ourselves with disciplining a human here, which would be best for all.”
Drin settled back down, spouting relief. The voice was Ibgorni, but the words, in their understated humor and confidence, were Doblaska’ib’s. The long one had simply found a traditional Do’utian way of handling the situation—a tradition of living with cybernetic servants that was as long as Stendt’s race had existed. One which their ancestors had not entirely given up when settling Trimus. A human might have called it fighting fire with fire. With no conviction and no punishment, there would be little public exposure of the Ib family, nor what Ibgorni had apparently become. Drin was relieved at that as well.
The scent of relief flooded the hall. Mary bounded up to the stage to nobody’s objection and flattened herself against Drin behind his left eye with her mouth near the tight hide that covered his high frequency ear.
“Drin, who’s really in charge here? Doglaska’ib? Or Ibgorni?”
He shook his head slightly. It was not a question he could answer. How deep was their connection—over the centuries, had Doglaska’ib’s ancient body and the cybernetic system become merely different vehicles for the same mind? With the body trotted out when ceremony demanded? How long would that continue?
Drin looked at Borragil’ib. Perhaps until that one had grown long enough. Or was challenged. Drinnil’ib, himself, was a possible challenger—though far down the line. He had a vision of a future in which he tired of being Councilor-Commander of the Monitors, and came home—to something like this. Would Mary fit into—this—if he did?
Could Doglaska’ib see that too?
And what connection, Drin asked himself, did the long one have with the others, out there? Perhaps Trimusians were being watched—allowed to be themselves, but within limits? Who monitors the monitors, and who monitors them?
Drin had a vision of himself as part of a philosophical food chain of paternalism. What was on top? Was there indeed a point to it all? And what if he someday decided that, at least for him, there no longer was any point?
Mary shoved him to get his attention.
“Excuse me, Mary. Lost in thought.”
“Drin, who’s in charge?..”
As if in answer to Mary’s question, Doglaska’ib’s biological voice echoed in the hall for the second time. “Human Gorman Stendt is remanded to the custody of the Trimusian authorities. His cybernetic devices here and elsewhere are deactivated. The review is over.”