Savi laughed. “It doesn’t, gentle children. Your fax portals don’t send you anywhere. They destroy you. Rip you atom from atom. They don’t even send the atoms anywhere, just store them until they’re needed by the next person faxing in. You don’t go anywhere when you’re faxed. You just die and allow another you to be built somewhere else.”
Odysseus drank his wine and watched the receding storm, apparently not interested in Savi’s explanations. The other four stared at her.
“Why,” said Ada, “that’s . . . that’s . . .”
“Insane,” said Daeman.
Savi smiled. “Yes.”
Harman cleared his throat and set down his coffee cup. “If we are destroyed every time we fax, Savi Uhr, how is it that we remember everything when we . . . arrive . . . somewhere else?” He held up his right arm. “And this small scar. I received it seven years ago, when I was ninety-two. Normally, these little problems are cleared up when we go the firmary every Twenty, but . . .” He stopped as if seeing the answer himself.
“Yes,” said Savi. “The machine-minds behind the faxportals remember your little imperfections, just as they do your memories and personality’s cell structure, sending the information—not you, but the information—from faxnode to faxnode, updating you and fixing your aging cells every twenty years—what you call your firmary visits—but why do you think you disappear on your hundredth birthday, Harman Uhr. Why do they quit renewing you when you reach a hundred? And where will you go on your next birthday?”
Harman said nothing but Daeman said, “To the rings, you foolish woman. On the Fifth Twenty, we all ascend to the rings.”
“To become post-humans,” said Savi, barely avoiding a sneer. “To ascend into heaven and sit at the right hand of . . . someone.”
“Yes,” said Hannah, but she made it sound like a question.
“No,” said Savi. “I don’t know what happens to the memory patterns the logosphere keeps of you until you turn one hundred, but I know they don’t send the data to the rings. It may be stored, but I suspect it’s just destroyed. Scrambled.”
For the second time this long day, Ada felt as if she might faint. Still, she was the first to find her voice. “Why can’t you and Odysseus Uhr use the faxnodes, Savi Uhr ? Or do you just choose not to?” Choose not to be destroyed, to have the atoms of your body ripped apart like the bodies of the grazer and Terror Bird we were eating tonight. Ada dipped her fingers in her water glass and touched her fingertips to her cheek.
“Odysseus can’t fax because the logosphere has no record of him,” Savi said softly. “His first attempt to fax would be his last.”
“Logosphere?” repeated Harman.
Savi shook her head again. “That’s a complicated topic. Too complicated for an old woman who’s had too much to drink today.”
“But you will explain it soon?” pressed Harman.
“I’ll show you all tomorrow,” said Savi. “Before we go our different ways again.”
Ada caught Harman’s eye. He could barely contain his excitement.
“But this logosphere . . . whatever it is,” said Hannah, “has a record of you? For the faxnodes? So you could fax?”
Savi showed her unhappy smile. “Oh, yes. It remembers me from more than fourteen hundred years ago and when I faxed every day of my life. The logosphere is waiting for me like some invisible Terror Bird . . . it would recognize me instantly if I were to try one of your regular fax portals. But that would be my last attempt as well.”
“I don’t understand,” said Hannah.
“Let’s put all this technical double-talk aside for a while,” said Savi. “Accept that neither Odysseus here, nor I, can use your precious fax portals. And if I visited your wonderful society by flying there, it would be my life.”
“Why?” asked Harman. “There’s no violence in our world. Other than the turin drama. And none of us believe that is real.” He looked pointedly at Odysseus, but the gray-haired man did not respond in any way.
Savi sipped her wine. “Just believe me when I say that to show myself openly would be death. Also believe me that it is imperative that Odysseus be allowed to meet people, to speak to them, to be heard. If I were to fly you back, would one of you host him at your home for a few weeks? A month?”
“Three weeks,” interrupted Odysseus, sounding brusque, as if hearing himself spoken about as if he weren’t there had irritated him. “No more.”
“All right,” said Savi. “Three weeks. Will any of you offer three weeks of hospitality to this stranger in a strange land?”
“Wouldn’t Odysseus be in danger in the same way you are?” asked Daeman.
“Odysseus Uhr can take care of himself,” said Savi.
The four were silent a minute, trying to understand the request and the circumstances of the request. Finally Harman said, “I’d like to host Odysseus, but I also want to visit this place you said might have spacecraft, Savi Uhr. My goal is to get to the rings. And as you pointed out, I’m approaching my final Twenty—I don’t have any time to waste. I’d rather spend the time finding this drained sea where you say the post-humans kept something that can fly to the e- and p-rings. Perhaps if you showed me how to pilot your sonie . . .”
Savi rubbed her brow as if her head hurt. “The Mediterranean Basin? You can’t fly there, Harman Uhr .”
“You mean it’s forbidden?”
“No,” said Savi. “I mean you can’t fly there. The sonies and other flying machines won’t work over the Basin.” She paused and looked around the table. “But it’s possible to hike or drive into the Basin. I’ve tried and failed to go there over centuries, but I can lead you there. If one of your friends agrees to host Odysseus for three weeks.”
“I want to go with you and Harman,” said Ada.
“So do I,” said Daeman. “I want to see this Whatchamacallit Basin.”
Harman looked at the younger man in surprise.
“To hell with it,” said Daeman. “I’m no coward. I’ll wager that I’m the only one here who’s been eaten by an allosaurus.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Odysseus, and drained the last of his wine.
Savi looked at Hannah. “That leaves you, my dear.”
“I’d be happy to host Odysseus,” said the young woman. “But I don’t fax that much or go to parties. I live with my mother and she doesn’t host groups that often either.”
“No, that won’t work, I’m afraid,” said Savi. “Odysseus only has three weeks and we need to start with a place that is well known and where many can stay for weeks on end. Actually, Ardis Hall would have been perfect.” She looked at Ada.
“How do you know about Ardis Hall, Savi Uhr?” asked Ada. “For that matter, how do you know about Harman’s reading or anything about the world, if you cannot walk among us or use the faxnodes?”
“I do watch,” said the older woman. “I watch and wait and sometimes fly to places where I can mingle with you.”
“The Burning Man,” said Hannah.
“Yes, among other places,” said Savi. She looked around the table and said, “You all look exhausted. Why don’t I show you to your rooms so you can get a good night’s sleep? We’ll continue the conversation in the morning. Just leave the dishes, I’ll clear them and wash them later.”
The idea of picking up or washing dishes had never occurred to the guests. Once again, Ada looked around and felt the absence of servitors and voynix.
Ada wanted to protest this enforced bedtime—they’d not yet heard Odysseus tell his tale—but she looked at her friends—Hannah hollow-eyed with fatigue, Daeman drunk and barely able to keep his head up, Harman’s face showing his age—and felt the exhaustion working at her as well. It had been one hell of a day. It was time to sleep.