Lovelock (28 page)

“When
is
the new network going online?” asked Carol Jeanne. “It would really help our work to be able to access all of the databases without having to change systems.”

“Soon,” said Van Pell.

“Sooner, in fact, now that we know that these most recent breaches of computer security come from problems that won’t be present in the new software.” Mendoza gave me a formidable glare. “In the meantime, don’t let your monkey prowl in the system. He could do all kinds of damage without realizing it.”

Every instinct demanded that I defecate into my hand and throw the pellet at her. But I restrained myself. Don’t ever let it be said that monkeys can’t be civilized. Besides, it would only make Mendoza all the more certain that she was right about me. Let her go on thinking that I was just an animal that somehow could access delicate computer equipment. It was my best protection, to have the security people think of me as a cleverly trained pet.

I had also managed to keep Peter’s knowledge of the back door a secret. But since they would immediately set up traps now that they were aware of the back door, I would have to send Peter an anonymous message right away, warning him that the back door had been discovered and was now a trap. Plenty of time—it would take them hours to set up new routines.

Even as my thoughts were racing, Carol Jeanne was answering them—rather testily. “My witness was not prowling in the system. Lovelock merely investigated two breaches of security and dealt with them.”

“Our monitoring devices were not a
breach
of security. They
were
security.”

“When someone puts a monitoring device on my computer without asking my permission, ladies, that
is
a breach of security. Don’t ever do it again.”

They glared at her. It was a delicious confrontation—the hard-bodied law enforcement officers trying to face down a soft-bodied scientist. When they finally wilted beneath Carol Jeanne’s benign gaze, it only showed that the kind of will that builds strong bodies twelve ways isn’t a match for the kind of will that conceives of entire biospheres and brings them to life.

When they had left the room, Carol Jeanne laughed and reached for me. I jumped onto her soft chest and felt her fingers stroking me, and for a few moments I was insanely happy. Good slave. Attaboy. Good, good slave.

I checked the incubator as often as I could; after the first month, I did it every day. I knew that the real trial of my life would come when the baby emerged. Primate babies are born stupid and needy. They can’t do anything for themselves. They need nurturing. I read everything I could find about the care and feeding of capuchin monkeys, learning everything that the humans meant to do to raise them properly so they could eventually fend for themselves in the wild on our new world. I carried the parts of a cage up the wall of the Ark to a recessed, secure hiding place and assembled them there, so that the baby wouldn’t fall out when I had to leave her. I stole a hugger—a soft, yielding monkey-fur doll designed for hatched-out monkey embryos to cling to in order to satisfy their need for physical warmth and affection. Monkey fur…I’m
sure
the monkey they got it from died naturally.

Monkey chow was trickier. The supply was limited—only enough was being produced on the Ark to feed
me
. At first it wouldn’t matter, because I would be feeding the baby a non-milk-based formula through a baby bottle, both common as dirt and easy to steal. In a few weeks or months, though, to give her a well-balanced diet I would have to steal from myself. Which meant that to eat adequately, I would have to get a good supply of fruits, flowers, and vegetables. Or else start eating leaves, which meant getting the runs in a big way. We capuchins are built so that during lean times, when there’s nothing to eat but greens, our digestive systems kick into overdrive and process the roughage in a matter of three or four hours, so we can eat more and thus—maybe—get enough nutrients to stay alive till some fruit or other comes into season. What this translates to is, no more hard little pellets of poop. I would leave streaks of diarrhea everywhere I set my butt, and Carol Jeanne would take me to a veterinarian and he might well realize that I wasn’t eating my monkey chow.

In other words, I was really planning ahead. I knew how everything should go, I knew all the dangers, and I was set.

I found out about Neeraj and Dolores the easy way—I saw them together. I was on one of my clandestine journeys to the gestation chambers when I saw them under a tree in the dim light of evening. They were sitting there talking, that’s all, but they were holding hands and it didn’t take a Ph.D. in psychology to recognize that Dolores was flat-out in love with Neeraj.

My first thought was: It sure didn’t take him long to find a substitute when Carol Jeanne made it clear she wasn’t going to be available for marriage.

My second thought was: Dolores is in Mayflower. Neeraj couldn’t have picked a mate under circumstances more likely to make Carol Jeanne writhe. Because I happened to believe that Carol Jeanne was still besotted with Neeraj, even as she tried to make her marriage with Red work.

My third thought was: Dolores is Peter and Diana’s mother. Neeraj is the one adult human I’ve known on the Ark who seems to think of me as something like a person. Maybe there’s some benefit for me in getting Neeraj into the same house with Peter and Diana.

I wasn’t sure—I’m still not sure—what my motive was in going to Neeraj the next day. Was I trying to protect Carol Jeanne? Or project myself into Neeraj’s new relationship? Both, probably.

He seemed delighted to see me. Actually, he seems delighted to see everybody, but that means that at least he thinks of me as
somebody
. I got straight to the point, typing on his computer that I wondered when he was going to talk to Carol Jeanne about his relationship with Dolores, and that I had been waiting for some time so he could tell her himself but that if he didn’t do it soon, I would. “You’re getting more careless,” I wrote. “You were observed last night, and word is getting around.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m such a coward. And besides, I didn’t know until last night that—Dolores is going to be my wife. We worked it out. I’m joining Mayflower village and living with her.”

“How kind of you,” I wrote. “That will make it easier for Carol Jeanne, I’m sure.”

“Carol Jeanne is not part of this equation, Lovelock,” said Neeraj. “She made her decision. And now Dolores and I have to make our decisions without reference to anyone else. Except her children. Dolores would gladly have come to Ganges with me, but her daughter is obviously terrified of our relationship disrupting her life, and so Dolores and I decided that remaining in Mayflower was best for
them
. It’s unfortunate that Dolores is in the same village as Carol Jeanne, but that’s not how I met her or fell in love with her.”

“I know,” I wrote. “You only prowl at work.”

For a moment he looked angry. Then he calmed himself. “Lovelock, is your snideness because of your programmed loyalty to your mistress? Are you only angry at me because you perceive this as harming Carol Jeanne? Or do you think that I’ve really done something wrong?”

The reference to my programming was a pointed insult, if I looked at it one way. But if I looked at it another way, it meant that Neeraj actually understood the basis of much of my behavior. And, take it how you will, he
was
asking me my opinion of his behavior. As if it actually mattered to him what I thought.

And I had to admit that there was nothing intrinsically wrong with his mating with Dolores. “I know the kids,” I wrote. “They’re very smart.”

“Yes,” said Neeraj. “They talk about you a lot. To them, Carol Jeanne is the woman that Lovelock lives with.”

Talk about me a lot? I didn’t dare ask, but I worried. How discreet were they? Had they mentioned our joint computer escapade?

“They’re good children,” said Neeraj, “and even though they don’t realize it, they’re desperately in need of their father. I can’t replace him, but I can still provide the approval and sense of orderliness that children need from some male figure in their lives.”

Nancy had chosen Red as her father figure, but he was not and never would be part of her family. If Neeraj married Dolores, however, he
would
be part of Peter and Diana’s lives, and I had seen how effectively Neeraj worked on people. They would fall in love with him soon enough. And he would be loyal to them. He would
be there
. Something that Red couldn’t really do for Nancy. Peter and Diana had no idea how lucky they were.

“When we’re married,” said Neeraj, “I don’t imagine I’ll have much contact with Carol Jeanne except professionally. However, I hope you know that you will be welcome in our home always. The children would welcome you. And so would I. I know that your duties keep you with Carol Jeanne most of the time. And I’m not being altruistic. If the children perceive me as your friend, it will make me more attractive to them. But I hope you realize that insofar as it is possible, I really
am
your friend.”

The words struck deep in my heart. No human had ever said such a thing to me. It was like being thirsty to the bottom of my soul, and suddenly, unexpectedly, somebody had given me a drink. His offer of friendship spread through me like a warm fluid, watering places that had always, always been dry.

I wanted to embrace him. I wanted to speak to him of what these words meant to me. Instead, I had to type my answer on a screen. “And I am your friend, as far as my programming allows.” It was a brittle, self-pitying thing for me to write, and I regretted it even as I typed it, yet I could not escape from my sense of my own powerlessness long enough even to accept wholeheartedly this good man’s offer of friendship.

Yet he seemed to understand. He reached out and touched my back, not stroking my fur the way people do when they think of me as a pet, but rather letting his fingernails dig into the fur enough to lightly scratch my skin under the fur. Grooming me. He knew what would feel good, and he gave that to me.

He gave that to everyone. Why else had Carol Jeanne and Dolores both fallen in love with him? He had an instinct for needy people, for what would satisfy them, and he gave it freely.

And yet I still couldn’t answer in the same generous spirit that he offered. “Why don’t you have a family already?” I wrote.

He laughed gently. “Lovelock, haven’t you done a dossier search on me?”

Of course I had, but it didn’t say anything beyond the fact that he had been married once for barely a year, and there were no children. Since the marriage coincided with his application to enter the Ark, I had assumed it was a marriage of convenience. Not the great love of his life.

“I did not marry at the usual age, Lovelock, because I’m an untouchable. The caste that used to handle sewage and garbage in ancient India. The caste system has been legally dead for more than a century, but it still lives on in the prejudices of the people. Before I came to the Ark, I moved among the most educated intellectuals of India, and at the university there was never a hint that my caste was even noticed. But the families that can afford higher education for their children—especially their women—are of the upper castes.
Working
with me was fine, but their families would never have accepted me as a son-in-law. I fell in love several times as a young man, but I saw very quickly that to marry me would mean my wife giving up her relationship with her family. That’s not what I wanted for my children, to live in a fragmented family. Two of the women broke up with me, and I broke things off with the third, all for the same reason. And for the same reason, I’m not sorry to leave Ganges village. There’s no future there for me or any children I might have.”