Leo Frankowski - Copernick's Rebellion

She found Hank in the saloon and drove with him back to Life Valley. On the way, she borrowed his jack—knife and cut her NBC credit card into very fine shavings.

The next day, Patricia decided she needed to be useful, so she volunteered to help Mona run the training room and kennel for the Transportation, Recreation, and Construction units in one of Pinecroft’s huge subbasements.

“As you can see, all the TRACs are variations on the same basic theme,” Mona said.

“Really?” Patricia turned her head slowly to take in all the TRACs in the room. Forty huge animals were frisking around, ranging in size from a one-person speedster, barely larger than a horse, to things as big as a gravel truck.

“Oh, there are minor differences in size and function,” Mona said, “but the basic design is similar. Two eyes in front plus one in the cockpit. Internal and external ears. Voice membranes inside and out. They all use the same sort of double-ended lung structure that permits continuous breathing. And take a close look at the legs. The jointing on all of them is such that the body has a smooth motion at any speed.”

“They all have two arms near the doors,” Patricia said, looking for similarities among the bizarre animals.

“Yes, and they can reach any part of their bodies with them,” Mona said. “Let’s give one a workout. Rolls! Here, boy!”

A twenty-footer broke off from playing with something that resembled a flatbed truck and trotted over to them. It had eight legs, four across in front and four in back. Its streamlined, rigid body was six feet wide and five high, and was covered with sleek gray fur.

“Rolls, I want you to meet Patty. She will be working with us from now on.”

“Hi, Patty.” For all his size, Rolls had a young boy’s voice.

“Open up, Rolls. We’re going for a ride,” Mona said.

“Oh, goodie!” Rolls opened both doors in his side. Patricia sat comfortably in a seat designed for two, but Mona, with her large frame, was somewhat cramped inside.

“They’re all only about three quarters of their adult size,” Mona said, “and their speed and endurance are only half of what they will be. When he grows up, Rolls will be able to hold eight people. Rolls, do a few laps.” The animal began a graceful lope for the perimeter of the cavernous subbasement.

“He certainly makes up for it in enthusiasm,” Patricia said.

“With good reason. Heinrich tied the pleasure centers of the TRACs’ brains in with the pressure sensors under the seats. They’re only really happy when they’re running somebody around.”

“Well, it works both ways.” Patricia ran her fingers through the thick fur on the seat next to her. “It feels like chinchilla.”

“Heinrich says that if you are going to do something, you might as well do it right. Not that it costs anything extra. We have twenty-five variants of passenger animals, from Vet, who’s a single seater, to Greyhound, who will be able to seat sixty-four. And Winnie’s an animal version of a motor home, for vacationing.

“The others here are for heavy transportation, like Reo and Mack, or construction, like Le Tourneau.”

“You certainly gave them cute names,” Patty said.

“They picked their own after Uncle Martin talked with them,” Mona said. “Mole over there is for tunneling. The plan is to build an underground road system, for practical, aesthetic, and safety reasons.”

“What’s safe about a tunnel?” Patricia asked.

“A hollow root lines the thing, so there’s little danger of a cave-in,” Mona said. “The safety comes from a clean, dry roadbed without any children playing on it.”

“Rolls, run us over to Uncle Martin’s house.”

Without slowing, the TRAC ran up a circular ramp, then headed down the tunnel to Guibedo’s house.

“TRACs have an excellent sense of direction and an amazing ability to remember maps. Not that it’s needed yet. The few tunnels we have had to be dug by the LDUs.”

“I thought the LDUs were designed for construction work,” Patricia said.

“Yes and no. They’re certainly efficient, and they’re good sports about it. But an LDU has an IQ of 150, and it isn’t healthy for any being to work too far below his abilities. Once the moles get going, we’ll eventually have a tunnel entrance to every tree house in the world.”

“How long is that going to take?” Patricia asked.

“About thirty years. TRACs reproduce in a fashion similar to fauns, except that since their function is simpler, training is quicker and they can reproduce more rapidly. A typical litter will be a dozen until there are enough of them to go around.”

They arrived at Oakwood and got out.

“Coffee?” Patricia said.

“Love some. Rolls, go home and send back Lincoln.” Mona patted his sleek gray flank.

“Aw, gee,” Rolls said.

“No. You’ll be grown up in a month and then there’ll be as much work as you want. Now move,” Mona said as she and Patricia walked up to the tree house.

“I’m going to have fun working with them,” Patricia said over coffee.

“You do seem to be enjoying yourself here in the valley.”

“I am, but I shouldn’t be.”

“Uncle Martin’s acting crotchety again?”

“Oh, there have been some little things. Like he wouldn’t wear the sweater I knitted him for his birthday. And sometimes he’s a little brusque—we went canoeing, and when I tried to sit next to him, he just sort of pushed me off and told me I was being ridiculous. But most of the time he’s awfully nice.”

“So what’s troubling you?” Mona asked.

“It’s just that I spent nine years working my way up in the broadcasting industry, and just when I was getting close to the top, I quit.”

“A lot of people are dropping out, Patty. Why work when you don’t have to?”

“But I liked my job. It was my whole life. Then I visited Martin and flushed my whole career down the absorption toilet.”

“Sounds like love, girl,” Mona said.

“Oh, Martin’s wonderful, of course, and I wouldn’t want anybody else. But we could have worked something out where I could have continued with my career.”

“Have you talked this over with Uncle Martin?”

“No. I don’t want to go back to New York. It’s just that I should want to.”

“Patty, stop me if I start sounding too much like my husband, but you were raised in a culture that said that a woman had to have a career outside of her family and friends just to prove that she was a full-blown person. You were programmed with that idea. In its time and place it was a good one. But here in the valley, nobody has to prove anything to anyone. There is no question of economic worth because there is no longer such a thing as economics. You are completely free to do anything you want, to grow in any direction that suits you.”

“That’s fine for the artists, but I’m a working girl.”

“Lord knows there’s enough work to be done around here! You should have caught on by now that the world out there is as obsolete as a dinosaur. The future is here! If you want to make a meaningful contribution, the place is here and the time is now,” Mona said.

“But that still doesn’t explain the sudden change I went through three months ago,” Patty said.

“I keep telling you, girl. You’re in love.” As Mona laughed, Guibedo walked into the kitchen and pretended he hadn’t heard the last line.

“Hi, Mona. Patty, you can’t use the pool unless you want to swim in salt water.”

“Salt water! What are you up to now?” Mona asked.

“Boats.” Guibedo grinned. “I figure we got everything we need to make living comfortable on land, but there’s the other three quarters of the world we ain’t doing nothing with. So I got some sailboats and a dirigible growing in the swimming pool.”