Alan Foster - Cyber Way

“A little time passes. Can you imagine what happens then?”

“Enlighten me.” Moody strove to sound bored, knew his obvious interest belied the attempt.

“The ants come out, my friends. The ants come out for a look around.

“They clamber all over and around the forgotten tools, not realizing what they are because of their own ignorance and the sheer size of the devices. But one ant acquires a key. Perhaps he stumbles across a diagram rendered somehow ant-comprehensible. Or possibly he is present when the tools are being used. Perhaps he is even given instruction, much as children playing by a creek will offer ants leaves and twigs so they can make a tiny bridge with which to cross a rivulet. They do this because they find it amusing to watch the ants at work. Ants that do not understand the

concept of a bridge will still make effective use of one. So it might have been with whoever painted that first template.

“Somehow this one perceptive insect learns how to activate the previously invisible tools, only the tools were not invisible: they were simply too massive for the ants to comprehend. They seemed a part of the natural order, of the everyday terrain.

“The hard part is not making use of the tools, my friends. It is recognizing that they exist at all. The sandpainting holds the diagram recognized by the ant who preceded the rest of us, a thousand years ago. No, gentlemen, if the web was placed here for a defined purpose it would have announced itself long ago. It is just something that was left behind, forgotten.

“I am only just beginning to learn how it might be used. The possibilities are impressive. After all, if a colony of ants discovered a power jack next to their anthill and found a way to activate it, consider what they might accomplish. Lizards eat ants. A power jack would smash a hungry lizard to pulp. It could crush huge pebbles to provide easier access to food, or for building stronger shelter. It might even offer a way for ants to advance themselves mentally. I know my analogy is weak but—”

Moody cut him off. “So basically what y’all are saying is that this web is somebody else’s garbage?”

“Only that it is one possibility among many,” Gaggii replied reprovingly. “It may in fact be of value to its original owners, but not of sufficient value to be worth the cost of recovery over time and distances we cannot imagine. You might, for example, leave an expensive holomager in Paris. While you would regret its loss, you would not travel all the way back to France to recover it.”

If it had not been evident before, it was clear enough now that whatever else he might be, Yistin Gaggii was no madman. He had yet to raise his voice. While unusual, the ability to maintain control of one’s emotions under abnormally tense conditions was not generally an indication of mental instability. Now that he’d been found out, he actually appeared to be enjoying the sharing of his discoveries with someone else.

“What’s your interest in this?” Moody found himself asking. “I mean, what do y’all want with it, personally?”

“Goodness.” Gaggii eyed him with mock surprise. “A really perceptive question that deviates from the strict guidelines of police procedure.” His sarcasm did not affect Moody, who’d suffered it a thousand times before. It was standard prisoner modus for trying to reassert rapidly disappearing independence.

“Let’s just say that I have my own desires, as do all of us. Recall the analogy of the power jack. Suppose that instead of that, our imaginary travelers leave behind among their debris a can of bug spray. What might the ants make of that?”

“I liked the power jack analogy better,” Moody snapped.

“Such a device could be devastatingly employed against enemy ants.”

“Or against its discoverers, if they did not properly understand how to use it,” Ooljee pointed out meaningfully.

Gaggii nodded agreement. “In any event it would be of no use to those who had departed.”

“We asked it how big it was,” Moody said. “It replied, ‘big enough.’”

“Yes. It can be responsive without being specific. I do not think there is a deliberate intent to be evasive. I suspect instead that we simply do not possess the terminology necessary to ask the right questions. So it provides answers in the form it thinks our simple brains can most easily comprehend.”

“One last thing.” Gaggii waited patiently while Moody framed his question, as though he had all the time in the world. “You say you have your own desires, your own idea how to make use of this whatever it is. What might that be?”

Gaggii looked straight at the detective and pursed his lips. “I am sorry, my friend, but that is none of your business.”

Moody sniffed. It was no more than he’d expected. He started to rise from the couch. “Well, we’re real sorry to have to put a crimp in y’all’s hobby, but there’s still this lousy business of you killing two people in cold blood.”

“I am very close to answering my own questions.” Gaggii made no attempt to rise.

If he’s trying to put us off guard, Moody thought, he’s damn sure taking his time about it.

“I don’t suppose I could appeal to your higher senses, though it is clear that you are both unusually intelligent individuals—for policemen.”

“Sorry,” Moody replied. “I’m afraid my higher sense tells me it ain’t a good idea to let murderers run around unpunished.”

“I see your point of view.”

Gaggii rose. Both officers tensed, but still their prisoner made no move toward hidden switches or concealed devices. Instead he extended both arms out in front of him.

“Do you wish to cuff me?”

Ooljee glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I do not think that will be necessary. The back seat of my truck is equipped with a restraining mesh. That will be sufficient. Cuffs can chafe and it is a long ride down to Ganado. I would not want injured wrists or hands to delay your arraignment.”

“I appreciate your concern. Bearing that in mind, may I get a coat? It is quite cold outside.”

“What coat?” Moody asked warily.

Gaggii smiled at him. “The one with the explosives sewn into the lining, of course.” He pointed. “In the closet over there.”

Moody nodded tersely, went to the closet and looked inside. “Which one?”

“The false wolf, with the low collar.”

Moody checked the coat over minutely. Gaggii’s composure troubled him more than anything he expected to find. But the coat was clean. After patting him down, he handed it to the prisoner, who chatted easily as he put it on.

“I guess I have to go with you, my friends.”

“I guess you do.” Moody opened the door while Ooljee remained behind. Now that the moment of departure had arrived, neither officer was taking any chances, no matter how cooperative their man seemed to be. They both had their guns out. “And do us a favor, will you?”

“If I can,” said Gaggii graciously.

“Don’t call us your friends.”

Gaggii’s only visible reaction took the form of still another tight-lipped, impenetrable smile.

Moody was relieved to be outside again, in the cool evening air, away from the sterile mask that was Gaggii’s house. It was as devoid of genuine human warmth as a tomb, the furnishings frozen skeletons pinned to the walls and floor like specimen moths.

He wanted to see Gaggii’s workshop. Plenty of time for that once the prisoner was safely incarcerated in Ganado. Ample time to return for a leisurely examination of his notes and files.

“I have to admire you, gentlemen.” Gaggii had to turn sideways to fit into the truck’s narrow back seat. Ooljee locked the restraint net in place. The carbon composite mesh would prevent anyone in the back from reaching through to the front.