Ted Chiang - Seventy-Two Letters

He entered the manufactory through the front gallery, where customers normally perused the catalogue. Today it was crowded with domestic automata, all the same model char-engine. Stratton saw the clerk ensuring they were properly tagged.

“Good morning, Pierce,” he said. “What are all these doing here?”

“An improved name is just out for the ‘Regent’,” said the clerk. “Everyone’s eager to get the latest.”

“You’re going to be busy this afternoon.” The keys for unlocking the automata’s name-slots were themselves stored in a safe that required two of Coade’s managers to open. The managers were reluctant to keep the safe open for more than a brief period each afternoon.

“I’m certain I can finish these in time.”

“You couldn’t bear to tell a pretty house-maid that her char-engine wouldn’t be ready by tomorrow.”

The clerk smiled. “Can you blame me, sir?”

“No, I cannot,” said Stratton, chuckling. He turned toward the business offices behind the gallery, when he found himself confronted by Willoughby.

“Perhaps you ought to prop open the safe,” said the sculptor, “so that house-maids might not be inconvenienced. Seeing how destroying our institutions seems to be your intent.”

“Good morning, Master Willoughby,” said Stratton stiffly. He tried to walk past, but the other man stood in his way.

“I’ve been informed that Coade will be allowing non-union sculptors on to the premises to assist you.”

“Yes, but I assure you, only the most reputable independent sculptors are involved.”

“As if such persons exist,” said Willoughby scornfully. “You should know that I recommended that our trade-union launch a strike against Coade in protest.”

“Surely you’re not serious.” It had been decades since the last strike launched by the sculptors, and that one had ended in rioting.

“I am. Were the matter put to a vote of the membership, I’m certain it would pass: other sculptors with whom I’ve discussed your work agree with me about the threat it poses. However, the union leadership will not put it to a vote.”

“Ah, so they disagreed with your assessment.”

Here Willoughby frowned. “Apparently the Royal Society intervened on your behalf and persuaded the Brotherhood to refrain for the time being. You’ve found yourself some powerful supporters, Mr. Stratton.”

Uncomfortably, Stratton replied, “The Royal Society considers my research worthwhile.”

“Perhaps, but do not believe that this matter is ended.”

“Your animosity is unwarranted, I tell you,” Stratton insisted. “Once you have seen how sculptors can use these automata, you will realize that there is no threat to your profession.”

Willoughby merely glowered in response and left.

The next time he saw Lord Fieldhurst, Stratton asked him about the Royal Society’s involvement. They were in Fieldhurst’s study, and the earl was pouring himself a whiskey.

“Ah yes,” he said. “While the Brotherhood of Sculptors as a whole is quite formidable, it is composed of individuals who individually are more amenable to persuasion.”

“What manner of persuasion?”

“The Royal Society is aware that members of the trade- union’s leadership were party to an as-yet unresolved case of name piracy to the Continent. To avoid any scandal, they’ve agreed to postpone any decision about strikes until after you’ve given a demonstration of your system of manufacturing.”

“I’m grateful for your assistance, Lord Fieldhurst,” said Stratton, astonished. “I must admit, I had no idea that the Royal Society employed such tactics.”

“Obviously, these are not proper topics for discussion at the general sessions.” Lord Fieldhurst smiled in an avuncular manner. “The advancement of Science is not always a straightforward affair, Mr. Stratton, and the Royal Society is sometimes required to use both official and unofficial channels.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate that.”

“Similarly, although the Brotherhood of Sculptors won’t initiate a formal strike, they might employ more indirect tactics; for example, the anonymous distribution of pamphlets that arouse public opposition to your automata.” He sipped at his whiskey. “Hmm. Perhaps I should have someone keep a watchful eye on Master Willoughby.”

Stratton was given accomodations in the guest wing of Darrington Hall, as were the other nomenclators working under Lord Fieldhurst’s direction. They were indeed some of the leading members of the profession, including Holcombe, Milburn, and Parker; Stratton felt honored to be working with them, although he could contribute little while he was still learning Ashbourne’s techniques for biological nomenclature.

Names for the organic domain employed many of the same epithets as names for automata, but Ashbourne had developed an entirely different system of integration and factorization, which entailed many novel methods of permutation. For Stratton it was almost like returning to university and learning nomenclature all over again. However, it was apparent how these techniques allowed names for species to be developed rapidly; by exploiting similarities suggested by the Linnaean system of classification, one could work from one species to another.

Stratton also learned more about the sexual epithet, traditionally used to confer either male or female qualities to an automaton. He knew of only one such epithet, and was surprised to learn it was the simplest of many extant versions. The topic went undiscussed by nomenclatoral societies, but this epithet was one of the most fully researched in existence; in fact its earliest use was claimed to have occurred in biblical times, when Joseph’s brothers created a female golem they could share sexually without violating the prohibition against such behavior with a woman. Development of the epithet had continued for centuries in secrecy, primarily in Constantinople, and now the current versions of automatous courtesans were offered by specialized brothels right here in London. Carved from soapstone and polished to a high gloss, heated to blood temperature and sprinkled with scented oils, the automata commanded prices exceeded only by those for incubi and succubi.

It was from such ignoble soil that their research grew. The names animating the courtesans incorporated powerful epithets for human sexuality in its male and female forms. By factoring out the carnality common to both versions, the nomenclators had isolated epithets for generic human masculinity and femininity, ones far more refined than those used when generating animals. Such epithets were the nuclei around which they formed, by accretion, the names they sought.

Gradually Stratton absorbed sufficient information to begin participating in the tests of prospective human names. He worked in collaboration with the other nomenclators in the group, and between them they divided up the vast tree of nominal possibilities, assigning branches for investigation, pruning away those that proved unfruitful, cultivating those that seemed most productive.

The nomenclators paid women—typically young housemaids in good health—for their menses as a source of human ova, which they then impressed with their experimental names and scrutinized under microscopes, looking for forms that resembled human foetuses. Stratton inquired about the possibility of harvesting ova from female megafoetuses, but Ashbourne reminded him that ova were viable only when taken from a living woman. It was a basic dictum of biology: females were the source of the vital principle that gave the offspring life, while males provided the basic form. Because of this division, neither sex could reproduce by itself.

Of course, that restriction had been lifted by Ashbourne’s discovery: the male’s participation was no longer necessary since form could be induced lexically. Once a name was found that could generate human foetuses, women could reproduce purely by themselves. Stratton realized that such a discovery might be welcomed by women exhibiting sexual inversion, feeling love for persons of the same rather than the opposite sex. If the name were to become available to such women, they might establish a commune of some sort that reproduced via parthenogenesis. Would such a society flourish by magnifying the finer sensibilities of the gentle sex, or would it collapse under the unrestrained pathology of its membership? It was impossible to guess.