Leena Likitalo: The Five Daughters of the Moon

“Your Highness, I’m greatly honored by this opportunity.” Engineer Alanov’s voice bears a tremble of a man told “no” one too many times. He is gaunt, and his thinning brown hair seems to be running away from his pinkish forehead. He keeps gazing at the mossy floor tiles, and his round glasses hang too low on his narrow nose. Inevitably, he fails to capture the audience’s attention.

As polite chatter and court gossip fill the pavilion, I can’t help wondering if I just imagined what happened before. For surely Mama would never let Gagargi Prataslav address her if she thought there was even the slightest chance of foul play. No, she wouldn’t. Mama is wise and just. Under her rule, the Crescent Empire has only grown in size and prospered beyond anyone’s wildest dreams—we have won many glorious victories against the kings and queens and other persons with titles I can’t be bothered to remember because none of them are of heavenly descent like us.

Then I feel Gagargi Prataslav’s stare, searing hot like a bonfire ready to devour witches. My every muscle stiffens, stomach knots tight, and throat shrinks. I manage to keep my attention riveted to the engineer only barely. Nurse Nookes claims that whatever I find so frightening, it really doesn’t exist if I don’t acknowledge it. I bet she’s never met the gagargi up close.

“I have designed this machine to search for patterns in information and solve computational problems.” Engineer Alanov’s voice comes from far away, as if he were not really present. As if no one else but the gagargi and I existed.

Pretending to fan my face, I glance at Gagargi Prataslav from over the edge of my palm. There is something disturbingly hungry in the way he studies me. I’m neither foolish nor bold enough to meet his gaze, to find out if it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me. Nurse Nookes claims that that happens often enough.

“And what need would I have for this machine?” Mama’s question comes as a relief to me. Her gaze is bright blue, though this pavilion and everything it contains has fallen into disrepair. I don’t know why she agreed to the gagargi’s invitation in the first place or why I and my sisters were required to be present. Then again, there are many events where we must be seen but not heard.

Engineer Alanov glances at Gagargi Prataslav as if seeking encouragement or permission. The gagargi pats him on the shoulder, bony fingers coming to rest on the engineer’s simple gray coat. Engineer Alanov nudges his glasses up and continues with a newfound vigor. “Information… the machine can comb through and combine information from multiple sources. It can remember up to one thousand numbers at once, and it can perform the four main arithmetic operations: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. The machine accepts numerical data and instructions as inputs, and it is capable of performing a multiplication of two numbers with up to twenty digits in less than three minutes.”

Engineer Alanov blushes with pride. Sibilia and Elise burst into giggles. They’re already old enough—Sibilia fifteen and Elise sixteen—that neither of them will ever have to worry about calculating anything. However, based on what they’ve told me about numbers, three minutes sounds like a short time to spend on pondering the possible results. They sure spent much longer agonizing over the tasks assigned to them.

Mama raises her right hand minutely at Elise and Sibilia, and my sisters manage to stifle their giggles. Mama nods, and for a moment I’m not sure whether she did so because she’s pleased with my sisters or because the engineer has caught her attention. At last she says, “I have plenty enough accountants already. They have the finest calculators and fastest fingers. What need would I have for this machine of yours?”

Engineer Alanov sways as though Mama had just slapped him. The flush on his cheeks deepens to scarlet as he glances again at the gagargi. Gagargi Prataslav smiles. His teeth are white, but slightly crooked. They remind me of… Well, if a wolf’s fangs were filed even… But no, this is the sort of description that Nurse Nookes would chastise me for, or worse, force me to swallow another spoonful of her foul potions.

“For efficiency. People tire and make mistakes.” Gagargi Prataslav produces from inside his robes, from a hidden pocket, a pack of cards—ordinary playing cards? He picks one up and holds it so that the weak light can flow through the neat arrangement of holes. No images or words or numbers tarnish the surface. “These cards contain instructions for the machine, and the machine never disobeys.”

“It is full of holes,” Mama says in a tone that indicates that not even a blind person could have missed that. Or not even Elise and Sibilia, no matter what they’re gossiping about.

“Holes, yes!” Engineer Alanov claps, his fingers all knuckles and chipped nails. “The arrangement of these holes forms the language that the Great Thinking Machine can read… and write. Every one of these cards is a program, and every one of these programs has been written to solve a specific problem. But, note that one program can be run against unlimited sets of data. For example, I have here a program that simulates intelligent redistribution of resources…”

Mama flicks her forefinger to silence the engineer. Her crescent platinum ring gleams, but the shine is somehow dull. As is Mama’s voice. “Let us discuss more relevant cases. I assume you can write new programs to solve new problems.”

Gagargi Prataslav’s gaze darkens once more, and when he speaks his voice is veiled by a sweetness that reminds me of the honey Nurse Nookes uses to cover the bitter aftertaste of her potions. I hate honey. “The Great Thinking Machine can accomplish more than a mere human mind can ever even imagine.”

I can see people around me, Mama included, stiffening once more. It’s as if they were slowly turning into stone. The pavilion’s moss-laced glass panes dampen what remains of the light, and what little reaches us is not enough. Yet no one else seems to notice this.

I pinch myself. Twice, and hard enough to leave bruises. I must be imagining again. I know I am, and if I speak of this… I will only embarrass myself.

“I have looked into the past and present. But neither of them hold the solution for the problem we face.” Gagargi Prataslav strolls to brush the machine’s side as if it were a steed about to set foot on a racing track. He pats it two times in quick succession. The metallic echo is hollow. “In this changing world, with its more complex problems, to find the right solutions, one must look into the future or perish like the beasts of the olden times.”

I don’t like this future the gagargi describes. How dare he, how dare he speak as if Mama really needed him and the machine to rule her empire! She should tell him to say no more. But she doesn’t. She listens to him intently.

I can’t take it anymore. I push myself up from my chair and jump down, as nimbly and silently as only a girl of my age can. Rafa abandons Merile’s lap to accompany me. Only then does my sister stir.

“Where… where are you going?” Merile asks, drowsily as though she’d just woken up from a nap.

I nod toward the door at the far end of the pavilion. Let Merile think I’m feeling weak again. And maybe I am. That must be it.

“For the sake of the argument, let me pose a simple question,” the gagargi says, turning to face Mama and Mama alone. “Who fights the hardest: a soldier with his stomach full of rye bread or one starving because promised supplies never arrived? Who works the hardest: an unfed or nourished peasant?”

Rafa and Mufu trot past me, to the door, nails scratching the cracked tiles. They halt there and glance over their shoulders. Their eyes, so big and soulful, glint with concern and caring for their mistress and maybe for me, too. They want us to leave this place.