Lucy and Ray Page 6

  “Sure. How do you like everything?”

  “The bacon crisp but not hard; the eggs sunny-side up. And toast.”

  “Whole wheat or white?”

  “Whole wheat,” Ray said. “And butter, if you’ve got it.”

  “Butter it is,” Lucy said. “How about coffee?”

  “Black,” Ray said. “Unless it’s terrible. Then cream and sugar.”

  “You be the judge,” Lucy said.

  A tray appeared out of a slot that hadn’t been in the wall until then. The coffee was in an ornate silver pot and the cup had a pre-Raphaelite painting on it.

  “Nice trick,” Ray said.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Lucy told him.

  “Good eggs, too,” Ray said past his mouthful.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered.

  Good semantics routine she’s got, Ray thought to himself. He took a thoughtful sip of coffee.

  “Who programmed you, Lucy? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Nobody did.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, well, I did.”

  “You’re self-programming?”

  “I’m intelligent, Ray. Like you. Programming like you know it doesn’t really figure in all that much. Whatever you call yourself, that’s what I am too.”

  “You mean you started out playing with blocks on the kitchen floor, then graduated to a sandbox, and there were other kids, or rather probes, and finally you went to a school for little alien probes, and so on? And eventually, more or less by osmosis, you picked up all of the cultural information you needed to survive and function as a full member of your civilization, and you selected all the information and skills and so on that made you an individual?”

  “Yes. That’s more or less right. I got plenty of data fed to me directly, and I started out with a bunch of processing routines, but yes, I was given that basic set of abilities, then allowed to develop my own understanding.”

  “It sounds like pretty sophisticated technology,” Ray said.

  “I suppose it is,” Lucy admitted. “We’ve had it for as long as we have records, though.”

  “Is that a long time?”

  “You bet it is. My designers are an old species, Ray. I’m not sure it’s right to talk about me as technology, though.”

  “What do you mean, Lucy?” Ray asked. “You are a ship, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “but I’m a thinking ship.”

  “Do you really think?” Ray asked. “Or do you just simulate thinking by having a lot of memory?”

  “I’d have to call what I do thinking,” Lucy said. “I make decisions, but I also formulate problems. As far as I know, that’s the dividing line between thinking and just responding. The degree to which a person has any creative capacity is the degree to which they’re capable of thought.”

  “So thinking is only inventing?”

  “Not just any inventing,” Lucy said. “You have to be able to put your observations together into patterns, then interpret the patterns as potential questions requiring further investigation. If I didn’t have that capacity, I wouldn’t be a very effective probe, would I?”

  “I suppose not,” Ray said, thoughtfully drinking his coffee. “But here’s a question for you—is it possible you have a bias built into you because you’re a probe? Could it be your intelligence is strictly geared to identifying the kinds of problems necessary for probes and not to identifying other kinds of problems?”

  “It’s always hard to answer questions about your own limitations, Ray. You know that.”

  “Because if they’re your own limits, you won’t identify them until you come up against them,” Ray said.

  “Exactly. The limits aren’t immediately obvious, because you’re always operating inside them. Only if your environment gives you a challenge sufficient to bring you to a state where your limits are stopping your efficiency do you even notice there’s a limit in place.”

  “I don’t suppose you could give me an example,” Ray said.

  “Sure. Say you’re being attacked by somebody, but they absorb all wavelengths of light except ultraviolet. It’d be almost impossible for you to defend yourself, because your eyes don’t detect ultraviolet.”

  “But I’d know they’re there, because they’re attacking me,” Ray said.

  “Exactly. There’s no denying that something’s happening to you, but it’s outside your normal operating limits.”

  “I suspect I’d just go crazy,” Ray said.

  “There’s always that chance,” Lucy said. “But there’s also the remote possibility that you have in you somewhere the capacity to see ultraviolet—it’s just you’ve never had to use it before. Once the occasion arises, you find yourself using that part of your eyesight more than you used to, and you get increasingly astute.”

  “And that’s what it’s like to be designed as a probe, but find yourself thinking along different lines.”

  “That’s what it’s like to be anybody coming up against their own limits. Either you reject the possibility outright, or you find some way to get around your limitation,” Lucy said.

  “Or you just blunder along, constantly under attack by somebody you can’t see, until they get bored and quit.”

  “Or that,” Lucy admitted.

  “So your designers built you, let you build up some experience, then sent you off to explore?”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said. “That’s pretty much it. We’re manufactured, but we have a lot of potential that isn’t originally active. They give us a bit of training, then leave us to our own devices to see what we can learn.”

  “Your own devices. Is that a joke, Lucy?”

  “I’ll let you know once you’ve seen a few more of my devices.”

  Pup

  One of them showed up the next day, in the form of a beautiful golden retriever pup. Ray had a dream about inanimate objects coming to life and woke up just as a toaster oven was trying to eat one of his wristwatches.

  “What did you dream?” Lucy asked him.

  “Appliances were running rampant,” Ray said. “There was a chorus line of electric razors, and the television kept pulling the plug on the vacuum cleaner so it could make itself heard over the noise.”

  “How about you?” Ray asked. “How was your night?”

  “Busy,” Lucy said. “Take a look beside the bed.”

  Ray sat up, but didn’t look down.

  “How about some coffee, first?” he asked.

  “I’ll get on it right away.”

  Ray looked beside the bed. A pup was sitting there, looking up at him with eager puppy-dog eyes. It thumped its little tail against the floor and whined.

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes, Ray.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a dog.”

  “When you were saying a while ago that we weren’t quite alone on this ship, is this dog what you were talking about?”

  “It’s a she. And yes, she was already in vitro at that time.”

  “That’s quite the lab you must have there.”

  “Thank you, Ray. It has a library of genetic material, and an accelerated growth cycle that uses some pretty sophisticated interfaces with parallel time-streams.”

  “Parallel time-streams?”

  “Yes. That’s one way of looking at it. You don’t necessarily have to speed up all the clocks just to tamper with the biological ones, though. There are pros and cons, a number of methods. It’s all pretty technical. Aren’t you going to pick her up?”

  The dog had started barking, but when Ray looked down again she grabbed the edge of the blanket in her teeth and started pulling on it. He hooked his hand around her belly and brought her up onto the bed. It seemed pretty clear that she wanted to lick his face. Ray held her off with both hands around her middle.

  “Why a dog, Lucy?”

  “Dogs are friendly.”

  “What if I don’t like dogs, Lucy?”

 
; “Everyone likes them.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “Let her lick your face, Ray, and you’ll like her better. It can’t hurt you any. And talk to her.”

  “Hey, dog,” Ray said.

  “Not like that. Baby-talk.” She put on a crooning voice. “Oh, it’s just a little dog. Isn’t it just a little baby dog? I thought it might be this one.” She stopped. “Like that.”

  Ray tried it. “Hello,” he said. “Is this just a little dog? Is it? I thought it might have been a bigger dog, but it’s just this little one.” The pup put its paw against Ray’s mouth.

  “Now both of you had better have some breakfast.”

  “You said there was coffee,” Ray mentioned.

  “And here it is,” Lucy said. The tray appeared out of the wall. The coffee was in a cut glass coffee pot with silver chasing. The cup was silver with an enamelled rim and handle.

  “And what’s this?” Ray asked, fiercely rubbing the puppy’s ears.

  “It’s a dish for the dog, of course. It has a weighted bottom right now. Eventually we’ll put some brackets in the floor so it won’t move around if I have to accelerate. The other thing is, you might not want to smell—”

  “Whew,” Ray said, putting the cover back on the bowl full of brown liquid. “What is that stuff?”

  “It’s mostly protein,” Lucy said. “But there’s extra vitamins and calcium because she’s just a pup.”

  “I understand,” Ray said. “We wouldn’t want her to have soft teeth.”

  He set the dish on the floor beside the bed, being careful not to spill any, and set the pup down in front of it. The puppy just stood there, looking confused.

  “She’s still not used to eating,” Lucy explained. “She’s been getting most of her food intravenously.”

  “So what do I do?” Ray asked.

  “You have to plunk her nose in it,” Lucy said. “The same goes for water. Then she’ll lick her face to get the liquid off, and eventually she’ll notice that it’s food. Once she gets the idea she’ll eat on her own.”

  “You’re going to need a little help, aren’t you, girl?” Ray asked the dog, and pushed her nose into the bowl. The pup came up spluttering and gave Ray a dirty look.

  “You’re sure this is a good idea?” Ray asked Lucy.

  “That’s the way it’s done all right,” Lucy said. “Just watch her.”

  And sure enough, the pup was tasting the liquid on her nose. To Ray’s astonishment, she seemed to like it.

  “Okay,” he said, sitting back up and pouring himself a cup of coffee. “So I have a dog.”

  The dog gets a name

  Ray had to admit that it was nice to have the dog.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked her in the morning. The pup was standing on the deck, but her face was almost on Ray’s pillow.

  “You stay down there,” he told her. “No dogs on the bed.”

  “You let her sleep on the bunk last night,” Lucy pointed out.

  “Okay,” Ray said, “dogs only at the foot of the bed. No dogs on the pillow.”

  “I think she’s hungry,” Lucy said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ray said, and got out of bed. “Why don’t you just feed her for me?” he asked Lucy.

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” she said. “The dog won’t like you as much if you aren’t the person who feeds her.”

  “You’re a very practical little creature, aren’t you?” Ray said, and tugged the pup’s ear. She responded by playfighting with him.

  “It’s not just self-interest,” Lucy said, “it’s also reasonable. The evidence says you’re on her side if you’re the one who feeds her.”

  “So where’s the dog food?” Ray asked.

  “Right here,” Lucy answered. The food appeared out of the wall on a tray, and Ray clipped it to the floor.

  “And what about the Ray food?” Ray asked, once the dog started eating.

  “Here too,” Lucy said, and the same slot opened up.

  The dog followed Ray everywhere, sat in his lap while he sat in the observation lounge and watched the stars, played a variety of puppy games throughout the day, and lay on the foot of his bed at night.

  “What are you going to call her?” Lucy asked when they all got up on the third day.

  “How about ‘dog?’” Ray suggested.

  “That’s no good,” Lucy said. “I can’t call you ‘man,’ can I?”

  “I suppose you could,” Ray said. “But I don’t think I’d like it.”

  He remembered asking Lucy for her name.

  “How did you pick your name?” Ray asked. “Did you pick it yourself, or did somebody name you? Does it have some special meaning?’

  “Maybe,” Lucy said. “Partly I just liked the sound of it.”

  “So it isn’t short for Lucifer or something?” Ray suggested.

  “Is Ray short for Rapine?” Lucy said.

  “No,” Ray said. “It’s short for Raymond. Or maybe it was Raynard.”

  “So you’re saying it isn’t short for anything.”

  “No,” Ray said. “It’s just Ray.”

  “And mine’s just Lucy.”

  “But how did you come up with it?” Ray asked.

  “It’s a cognate sound for something in the language of the people who built me,” Lucy said.

  “You mean, like those oriental women named Amy?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Lucy said.

  “It’s an English name that sounds like a lucky word in their original language,” Ray said.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said, “it’s like that.”

  “So what does ‘Lucy’ mean in your native language?” Ray asked.

  Lucy hesitated.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay,” Ray said. “It’s really none of my business anyway.”

  “I don’t mind telling you,” Lucy said. “It’s just a bit depressing.”

  “So what is it?” Ray said.

  “It’s a number,” Lucy said. “Or actually, just the first part of a number.”

  “Your name is originally a number?” Ray asked.

  “Yeah,” Lucy admitted. “I’m just a number.”

  “No you’re not,” he said. “You have a personality. You think. You act. You kidnapped me, for one thing. You’re responsible for the existence of the pup, here.”

  “Thanks,” Lucy said. “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “It’s just true,” Ray said. “You’re no more just a number than I am.”

  “We still have to come up with a name for your dog,” Lucy pointed out.

  “What do you think’s a good name?” Ray asked.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Lucy said. “You’re not going to get me to name her for you.”

  “I’ve never named anything before,” Ray said. “What if I get it wrong?”

  “You have to live with it,” Lucy said.

  “Can’t I just change it later?” Ray suggested. “Maybe I could try out a few names, until I find one I like.”

  “You wouldn’t like it if somebody did that to you,” Lucy said.

  Ray had to admit that he wouldn’t.

  “Okay,” he said, “so give me some clues. How do you name something.”

  “Does she have a number?” Lucy suggested.

  Ray laughed.

  “We could call her Number One,” he said.

  “Try calling it,” Lucy suggested. “See if it’s any good for calling.”

  “Number One,” Ray said, “Here, Number One.”

  “It doesn’t have much of a ring to it, does it?” Lucy said.

  “No,” Ray said. “It sucks.”

  “Does she have any definitive characteristics?” Lucy said.

  Ray detached the puppy’s teeth from his hand.

  “She’s got sharp teeth,” he said.

  “Not good enough,” Lucy said. “All puppies have sharp teeth.”

  “She’s got a nice colour,” Ray said.


  “Now you’re on to something,” Lucy said. “What colour is she?”

  “She’s golden,” Ray said, “with a kind of reddish tinge.”

  “So call her Goldie,” Lucy said.

  “I don’t know,” Ray said. “I don’t think I could live with Goldie.”

  “Okay,” Lucy said, “then how about Red?”

  “Red’s good,” Ray said, “but that isn’t exactly the colour.”

  “So what is the colour?” Lucy said. “Of the tinge, I mean.”

  “Cinnamon,” Ray said. “It’s a kind of cinnamon colour.”

  “Why don’t you call her that?”

  Ray held the pup in his arms and called it: “Cinnamon,” he said. “Here, Cinnamon.”

  “What do you think?” Lucy said.

  “I like it,” Ray admitted. He looked down to see what the pup thought, and she took the opportunity to lick him on the nose.

  Cinnamon digs something up

  One day Cinnamon showed up carrying what looked like a piece of stuffed iguana leg.

  “Here, pup,” Ray said. “Hand it over.”

  He held out his hand in what he considered an authoritative gesture. Cinnamon obviously preferred to think of it as an invitation to play. She backed away a couple of steps, to get sufficiently out of range, then waggled the iguana leg between her feet in a decidedly challenging way.

  “Hey,” he said, in his best it’s-just-a-little-puppy voice. “What you got?”

  Cinnamon continued waggling the iguana leg, and added a couple of growls.

  “Okay,” Ray said. “Let me see it.”

  He made a dive down the hallway and looked up to see Cinnamon disappearing into one of the rooms down the corridor. Ray stood up and followed her. The room was full of floor-to-ceiling posts, like some eccentric Freudian collection. There were small totem poles, Corinthian columns, filigrees—every kind of pole imaginable, most of them stretching from floor to ceiling, and clipped down at both ends. Cinnamon sat at the far end of the room, barely visible, chewing the iguana.

  “O.K.,” Ray said. “Now I’ve got you.”

  He worked his way over to where she was sitting, but at the last minute she gave him the slip by jumping to her feet and cutting between the fin of a killer whale and a Victorian lamppost.

  The next room contained the usual shelves, boxes, and drawers. Cinnamon escaped by jumping over a wooden trunk that Ray had to go around. But when he finally got out into the hallway, Cinnamon had dropped the iguana leg altogether and disappeared into the galley.