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dozens, sometimes the same ones, over and over again. Right answers at
Poitiers proved wrong elsewhere. Deprived of food, drink, rest, intimidated by
the enforced journey to the cemetery, exhausted by the tedious sermon they
compelled her to hear, and wracked by terror of the fire, she could not
withstand their interrogation.
"Does the Archangel Michael have long hair?"
"Is St. Margaret stout or lean?"
"Are St. Catherine's eyes brown or blue?"
They trapped her into assigning to voices of the spirit attributions of the
flesh. Then they perversely condemned her for confounding sacred spirit with
corrupt flesh.
All had been miasma. And in Purgatory, worse trials could ensue. She could not
therefore be certain if this Boker would turn out to be friend or foe.
"What is it?" she wanted to know. "This single question you want me to answer.
"
"There is universal consensus that man-made intelligences have a kind of
brain. The question we want you to answer is whether they have a soul. "
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"Only the Almighty has the power to create a soul. "
Monsieur Boker smiled. "We Preservers couldn't agree with you more. Artificial
intelligences, unlike us, their creators, have no soul. They're just machines.
Mechanical contrivances with electronically programmed brains. Only man has a
soul. "
"If you already know the answer to the question, why do you need me?"
"To persuade! First the undecided of Junin Sector, then Trantor, then the
Empire!"
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The Maid reflected. Her inquisitors had known the answers to the questions
they plied her with, too.
Monsieur Boker seemed sincere, but then so were those who pronounced her a
witch. Monsieur Boker had told her the answer beforehand, one with which any
sensible person would agree. Still, she could not be sure of his intentions.
Not even the crucifix she asked the priest to hold aloft was proof against
theoily smoke, the biting flames....
"Well?" asked Monsieur Boker. "Will the Sacred Rose consent to be our
champion?"
"These people I must convince. Are they, too, descendants of Charles, the
Great and True King, of the
House of Valois?"
5.
When Marq strode into Splashes & Sniffs to meet his buddy and coworker Nim, he
was surprised to find Nim already there. To judge from Nim's dilated pupils,
he'd been there most of the afternoon.
Marq said, "Hitting it hard? Something going on?"
Nim shook his head. "Same old Marq, blunt as a fist. First, try the
Swirlsnort. Doesn't do a thing for your thirst in fact, it will dry up your
entire head but you won't care. "
Swirlsnort turned out to be a powdery concoction that tasted like nutmeg and
bit as if he had swallowed an angry insect. Marq sniffed it slowly, one
nostril at a time. He wanted to be relatively clearheaded when
Nim updated him on office politics and funding. After that, he'd allow himself
to get skyed.
"You may not like this, " said Nim. "It concerns Sybyl. "
"Sybyl!" He laughed a bit uneasily. "How'd you know I "
"You told me. Last time we had a snort together, remember?"
"Oh. " The stuff made him babble. Worse, it made him forget he had.
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"Not exactly a state secret. " Nim grinned.
"That obvious?" He wanted to be certain Nim, who switched women as often as he
changed his underwear, had no designs on Sybyl of his own. "What about her?"
"Well, there's a lot of juice waiting for whoever wins the big one at the
coliseum. "
"No problem, " Marq said. "Me. "
Nim ran his hand through his strawberry blond hair. "I can't decide if it's
your modesty or your ability to foresee the future that I like most about you.
Your modesty. Must be that. "
Marq shrugged. "She's good, I'll admit. "
"But you're better. "
"I'm luckier. They gave me Reason. Sybyl's stuck with Faith. "
Nim gave him a bemused glance and inhaled deeply. "I wouldn't underestimate
Faith if I were you. It's hooked to passion, and no one's managed to get rid
of either, yet. "
"Don't have to. Passions eventually burn out. "
"But the light of reason burns eternally?"
"If you regenerate brain cells, yes. "
Nim looked through his straw to see if anything was left and winked at Marq.
"Then you don't need a little advice. "
"What advice? I didn't hear any advice. "
Nim clucked. "If your unregenerated brain cells contain a shred of common
sense, you'll stop cooperating with Sybyl to improve her simulation. Or better
yet, you'll keep pretending you're cooperating, so you get the benefit of
anything she can show you. But what you'll really start doing is looking for
ways to do both her and her simulation in. People say it's terrific. "
"I've seen it. "
"Some of it. Think she shows it all?"
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"We've been working every day on "
"Truncated sim, is what you see. Nights, she inflates the whole pseudo-psyche.
"
Marq frowned. He knew he was a bit light-headed around her, pheromones doing
their job, but he had compensated for that. Hadn't he? "She wouldn't... "
"She might. People upstairs got their eye on her. "
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Marq felt a stab of jealousy in spite of himself, but he was careful not to
show it. "Ummm. Thanks. "
Nim bowed his head with characteristic irony and said, "Even if you don't need
it, you'd be a fool to turn it down. "
"What, the juice, when I win?"
"Not the juice, buggo. You think I missed noticing that I'm talking to
ambition's slave? My advice. "
Marq took a hefty double-nostril snort. "I'll certainly bear it in mind. "
"This thing's going to be big. You think it's just a job for this Sector, but
I tell you, people from all over
Trantor will tune into the show. "
"All the better, " Marq said, though his stomach was feeling like he had
suddenly gone into free fall. Living in a real cultural renaissance was risky.
Maybe his hollow feeling was the stim, though.
"I mean, Seldon and that guy who follows him around like a dog, Amaryl you
think they've booted this to you because it's a snap?"
Marq took a bit of the stim before answering. "No, it's because I'm the best.
"
"And you're a long way down from them on the status ladder. You are, my
friend, expendable. "
Marq nodded soberly. "I'll certainly bear it in mind. "
Was he repeating himself? Must be the stim.
Marq did not give Nim's counsel any thought until two days later. He overheard
someone in the executive lounge praising Sybyl's work to Hastor, the leader of
Artifice Associates. He skipped lunch and went back to his floor. As he passed
Sybyl's office on his way back to his own, his intention, he told himself, was
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