circumference.
"Hey, I know!" said Maya. "It's a recording of the G-Net!"
"Recording, my eye! This is no screen-shot, this is the real deal."
"It can't be."
"Why not? The Frenn ship is providing a direct link for anybody who wants one."
Maya felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Jason, if that's true, this is illegal as hell."
"You sure? The Frenn cyber-presence is hosted by the governor's office."
She gaped helplessly. "That's just a technicality. Private citizens aren't supposed to access the G-Net!"
Jason shrugged. "They can on Earth."
Maya stared. "Looks sort of jagged," she said after a moment.
"That's called pixellation. This is a simple format, easily displayed on the most primitive of systems. Turns out humans are more into fancy graphics than most races."
"They can't all be that primitive."
"It has to be an interface that works for all types of computers. Nobody knows what language the characters in that opening screen represent. The Galactic Net is really ancient, you know. None of the races that founded it exist now."
"I do know."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Yeah, I've probably read the same texts you have. Roger Goode speculated the yellow ball was a clue to the type of sun some of the G-Net Founders lived under. But nobody really knows, Jason."
"But isn't it interesting?"
"It is, sure."
A short list of choices appeared on the screen, yellow text against a black background. "That's called a menu-driven interface," said Jason.
Maya laughed out loud. "On the other hand, I haven't read those texts over and over again."
Jason grinned sheepishly.
"Okay—as long as you're showing off, what have we got here?"
"You're not worried about breaking the law?"
Maya shrugged. "We can always claim we didn't know."
"All right, take a look," said Jason. His voice was quick and intense, and he could hardly contain his excitement. "It's rendered in English, this part. You have encyclopedia mode, oracle mode, communication mode, flight control, and, uh, panic button."
"Panic button? What exactly does that mean in this context, Jason?"
"I don't know. Some of the translations are a little weird on this link. Like flight control I think is usually labeled wormhole access." He shrugged. "We could always use oracle mode to ask. Sometimes it gives you voice interface."
She gave her head a quick negative shake. "That's the mode everybody's afraid of! I'm getting scared, Jason."
"There's nothing to be scared of."
They were interrupted by a soft hand-slap at the wall outside Jason's curtain—the New Mars equivalent of a polite knock. "Son?" It was Jason's stepmother. "I've made lunch for you and Maya."
"Oh, okay, mom, thanks."
Carla Harbinson poked her head through the curtain, a swarthy, strikingly beautiful woman with close-cropped black hair. "Hi Maya, will you eat with us? I hope you don't mind roasted quail."
"Not the way you make it, ma'am." The quail had come from the Turner farm; Maya had it daily. The Harbinsons only raised squirrel, but the two homesteads exchanged fresh meat on a regular basis. Carla's cookery of the little birds was superb.
"Thank you, Maya." Jason's stepmother smiled. "Be ready in five minutes. We're having coleslaw and biscuits with it."
Maya smiled back. "Sounds yummy."
Carla Harbinson withdrew. Jason sighed. "Guess I'll shut this down now," he said.
"We can come back later."
"If the Company doesn't cut off the damned link." He scowled unhappily.
Maya patted his arm. "Come on, Jason, it's time for one of your mom's good lunches."
They made their way to the dining area and hunkered down. Mrs. Harbinson handed them each a tray, and then knelt to eat with them. "How's your mother, Maya?" she asked.
"Well, you know. About the same." Maya dug into her lunch. "Mmm, this is really good."
"Thank you. Yes, I imagine she's upset about this whole Frenn situation."
"You could say that. Having Uncle Charlie there doesn't help at all. He just keeps needling her."
"Susan needs to put the things that bother her right out of her mind. That would help her more than anything."
"She's not good at that. I try to distract her with pleasant thoughts when I can."
"You're a wise girl."
"With Uncle Charlie it's like the opposite. He keeps reminding her of things that bug her. He's sort of a cruel bastard sometimes. Excuse my crude language."
Mrs. Harbinson laughed. "I'd say cruel bastard is just accurate language in this case. Poor Susan."
"They got on the subject of the G-Net this morning." Maya sighed and took a forkful of quail. "Even when he sounds like he's reassuring her, he gets her all worked up."
"What did he say?"
"Well, he pointed out humans have been on the G-Net for thirty years now and there haven't been any problems. You can't actually argue with that, it's just the way he said it."
"I think you could argue with that. When it invaded and took over the old internet, some people considered that a problem."
"I guess so. But that was just at first, you know? And things have worked out okay since then."
"I suppose they have." Carla munched her food thoughtfully. "Still, I've always thought that Roger Goode fellow was a bit of a fool."
"Mom!" Jason was scandalized. "He was a great man!"
"Sorry, dear. He was certainly a clever man. When he figured out the tachyon signals from deep space were instructions for building an ansible modem, I'll give him credit, that was brilliant. But a damned graduate student at a Podunk university in Mississippi had no business going ahead and building the thing without consulting anybody—much less connecting it to Earth's World Wide Web!"
Jason shrugged. "Twelve other people did the same thing, he was just the first. Those signals are easy to decode."
Carla smiled at him indulgently. "I suppose you're right. There was no shortage of fools back then. Not that things are better now."
"But humanity benefited from their actions, didn't we?"
"In terms of science and technology, absolutely. Your father thinks there was a spiritual cost to it all, though."
"I know. I sort of see what he means." Jason shrugged. "Humans won't ever have the chance to discover things on our own anymore. But that's the universe we live in."
"Speaking of your father—" Mrs. Harbinson's expression suddenly changed, her face constricting with anxiety. "Oh, damn it! He really should have been home by now." A speared forkful of quail paused in midair. "You two won't mind if I turn on the news?"
"Of course not!" said Maya. The no-media-at-mealtimes rule had always been a sacrosanct one in the Harbinson household, as far as she knew. She had often envied it. Things must be serious for Mrs. Harbinson to break it now.
`"What's going on, Mom?" Jason asked apprehensively.
"Probably nothing. But you know he organized that meeting—"She frowned at Maya, and then looked away uneasily.
Maya felt a flush of annoyance. "Please, Mrs. Harbinson! My Uncle might be a Company cop, but my sympathies are with New Mars and New Venus."
"Of course they are." Carla Harbinson looked relieved. "These are troubled times, aren't they?" She fished her hand card out of a pocket and tapped a pattern on it with a fingernail.
In the main lounge area the big holoscreen on the long wall toggled from a mountain stream loop to 3DTV mode.
A newscast was in progress, covering the story Mrs. Harbinson was obviously interested in. "The Sandville and Mount Glass town councils were both taken into custody at that time," the announcer was saying. She looked grim. "Company spokesman Karl Grove announced there would be no amnesty for participants, as was previously rumored in some quarters, and stated the Company is taking this situation very seriously."
"Oh, those bastards," Carla said
.
"A curfew commencing at 6PM was announced for the affected townships. Mr. Grove also revealed that the ambassador from the Frenn delegation has pledged not to interfere in human affairs. On New Venus, the capital city of Groundport was placed under martial law—"
Mrs. Harbinson sprang to her feet. She tapped furiously at her hand card; the newscast cut off and was replaced with a gold-on-blue screen that read PHONE SERVICE IS NOT AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME.
"No!" cried Carla Harbinson. "They can't do that!"
At that moment the airlock compressor kicked on above their heads. In the charged atmosphere left by the newscast, it made them all jump.
They heard the trapdoor slide open, and a moment later a man in a laminated denim outdoors suit climbed down to join them. It was Edgar Harbinson, turning toward them as his feet touched the floor.
With an inarticulate cry, Carla rushed to embrace her husband. She held him fiercely, murmuring, "Thank God, thank God, thank God..."
He wrapped his arms around her, whispering softly into her ear. Maya looked at the floor, wanting to give them privacy.
Mr. Harbinson was a tall, wiry man with long silver hair, some twenty years his wife's senior. He was normally the most cheerful of persons, but today his expression was positively bleak. "I won't be able to stay long," he said to Carla in his raspy voice. "You may as well know."
"What do you mean? What's happened?"
"The Company finally decided to crack down."
"I just saw part of a newscast! Have a seat, dear, you look exhausted."
He nodded and came into the kitchen area, lowering himself onto a cushion.
"Let me get you some lunch?" asked Carla.
He nodded again, and then seemed to notice Jason and Maya. "Hey, kids."
"Hi, Mr. Harbinson."
"Hey, dad. Are you okay?"
"I've been better,