Replay?
Ship said not, bu.... Thomas shrugged off such doubts, reserving them for later. He did not have to be told that the planet in the focus was Pandora and that this projection represented a real-time version of Ship's position in the system. Some things did not change no matter the great passage of time. Bickel had once monitored such a projection on the Voidship Earthling.
Morgan Oakes sat on a deep divan of rust velvet while Raja Thomas stood - an unsubtle accent on their positions in a hierarchy which Thomas had not yet analyzed.
"I'm told you are a Chaplain/Psychiatrist," Oakes said. And he thought: This man does not respond to his name in a quite normal way.
"That was my training, yes."
"Expert in communication?"
Thomas shrugged.
"Ahhh, yes." Oakes was pleased with himself. "That remains to be tested. Tell me why you have asked for the poet."
"Ship asked for the poet."
"So you say."
Oakes allowed silence to follow this challenge.
Thomas studied the man. Oakes was portly-going-on-fat, dark complexion, faint odor of perfume. His gray-streaked hair had been combed forward to conceal a receding hairline. The nose was sharp and flared at the nostrils, the mouth thin and given to a tight, stretching grimace; the chin was wide and cleft. The man's eyes dominated this rather common Shipman face. They were light blue and they probed, boring in, always trying to penetrate every surface they found. Thomas had seen such eyes on people diagnosed as psychotic.
"Do you like what you see?" Oakes asked.
Again, Thomas shrugged.
Oakes did not like this response. "What is it you see in me which requires such scrutiny?"
Thomas stared at the man. The genotype was recognizable and that first name was suggestive. Oakes could have Lon as a middle name. If Oakes were a clone instead of a replay-survivor rescued from a dying plane.... yes, that would be an interesting clue as to how Ship was playing this deadly game. Oakes bore a more than casual resemblance to Morgan Hempstead, the long-ago director of Moonbase. And there was that first name.
"I've just been very curious to meet The Boss," Thomas said. He found a seat facing Oakes and sat without invitation.
Oakes scowled. He knew what they called him shipside and groundside, but politeness (not to mention politics) dictated that the term not be used in this room. Best not precipitate conflict yet, however. This Raja Thomas posed too many mysteries. Aristocratic type! That damned better-than-you manner.
"I, too, am curious," Oakes said.
"I'm a servant of Ship."
"But what is it you're supposed to do?"
"I was told you have a communications problem on Pandora - something about an alien intelligence."
"How very interesting. What are your special capabilities in this respect?"
"Ship appears to think I'm the one for the job."
"I don't call the ship's process thinking. Besides, who cares what opinions come out of a system of electronic bits and pieces? I prefer a human assessment."
Oakes watched Thomas carefully for a response to this open blasphemy. Who was this ma.... really? You couldn't trust the damned ship to play fair. The only thing to believe was that the ship was not a god. Powerful, yes, but with limits which needed exploring.
"Well, I intend to have a go at the problem," Thomas said.
"If I permit it."
"That's between you and Ship," Thomas said. "I'm well satisfied to carry out Ship's suggestions."
"It offends m...." Oakes paused, leaned back into his cushions.... . when you refer to this mechanical constructio...." He waved a hand to indicate the physical presence of Ship all around. "...as Ship. The implication...." He left it there.
"Have you issued an order prohibiting WorShip?" Thomas asked. He found this an interesting prospect. Would Ship interfere?
"I have my own accommodation with this physical monstrosity which human hands loosed on the universe," Oakes said. "We tolerate each other. You have an interesting first name, do you know that?"
"In my family fo.... . very long time."
"You have a family?"
"Had a family would be more proper."
"Strange. I took you for a clone."
"That's an interesting philosophical question," Thomas said. "Do clones have families?"
"Are you a clone?"
"What difference does that make?"
"No matter. As far as I'm concerned, you're another machination of the ship. I will tolerate yo.... for now." He waved a hand in dismissal.
Thomas was not ready to leave. "You, too, have an interesting first name."
Oakes had been turning toward the holo projection and its com-console at his side. He hesitated, glanced at Thomas without turning his head. The gesture said: You still here? But there was more in his eyes. His interest had been caught.
"Well?"
"You bear a striking physical resemblance to Morgan Hempstead and I couldn't help but notice that you have the same first name."
"Who was Morgan Hempstead?"
"We often wondered if the Moonbase director had allowed a clone of himself. Are you that clone?"
"I'm not a clone! And what the hell is Moonbase?"
Thomas broke off, recalling what Ship had told him. These replay survivors had been picked up at a different stage in human development. The resemblance, even the name, could be coincidence. Did they come from a time before space travel? Was Ship their first experience in the many dimensions of the universe?
"I asked you a question!" Oakes was angry and not bothering to conceal it.