"Thank goodness you let me in," muttered Ferris. "See, the 
thing is, you see, she gets herself all happy whenever she does 
something right, if it's really important or new or something. 
That's the first thing...and the second thing is, I suppose we 
forgot to tell her to come and fetch us when she figured out 
what was going on with the MU or whatever."

"Ah," said Jones, "now I understand..."

"...why she was standing bolt upright with one hand in the 
computer, in hysterics ..." continued Faero.

"...the whole night. Yes that's right." Ferris let out a sigh, and 
slurped some of his coffee. "My wife, er, had a sudden thought 
about an hour ago. And then she wouldn't get back to sleep 
until I'd checked on her."

Makes me glad I'm not married, thought Jones. "Mr. Ferris, be 
sure and thank your wife for us when you get back home. Now, 
Izzy, are you ready to give your report?"

"Affirmative." Izzy's typically dry facial expression had returned, 
replacing the ecstatic madwoman look that had been in its place 
three minutes before. "The following information is available 
for dissemination: owing to the now-functioning MU unit, an 
inter-Farm network of computers and computer data sets has 
now been erected. By studying weather patterns for a protracted 
period of time, our accuracy in judging the weather has 
increased exponentially. It is now possible to give reliable 
forecasts for fourteen days in advance, and general climactic 
trends for fourteen months in advance."

"Half a month?" said Jones. "Are you--of course you're serious. 
But a half a month, I mean, will they be as accurate as they will 
be today?"

"Affirmative."

"And what's all this about 'general climactic trends'?" asked 
Faero. "Is that like another kind of a forecast?"

"Negative. As defined, a 'forecast' must be within one 
nonstandard deviation of the predicted values. The general 
climactic trends, now defined, are unable to focus within one 
nonstandard deviation. However, macroclimactic trends may be 
extrapolated from available data. This will enable the Weather 
Information Bureau to issue abstract descriptions of the climate 
up to fourteen months in advance, as mentioned above."

The other three heads in the room nodded slowly. The caffeine 
was only _so_ effective at getting them through Izzy's speech. 
Jones asked, "So what's going to happen?"

"I do not comprehend, Mr. Jones."

"Fuck. Um, what will the, uh, the, the, the general climactic 
trends be, over the...next fourteen...months?" He slurped some 
more hot coffee from his mug.

Izzy stiffened and her eyes glazed over; each man silently tried to 
imagine the sound of a modem connection. A second later, she 
relaxed and spoke. "The next seven months will be atypically 
mild. Precipitation will be unusually high, though not excessive. 
Temperature will vary between 8 and 28 degrees. Winds of 
between 5 and 10 kilometers per hour will reduce atmospheric 
particle counts.

"Following this period, the next seven months will be marked 
by an abrupt change. Winds will rarely exceed 2 kilometers per 
hour. Atmospheric conditions will be extremely poor, with a 
high chance for sudden storms. Temperature will be much more 
varied, between -5 and 40 degrees, and may change by 20 degrees 
or more over the course of four days. Precipitation, as indicated 
by the unusual nature of the storms, will likely be sudden and 
suboptimal for productivity.

"The Weather Information Bureau advises all agriculturally-
employed personnel to commence a harvest posthaste and store 
surplus away for future use. Likewise, taking further advantage 
of this opportunity, it is advised that a second crop be sown at 
this time. Although a crop grown on unfallowed soils will 
produce suboptimal products, the soil will have sufficient time 
to fallow during the second seven-month interim. Further, the 
additional stockpiles of foodstuffs may be used to provide for the 
Farm quota while no crops are being grown."

The three men were thunderstruck. Ferris glanced first to Faero, 
then to Jones. "You get that, ironmen? We're going to have 
seven months of good weather, and then seven months of shitty 
weather. And Izzy says, if were smart, we'll lay up crops NOW, 
while we got the chance," he said, growing more excited, "we'll 
still be able to make our quotas! And have some left over for 
ourselves! And have some more to sell to all the other souls 
who didn't!"

"It's incredible," said Jones. "Everyone's going to be coming here 
if they can't even make their quotas."

"But, ye know, that's only if they'ven't planned ahead. Izzy!" 
Faero couldn't hide a smirk. "Who else knows this 
information?"

"I do not know, Mr. Faero. Because this is the only MU unit 
capable of issuing a fourteen-month prediction, abstract 
reasoning would conclude that it is only the people in this room 
who are aware of this state of affairs."

Faero leaped up from his seat. All shards of his weariness had 
been long since left behind. "We're gonna get RICH!"
--
"If I could have your attention please...thank you. For those of 
you who haven't met me personally yet, I'm Jones Li Pu, Factory 
Representative. The Factory has sent me here to help oversee 
the reconstruction of the Factory Deckman. I'm glad to be here. 
I've been here about eight days, now, and I feel like I'm 
becoming a member of the community. I've had a chance to get 
acquainted with many of you, and through them, to come to 
know of most of the people at this assembly.

"I'd like to, at this time, at this time, introduce one of the newer 
members of the community, someone you've doubtless all 
heard about since our fellow citizen Mr. Ferris brought her 
home. This is Alpha Replacement Unit Number 12, known as 
'Izzy'. With her assistance, we will doubtless be able to restore 
the Deckman in record time, a boon to the citizenry and a mark 
of glory for the Factory across the Outlands." blah blah blah...

"However, I would like to introduce Izzy to you for a different 
reason. With her help, it has come to the attention of myself and 
select members of our community that not only this Factory 
Farm, but also the Farms around us, are at risk for a crisis. The 
Weather Information Bureau has issued a special report to us, 
stating that the next seven months--for us, and for all other 
Farms--will be plentiful. However, after that, the next seven 
months will be times of hardship, with storms, pollution, 
and...other things. It's not going to be good.

"Please, ladies and gentlemen, there is no cause for alarm, at 
least none yet. We, by virtue of our assisting Izzy, have been 
rewarded with knowledge of our fates! And for this knowledge, 
we may take steps to strengthen ourselves and enrich ourselves, 
to show by example the virtues of helping the Factory! By our 
gaining riches, we bear the torch into the dark night of the world 
around us! Our profit is a right!" I HOPE they buy this drek.

"But to reap, we must sow. These next seven months will surely 
be ones of opportunity, and opportunity that is not used shall 
surely be lost. Thus, to each and every one of you, I extend my 
personal appeal, as well as the appeal of the Factory, to bond 
together and work for the good of this Farm! I have taken the 
liberty of asking Izzy to compile a list of nonessential Factory 
Farm citizens whose strength and abilities may help us with 
Farm duties for the next few months. I have also asked Izzy to 
detail some tentative plans for a first harvest commencing 
immediately, a second sowing to follow it, and a second harvest 
at a date to be announced. Izzy will shortly detail these plans, 
and post copies of them at locations around the Farm.

"In brief, what we propose to do is to harvest twice, and store the 
foodstuffs in Factory and private spaces. A quota will be 
earmarked for transport to the Scrapyard. Rations will be 
distributed to all who work for the benefit of the Farm. The 
remainder, which will doubtless constitute a sizable amount, 
will be sold to those who are willing to pay at the current rate of 
exchange, or possibly more, depending on difficulties incurred 
in the harvest." Wonder what we can come up with to jack up 
the price. "A percentage of this profit will, naturally, be shunted 
to the community chest. The remainder will be equally divided 
up among those who work for the benefit of the Factory.

"I would, at this time, like to turn the podium over to Izzy, who 
will list some of the details of the program..."
--
"Absalom! What is all this CRAP?"

"'Ow's that, Mother?" Absalom wiped his fingers off on the 
terrycloth and stood up from his work on the engine. "Did Jiang 
just stop by?"

"Yes, he did," Clarissa replied, stomping down the steps to the 
workroom, "and he dropped off what looks like a bunch of scrap 
metal on our front lawn! Said you ordered it special from the 
Mine."

"I did."

"You didn't tell me, or why!"

Absalom shrugged. "I thought you'd get furious with me 
whether I did it or no, and having the steel around would make 
it harder for you to argue."

"You're about to find out!" Clarissa yelled. "Now tell me, WHY 
is there a half a ton of machine steel out front, and WHAT were 
you planning to do with it!?!"

"I'm building a combine," he replied. Before her look of 
bewilderment could evaporate, he swept on. "See, there's all this 
what-not and to-do all over the town, everyone's doing their 
part. Well, I feel about as useless as guano to a chicken rancher. 
I'm old, hell, I'm supposed to be retired, and there's people 
aplenty doing this and doing that and doing the other thing. So I 
thought, well, what can a man who's spent half his life driving 
things around do? Drive something around. Ah, but there's the 
problem, all the mecha are busy and everyone else has beaten 
me to the ethanol critters. So I thought--"

"YOU THOUGHT YOU'D MAKE YOUR OWN AND HELP OUT 
THAT WAY???"

"Basically, er, yeah. We'd get paid..."

Clarissa threw up her hands. "Absalom Ferris, you are one of the 
craziest men on this green farm. I'd tell you how little you know 
about making an engine work, and I'd tell you how little you 
know about making a large machine, and I'd tell you about how 
old you're getting to drive one around, but I'm almost certain 
you wouldn't listen to me."

"I wouldn't."

"Now I'm certain. Well, all I can say is, let me know when 
you're done, and try not to cut off your fingers." So saying, she 
stomped up the stairs and out of the basement.

About a half hour later, as Absalom was trying to remember 
how to adjust the timing of the starter, a voice quietly said, 
"Absalom?"

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to keep yourself busy?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Can I come help?"

"Of course. Would you like to help me remember how to get a 
starter engine timed?"

The stairs behind him creaked as Clarissa came back down. "All 
right."

"I hoped you would."
--
Beatrice Donell had never seen anyone march through a 
cornfield, but Izzy's following her to inspect the work on the 
farm was about as close as she had come. Somehow, the gynoid 
was able to navigate between and across the rows of stubble 
without looking down, and at a rate that Donell wouldn't have 
credited a runner with. "So as you can see...we've been 
making...a good deal of headway...already...slow down!"

Obediently, Izzy froze on the spot, and Donell hurried up to her. 
"We've divided the volunteers into different groups. Each 
group works three hours, rests one hour, works three more 
hours, then calls it a day. By spacing out the shifts at different 
times, we're able to keep up a constant level of energy. People 
don't mind the shifts, and so far, everyone's pretty happy with 
the way things are going."

"Morale is at 78%," said Izzy. Her tone implied it was in reply to 
something Donell had said; but the administrator wasn't aware 
she had posed a question, so she simply added, "Yes."

"This percentage is statistically high even for a volunteer 
project. Absenteeism is near 0%. Output is at several decatons by 
23% completion. 20% of all output is designated for the Factory 
Farm as a whole, 15% is kept for transport to Tiphares, and the 
remainder is split between local causes and individuals." Izzy 
turned to face Donell. "Abstract reasoning demonstrates that 
these data could have been reviewed without even leaving the 
building. This change of venue is irregular, will future meetings 
be conducted in the Northeast Field? If this is the case, Form 119-
87-65225 must be filed."

"I thought that you'd like to come out and see firsthand how the 
work's going, Izzy. You'd get a chance to have people voice their 
concerns, make suggestions, that kind of thing."

"I do not understand, Ms. Donell. Factory procedures have been 
established for the evaluation of compliment, criticism and 
suggestion alike, are these avenues for reaching the Factory not 
being used?"

"Izzy," said Donell, "they don't matter. You do. People look at 
you as not just a gynoid, and not just a representative of the 
Factory, but you're the real leader here. You've organized 
everyone, you monitor all the food, you do everything.

"And people want to meet you, too. Mrs. Ferris says you can 
laugh, and be afraid, just like a real person. Everyone knows 
you're from Zalem. You're someone new and different. 
Everyone wants the chance to see for themselves who you are. 
C'mon. Just try it."

Izzy and Donell spent the remainder of the afternoon walking 
around the Farm. They spent time with the people working by 
hand in the fields. They had the mecha pilots take breaks from 
their work. They watched the fruits and grains being collected, 
preserved and stored.

Some people talked about what they wanted to get out of their 
work. Some said that they didn't understand why the bosses 
wanted them to keep quiet. Others complained that they had 
more important things to do. Still others didn't feel that they 
had been assigned the right jobs, and asked to be moved.

Everyone wanted to meet Izzy. Everyone wanted to make the 
gynoid a real person, and not just a story that they had heard 
second or thirdhand. Many people asked her questions; Izzy 
answered each one as best as she felt she could, and showed no 
sign whether the question had been asked twice or twenty times. 
She was receptive to everyone's suggestions, observations, or 
simple-minded ranting. She offered neither criticism nor 
complements, only observations, and the perennial request for 
identification.

That evening, she could not relax. Confusion weighted heavy in 
her mind. Time and again she recollected the behaviors of the 
people, and she could not establish an algorithm. The system 
she perceived was chaotic and changed even as she became part 
of it. But she did not feel fear. In its place, she felt a strange 
desire, a desire to obtain a greater sampling base. Over the 
subsequent weeks, she would return again and again, seemingly without initiative, to talk 
with the world she lived within and among.