"Bueno. This is Ferris'. Absalom speaking."

"Absalom? It's Mick. How are ye?"

"Mmm, all right, I s'pose. And yourself?"

"Fair to middlin'. How's the weather there?"

"Weather? Let me tell ya--it's bollocks. The freeze has killed all 
the bloody petunias the wife planted, and she's sick of talking to 
Izzy about it, so I've gotten my earful or three. How're you and 
yours?"

"No petunias, it's worse. Radishes. She's afraid the seeds'll die."

"Bloody merde." Losing a foodstuff, even a bean planted in a 
Styrofoam cup on the windowsill, was a blow to the pride of 
anyone on the Farm. Absalom got up from his seat and pulled 
open the curtain. There was only a centimeter of snow left in the 
yard, and the sleet had turned to a melancholy rain. He said into 
the receiver, "What do you say I bring over a bottle and we have 
a drink? Maybe a hand of cards?"

"Heh heh heh...Absalom, you should've been a doctor. Sounds 
perfect." They exchanged good-byes, then Absalom hung up the 
phone. He walked to the closet by the front door and pulled out a 
full-length coat. "Clarissa?"

"Yes, love?" She was cutting a piece of bread for herself on a 
cutting board.

"I'm going to take a stroll over to Jeeves'. I'll be back late this 
arvo, I'd say."

"Have a good time," she said morosely as he walked into the 
kitchen, "and say hello to Geraldine for me."

"I will. I think she'd like that." Absalom extracted a homebrew 
from the wine cabinet. "All her radishes snuffed it."

"Did they, now? I think we still have a few jars 
pickled...yes...scoot." She pushed him aside and began to dig in 
the back of another cabinet. "While you boys have your fun, 
maybe we two can have a social ourselves, then."

"Splendid!" They walked side by side, each with their gift, to the 
door. "Would you like to accompany, Mrs. Ferris?"

"I would be delighted, Mr. Ferris." They donned boots, jackets, 
and a choice of accessories, then walked out into the street, 
turning right and walking towards the nearest bridge over the 
river. Although it was not inclination to do so, they kept to the 
sidewalk, mindful of the increased traffic that had come with the 
days of foul weather. It was the second month since the 
predicted calamity had come, and already the days of fair weather 
seemed far behind. The rationing had begun from the first, not 
merely to conserve surplus, but (everyone came to realize) so 
that when it came to be a necessity there would be no shock.

The rationing, then, was of no concern to most; it was the 
oppression that few had been able to adapt to. The oppression 
came from the heavens first. There were periods of heat, periods 
of clammy wetness, and periods of cold. They had come and gone 
with little or notice, and none could have predicted--without 
Izzy's advice--what the next day would bring. The rhythm of the 
seasons was supplanted by star-crossed randomness.

Then came the second oppression, the oppression of people. 
People came from Farms and Mines all around to buy bread, 
dried fruit, or whatever was available. Quotas, it seemed, would 
not nearly be met at most Farms; and if Zalem suffered once, the Farms and Mines and Ports would doubtless suffer a hundred times. All the 
world around came to where there was food. But when they 
came, they fell victim to another reality, and that reality was the 
law of supply and demand. Survival created a massive demand, 
and the supply had adjusted accordingly. This adjustment was 
obvious, and may well have been a necessity to keep from 
creating havoc, but few of the journeymen rationed their lot in 
that way. Their anger at their own failure to provide for their 
responsibilities needed a target, and the haves around them gave 
them just that.

"NINETY FUCKING THOUSAND CHIPS?"

"Yes, sir. Pay in advance, cash. We guarantee freshn--"

"That's TWO HUNDRED FIFTY FUCKING CHIPS for one loaf 
of bread! ONE! You're ripping me off!"

"Sir, you have to appreciate..."

"That--is--more--than--double," said the irate man, very very 
slowly, "what--it--has--ever--cost--me! Where the hell do you get 
off charging that kind of money?"

"Please calm down sir, I'll try to explain." Jones smoothed down 
his collar, and behind him the bounty hunter took his hand off 
of his chainblade. With his winningest smile, Jones spoke slowly 
and calmly. "To be frank, we didn't anticipate the demand that 
there would be for our high-quality bread, and this crisis 
situation is, of course, as stressful to us as it is to you. Between 
that, we need to think of our own welfare. There's the..."

"You're just lining your pockets, you goddam chislers!"

"Sir, please allow me a chance to explain. There's the town's 
infrastructure. We simply are not used to having so much 
machine traffic, which is why most of our roads are unpaved 
and don't have drains. These improvements, to serve your best 
interests, need to be made. Then, of course, we need to work 
with the glorious Factory to understand why this calamity has 
taken place, and for that we need money to give grants to our 
community to understand the impact..."

"The Factory? Is that what this is about? You've been butt-
kissing the Factory???"

Before Jones could think up another answer that he didn't like 
to give but always seemed to smooth over everything, the 
bounty hunter said, "Be careful what you say to the Factory 
Representative, sir. We don't want to cause you any 
inconvenience."

There was a tense pause, and Jones seized the initiative. "Now, 
sir, Ms. DuBaqui has some forms that you need to initial before 
you can receive your purchase. If you would come this way..."

"All right, you bastards. I'll do it. But just because I've got a 
family to feed." The man trudged sullenly behind Jones as the 
group made their way into an office on the side of the 
warehouse.
--
The Ferrises stood in the rain silently, two shapes on a sidewalk 
at the center of town. They had watched the scene as it took place 
in the shadow of the building that they themselves had helped 
to fill. As it concluded, they turned back to their route and 
walked, each laden with their thoughts.

Clarissa was the first to break the silence. "Absalom, love...did 
we do the right thing?"

"How do you mean? By bringing Izzy home?"

"Not that precisely." She moved a little closer to him as they 
walked. "It just seems as though...well, I mean, there's all this 
hoo-ha and whatnot. Nobody's really happy with what's been 
happening. The traffic, the people, the bitching. Couldn't we 
have done something to make it all better?"

He stroked his beard. "'Strewth, I've thought about that before. 
And y'know, I'm not rightly the most clever of men, but I'll tell 
ye what I think. We couldn't turn Izzy away. Mr. Jones coming 
was inevitable, so poor old Kyle was as good as dead...we 
couldn't have done anything to get someone to come in Mr. Jones' 
place. But even if we hadn't ever had that conversation that 
evening, it would have come about sooner or later that Izzy was 
tied up with the Factories and with Zalem. Then, of course, Kyle 
would have plugged Izzy into his computer, and that Moo or 
whatever would have been started...

"So, that much we couldn't have done a thing about. So should 
we have told everyone about the problems we've been having? 
All we could do was try to tell people. And they might've 
listened, and then again they mightn't've. But people would still 
come to see Izzy, and I think  that would have been dangerous. 
There's the Barjack, there's other people who would use her for 
their own gain.

"In the end, I think we did the best thing. Now, charging an arm 
and a leg for food, I don't feel good about that. Money's always a 
problem."

"Aye, that it is."

"No matter what, the Factory would have wanted some. And 
Mr. Jones is right, we could always use a little more for the Farm. 
And then, once all the money is here for us, someone's going to 
get a little hungry, people are people. In the end...I wish it all 
hadn't happened. It's created a lot of problems."

Clarissa nodded. "Aye. Still...it's been fun having Izzy around. 
She herself, the little girl, she's been fun."

"Aye, there is that," Absalom replied. "She has been a little bit of 
fun for us all. Well, here we are."

They turned down the path to the Jeeves' front door. A few 
pleasantries of the arrival were offered, and soon Mick and 
Absalom were chatting over a glass of wine.

"We got to chatting about all the things that have gone on since 
Izzy came," Ferris began. "What do you think? Was she good for 
us? Bad? Somewhere between? What?"

Jeeves thought for a moment, then he said in a low voice, 
"Truth?"

"Truth." Ferris stiffened, he hadn't expected anything 
confidential. "What is it?"

Jeeves sighed. "I'm worried for the safety of our Farm, Absalom. 
I've been hearing some nasty things from the people coming 
here for food, I've been hearing some nasty things over the 
networks, and...there's some other things, too."

"Like what? You don't mean bandits?"

"Worse." Jeeves drained his cup; then his eyes found their way 
to the bottle and stayed there. "I'm talking 'bout an out-and-out 
mutiny."

"WHAT?" Ferris said loudly, then caught himself, fearing the 
women would overhear. He lowered his voice to a tense mutter. 
"Michel, I've never even heard of such a thing happening! 
What are they going to do, just sweep in here and tear the Farm 
apart?"

"Who knows? All I know is, I got an anonymous e-mail. 
Someone said..." Jeeves paused to fall into temptation with 
another drink, "...someone said that two or three of the Farms 
'round here had gotten together. 'Course, once bad blood starts 
to flow, it don't stop. Maybe they'll just take our food, maybe 
they'll attack the town. Who can say."

"They can't! They won't! The Factory won't allow it!"

"Oh?" Jeeves chuckled sadly as the narcotic nepenthe in the 
wine coursed through him. "I got to thinking, after I read the e-
mail...we don't have a Deckman. Jones, as the Factory 
Representative is only good once he gets to the Network. If you 
think about it...all someone'd have to do is kill just the right 
people, all at once. Just sneak in here on a flatbed, fan out, 
target...makes you wonder...why they haven't done it before..."

"But IZZY!" said Ferris. "Izzy wouldn't have appeared on the 
Factory records they'd be using to target people, because Izzy's 
not only not a person, she's hush-hush! We could...ah! We 
could have Izzy search through the e-mail that's been exchanged 
between Farms! She wouldn't be able to tell us as such what 
she'd found, but she could organize some kind of resistance, and 
she'd be right--"

"Abby, calm yourslef down." His companion was getting 
drowsy. "You told me y'self, she don't fight 'less somethin' 
happens to her...wouldn't NEVER attack a Farm boy...you gonna 
use her, maybe, like a big club or somthin'? No, it ain't gonna 
work..."

Ferris stood. "Now you hear me, you drunk old man. Maybe Izzy 
isn't like that now, but she can learn. I've seen it happen, and I 
believe she can change who she is. And you," he said, pushing 
the bottle across, "can just sit here and drink yourself asleep if 
you want. Me, I'm going to go _do_ something."
--
When the Ferrises arrived home, Izzy was sitting bolt upright in 
a chair, staring blankly in front of her. It was the last thing she 
had been instructed to do, "take it easy". Despite her more than 
nine months with the Ferris family, she still had not been able to 
come to terms with this phrase, as well as several others that 
were in common parlance. She did remember one occasion, after 
a period of work, when Mrs. Ferris had instructed her to "take it 
easy and put your feet up for a while". Izzy had based her 
algorithm on this instruction, omitting any unusual podial 
contortions. Her euphoria had ceased more than three-quarters of 
an hour before, and there had been no stimuli to compel her 
from changing her activity.

"Izzy?"

Immediately the gynoid was on her feet and rapt with attention. 
"Yes, Mr. Ferris?"

"Izzy--let me, dear--Izzy, we need your help right now. I want 
you to listen to me very carefully. Jeeves Michel received an e-
mail letter a couple of days ago. In it, someone told him that 
some other Factory Farms are plotting an attack on our Farm. 
We're in danger, Izzy!"

"Mr. Ferris, that seems highly illogical, as well as contrary to 
Factory Farm doctrine. I do not think..."

"Izzy, THINK ABOUT IT!" Clarissa wailed. "We're the only ones 
with grain enough to make our quotas, we're charging a bloody 
fortune for our stuff, and we've not got a dam Deckman! We're 
as perfect a target as you can have!"

Izzy was silent for a few moments, then replied (without a trace 
of concern in her voice, Absalom noticed) "Abstract reasoning 
reveals that these factors are capable of destabilizing the 
community of any Farm. Moreover, if there is more than only a 
single--"

"OK, you've got the point," said Absalom. "Now Izzy, what we 
need you to do is to go through all the e-mail that's been going 
between the neighboring Farms, I'll bet my arse someone's 
slipped somewhere...use your abstract reasoning thingy, I'll bet 
they're writing in code. And once you find something out, tell 
me what it is, and then we'll go and tell Mr. Faero and Mr. Jones. 
Then you can help us outline a battle plan."

Izzy replied without hesitation. "Mr. Ferris, your actions appear 
to be highly against Factory protocol. The proper authorities--"

"IZZY!" Clarissa's eyes were watering. She threw her arms 
around the gynoid's shoulders and looked up pleadingly at her. 
"Izzy, the whole Farm needs _you_. We've come to depend on 
you, we've come to love you, you're one of us now...and we 
need you to help us out again. PLEASE! We're begging you, Izzy! 
You can't just wait until something happens, or who only 
knows what'll happen!"

Izzy asked, "Mrs. Ferris, are you saying that my presence acts as a 
stabilizing agent in this town?"

"Yeah..."

"But Izzy," added Absalom, "you're more than just that. You're 
a member of the community, you're the one who's helped get us 
through these bad times...I can't even tell you."

Izzy thought. After a few tense minutes, she said, "I am unable 
to fully establish an algorithm. However, abstract reasoning 
dictates that, if my role in the community is, in part, Factory 
representative, it is important to change behavior 
appropriately."
--
It was, to all appearances, another flatbed truck, albeit larger than 
was normal for one. It was fully 7 meters long, electric blue in 
color. The cab was forward to allow for a better view of the road, 
a useful benefit on a slush-covered street. Its massive rear bed 
was covered by two waterproof tarps, each secured with a great 
number of fastenings. A few loose flaps blew in the wind as it 
sped towards the center of town.

The driver slowed as it reached the central storehouse. There 
was an empty space waiting for the truck, and a few moments 
later she had pulled the butt end into position. As she opened 
the cab door, an official-looking man came to greet her.

"Name?"

"Cohen Constantine."

"Uh-huh. Where is the truck registered at?"

"Um, Factory 14. What's going on? Is this necessary?"

"It'll only take a minute, ma'am. Would you please ask all five 
of your passengers to disembark?"

Cohen noticed that there was a lot of attention being paid to 
their rig; in fact, they seemed to be the center of attention of the 
entire complex. She nervously gestured into the cab, and five 
cyborgs disembarked. Each one, in turn, was given a thorough 
search by two bounty hunters. Another two began a methodical 
sweep through the cab itself, while others examined other parts 
of the truck's construction. Cohen faced her inquisitor. "Mister, 
what's going on here?"

"This is for your own safety, ma'am. We've had some problems 
with vandals here in town. Hughie, could you bring out the CB 
radio? Thanks." He handed the speaker to Cohen, along with a 
slip of paper from his clipboard. "Would you be so good as to 
tune in to the emergency frequency and read this little speech?"

She looked down the page, then, with her hands trembling, 
passed it back. "I don't--I don't know about any of this, what's 
the meaning behind all this?"

"Order, ma'am. Law and order." Jones took the woman by the 
shoulder and pulled her to a table that had been set up to one 
side of the truck. The bounty hunters were placing all sorts of 
goods on it: smoke grenades, magnesium flares, knives, swords, 
a chainblade, two firearms, and half a cyborg's arm. "What's 
this?" asked Jones.

"There's a projectile tazer embedded in the palm," came the 
reply from one of the bounty hunters. "And not only that, each 
of these gearheads has sub-epidermal ceramite armor."

Party of five tanks and a little lady, thought Jones. "Ms. Cohen, 
we could execute you on the spot for all of this, but we're not 
going to, 'cause you're worth more to us alive than you are dead. 
Please come outside with us."

Cohen laughed hollowly. "You bastards think you can make 
hostages out of us? Y'all better think again. In about five hours a 
whole--"

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

One of her co-conspirators cut her off, and Cohen followed his 
gaze. Five meters in front of her was a young woman in a 
brightly colored body suit. She had a cap and goggles on her face, but it 
wasn't enough to hide the strands of black hair peeking out, or 
the almost human qualities of her epidermis. At her side were a 
half-dozen oblong shapes, and at her other was a pillbox with 
some ominous holes pointing at the party. On her right arm was 
a massive gun of some kind, connecting to a pack on her back. 
The pack had four wings jutting from it, as well as some other 
attachments Cohen didn't bother to identify. The woman was 
levitating twenty centimeters off the ground.

She said loudly, "Your preparations for attack are doomed to fail. 
Retreat to your homes now and your lives will be spared."

Cohen looked to her right, then her left. She realized that they 
were up against the side of a building, and the locals had 
withdrawn a safe distance away. She felt very, very naked.

"Who the hell are you?" said the man who had spoken before, 
and his voice was quavering.

The aeronaut didn't reply. She merely pointed her gun at the 
speaker. There was a strange sound, a cross between the buzzing 
of a rubber band and a piece of wood being cut by a table saw, and 
the gun's tip shimmered. The speaker's back exploded, 
showering the wall of the storehouse with simulymph and 
metal shards. The other five conspirators were aghast.

Seeming to fall out from the gray sky, nine more aeronauts, 
identical to their sister, came wheeling down from on high. In 
silent precision they landed behind her, weapons drawn, 
kneeling in a phalanx. Their leader spoke again: "You will have 
no more warnings. Return to your homes now and your lives 
will be spared."

Without pausing to tend to the remains of their fallen comrade 
the five survivors ran pell-mell for their truck. They had started 
up in no time at all and were driving full tilt from the Farm in 
under a minute and a half; nor did they slow until the Farm's 
front gates were far, far behind them.

And Izzy laughed. She rolled end over end, suspended just 
above the ground, as her sisters remained at attention and her 
community came around to thank her and find out why she was 
so happy. The only explanation she could give was, "An 
algorithm has been established."
--
Copyright 1998 Daniel Snyder. Permission to distribute in any 
digital/binary/e-mail form; however, any physical printout is 
strictly prohibited. Based on characters created by Yukito Kishiro. 
Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is purely 
coincidental.