“If I can just anticipate some questions that I believe may be uppermost in young Einstein’s mind,” Langobard said, “would it be untoward of me to inquire what, precisely, makes you ‘not a breeder’?”
The Cyc shrugged, staring down the mountain toward the Pacific Ocean as if she had not given the topic very much thought recently. “I know not. Of mean stature? Nothing special to behold? On the spectrum?”
“For context,” Ty asked, “how many young women out of ten are designated as breeders?”
“Four, maybe?”
“So being a nonbreeder is more common than being a breeder,” Ty said, for Einstein’s benefit.
“Of course, now that we have come out of the Hole, and we have more space, more people are breeding,” Sonar said. “I speak of how it was ten years ago.”
She had earlier told them that she was sixteen. “Okay. So they think they know enough about you at the age of six to make that determination. They start you out on easier books. Then what?”
“If you can read at all, you just start reading the whole Cyc.”
“And so that’s why you know stuff about radio, and epicanthic folds, and other topics not in volume seventeen.”
“Yes. You have to read the whole thing. By ten, they decide whether you are Microp?dia or Macrop?dia quality.”
“Is one of those more prestigious than the other?”
“Of course!” Sonar exclaimed, without bothering to say which was which.
“I’ll bet the Microp?dia is just like memorizing a bunch of trivia,” Einstein essayed. Somewhat dangerously, in case he guessed wrong. But love had made him impetuous.
“Yes, you have to be able to hold more in your head to be one of the Nineteen,” Sonar said, favoring Einstein with a warm gaze.
“So, did you have to kill the previous Sonar Taxlaw in single combat or something?” Ty asked, and immediately thought better of it, since in general Diggers did not seem to have a well-developed sense of humor. Einstein threw him a mean look.
“No, not in this case,” the Cyc said politely, leaving open the question of in what cases the Diggers did actually employ such methods. “My mentor was Ceylon Congreve.”
“Now, that is a lovely and distinguished name!” Langobard exclaimed. “Volume three?”
“Four,” she said, with a note of surprise in her voice, as if not quite able to believe that someone could not know this.
“Do the original paper copies still exist?” Ty asked.
“Oh, yes,” Sonar said, “but we handle them only on ceremonial occasions. We work with handwritten copies.”
“Rufus must have squirreled away a lot of paper.”
“Tons of it,” said the Cyc. “Acid-free, one hundred percent cotton.”