The Long Earth

Sister Agnes went into a rage every time she heard it. As rages went they were not volcanic: few bad words were said – apart from ‘Republican’, which was an extremely bad word to Sister Agnes – and certainly nothing was ever thrown, at least not very hard, and never anything that could hurt. But terms like ‘me time’ and ‘quality time’ lit her fuse. ‘Terms cut out of fog! Watering down the currency of expression, causing anything to mean whatever you want it to mean, until nothing is
meant
and nothing is
precise
!’ He remembered the day when someone on the television used the fatal term, ‘Think outside the box.’ Some of the kids went and hid in advance of the explosion.
    Quality time
, with Lobsang.
    Joshua looked at the ambulant’s simulated face. He looked oddly weary, or stressed, in as much as his expression could be reliably read at all. ‘Do you ever sleep, Lobsang?’
    Now that face assumed an affronted expression. ‘All my components have a downtime cycle, with secondary systems taking the load as required. I assume this could be considered sleeping. I see you frowning. Is the answer not sufficient?’
    Joshua was aware of all the subtle sounds of the ship, its organic creaking and groaning, its subsystems’ humming – Lobsang, constantly at work. How must that level of continual consciousness feel? As if Joshua had to control each individual breath he took, or regulate every heartbeat. Lobsang certainly had to control the stepping, an artefact of consciousness. ‘Is there anything specific bothering you, Lobsang?’
    The visage broke into a smile. ‘Of course there is. Everything bothers me, especially the things I don’t
know
, and can’t control. To
know
is after all my job, my task, my reason for existing. My mental health is optimal, however. I think this needs to be said. I don’t know where I could even
find
a bicycle made for two, although I am certain that I could fabricate a reasonably speedy tandem within a couple of hours … You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Tonight we will try out the cinema option, and
2001
will be the lead feature. We must complete your education, Joshua.’
    ‘Accepting for the moment that you are in fact human, with human weaknesses, is it possible you get stressed out? If so it would do you some good to get out of yourself every so often. Sure, let’s spend some “quality time” together. Just don’t tell Sister Agnes I said so.’ A bizarre thought occurred to him. ‘Can you fight?’
    ‘Joshua, I could lay waste to whole landscapes.’
    ‘No, no. I meant hand to hand.’
    ‘Explain.’
    ‘A bit of sparring every now and again tones you up. Back home some of us lads would spar just to keep our hand in, you know, on the street. Even having a workout with a punch-bag seems to pull you back together. Might be fun, too. What do you say? It’s a very human thing. And it would be a chance for you to explore the responses of this body of yours.’
    There was no immediate reply.
    ‘Come on, how about it?’
    Lobsang smiled. ‘Sorry. I was watching the Rumble in the Jungle.’
    ‘You were what?’
    ‘Yes, between George Foreman and Muhammad Ali. I always do my research, Joshua. I see Ali won with the use of guile, being the older and more experienced fighter. Excellent!’
    ‘Are you telling me that you have every single televised boxing match in some portable memory?’
    ‘Yes, of course. Why not? Anticipating and extrapolating, I have now begun the fabrication of two pairs of sparring gloves, the associated hand wraps, two pairs of shorts, two gum shields for the look of the thing, and one plastic protective for your genitals.’
    Joshua could hear accelerated activity on the fabrication decks, and, with the protection of his genitals very much at the forefront of his mind, he said, ‘The Rumble in the Jungle wasn’t a sparring match, you understand, Lobsang. It was more like a small war. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Sister Simplicity watches the great bouts occasionally. We all think she has a thing about big sweaty men—’
    ‘I have studied the rules of sparring for an adequate time,’ said Lobsang, standing up. ‘Two millionths of a second, to be precise. Sorry, did that sound smug?’
    Joshua sighed. ‘Actually, it sounded like exaggeration for humorous effect.’
    ‘Good!’ said Lobsang. ‘That’s exactly what I intended.’
    ‘
That
sounds smug.’
    ‘Well, it must be said that I have a