Free Ten Sigmas & Other Unlikelihoods by Paul Melko Page B

said.
    We had built frogs in biology class last year. Ours had been the best jumper.
    As we were stowing the last of the boxes in the barn loft, we heard the whine of a jet car.
    “Folsom 5X,” Bola said. “Six-prop hydrogen burner.”
    It was actually a Folsom 3M, a converted older skybus, but we didn’t have time to razz him for his mistake. The skybus landed on the airpad behind the farm house, and we ran to meet it.
    Mother Redd waved us back, and we saw why. The bus had already discharged its passenger and was whining back into the sky. Another pod stood there next to Mother Redd, its interface shaking hands.
    “Hi, I’m Apollo Papadopulos,” Meda said. “Welcome to–”
    The newcomer turned to us, and we counted: a seven-person pod, a septet. Our greeting hung in Meda’s mouth. We gaped in wonder, stunned by the sight. We were a sextet; our order was only six.
    *
    “Everyone knows that the higher the order, the stronger the pod,” Quant said.
    “That’s not true,” Meda said.
    We’d gotten over our voicelessness and had managed a polite greeting to Candace Thurgood. Meda had shaken hands with the leader of the septet, one of six identical females, skinny, blonde-haired, green-eyed girls. The seventh member was a male, taller, just as skinny and pale in skin and hair. We’re three females and three males; Meda and I were identical female twins, while our other pod mates were of different genetic stock.
    Then Strom came up with the idea that we still had chores in the barn, and we made a quick exit, watching as the seven of Candace and the three of Mother Redd walked to the house.
    Yes, it is !
    No, it isn’t !
    I shushed them with a whiff of baby pheromone, a poke at their childish behavior.
    We all knew the history. The first pods had been duos, created almost fifty years ago, the first to use the chemical memory and pheromones to share feelings between two separate humans. Since then, the order of the pods and complexity of the chemical signaling had grown. We were a sextet, the largest order we’d ever seen. All our classmates were sextets. Everyone in the space program was a sextet.
    “Because sextets are the largest order. They’re the best,” Strom said.
    Not anymore! Candace is a seven, a septet !
    It made sense. Genetic engineers were always trying to add to the power of an individual. Why wouldn’t they try to build a seven? Or an eight?
    “They succeeded in building one, finally.”
    “How old is she?”
    “Younger than us. Maybe twelve.”
    I hope she’s not staying all summer .
    But we knew she was. We wouldn’t have turned out the guest room if she wasn’t.
    Maybe we can make her leave .
    I said, “We have to be nice. We have to be friends.”
    We have to be nice, but we don’t have to be friends.
    Why be nice ?
    I looked at Meda, and she said, “Oh, all right. Let’s go be nice. At least there isn’t eight of her.”
    Though how far away would that be?
    *
    We tried to be nice.
    I was the one who’d advised it, and even I chafed at the manners of that arrogant septet.
    “Fifteen point seven five three,” Candace said, while we were still scribbling the problem. One of her was looking over Quant’s shoulder as we sat at the great room table.
    I knew that , Quant sent.
    Still Meda wrote the problem down and we worked through to the answer, while Candace tapped seven of her feet.
    “Fifteen point seven five three three,” Meda said.
    “I rounded down,” she said. “One of us —” She nodded at the identical girl to her left — “is specialized in mathematics. When you have seven, you know, you can do that. Specialize.”
    We were specialized too, we wanted to say, but I sent, Humble.
    She’s specialized at being a git .
    “You’re very smart,” Meda said diplomatically. I hadn’t even had to remind her.
    “Yes, I am.” She was standing so close that the pungent smell of her chemical thoughts tickled our noses and distracted us. It was almost rude to stand so