Galactic Empires

by Gardner R. Dozois

  “Especially now? Did you get some useful information?”

  “Very. He was the alibi memory. Svein Moalem went to Ormal and spent the day living Fiech’s life.”

  “What? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He fancied a redhead.”

  “Come on, talk sense to me.”

  “Moalem told me the stewardess on the plane Fiech flew on from Essendyne back to Harwood’s Hill was a redhead. He’s right, too.“ Paula closed her eyes, recalling the memories that didn’t belong to her, the ones she’d read from Fiech’s brain. Seeing wavery images of the attractive woman in her neat blue and green uniform, Celtic-red hair all tied up with leather clips. Trying to smile as she supported his body up the stairs, and, amazingly, still calm when she deposited him in his seat and he made a crude drunken pass.

  Paula had interviewed the woman a week later as she retraced the alibi, confirming the memory.

  “So?” Christabel asked.

  “That detail wasn’t in the memory deposition filed with the court. I just said a stewardess.”

  “He could have found out.”

  Paula pulled the straps of her slip up properly on her shoulders as the maidbot came in with a large breakfast cup of green Assam tea. “Why would he?”

  “Because they’re obviously all part of the same group of Isolationists. He’d want to know everything connected with the case.”

  “No, this was a casual detail. I know it was. He was the one on Ormal.”

  “Oh bloody hell, so now what?”

  “Obviously, he has to be arrested. He was a major part of the crime. If he was as deeply involved in the Free Merioneth Forces as I suspect, he could well expose the others with a memory read.”

  “Not going to happen. There’s only two and a half weeks left to Isolation. You’ll never get clearance for that. It would take a small army to go in there and arrest their new prime minister. Actually… how come you didn’t try while you were there? I know you. You cannot stand back.”

  “I know. It’s engineered into my nature. But the probability of a successful outcome if I’d tired to arrest him on the spot was zero. They would simply have eliminated me.”

  “So natural self-preservation is stronger than the rest of you after all. That’s a relief to know.”

  “It was simply a decision based on common sense. I am going to arrange a meeting with Nelson. He may be able to secure me the return ability I need to complete the case.”

  “Damn, that’s a long shot.”

  “Yes, but what else have I got? The Directorate won’t be able to lift Moalem from Merioneth.”

  “I wouldn’t count on the Sheldons doing it either. The political fallout would be too great: Lifting someone from an Isolated world and making them stand trial here all because they assassinated Dynasty members. That won’t look good for the Dynasties, Paula, not politically. Isolation was the end of this, the deal.”

  “I know, but Nelson is the best option I’ve got.” She sipped some of the tea. “What were you calling me about?”

  “I’ve been digging around where I shouldn’t have, as you asked. I’m not sure how relevant this is now, but the Dynasties know who’s been backing the whole Merioneth independence movement.”

  “Who?”

  “Now promise you won’t shoot the messenger.”

  Paula grinned and took another sip. “I won’t.”

  “The Human Structure Foundation.”

  The surprise made her start. “Damnit!” She struggled not to let the tea spill onto the bed.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes.” Beside her, Aidan stirred at the commotion.

  “Look, I can maybe make some inquiries at this end, see if my Dynasty will go along with a covert extraction. The Free Merioneth Forces hurt a lot of Halgarths. Heather was not happy about giving them Isolation. We could put together an operation with the Sheldons.”

  “That’s more like vengeance,” Paula said quietly. “Not due process.”

  “You’re running out of options.”

  “I know. I need to make a few more inquiries about this. I’ll get back to you.”

  Aidan blinked round, lifting his head off the pillow. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” She ran her hand through his disheveled hair. “Early start, that’s all. Something unexpected came up. I’ve got to take a trip.”

  “Where to now? Other side of the Commonwealth again?”

  “The Caribbean, actually.”

  *

  The nearest city on the trans-Earth loop was New York. When she arrived at the Newark station, Paula took a cab over to JFK and flew a Directorate hypersonic parallel to the East Coast, then on south to Grenada. The Human Structure Foundation campus occupied a broad stretch of rugged land behind a series of curving beaches whose pale sand was just visible in the low moonlight. A circular white-glass tower formed the center, silhouetted by liquid bifluron tubes embedded in the structure. The long sodium-orange web of streets radiating out from the base revealed the surrounding village of elaborate bungalows. Foundation members didn’t reside in any of the island’s ordinary towns; in the last century, few ventured out beyond the heavily guarded perimeter strip. It was a micronation of genetic ideologues, despised by just about everyone, yet continuing to operate under Senate-imposed research restrictions, restrictions that had grown ever stronger since the establishment of Huxley’s Haven.

  Paula was familiar enough with the setup, though she’d never actually visited before. The notion of walking around the place that conceived her-intellectually and physically-was an experience she simply didn’t want.

  Her plane landed on a circular pad by the tower. Long ply-plastic petals unrolled from the edges to form a protective shell over her little craft. An astonishingly attractive woman named Ophelia escorted her up to Dr. Friland’s office on the top floor of the tower. On the way through the atrium lobby, people stopped and stared at Paula. It was three o’clock in the morning local time; the tower should have been deserted. She was used to attention, but this was akin to religious respect. Some looked like they wanted to bow as she walked past. The effect was un-nerving-and she wasn’t used to that feeling at all.

  “You’re the living proof that the concepts for which we stand have been successful,” Ophelia murmured as they walked into the elevator. “There have been many sacrifices down the decades, so please excuse their wonder.”

  Paula sucked in her cheeks, unable to meet any of the ardent stares as the elevator doors slid shut.

  According to his file, Justin Friland was born toward the end of the twentieth century. Meeting him in the flesh, Paula couldn’t tell, and she normally prided herself in spotting the telltale mannerisms of the truly old. He didn’t have any. His effusive good nature matched his handsome adolescent appearance perfectly. Like the Foundation members down in the lobby, he gave Paula an incredulous smile as she came into his office.

  “Director, I appreciate you seeing me,” Paula said. “Especially at this time of night.”

  “Not at all. This is an absolute honor,” he said, shaking her hand too vigorously and beaming a wide smile.

  “Thank you,” Paula said gently, and removed her hand from his grip.

  “I spent twenty-five years on Huxley’s Haven, helping to establish the birthing centers,” Justin Friland said. “And seeing you here is”-he spread his arms out-“astonishing. We never thought one of you could adapt to life offworld.”

  “One of me?” Paula arched an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, sorry! It’s just—we took so much shit over the Haven. Even fifty years ago, the perimeter here was surrounded by protesters. However, the days of the ten-thousand-strong mob have long gone. We still do have a hard core camped to the side of our main entrance. They’re not… pleasant people. My thoughts are still in war mode. My fault.”

  “1 see.”

  “Please, si
t down.” He hurried over to a wide couch. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need information.”

  “Whatever I can provide.” He was nodding enthusiastically as Paula sat beside him.

  “There is a rumor that the Foundation financed Merioneth’s Isolation.”

  “Not us,” Friland said emphatically. He brushed some floppy chestnut hair from his forehead. “However, the Foundation has undergone considerable schism during the last quarter century. I now lead what you’d probably call a Conservative faction.”

  “What of the other factions?”

  He sighed. “The person you want to talk to is Svein Moalem.”

  Paula gave Friland a surprised look. “He’s a Foundation member?”

  “An ex-colleague, yes. Now the leader of the New Immortals.”

  “We didn’t know that. We don’t have access to Merioneth files now.”

  “Wouldn’t have done you any good. The New Immortals have coveted their own planet for some time. They did a lot more than simply finance the Isolation revolution on Merioneth. They infiltrated its civil service quite some time ago. Any records you did access through the Unisphere merely say what they want them to say.”

  “And you didn’t feel obliged to tell us this?”

  “Us?” Justin Friland smiled faintly.

  “The Intersolar Senate. The Serious Crimes Directorate.”

  “Ah. Your government? No. Pardon me, Paula. I wasn’t about to come running to the organization that officially condemned my projects as the work of the devil. Besides, up until they started killing Dynasty members, our Immortal brethren didn’t actually do anything illegal. Political shenanigans are perfectly permissible under our oh-so-liberal Intersolar constitution.

  Manipulating public data for ideological ends is common practice. I assume you have better statistics than I do on the subject.“

  Paula thought about arguing but decided against it. The information might be useful later, if the Directorate decided to press complicity charges against Friland. “The New Immortals?” she asked. “I assume it’s a relevant name. What method have they adopted? And why does it need an Isolated world?”

  Julian Friland looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s a modified version of today’s re-life memory succession, which eliminates the requirement to rejuvenate a body.”

  “Thank you. You’ve just told me nothing.”

  “If you suffer bodyloss today, your insurance company grows a clone and downloads your secure memory store into it. Many people regard that as death. It’s a question of continuity, you see. In rejuvenation, your body simply floats in a tank while its DNA is reset. The you that comes out is still the you that went in a year before, so there’s no doubt about originality and identity. What Moalem and his group proposed was operating continuous bodies. A mental relay, if you like, with a personality twinned between an old and young version of the same person.”

  “So when the old physical body dies, the young one carries on.

  “With continuity intact,” Friland emphasized. “I acknowledge the concept is an elegant one.”

  “Not entirely original,” Paula said, thinking about the emissions she’d detected coming from Moalem. She frowned, trying to follow the idea through to its conclusion. “Surely, the two bodies would have to be close together. If they started to diverge, see and react to different things, then the personality would also start to fraction.”

  “Good point. The New Immortals claimed that was actually a desirable outcome. Moalem decided that a singular personality input-point was a primitive notion. The human mind should be able to expand to encompass many bodyforms, all inputting their experiences to the unifying mind.”

  “That has to be unstable. Bipolar disorder and multiple personalities are notoriously erratic.”

  “I’ve been through these arguments so many times with Svein. He maintains that inherent mental illness is completely avoidable in these circumstances, that the human mind can evolve in conjunction with its physical environment. The host personality has to be willing and receptive to change, to want to learn how to be different. He’s probably right.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. You say the Foundation split because of this? I thought you were all about exploring new forms of human existence.”

  “We are. I set up the Foundation to advance humanity through genetic modification. But change in isolation is not a desirable thing. Hence Huxley’s Haven. Not only are its citizens perfectly adjusted to their jobs, the entire society is designed to be stable, so that only the professions and abilities we have allowed for are needed. There are human clerks who make electronics, especially computers, redundant. Engineering is constitutionally fixed to equal early-twentieth-century development, so mechanics are capable of performing all repairs, rather than writing software for maintenance bots. It’s a level that was specifically chosen to give everyone a decent quality of life without dependence on cybernetics. Which is what makes Huxley’s Haven a perfectly integrated society. It doesn’t change because there is no requirement for change. That is what Commonwealth citizens found so disturbing; it’s also why it works. Within the Foundation, we had a very large debate as to whether we should Isolate it once it was established.”

  “Why didn’t you? A society like that can only be challenged by an outside force, so why risk continued exposure? There are plenty of idealists even today who would like it stopped.”

  “I didn’t believe we had the right. Maybe in a few hundred years’ time, the Haven will choose to isolate itself from what the Intersolar Commonwealth will become. Who knows?”

  “And if it starts to fail, you can fix it,” Paula guessed. He had that kind of egotism.

  “That’s what the freethinkers are for,” Friland said. “And to a lesser degree, the police such as yourself. All societies should include a mechanism for self-correction.”

  “You’re distracting me,” Paula said. “Why the split with the New Immortals?”

  “Very well,” Friland said. “I owe you of all people that explanation, if nothing else.”

  “How ironic for you, having to explain yourself to your creation!”

  “I’m not a Frankenstein, Investigator.”

  “Of course not. The split?”

  “First, the prospect of a hive mind is one I resist. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t regard it as a human goal. Yet there is that danger. Svein knows that you need more than two bodies to guarantee life-continuity. The more you have, the higher the personality’s survival probability There is no theoretical limit. He can possess hundreds, thousands, of bodies. More still. Exponential growth rates are a favorite politician’s scare image, and I don’t like to use it, but something close to exponential expansion is a very real threat in this case. What happens to individual, normal humans if a New Immortal expands its nest of selves? An Immortal by his or her nature becomes focused on survival. That will trigger competition for resources, possibly as bad as it was in the twenty-first century before Ozzie and Nigel developed wormhole technology. Would the singulars survive? Would they be allowed to survive? And what about other nest Immortals? One route is merger. The universal monomind. Again, something I instinctively shy away from. Svein was not complimentary about what he perceives as my outdated reactionary thinking.”

  “That must have been painful for you.”

  “Quite. The other problem I have is the method that the New Immortals have chosen. It is not pure genetic evolution, which is our creed.”

  “Now you’ve really lost me.”

  “If you have children, Investigator, they will remain true to your nature. They will inherit the genetic and psychoneural profiling that make you the perfect law enforcement officer. We set the traits that make you what you are; they are dominant. Even if all our fabulous society should fall, if the wormholes are closed, the factories break down, electricity cease to flow; if the human race enters into a new age of barbarism-what the Foundation created will remain. Our heritage is
written in our genes. When we define an advancement, we incorporate it in our DNA. It can never be lost. An equal science can remove it, but our advances would endure a dark age. Svein’s system will not. He shares his thoughts and memories with his other bodies via the unisphere. He needs OCtattoos and inserts to transmit and receive. He needs clone vats to grow new bodies. His is a cybernetic, technological future. It is a very short step from what he wishes to become to simply downloading your thoughts into a machine, like today’s uniheads do with the SI. After all, a machine can be made far stronger than human flesh. This is not the route I wish the Foundation to go down. At the far end, it is not a human outcome that awaits.“

  “Surely, that’s all contrary to the stasis of Huxley’s Haven?”

  “The Haven provides us with a proof of concept. We know we can match our genetic and societal requirements synergistically. That sets the stage for our next advances.”

  “Which are?” she asked sharply.

  “Development along all fronts. Extreme longevity-ultimately, self-rejuvenation. Increased intelligence. Huge disease resistance.”

  “Bigger. Stronger. Better,” she murmured.

  “Yes. These advances are slowly seeping into the human genome. Parents have baseline procedures carried out on their embryos to give their offspring healthier physiques. Reprofiling is commonplace in rejuvenation tanks, at least for those who can afford it. We are a slow revolution, Paula. People find our long-term aims uncomfortable, but they continue to incorporate our immediate successes into their very selves. Given such development, society will inevitably adapt and evolve. Which is why I reject the obsessional goal of the New Immortals. I will happily continue my rejuvenation treatments every thirty years because they will ultimately be temporary. In four or five hundred years’ time, I will be beginning my senior life span, which will be measured in millennia. Can you imagine what kind of culture that will play host to?“

  “Even if I could, I obviously wouldn’t have a place in it. I’m just a halfway stage experiment, remember.”

  “Oh no, Paula, you’ve become much more than that. You’ve humbled us by showing how adaptive humanity is. You are an inspiration that we can all exceed our perceived limits.”