by Paul Anlee
“I have made my position clear on Cybrid personhood.”
“Yes, you have. But we are slowly getting a handle on the recent habitat infrastructure difficulties, and our contributions will be lauded by the opposition party. Particularly if we release our evidence concerning the human causes of many of these difficulties.”
“Our people have been working alongside the Cybrids, learning how to perform maintenance. Are you saying we are incompetent? Incapable? Or are you such poor instructors?”
“I’m talking about more direct efforts, sabotage by certain members of your Administration. Your collusion in permitting their operations would make interesting evening news.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“Oh, but I can. I didn’t think it would serve any purpose before today.”
“So, what’s changed?” Alum asked, genuinely interested in the answer.
“I’m determined to have Cybrid perspectives on our claim of personhood and on our right to vote in the upcoming elections heard in the public debate. If I have to use information on you and your staff as leverage, I will.”
The Director clenched his jaws. His chin jutted forward. “Regardless, only humans will vote in this and in all subsequent elections.”
The Cybrid continued speaking in a light and breezy tone, as if discussing nothing more serious than a luncheon menu. “Some months from today, I will call a Cybrid general strike and the habitats will experience for themselves the role we play in their daily lives.”
“Ah, and there it is. After all your platitudes about service to humanity, you would withdraw your support of the habitats? You would threaten the lives of the people you claim to serve?”
“Service, freely given, should be met with gratitude, freely given. The hostility we receive from the colonists is a manipulation of public opinion. You know this. You, yourself, are responsible for much of the manipulation.”
Alum didn’t bother to stifle his grin. “And how will this ‘strike’ win you the vote?”
“Granted, with the majority of the human population, it would be a lost cause. Some beliefs are intractable. We intend to stage a peaceful march, so to speak. A public display of Cybrid determination. After we appear in numbers in the skies over the cities, you will graciously cede to the pressures of public opinion. You will state that you’ve reconsidered your position. That the worlds we can discover and build together have room enough for humans and Cybrids to share together in peace. That you have led the way to where we are today, and you will lead the way out.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we will withdraw Cybrid services from the asteroid colonies. Completely. No more expansion. No more exploration. No mining of resources. Humans will be forced to rely on their own capabilities.”
“If you do that, people will die. You’re prepared to threaten the survival of those you have worked so hard to save?”
“If needed.”
Alum wished DAR-K were a real human. He’d incorporated advanced body and facial analysis programs long ago, and was adept at reading unconscious signals from people. But a two meter carboceramic sphere made an inscrutable negotiator. He had no choice but to take her at her word.
“You know that we can enforce your continuing service.”
DAR-K was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her tone was deeper, more serious. “More Securitor abominations will not be permitted. Cybrid will never murder Cybrid again.”
Alum couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Yes,” DAR-K continued. “I know what really happened in the riot. I know your Securitor butchered one of my people, as well as a few humans, and injured many more.
“I’ve since probed the mind of that Securitor. I saw what you did to its concepta and persona; he was no longer the beautiful being he once was. Rest assured that he will no longer serve your dark purposes. I’ve wiped his substrate clean; he no longer exists.”
“I’m impressed, DAR-K. I didn’t think you Cybrids approved of murder.”
“It was a kindness to a horror that you created. I’ve updated Cybrid integrity safeguards to my level. You’ll find it difficult to subvert our minds in future. Your Securitor program will be pointless.”
Alum activated his lattice transmission and angrily directed the latest version of the concepta virus at the Cybrid. It had been significantly enhanced since Trillian had used it to convert inactive minds into Securitors.
The virus bounced off DAR-K’s defenses.
The Cybrid bobbed, once, in acknowledgement. “I see you’ve dropped the pretense of civility,” she said. “I am disappointed but not surprised. You will find such attacks ineffective against me.”
The blood drained from Alum’s face. He’d helped Trillian build this latest virus and found it to be fast and formidable in every test. And yet, DAR-K barely noticed the attempt to take over her mind. She swatted away their best software as if it were an insignificant nuisance, a fly.
“I’ve taken enough of your time. These are our demands. When the Cybrids initiate the general strike, you will know it is time to play the grand statesman.
“We’re willing to allow democracy to run its course. Our numbers are roughly equal, and the vote will not have the clearly predetermined outcome as at present. We will cooperate, but we will be welcomed back into society. You will see to it.”
Alum stood up. “I don’t see that I have a choice,” he said. “You hold all the cards.”
“It’s time you recognize that both sides hold roughly equal power. In time, you will come to realize that we are more gracious than you ever were when you held all the power in your hands.”
Alum engaged his lattice to assist his thinking. He couldn’t simply give in to this creature’s demands. He needed something, a compromise, anything.
“Very well,” he said. “I can be as magnanimous as anyone.”
“When a gun is held to your head.”
“I don’t particularly care for your proposal, but I see little choice. We’ll defeat you in the election. It’s simple math. People outnumber your kind.”
“Just be glad I don’t insist on activating and including the hundred million stored minds. By all rights, they are sentient beings and should get a say in determining their future.”
Alum’s face blanched. “That would push us, the real humans, to irrelevancy.”
“Exactly,” DAR-K replied. “You seem to have forgotten the source of those minds. Every single one of them was a person on Earth, full citizens, every one of them. We are demanding nothing more than fairness and equality. We could force equality on you, and more if we wished. But we’re not interested in dominance. Remember that during your campaign.”
Alum rubbed his chin and stared at the floating sphere. “In that case, I accept your proposal.”
“How gracious of you.”
“A good leader knows when he has been bested.”
“I’d love to play that sound bite over public broadcasts.”
“No one would believe I said it. I’d say you fabricated the video.”
“Don’t worry. Some of us are above games like that.”
“Will you rocket through the habitats, loudly proclaiming your power to all?”
“No, our procession will be solemn and orderly. We have no intention to instill any more fear in the human population. It will be for show, to provide you with an excuse to say you’ve changed your thinking.”
“Yet, each of you carries potential for devastation.”
“As a gesture of good faith, we’ll remove our mining and blasting tools.”
“How can we verify that?”
DAR-K bobbed again. “You’ll just have to trust us.”
“I see. Still, that represents only a small percentage of the danger; I’m talking about the explosive power you carry inside of you.”
“What do you…? Oh, you mean the MAM drives.”
“Yes, as if you forgot! Leave your antimatter in special containm
ent tanks outside the habitats.”
“All but a gram or so, the bare minimum for moving around.”
“Oh, come, now. You have to admit that, with thousands of Cybrids marching through each habitat, collectively, such an amount still represents significant destructive potential.”
“My people are not prone to suicide bombings. That’s more the province of human religious extremists. I believe there are far more people of such mind among the human colonists than among the Cybrids.”
Alum frowned. “My followers are not extremists.”
“I think our definitions of the term may differ.”
“At any rate, marching enough power to destroy a habitat right through the middle of each of our colonies is unlikely to be viewed as a peaceful march, is it?”
“And, tell me, how many of your people would even know enough about our inner mechanics to be concerned about this?” DAR-K’s derisive tone saturated the question.
“Such an unkind remark toward the future of humanity, DAR-K. I’m offended by your implication. I assure you, the current population spans a wide variety of intellect, skill, and sentiment.”
The two stared at each other without comment, daring one another to escalate the hostility.
DAR-K broke the silence with a sigh. “Very well. As a gesture of goodwill from my people, we will completely empty our antimatter in the external storage facilities before flying through the habitats. If we use our mass-reducers, we will be able to operate reasonably well on fans.”
“Thank you,” Alum answered.
“But if there’s any sign of Securitors, the consequences will be dire. Millions of us may march, but millions more will be standing by.”
“As you requested, the Securitor program will be discontinued. The few we’ve constructed will be nowhere near your people when they march.”
“In that case, I believe we’re done here.”
“I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”
“How you feel and what you wish is not important, only your compliance. Our candidates look forward to debating your candidates. Good day, Director.”
DAR-K didn’t bother with the elevator this time. She smashed through Alum’s office windows and engaged her propulsion system to rocket out of the habitat. The ion trail precipitated moisture from the atmosphere of Vesta One, leaving a contrail marking the direction of her departure. After a few seconds, a sonic boom rocked the capitol.
As she flew away, she sent a quick message to Jason Strang.
“I’m in,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do. When can you meet?”
Alum poured himself a bourbon
with trembling hands. He took a sip and sent a message to Trillian.
“John, there have been some…developments. We’ll need to move up the schedule on Project Michael. Bring that new programmer, Darak Legsu, with you when you come to the office tomorrow.”
He walked out of his office into Reception. Ms. Meyers was returning from the washroom where she’d waited out the meeting. The Security guards were nowhere to be seen. In the office behind him, he heard the Securitors twitter to life again. Except for a few bullet holes in the walls and the office doors hanging from their hinges, it looked like a normal day.
“Call building maintenance,” he said. “Let’s get back to today’s schedule.” He looked at the bullet holes in the walls. “As soon as we can, please.”
36
Nigel Hodge walked up to the starstep in his fishing vest and battered old Tilley hat. He returned the curious glances of any who dared meet his eyes with a defiantly cheerful, “Good morning!”
He didn’t care what they thought about his attire. He was going fishing, fly fishing. Jared Strang’s invitation had hinted they’d be discussing matters other than the best locations and techniques, but even that couldn’t ruin his mood.
He rarely got to spend time in nature anymore, and he was determined to enjoy wading in cold water past his knees for hours. No matter what.
It felt like ages since he’d been able to indulge in his favorite sport. The trip to the ecological reserve tunnel beneath Ceres 3 might be no more than a cover for his meeting with Jared, but it was still a rare opportunity to visit the best mountain stream in the asteroids.
I’m just glad someone, somewhere, realized our connection to nature was about more than farming. Being out in the wild is important too. Nature is about esthetics as much as survival. He smiled as he thought about the trip ahead.
True, the cities of the asteroid habitats were attractive and functional, but it was impossible to recreate the unique beauty of the best cities on Earth in such a short time. It’ll be centuries before we make anything as lovely as Paris or Florence.
Thankfully, it hadn’t been impossible to implement beauty in the landscaping of the service tunnels. Since all the land was being sculpted anyway, adding interesting features and topographies wasn’t significantly more work.
Selected tunnels were permitted to break the model of a single, long, boring series of farms, and feature varied terrain. Hills, rugged gorges, waterfalls, deep forests, and even deserts separated grazing and growing territories in many of the newer agricultural regions.
Rainbow River in Ceres 3 was rapidly gaining a reputation for the best trout fishing available. Nigel had enjoyed casting for the popular species back in Britain, but the licenses were ludicrously expensive and everything caught had to be immediately released.
What’s the point of fishing, if one can’t enjoy the fruits of one’s efforts? Besides, the rainbow trout in the old country had been farm bred and were much more docile than those from the mountain streams of places like New Pacifica. Where’s the sport in catching a fish that’s been conditioned to come racing to you for a food handout as soon as you break the surface of the water? Give me a wild trout, any day.
Okay, so Rainbow River doesn’t start from the glacial melt of the Pacific Coast range on Earth, but it’s the closest thing to the wild I’ll ever see again. He looked forward to landing two or three fine specimens and enjoying them for dinner.
He strolled the couple of kilometers from his apartment to the nearest starstep in Vesta One, whistling happily along the way.
Some of the people he passed found his cheer suspicious, given the troubling infrastructure and banking problems permeating the habitats. They didn’t know that he and his colleagues were responsible for many of those problems.
Hodge turned the corner into the town square and there it was: the neighborhood starstep.
For reasons people believed were known only to their Creator, most starsteps were situated outdoors in high-visibility, public areas. The raised platforms with adjacent podiums had appeared overnight throughout the habitats and service tunnels shortly after Alum’s declaration. Most were large enough to transport up to ten people at a time. Some of the starsteps looked big enough to shift a small truck.
With the starsteps came a new class of civil servant, a priesthood conceived of and personally appointed by Alum, that would be dedicated to a single specific purpose: to administer and oversee the use of this new and miraculous form of transportation.
Nigel scowled at the thought. Priests should stick to the realm of spirit and faith, and leave systems management and politics to those who are bred for it. For that matter, anyone who’s bound by such narrow-minded righteousness certainly shouldn’t be trusted anywhere near the levers of power.
He walked up to the starstep map, and placed his index finger on the red “You are here” dot. The intricate rat’s nest of colored lines reminded him of the old subway system maps they used on Earth except, in this case, he’d be hopping from asteroid to asteroid.
The “transit priests” had done a respectable job posting color-coded maps indicating the various destinations one could access from each starstep. A few days after they’d appeared, the priests had posted digital maps of the entire system and made them available from everyone’s cell phone.
I have to admi
t, they did better than I expected. I’ll give them that much. Nigel tapped his fingernail on the dot while he studied his options. Every starstep joined to dozens of others, most in the same habitat or asteroid, but some connected Vesta with Ceres or Pallas, and vice versa.
The priests interpreted their main function as praying, and helping people give appropriate thanks to their Lord for the miracle of public transportation that Yeshua had brought to the asteroids.
For without sincere prayer, the starsteps would not work.
Nigel remembered his professor of Comparative Theology at Oxford being fond of saying, “The Lord has always been a demanding and jealous God. The God of the Old Testament exhorts His followers to worship Him and Him alone.”
Instead of making Nigel more devout to one God, the professor had inadvertently seeded Nigel’s mind with the question of whether their God was the only god, or simply supreme among the gods. Sadly, Comparative Theology had been of no help in answering that question.
For over two thousand years, God had worked in subtle and mysterious ways, ways that required faith to convince oneself it was truly Him at work.
Now, if one were to believe Alum’s preaching, God had returned to active duty and was taking an objectively obvious, easily-verified, and direct hand in the daily lives of His people.
The miracle of instantaneous transportation was certainly undeniable. Within weeks of appearing, everybody—including himself—had used a starstep at least once. In return, God asked nothing more than the sincere gratitude of His followers for the miracle He wrought over and over every day. Not a bad exchange!
In many ways, Nigel preferred the distant and mysterious God of his youth over this new Supreme Lord whose hand was once again active in the daily affairs of humanity. True, the data, facts, and tangible evidence right here in front of all were measurable, provable, and less susceptible to interpretation, but the Mystery of the old days was malleable and could be shaped to manipulate people when needed.
