The Complete Karma Trilogy

by Jude Fawley

  Noboru was dripping wet, and still carried an umbrella in his hand. It must have started raining outside, Reiko thought. She decided to leave for the day, since she didn’t want to see firsthand what it looked like for the surgery to be done, even though she had experienced it herself. “Don’t kill me,” she told the engineers, before she left.

  It was raining hard outside, large, meteoric drops of rain. Reiko didn’t carry an umbrella because she hadn’t thought to bring one, even though Japan was well into its rainy season. The large drops soaked her in seconds as she walked towards the subway, and a dull pain exuded from the hole in her head, every time it was struck. She tried to look straight up, even though it blinded her.

  Mars 7

  Twins Separated in Time

  THE TIME ALLOTTED for Hardin to talk to New Karma finally came. The terminal was set up on one of Percy’s two computers, the only two computers of the commune. Hardin soon realized why his appointment was so short, and why he had to wait as long as he did—it wasn’t because New Karma was busy, since New Karma was after all just a computer program. It was because Percy himself supervised the appointment, although he did it at a distance. He sat at the desk that housed the other computer, attempting to give the impression that he was just incidentally working on something at the same time, although the constant glances over in Hardin’s direction gave him away. Percy’s presence didn’t bother Hardin—he would say the same things he would have, were he alone.

  The interface was fairly primitive. There was a headset that contained headphones and a microphone, so that New Karma could both be heard and spoken to. At the same time, a transcript of the conversation was shown on the computer screen, ostensibly so that Hardin could just read anything that he missed. He had no doubt that all of the conversational transcripts were stored, so that Percy could review them later if he felt the need.

  New Karma began speaking without prompt. He said, in a metallic, artificial voice, “Hello. I am New Karma.”

  “New Karma, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Hardin said into the microphone.

  “You are Salvor Hardin, a new member. What brings you to our wonderful society?”

  “A promise of Mars.”

  “No one ever promised you Mars,” the computer said, with an attempt at the tonal quality of a correction.

  “How much of our minds are you allowed to see? Are you in any way restricted?” Hardin asked, dropping the topic of Mars for the time being. He wanted to know more about the computer.

  “I am constricted in a manner directly corresponding to the old Karma, except that there are no Privacy Rooms anymore. But I am the only one that can access the recordings, so no severe violation of your privacy will be made, unless you resent my access in some way.” It was interesting to Hardin, to hear the struggling pronunciation of a program that obviously knew how to make appropriate and succinct statements with ease. The computer sounded like a competent foreigner, or a completely mindless robot programmed to say rote things. It seemed that Percy didn’t bother to code for the intricacies in pronunciation of the English language. Or whoever Percy stole that piece of code from, if that was how it happened.

  Hardin responded, “That’s what I suspected. I ask because in a strict, technical sense, you are right. No one ever promised me Mars. But I would bet that you are searching in your memory for usages of the word promise, or some synonymous statement like ‘I swear’, or perhaps even just a direct affirmation, like ‘mars, we’ll get you there.’”

  “What is your point? All of these possibilities encompass everything that could possibly be interpreted as a promise,” New Karma said, with a hint of primitive anger.

  “I can see you’re still naïve. You don’t understand the possibility, or even the concept, of a promise not expressed in words. I came here because, from what I’ve seen of these people, I know that they will get me to Mars. That’s a promise of sorts.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  Hardin maintained the offensive. “Obviously you aren’t very competent at subtle analysis of human behavior. How is it, then, that you are qualified to make the kind of moral evaluations that are at the center of this society?”

  The computer took a few seconds to respond. “My judgments are occasionally assessed at random, and I take these assessments into consideration for future moral evaluations. The subjects of my evaluations can also make an appeal if they believe they were shorted in some way, and my rulings can be reversed retroactively.”

  “Who decides whether their appeal is accepted? Is it you? You listen to their reasoning, and realize that you were wrong, or insist that you were right?”

  Without any shame, the computer said, “Master Percy assists in all appeal processes. He allows me to make further argument, but in the end it is his decision that is final.”

  “There it is,” Hardin said, more to himself than to New Karma. “Then you are not really the supreme moral arbiter that everyone would have me believe. You answer to someone higher than yourself, to the true moral God, and that person is Percy Edwards. You are no true successor of the old Karma—the old Karma answered to no one.”

  The computer was indignant. “My moral authority must come from somewhere. Whether it is from rational argumentation or from a higher moral authority, it should not make any difference.”

  Hardin had to wonder if Percy would ever relinquish his control to the computer, or if he enjoyed playing God too much to ever let it go. It seemed clear to Hardin that it would be the latter possibility, if it was anything at all. New Karma would never be a real moral authority, so long as Percy lived. After that, though, there was a possibility. It depended on if the society would die with Percy, if the man would be selfish enough to deactivate the program when he was on his deathbed. It didn’t even matter what the answer was—the society undoubtedly wouldn’t last that long. It was just another of the countless ephemeral artifacts of humanity. With a light touch of sympathy, Hardin said, “Yes, moral authority has to come from somewhere. Let it come from you.”

  “That would make it arbitrary,” New Karma said.

  “And that would make you the arbiter. I’ve seen enough, I’m going to go.” Hardin quickly turned his head around to see what Percy was doing, and was just fast enough to see him avert a fairly ominous glare. To Percy, he said, “I’m ending my appointment now. I want to thank you again for taking the time to let me get to know him.”

  Percy said, “Don’t thank me, thank New Karma.”

  To which Hardin replied, “No, I think I should thank you.”

  Percy had plenty of reasons to be frustrated with Hardin. For one thing, Hardin’s plants were growing incredibly fast. It became the talking point of the entire commune. People came over from the other two buildings just to see his table. And because he was trying to build an image, he stayed at his table whenever he could and spoke to the people that came by.

  “How is this even possible?” an older woman asked him. Her scalp unsettled him—of the billions of people he’d seen in his life, he’d never seen a bald fifty-year-old woman. Whenever a woman’s hair started thinning, they would always appeal to one of the countless hair supplements on the market. Before Karma died, at least. But like every other member of New Karma, she was completely hairless. It didn’t suit her.

  Trying to ignore his irrational aversion to her, Hardin said, “This is how they used to grow food, under Karma. There’s an exact science to it. I happen to know that exact science.”

  “Well I’ve been growing food for five years, and I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said, holding one of Hardin’s massive tomatoes.

  “I’m not terribly surprised,” Hardin replied.

  Then Percy appeared, and spared Hardin from offending the woman any more than he already had. Percy went to Hardin’s table, and slowly inspected the plants in silence. When other people noticed Percy they crowded in, and Hardin knew that he had won.

  Finally he spoke to Hardin. “Ne
w Karma ran the numbers on your plants. Growth rates, size, fertilizer-to-product ratios.” Without asking for Hardin’s permission, he cut a large cucumber off of its stalk with a knife, and held it in his hands. “And it seems that you were right to boast, on all accounts. You know something about agriculture.”

  “Agriculture is just a part of it,” Hardin replied. “I know something about everything. I know more than you could ever comprehend.”

  By that time there were fifty people gathered around them, in perfect silence. Hardin enjoyed the silence, since it allowed his words to be easily heard, but it was obviously uncomfortable for Percy, who was bending under the pressure of so many spectators. Normally he would have been angry with Hardin, but he had to appear magnanimous in front of his followers. He said, “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself. You’ve had one success. That doesn’t make you all-knowing.”

  Hardin made a quick social calculation, then said, “You’re right. Only one success. My apologies. But I have demonstrated myself to be good with plants, haven’t I? Would you allow me, Percy, to speak with the whole commune in our mess hall? I would like to share my ideas on agriculture with everyone. If you would really like to make improvements here, that would be the best way to start.”

  “You could just tell me,” Percy replied, “and I would make sure that your suggestions were adopted. I see no need for a large gathering.”

  “Let him speak,” Hardin’s roommate, Chris, said from the crowd.

  Shouts of agreement followed. “Let him speak!”

  “Let him speak!”

  “Alright!” Percy yelled, his temper flaring for a moment. “Tomorrow. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  To a gathering of hairless people, Hardin said, “Percy has generously allowed me to speak to all of you about certain suggestions I have for the improvement of your commune. I have many ideas, but I’ll only discuss the few that I believe are most relevant.

  “First, I’d like to speak about your New Karma. It shows promise, I will give you that, but it falls a long way short from the glory of its father. Its judgments are still second-guessed, and for two reasons—for one, its judgments aren’t as good as they should be, I will grant you, but secondly you continue to neuter it of the authority that it by all rights should have. Even the Karma of old had to make questionable decisions about how a moral action was evaluated. But no one overturned its judgments, not for centuries. It was the supreme moral authority. If you want your New Karma to thrive, you have to trust it more.

  “But I’m offering you a second alternative, one which I hope you will sincerely consider. Allow me to be your New Karma. There are a few caveats—I cannot handle as many people as a computer can, but I believe I can handle quite a few. Also, I will have to be allowed to see the entirety of your lives, through your eyes, which some of you may find to be an uncomfortable allowance. What I promise in return, though, is a system that performs better than your current New Karma. My judgments will be more accurate, and you will find less need to make appeals.

  “In fact, I will state that as a challenge. Give me ten volunteers, and a period of a week. Allow both me and New Karma to evaluate these people. I will use the same grading criteria as New Karma, and I will submit my report in the same format. At the normal time your scores are updated in the mess hall, I will have a table set up where they can discuss with me my evaluation. That way you’ll be able to directly compare the two systems.”

  Percy interrupted. He had placed himself to the side of Hardin, clearly suspicious of his intentions, so he had everyone’s attention as he disputed Hardin. “Be our New Karma? You make it sound like you’re a computer. What the hell are you even talking about?”

  “I am human, but I can do the exact same thing New Karma can, in the exact same way.”

  “Not possible,” Percy said. “Even if your mind could handle it, theoretically, you would need some sort of receiver in your head. The Karma Chip is only a transmitter. I know, I’ve worked with them for a long time.”

  “Not long enough,” Hardin replied. “Didn’t you say that you were always open to challenges, Percy? And receptive of improvements? This is just like the plants I grew—I will show you that I don’t make empty promises. And when you all realize that I am better than New Karma, I will show you the way to improvement. I see it clearly, the path you must take—you just wouldn’t believe me yet. I will show you where you must go, and what you must do, to bring about the old world order that you are all trying to recreate. Because you are trying to recreate it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

  “It isn’t enough for your small society to be doing this alone. Karma was meant to be the authority over everyone, or else other people—the people in the world that make so many decisions that influence you, often indirectly, but sometimes very directly indeed—aren’t held to the same standard. Yelling from a street corner at passersby, making vague promises because you’re too afraid to proclaim the true nature of your society, will not be enough. A thousand beliefs are too many, there must be shown to be only one—you will have to show everyone the undeniable truth, and the only way into the future.”

  “We can’t afford to tell the truth,” a bald man said. “If Darcy found out, he would shut us down.”

  “Darcy already knows about us,” Percy said, intervening once again. “I got a message from him a week ago. Or rather, one of his underling bureaucrats, since Darcy himself was too busy to bother. They told us to stop, but listed no consequences if we didn’t. We’re too small for them to bother. And we’re better off if we remain that way. Small, self-sufficient, on our own. What need do we have for everyone else?”

  Percy could see the present fairly clear, Hardin allowed. The entire police system of Earth had fallen apart with Karma—there was no readily available force that Darcy could exert on the group to get them to stop. It seemed to Hardin like a foolish move on Darcy’s part., but he knew that Darcy’s leniency with the billions of people he left behind was due to the fact that so much space separated them—he was far enough away that he didn’t care. He had moved on.

  But Percy didn’t see the future as well as Hardin could—such escapism couldn’t last forever. Eventually Darcy would have to return to the realities of Earth, and when he did, even the smallest of societies would be weeded out. It might have been years in the future, but it would happen. If something else didn’t happen first.

  Hardin said, “Your fearless leader must be afraid to acknowledge the motive at the core of your society. You cannot maintain the belief in a true moral good and at the same time not think that it should apply to everyone else. Maybe you don’t see it clearly, but at your core it is true. What you need from everyone else is compliance.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” Percy asked, defiantly. “The larger we are, the more conspicuous we become. When we finally do become a tangible threat to Darcy, that is exactly when we will be destroyed.”

  “Then we destroy Darcy first,” Hardin replied. “That’s the real plan. It would be a bad way to go about things, to become threatened before removing the threat rather than the other way around.”

  “Destroy Darcy how?”

  “We would have to go to Mars.”

  Percy laughed, so that everyone could hear. “You’ve had a huge lapse in judgment, my comrade. No one will follow you that far. In fact, I doubt anyone will follow you so far as to let you judge them for a week. Does he have any of the volunteers he presumes to ask for? A show of hands, and then we can put all of this folly aside.”

  To Percy’s dismay, there was a fair display of hands, around thirty, from the group of three hundred. “You can’t be serious, can you?” he asked.

  “I’ll just assume that they are,” Hardin said. He took a good look at his thirty—it was a very specific type of person that he needed. And, from his thirty, he only had four that fit his criteria. But four would be enough. “Thanks for volunteering, everyone, but I only need ten, as I said. Those ten will be—�
�� and then he listed ten names, from the thirty that were willing. It seemed to astonish some people, since he had only been with them such a short time and there was no reason that he would know any of their names. Of the ten he selected, Lucretia was the only one that he’d met in person.

  “I’ll need one more thing, from our comrade Percy. I’ll need to know your Karma Chip encryption keys, so I can have your lives broadcast to me. Will you let me do that, Percy? I’ll have to use your computer.”

  Percy frowned. He didn’t dare to seem obstinate when so many people were supportive of Hardin. “Make it quick,” he said. “I don’t want you fooling around on it for very long.”

  Mars 8

  This is Why We Fight

  AGAIN IT WAS Lucretia that escorted him up to the seventh floor, where they were to meet Percy in his office. He hadn’t seen much of her lately, since she spent a lot of her time on the Street of a Thousand Beliefs, recruiting new members. He asked her, “You find anyone good lately, out there on the Street?”

  “No one as interesting as you,” she said. “Are you really sure this is even possible? I volunteered because I was intrigued, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t think you’re crazy. Like, if you can do what New Karma does just by knowing some encryption keys, why can’t I do it? I’ve seen plenty of encryption keys.”

  “I’ll have to make some slight modifications to my Chip, using Percy’s computer. But only to the software. The hardware is all already there. It just needs to be activated.”

  “I still don’t understand how you can know about any of this.”

  Hardin replied, trying to sound inspiring, “If you follow me, like you’ve already chosen to do, I promise to teach you a lot of things. Things you never would have known otherwise.”

  One of the guards on the seventh floor took them all the way down the hallway, to Percy’s office at the end. Percy was already there, sitting at New Karma’s computer. When he saw the three people at his doorway, he said, “Just take the keys and go. And don’t you dare try to use them for anything other than what you said you would. Just like that group meeting—you said you wanted to talk about your ideas for agriculture, and instead you slander everything I’ve done. You’re on thin ice. And I still don’t believe you can do any of the things you claim.”