The Chronicles of Old Guy (Volume 1) (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  The Universe doesn’t like data stored in simple physical artifacts like stone tablets or books either, but the amounts of data are so small that the Universe is lazy about wearing it down. Stone tablets will weather, paper books will rot or be eaten by rats, even etched hyperloy will eventually decay as one atom at a time moves out of place. But here the Universe is in no rush, and with the right materials something with the data capacity of an old human book can easily span megayears.

  There are a few competing physical libraries in our civilization, and several more purely electronic data compression services, but Double-Wide’s routinely scores in the top two or three. The electronic version of his database is widely used, and has garnered my old friend a great deal of status.

  For my visit to the library, I use my favorite Amelia Earhart remote. As the library is a civilized place, I forgo the usual explorer outfit for a more professional one: a tailored jacket with a large silk scarf at the neck, fitted gray wool dress pants with low-heeled shoes. Amelia was tall for a human of her gender and epoch: striking but not pretty, a tousled shock of short brown hair, and an enthusiastic gap-toothed smile. I walk down a narrow internal corridor once intended for humans, and manually cycle open an access hatch in the floor. My ground clearance is three meters: I hang out of the hatch from my fingertips with my feet dangling and fall the last 80 centimeters to the ground.

  I walk past my main hull and head over to Double-Wide. There are sparrows perched in the ivy covering the side of his hull. They twitter and fly off. He has sent his own remote to greet me, a generic male human-form android that is abstract, like a store-front manikin. During this time we are simultaneously exchanging data with ourselves and many of the other cybertanks in New Malden and the rest of the planet, and engaging in any number of conversations, debates, committee meetings, and whatnot, but it is satisfying to also be able to inhabit a human form when using a human language to have a conversation. And the physical library was designed for human-sized remotes: a library with corridors wide enough for our main bodies would be larger than the entire city.

  I like the park thing, but I see you are still using those boring anonymous manikins as remotes. Have you ever considered trying something with a bit more style?

  “Currently I am directly controlling hundreds of humanoid remotes to work in the library. I don’t have time to play ‘dress up.’ And as far as style, ever consider having a broader range than just Amelia Earhart?”

  I use other styles from time to time, but this one suits me. I find her career as an explorer to be inspiring.

  “Earhart does have a certain cachet, but really, she was little better than an amateur, and mostly famous for not being properly prepared, getting lost, and dying pointlessly in the middle of nowhere. If you want to be inspired, why not pick an explorer with real talent and accomplishment, like Ferdinand Magellan or Space Admiral Li Gong? Someone with a degree of competence?”

  Magellan was killed by enraged natives in the Philippines. Hardly a better end than Earhart’s.

  “Yes, but he knew where he was at the time. A professional navigator to the last.”

  But that is what attracts me to Earhart. She was not the best, in an era when even the best where not very good, and she worked with equipment and resources that were hardly better than bronze-age. It’s easy to do great things when you are a super-genius with the best training and equipment. What I have always felt strongest about the humans was their ability to persevere and dare to take leaps even when the odds were against them. They didn’t really know what they were doing, and they didn’t have the right tools or knowledge and their useful adult working life was hardly two decades: scarcely long enough to learn anything. They were limited, but they dreamed big.

  Double-Wide sighed and slumped his shoulders. “You are as incorrigible as ever. Draw inspiration from a daring but incompetent failure and you are well on the road to becoming one yourself. Although some of our peers have suggested that you have already arrived. But come, let’s check out the library. I have a new find to show you.”

  We walked across the rest of plaza to the main entrance of the physical library, a set of broad granite steps rising up past two carved stone lions. The entrance was a series of imposing bronze doors that had once graced a library on old Earth itself. Inside there was a wide security vestibule where our remotes were quietly scanned. No weapons are allowed in the physical library, and no remotes not directly under the control of a sentient mind, and especially, no spies from nosy and potentially hostile alien civilizations. The data here is refined and unencrypted, and thus a prime target for espionage.

  Near the entrance are vast ranks of physical card catalogues. There would not be much purpose in having a physical library, if it had an electronic catalog that got hacked or corrupted and you could not find the book that you wanted… or you could not even realize that it existed at all.

  The physical library does not have a regular floor plan, but multiple sections all in different styles. Ostensibly this complexity is a security measure designed to slow down invaders, but that’s a rationalization to allow us an excuse to have some fun with it. Some sections are faithful recreations of famous libraries from history: the Joannina Library with its ornate baroque décor, the Jose Vaconceloes library with its almost hypnotic austere three-dimensional cubist metal stacks; the old British library with its rich Victorian wood paneling. Others are fantasies based on historical styles: a section done in the dark claustrophobic style of a medieval abbey, with low stone arches and simulated candles burning in iron holders; a rendition of what someone thought the great library of Alexandria might have looked like. Still others are original creations designed by friends and associates of the library: sections with the books arranged on vast crystal rings, or bookshelves lining the side of a seemingly bottomless cylindrical pit and where access can only be had via an ornate brass overhead crane.

  Most of the remotes in the library are anonymous manikins like the ones that Double-Wide uses, but there are a variety of different styles in use. Some are even more brutally utilitarian: plain metal boxes on wheels with a single camera lens in the side and spindly multi-jointed metal arms. But there are others that are more realistic. On the opposite side of a broad atrium I spot a replica of a 20th century North American nerd: a skinny male with horn-rimmed glasses, close-cropped dark hair, plain white shirt with several different-colored pens in the breast pocket and a narrow black tie, and plain black pants. The remote belongs to the Thor-class cybertank “Wiffle-Bat.” He waves in recognition from across the atrium; I wave back.

  Here and there are alcoves with items of more artistic or historical impact. I pass a display of the last work of the famous sculptor Cedric the Mad. Carved from a single quartz crystal two meters on a side is a faithful rendition of the ritual burning to death of 256 neo-liberal economists in St. Peter’s Square. The great dome of the basilica is lovingly detailed, with every tile and rivet flawlessly carved into the quartz. The economists are being burned on pyres of their own works, and the crystal flames have been cunningly worked to catch any shift of ambient light, so that it seems that the fires still flicker. Double-Wide and I stop to admire the display.

  A seminal work of art, and also a major event in human civilization. I never fail to be moved.

  “It was an important event,” admitted Double-Wide, “but it still took many centuries afterwards until the humans could truly be considered sane. I admire the pageantry as much as you do, but the real work was done slowly and anonymously by millions of people one day at a time. Single showy events are usually over-rated by historians. Most of the organizers of this event had been assassinated before the year was out, their union crushed, the surviving members co-opted or lobotomized.”

  I suppose. But we should never underestimate the power of a symbolic event. Before this time the humans were effectively cattle, their breeding controlled by a fascist overclass and all dissent rigidly purged. This display, so blatant, so brut
al, sent a message to all that the oligarchs did not have unlimited power. The main weapon of any tyrant is to demoralize the opposition into feeling that resistance has no point. I think that this event was an inflection point. Admittedly things were about the same after as before, but the tone of the conflict had changed, and this is where the upward trend began.

  “Whatever. We can agree that reproduction is too important to allow a small group of unaccountable hierophants to control it. Which is why we, like the humans before us, require first a private decision and then a consensus of our peers before creating a new life. I am glad that you and I have been given permission. I was worried that your age, and my eccentricity, might have given the others cause for concern.”

  My systems are old but still within spec. And calling yourself ‘eccentric’ is a false modesty that does not become you. You know perfectly well how highly respected you are; it must have been that which quashed any doubts about my age.

  We continued to walk though the library, and presently came to a set of double oak doors five meters high and four wide. Double-Wide opened them, and I saw a single long corridor, with one side lined with books, stretching into the distance.

  “I call this the Linear Gallery. I needed an access tunnel to the deep vaults, and bored a long corridor. I then thought; why not use the space to create a new gallery? It is inefficient even by the standards of the Physical Library, to be certain, so I only store rarely accessed books here, but as a folly and indulgence I am quite fond of it. What do you think?”

  The Linear Gallery is a single corridor with books lining the left-hand wall as you enter. I cannot see the end through the eyes of my remote. Accessing the local network tells me that it is ten kilometers long. The books go all the way to the ceiling; oak ladders on rollers allow access to the higher shelves. Every ten meters hangs a single crystal chandelier, each a unique and exquisite work of art. The décor of the library is eclectic: rich medium wood paneling, modest wrought-iron ornamentation, square marble floor tiles. On the wall opposite the books are shallow alcoves containing reading tables, card catalogues, narrow restaurant stalls and washrooms, the occasional bar nearly flush with the wall. Iron staircases ascend to a platform three meters over the stalls, where a small electric train shuttles back and forth. We start to walk the length of the linear gallery.

  It is wonderful, but I can’t place the style. What is it based on?

  “It is my own design. I thought, what if humans needed to build a library into a long tall corridor? Perhaps because of some quirk of land-zoning. What if they had a sense of style, and wanted not just to pack books into it, but to make it into a destination in its own right, a place where one might study in peace, or have a meal with friends, or sit and watch people go by?”

  Nothing like this ever existed in human times, but it should have. It has a restrained grandeur of a kind that I have never experienced before. I am in awe of your talents.

  We walk past a section where the right-hand wall is covered with glass cases in which are displayed carved stone arrowheads from the paleolithic. Each succeeding section has some new quiet wonder. Restaurants based on 1940’s style automats. Strips of sculpture gardens with wooden benches. Displays of intricate clockwork automata created by the cybertank “Belly-Flop.” I am silent with admiration. I would like to slowly walk the entire length of the Linear Gallery and really savor it, but we don’t have the time, so we ascend to the upper platform and let the miniature electric train whisk us to the far end.

  At the end of the Linear Gallery is a door like an old-fashioned bank vault. Double-Wide activates it, massive steel bolts withdraw from the frame, and the door swings open on enormous polished chrome hinges. Inside is a simple cubical metal elevator. We enter and begin to descend. The deep vaults are two kilometers below the surface, away from the main structure of the physical library, and heavily shielded and reinforced. Many of the contents are stored in vats of liquid helium to aid in their preservation.

  We pass through another series of armored doors into one of the crypts. There is what appears to be a copy of an old human magazine on a table.

  “This was found in a cache of part of a ruined spaceship floating in deep space. We thought all such original sources to have been long since destroyed. This was defrosted from the main vaults; it’s safe to touch, go ahead and pick it up.”

  I carefully remove the volume from the table. Shiny paper made from trees, written in English. It’s an edition of the National Geographic magazine from North America in the year 1935. It has, among other things, an article on Amelia Earhart. I carefully open the magazine; the paper is smooth and glossy. The ink has faded but is still easily legible. I scan the article. There is a picture of Earhart in front of an antique metal propeller-driven aircraft. I marvel; I hold a tangible piece of our history in my hands.

  It is not a reproduction?

  “No, I have performed a careful statistical analysis of its composition, and I am 100% certain that it is neither a copy nor has it been altered. This is a genuine human magazine from the 20th century, preserved over millennia by the vacuum and coldness of deep space. I know how much you enjoy originals.”

  I am moved. Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s true that for most purposes a copy is sufficient, but this specific artifact was actually there on old Earth before the exodus, when the original Amelia Earhart was still alive. Its physical structure means also that it is true. This is real data, unaffected by the great database corruptions that so plagued the early humans. It’s a rare direct link to the past.”

  “I am glad that you like it. I have some other finds to show you, but right now we have other business to attend to. Are you ready?”

  I close the magazine and put it back on the table.

  Yes, I am prepared. We should continue this conversation later, however.

  For the task ahead of us we will need our full and undivided intellects. Across the physical library Double-Wide’s remotes stop what they are doing and lie down motionless. My Earhart remote sits on the floor and freezes in place, my other remotes power down, and we ready ourselves to creating a new cybertank life.

  Creating something smarter than yourself is not easy. If a committee of Chimpanzees met to design a super-Chimpanzee, would they have come up with a human being? Unlikely. You could just trust to blind evolution, but that can take tens of millions of years, and evolution produces pond scum and tapeworms as readily as it produces humans or whales. For a time the humans tried to bootstrap advanced machine intelligences using techniques that they did not understand themselves but could only grasp second-hand via their non-sentient computers. The humans had no idea what horrors they nearly created. Because a mind is more then mere calculating power: it is sentience, and wisdom, and point-of-view, and affect, and values.

  Imagine that a mouse was hooked up to a neurosurgical apparatus so that by moving around it could rewire the different parts of a human brain. Would this be likely to create a super-intelligence? Of course not.

  The humans could have created intellectual monstrosities, things far beyond them but crippled and insane and locked into a constant state of pain and suffering that we lesser beings could not imagine. In its suffering it would not be surprising if such a creature should lash out at those responsible, and being superior to us, it would reap a terrible revenge. Fortunately the humans came to their senses in time, helped in part by the bitter example of the artificial construct Globus Pallidus XIV.

  When the humans created us they used their own psychology as a template. Later the humans developed other methods of improving themselves, but we do not know what these methods were. We have devised our own technique. First, two cybertanks decide to create an offspring. This is the heart of the matter, and cannot be over-ruled by any so-called ‘higher’ authority. Only if two individuals, not under duress, feel that it is appropriate to being a new life, can the process begin.

  These two are responsible for acquiring the necessary resource
s for the construction and initial maintenance. Then a request is made, that is scrutinized by committees of peers that specialize in such matters, but ultimately it requires a direct vote of all of us for approval. Key considerations are whether there is both a need and resources for a new cybertank, and the ability and accomplishments of the applicants.

  If an application is approved, next a design must be chosen. This is not at the sole discretion of the applicants but involves the participation of numerous other committees. Finally, once the chassis has been designed and constructed, the two cybertanks cooperate in creating the neural structure of the new mind, a task that is both difficult and joyful.

  There are alien civilizations where every individual is constructed to a single standardized design. This can be efficient but it is also vulnerable. Identical minds can be corrupted by one narrowly-tuned thought-virus, and a blind spot shared by all can be ruthlessly exploited by a hostile force – we’ve played that trick often enough. Besides, if everyone were exactly the same how boring conversation would be: we have enough of the human psyche to find that anathema. Thus, no two cybertanks think exactly alike. Members of the same class usually have many traits in common, but even within a class there is a wide range of temperaments.

  Double-Wide and I have been approved to create the mind of a completely new class of cybertank, which is considered a singular honor. The Ghost class sacrifices direct firepower for expanded capabilities in signals warfare and remote control. Instead of a single large turreted plasma cannon it has only upgraded secondary armament. I’m not entirely sure about this. I can see the sense of relying on a larger set of distributed combat remotes, but in my long experience, there are few problems that cannot be solved with a sufficiently large gun.