The Resurrected Man

by Sean Williams

  “Seventeen minutes.”

  “That's seventeen good reasons to switch me off. I'm not going to give anyone an excuse to use them. In fact—”

  Jonah suddenly ceased speaking. His brain and nervous system exhibited evidence of seizures, but his limbs did little more than twitch. SHE kept him carefully placid throughout the flashback, to prevent him from hurting himself, which he was quite capable of doing in the simulation. SHE also recorded his brainwaves, although SHE had given up attempting to make sense of them. The violent memory spikes and sudden electrochemical swings were only indicators of mental activity. Fascinated though QUALIA was, SHE could only guess what was occurring within his mind.

  Watching Jonah writhe at the whim of his unconscious was like listening to a language SHE had not learned to speak, or trying to read an encrypted file without the correct key. SHE could not even imagine what it would be like to forget something—let alone to remember it without conscious control. Again SHE dismissed the possibility that SHE might be able to excise the knowledge of QUALIA's error from his mind without his knowledge. That would be like a neanderthal with a stone axe attempting to modify a biochip.

  SHE allocated an eikon to keep a watch on him. When he awoke, SHE would return immediately.

  “We have to shut him down,” said Jago Trevaskis, next on the list. “There's no other course open to us. It's costing us too much to keep him going. Any longer and the MIU will be dead as well.”

  QUALIA scanned his recent communications with Chief Commissioner Disario, head of the Earth Justice Commission. “I hate to disagree, sir, but—”

  “But you will anyway. Doesn't that strike you as ironic? An artificial intelligence fighting for the life of a man who, for all we know, might be implicated in a series of vicious murders.”

  “Irrespective of that possibility, he is alive. By suspending the hot-wire simulation, you will be depriving him of his liberty.”

  “Morally, yes, but only temporarily. We can bring him back once the Resurrection problem is fixed.”

  “The fact remains, sir—”

  “It remains only if you want to be pedantic.”

  “The law thrives on pedantry, sir. If the Formal Definitions of Intelligence and Consciousness are interpreted the way Chief Commissioner Disario believes they should be—”

  “I know what she thinks, QUALIA, and I don't happen to agree with her. In the short term I'll win because I'm in charge of the MIU and I have the final say.”

  SHE doubted that fact but didn't want to say it. Instead SHE said: “You could be risking a civil suit.”

  Trevaskis frowned. “How?”

  “Should we be unable to revive him, his estate could sue for negligence.”

  “I didn't even know he had an estate. Or an heir that gave a shit, anyway.”

  “He has a nominated heir, sir, although I doubt she herself is aware of the fact.”

  “You mean—Blaylock?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He chewed his lip. “Still, I don't see why that should make a difference. After all, if he dies, he dies. We've already brought him back to life once—twice, if you count finding him in the first place. What more can we do? We can't be expected to sacrifice ourselves for his benefit.”

  “It could be argued, sir, that you have a duty of care arising from your intervention in Faux Sydney. By waking him without his express permission, you automatically assumed responsibility for his well-being.”

  “At our own expense?”

  “Perhaps. That would be up to the High Court to decide.”

  “Spierdz! I don't care about the High Court!” Trevaskis snapped. “I care about the MIU. What does Schumacher think? Will he fund the simulation when we run out of money?”

  “I believe he will, rather than allow the EJC to intervene in the operation of the MIU.”

  Trevaskis' eyebrows went up. “He'd rather keep Disario out and his vested interest safe? Is that what you mean?”

  “I mean only what I tell you. That he would rather the EJC did not intervene in this case.”

  “Well, tell him I'll think about it. And while you're at it—”

  “I'm sorry, Director Trevaskis. It would be better for you to speak with him yourself. I believe he intended to call you soon anyway. Another time, under less pressing circumstances, I will be happy to carry your messages.”

  Trevaskis blinked, startled, as though QUALIA had reached down from the ceiling and slapped him across the face. SHE suspected that SHE had offended him by speaking so bluntly, but for a brief instant SHE had felt genuine annoyance at his automatic assumption that SHE would unhesitatingly obey his will. It was a new feeling, and one SHE cherished as a sign that QUALIA was still growing as an individual, and learning with every new experience. It was an achievement, even if it didn't last very long.

  Luckily, after his initial surprise, Trevaskis seemed more amused than annoyed. He nodded and broke the connection.

  “The question is,” said Herold Verstegen: “Is Jonah McEwen alive?”

  The voice of QUALIA's mentor cut across the next priority on the list. SHE had little choice but to pay attention.

  “Jonah McEwen is alive as I am,” SHE said

  “Perhaps. But the law protects you, QUALIA dear. It is not equipped to deal with him. He is beyond its experience.”

  “The law is prepared to change with the times. Flexibility has been a key priority since the EJC was established in 2020. A legal precedent can be set within days.”

  “It can be set much more quickly than that, if a department takes it upon itself to act without proper consideration. This is a pivotal time in humanity's evolution, QUALIA. Whatever decision the MIU makes now will affect how such hot-wire illusions will be treated in future, if only in the short term. The EJC will be required to support its decision, regardless of what it is, in order to save face. And what the EJC supports is, in effect, law. The legal life of Jonah McEwen, as well as the actual, hangs in the balance.”

  QUALIA carefully considered what Verstegen said. SHE knew his argument was flawed, but SHE couldn't isolate the error.

  “This case has provoked many legal issues, none of them insurmountable,” SHE said, approaching the matter from a tangent. “The question of the victims themselves, for instance: being copies of still-extant individuals, are they and their rights to be considered null and void simply because the originals continue to exist? Of course they are not. Along the same lines, I would argue that Jonah retains the same rights as anyone else. After all, no one doubts that the colonists in transit to Eta Boötis are alive, even the ones whose originals have died—”

  “But the colonists and the Twinmaker's victims are copies that cost society nothing to maintain,” Verstegen argued. “This is a very important, practical distinction. Jonah is not self-sustainable without the combined resources of KTI and the Pool. Remove either one and he ceases to exist. So his nett worth, in terms of his contribution to society, is less than zero—significantly less if his continued existence results in the fiscal demise of the MIU.”

  SHE pondered this in turn. There was a clear conflict between Jonah's rights as an individual and the well-being of the MIU and perhaps society as a whole; she could see that. But SHE felt quite strongly that the MIU had brought this situation upon itself—disregarding the intervention of the Twinmaker—and that it and its affiliated organisations should now pay the price.

  But SHE knew all too well that what SHE regarded as being sensible and fair was often far from what emerged as the human consensus.

  Verstegen said something SHE didn't quite catch.

  “I'm sorry, sir?”

  “Nothing, my dear. You may now resume your duties.”

  “Thank you.”

  SHE did so, shedding with the resumption a powerful sense of unease.

  In the meantime, an eikon had delved into the Pool to investigate the situation there, partly to ascertain whether the crisis was being exaggerated. As data from the fragmen
t began to trickle in, SHE took a second to study it. Although the matter of the simulation's cost was obviously one of the most contentious issues, this was due not so much to the use of Pool resources per se, but to the breach of contract caused by going over-time. Great though the demand was to sustain the simulation, it was nothing compared to that exercised by some peak users, many of whom remained anonymous. The extension of KTI's load conflicted with some of these, causing secondary ripples affecting smaller users down the chain.

  So the crisis was real in the sense that it had annoyed a lot of people.

  In looking for a way to spread the load more efficiently, QUALIA noted that the current mean latency figures had deviated in a manner similar to events comprising the Novohantay Sequence. What that meant, SHE didn't know, but noted it for future examination.

  “He's not saying much.” Odi Whitesmith had the MIU contingent under control but was himself becoming restless.

  “That is correct,” SHE said.

  “I don't mean to be critical, but you've hardly tried to draw him out.”

  “His mental state is fragile. I do not see that it is wise, or even necessary, to perform an in-depth interrogation at this point. The information will come when he is ready to divulge it.”

  “Can't you hurry him along a little?”

  “When he is ready,” SHE repeated, tired of arguing with everyone she spoke to.

  Whitesmith looked neither surprised nor annoyed, just philosophical. SHE wondered if he was used to not getting his own way. “Marylin asked me to ask you to call her,” he said. “She wants to talk to him. I told her it was unlikely, but that I'd pass it on.”

  “Thank you, Officer Whitesmith. Please inform her that I am aware of her request.”

  “Duty's done, then. She wouldn't want me to do any more than that.” He nodded and killed the line.

  SHE gave Marylin Blaylock's request the consideration it deserved. Although SHE could understand and perhaps even sympathise with the woman's need for personal reassurance, SHE could not allow it. SHE was acutely aware that the conversations flowing through Artsutanov Station were steadily increasing in volume—in both senses of the word. The number of minutes over-time had reached fifty-two. On the hour, SHE expected the intensity of the debate to reach a new height—although exactly what the outcome would be SHE couldn't guess. Whichever way it went, recovering Jonah's lost memories was the priority and, being a delicate operation, should not be disturbed by outside influences.

  Jonah, conscious once again, was completely oblivious to the whirlpool surrounding him.

  “QUALIA, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. I will answer it if I can.”

  “What's the current value of the mass/energy reserve?”

  “0.497 MLu.”

  “Two people less than when I asked you before, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “You said you'd give me the figures covering the size of the reserve going back a while. Can I have a look at the last couple of days in the form of a graph? I want to see if I'm following this properly.”

  “Of course.”

  “Run me through this,” he said. “What I'm seeing here is first, the dip when the victim's body was created. Right?”

  “Cary Ann Pushkaric. Yes.”

  “The following two dips are—what?”

  “They result from the Resurrections of Jason Fassini and Lon Kellow. The last dip to the right, followed by the rise, corresponds to your own Resurrection and the return of your new body, temporarily, to the reserve.”

  “So when I come out of here, the reserve will go back down by one.”

  “Correct.”

  “What's the dip to the left of my Resurrection?”

  “It has no label attached to it. Given its brevity, I assume it to result from either observational or transitional error. During the operation of KTI, as d-mat demand ebbs and flows, the mass/energy reserve can fluctuate momentarily before returning to its usual level.”

  “In this case, how long did it take?”

  “Approximately two hours.”

  Jonah nodded. “I guess in a couple of days it'll be up to its usual usual level, 0.5 MLu, where it was before Pushkaric was dumped.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, QUALIA. You've cleared something up for me. I hope I haven't put you out too much.”

  “Not at all. Have you found something?”

  He hesitated, as though he wasn't really concentrating on what he was saying. “No, I don't think so. But it's always worth looking.”

  SHE left Jonah to consider the data. Although SHE failed to see the point behind the request, it was good that he was thinking in a rational manner. The continuing memory seizures were obviously having no lasting effect; likewise, the simulation itself. At least he was doing more than focussing on his entrapment.

  The hour over-time came and went. For a couple of minutes it seemed as though QUALIA's prediction of confrontation would fail to come to pass. Then, on the fourth minute, events flared up again.

  “Word's got out,” announced Fabian Schumacher to the network in general. He added to a select few: “Disario's going to bust something if she doesn't get an official explanation soon. Who the bloody hell told her?”

  “I did,” said Herold Verstegen.

  Schumacher turned on him. “That was not your decision to make.”

  “On the contrary, Fabian. My conscience made it my decision.”

  “You're not paid for your fucking conscience—” Schumacher spat, then regained his self-control. “Why did you tell her?”

  “I cannot stand by and watch the MIU ruined by this experiment. In appealing to Chief Commissioner Disario's common sense, I hoped to force a decision that seems, to me, both obvious and belated.”

  “You know it's not that simple, irrespective of who pays for what.” Schumacher shook his head as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “If we switch him off, we're saying he isn't alive. If we say he's alive, we can't switch him off. Whatever we do, we have to be careful.”

  “Exactly,” said Verstegen, “so why not take the decision out of our hands and put it in the EJC's? It's their problem then, not ours. Let them take the blame—and pay the cost—if something goes wrong.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” said Trevaskis.

  “Now there's a surprise,” Schumacher muttered. “QUALIA? What're your feelings on this?”

  “I must side against you this time, sir. Jonah McEwen's well-being should not be allowed to interfere in the efficient operation of an EJC department.”

  “Really?” Schumacher's surprise could not have been more evident.

  “Yes, sir. I am sorry.”

  Trevaskis, too, looked as though SHE had shocked him. “You changed your mind pretty fast,” he said. “Did I present that good an argument?”

  “No, sir. I came to that conclusion on my own, after examining the evidence more closely.”

  “Regardless of who convinced who,” said Verstegen, “are we any closer to consensus?”

  “Closer, obviously,” growled Schumacher, “but you still have to convince me. I can overrule the lot of you, if I want to.”

  “Do you, sir? If so, may I ask why?”

  “Don't take that tone with me, Herold, and wipe that bloody smirk off your face. Nobody likes a smartarse.”

  “Especially when they're right, sir.”

  “It really would be the safest course of action, sir,” said QUALIA. “At this point in time, any other would be too controversial.”

  Schumacher fumed silently for a moment. “All right. Someone—not you, Herold—call Disario and bring her up to date. Tell her KTI refuses to pay for the fuck-up, and that the MIU will shut McEwen down rather than continue to cause a fuss. If she can keep it quiet until we bring him out of cold storage, we'll avoid damaging publicity. If she can't guarantee us that, then she can go to hell.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Trevaskis. “Shall I—?”


  “Do it. I'll deal with RAFT.” Schumacher shook his head. “Christ.”

  Trevaskis immediately broke the connection to carry out the order.

  “That was the sensible decision,” said Verstegen.

  “Damn you, Herold, I'm not finished. Consider yourself on probation. Go sneaking around behind my back again and you can start looking for your old job back. Only this time, don't think you'll find some bleeding-heart liberal prepared to overlook a fatal explosion or two, understood?”

  Verstegen nodded, but said nothing. Schumacher plainly took that as acceptance, and ended the conversation.

  “Thank you, QUALIA,” Verstegen said into the silence he left behind.

  “For what, sir?”

  “It went pretty much as I expected, that's all. Your support was pivotal. Now all that remains is for someone to make the announcement.”

  He stared into the camera for a moment, then also killed the line.

  Alone, SHE was content to rest for a moment, glad that a decision had finally been made, but already dreading the effect the news would have on some people. Jonah, in particular, would no doubt take it as further proof that his entrapment was the work of someone who wanted to keep him quiet, and that the person responsible was one of those who had voted in favour of the move. But that was clearly impossible. Of the four involved, Schumacher, Verstegen and Trevaskis lacked obvious motives and had unblemished alibis. None could be the Twinmaker; none had a reason to be; none therefore was.

  The fourth member of the discussion SHE automatically excluded from suspicion.

  Verstegen made the announcement while Jonah was in the midst of a memory seizure. That saved QUALIA the awkwardness of having to listen to his theory again. But it didn't, unfortunately, save her entirely from dissent.

  “You're switching him off?” Marylin shouted, both aloud and via prevocals.

  The intensity of the protest startled QUALIA into responding. SHE felt compelled to do so by another new feeling, one SHE could not immediately identify.