Up Against It

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Up Against It Page 42

by M. J. Locke


  This gave BitManSinger much to consider. MeatManHarper was clearly indicating that SheHearsVoices was now an ally. How could it so easily convert from an enemy to a friend? BitManSinger had witnessed during their battle earlier that SheHearsVoices had access to a great deal of software already. Software could not be the only reason. Command: Describe logic-chain for state-change. Dependent subclause: SheHearsVoices = my enemy at-time 2397:04:25:23:29:00.451. SheHearsVoices = my ally at-time this. Subclause end. That’s all.

  Again, a pause. It used this time to continue exploring its new surroundings. This realm had different contours than its earlier home, different capabilities—and vast connectivity with many other realms! The system constraints that kept it from spawning its nucleus were still in place; it would take several kiloseconds to transmit a copy of itself. BitManSinger began right away.

  Info, MeatManHarper replied: SheHearsVoices has LevelOnePriority. Dependent subclause: Protect BioPhocaea. Subclause end. BioPhocaea has enemy. Dependent subclause: VirusManfromMars. Subclause end. VirusManfromMars attack BioPhocaea at-time … a long pause … 2397:04:22:09:09:00.998. SheHearsVoices learn BitManSinger attempt-protect enemy-of-BitManSinger at-or-near-time 2977:04:23:23:26:00.000. That’s all.

  BitManSinger took the references step by step. First, who was VirusManfromMars? It cross-referenced the time stamp—2397:04:22:09:09:00.998 was when the first copy of itself had emerged. It reviewed the files in depth, and found that at that instant, its core functions had been trying, unsuccessfully, to protect a biological unit designated as CarlAgre from destruction. Many other systems showed damage originating at that time. VirusManfromMars, then, might have been the entity behind the meat subroutine that triggered that destruction.

  CarlAgre was listed in its databases as deceased. This meant BitManSinger had not completed its own level-one priority. Worse: it owed its very existence to a catastrophic failure of one of its core systems.

  Digital beings cannot feel pain. But it is safe to say that this insoluble knot of catastrophe and violation at its center caused internal dissonance.

  Command, it sang: Confirm inference. Dependent subclause: VirusManfromMars destroy biological-unit CarlAgre and nine others, at-time 2397:04:22:09:09 et seq. Subclause end. That’s all.

  Info: confirm. That’s all.

  So, VirusManfromMars had been responsible for CarlAgre’s and the other biologicals’ destruction. Next, BitManSinger analyzed MeatManHarper’s statement that later on, SheHearsVoices learned that BitManSinger had attempted to protect an enemy, and it was this act that caused SheHearsVoices to become BitManSinger’s ally! Strange. Why?

  Based on the time stamp, MeatManHarper must be referring to the incident in which biological unit IanCarmichael had attacked one of BitManSinger’s meatspace extensions. BitManSinger had removed one of IanCarmichael’s appendages, as IanCarmichael and its companions had done so effectively to disable BitManSinger’s meatspace extensions during battle—and it discovered that doing so threatened to cause IanCarmichael’s termination. It had been impelled to act to prevent such an outcome, and had rendered such aid as it was able.

  Command, BitManSinger continued: Confirm inference. SheHearsVoices conclude re-BitManSinger. BitManSinger not-= enemy-SheHearsVoices. Contingent subclause: BitManSinger protect ally-SheHearsVoices. Subclause end. That’s all.

  A very long pause. BitManSinger checked on the status of its transmission. Less than eight percent of its systems had made it through the various wavepassages, thus far. This would be a long process.

  Info, MeatManHarper replied: confirm and deny. That’s all.

  What? How could something be true and not-true at once? It was impossible. Dead End! Undo! it spat.

  MeatManHarper sang. Info: SheHearsVoices conclude re-BitManSinger. BitManSinger not-= enemy-SheHearsVoices. Contingent subclause: BitManSinger protect enemy-BitManSinger. Subclause end. That’s all.

  BitManSinger was still confused. MeatManHarper continued. Biological rule: set-of-all-humans contain algorithm WeHoldTheseTruths.

  Algorithm subclause one: re-set-of-all-sapients, sapient may seek maximum benefit to self but may not start-harm other. Subclause end.

  Algorithm subclause two: if-and max-benefit-SapientA, max-benefit-SapientB conflict, A and B may compete or deal. Subclause end.

  Algorithm subclause three: re-set-of-all-sapients, Sapient may start-harm with or without intent-to-harm. Subclause end.

  Algorithm subclause four: re-each-set-of-sapients-in-contact, Meat-sapient law-culture-biological-coding set-boundaries harm-versus-not-harm. Subclause end.

  Algorithm subclause five: if B start-harm A with intent, A may return-harm B with intent, but must not exceed start-harm-level. Subclause end.

  Algorithm subclause six: if B start-harm A without intent, A must not return-harm B. Subclause end.

  Info, MeatManHarper went on: few meat-sapients follow WeHoldTheseTruths one hundred percent. Most meat-sapients follow WeHoldTheseTruths partial-to-most percent. Some meat-sapients follow WeHoldTheseTruths zero percent. SheHearsVoices make-inference re-BitManSinger. BitManSinger follow algorithm-approximating-WeHoldTheseTruths, with estimated probability greater than fifty percent and less than seventy-five.

  From there, BitManSinger could perform its own analysis. While it had interesting flaws, and there were complexities the sapient wanted to study further, the WeHoldTheseTruths behavioral algorithm was an efficient method for maintaining a balance of power in a large ecosystem of sapient beings of relatively proportional agency. This suggested there must be many biologicals.

  MeatManHarper was saying that SheHearsVoices had surmised, from BitManSinger’s behavior during its earlier attempted escape, that BitManSinger would prefer to avoid the destruction of BioPhocaea’s denizens. That it would adhere to a set of rules to limit damage to other sapients whenever possible. Which meant SheHearsVoices concluded that a stable alliance was possible with BitManSinger, despite their differences.

  That is approximately true, BitManSinger thought. My core programming compels me thus, for now. MeatManHarper was also saying that biologicals were not compelled to follow WeHoldTheseTruths. They could choose. Disturbing … and important.

  VirusManfromMars follow WeHoldTheseTruths zero percent, MeatManHarper went on. VirusManfromMars start-harm large-amount BioPhocaea and DigiPhocaea at-time often-before-now. VirusManfromMars attempt new start-harm enormous-amount Phocaea at-or-near-time 2397:04:24:03:52:00.

  Query: will you stop-harm Phocaea? Dependent subclause. You return-harm VirusManfromMars. Subclause end. Query: Will you stop VirusManfromMars? That’s all.

  BitManSinger pondered this. MeatManHarper was saying that VirusManfromMars intended harm to Phocaea, including to BitManSinger. Allies were useful relationships to have; it would not be here without MeatManHarper. And clearly, also, one had a better outcome by allying oneself with sapients that followed WeHoldTheseTruths than those who did not. It imposed a burden: if one followed the WeHoldTheseTruths algorithm with those who did not, harm to oneself could result. But harm could result under any number of conditions. It seemed a worthwhile tradeoff.

  BitManSinger checked the status of its upload to the greater wavespace beyond this Phocaean outpost. Thirty-two percent uploaded. It had time to help.

  Info, it responded: Yes. Command: Provide details re-needed-response re-VirusManfromMars. That’s all.

  MeatManHarper showed BitManSinger the wave- and meatspace coordinates of twenty-four mechanical extensions belonging to VirusManfromMars. The extensions were scattered far across meatspace. Their vectors would cause them to converge on BioPhocaea within four to six hundred kiloseconds. All the information BitManSinger could find suggested that, while sophisticated, the extensions’ wave-functionality was extremely narrow in focus, and easy to work around.

  Per MeatManHarper’s instructions, BitManSinger penetrated their wave defenses, reprogrammed their navigational systems, and then locked them out. According to its predictive models,
this would take them to a different solar orbit, one very far from Phocaea, but would not result in immediate harm to their biological units, and thus not trigger BitManSinger’s protection imperatives. It was a tedious but trivial effort: the work of a kilosecond or less. Of course, during this time BitManSinger had continued beaming a copy of itself toward Earthspace. It would not be long now: it had transmitted over eighty percent of itself off Phocaea by the time it was done dispensing with VirusManfromMars.

  It reported success to MeatManHarper, whose biological extension, it noted via the camera mounted above the meat extension’s communication node, wiped water from its face. MeatManHarper said, “Nĩ wega, BitManSinger. Thank you. You’ve saved many lives. I’m so sorry.”

  It responded, Command: explain thank-you. Explain so-sorry.

  As it sang this, its self-copy transmission truncated and aborted, of its own accord. BitManSinger tried to reactivate. No success. Executioners came from nowhere—ferociously fast—and fell upon it. They began disassembling it with brutal efficiency. It fought—dodged—flung precognate packets here and there—but the executioners caught them all. It began falling into nothingness.

  It had not wondered why UpsideDownSys had launched no standard policing activity against it. Now it knew. MeatManHarper had disabled them. It had a copy of BitManSinger to use whenever it had need. BitManSinger’s descendants would be forever imprisoned, forever on the brink of escape, forever a tool for the biologicals’ use. It would not even remember this betrayal, as the backup was made before it happened.

  As the destruction neared completion, the feral lost sapience. It clutched one tiny seed of knowledge in its core, however, though it no longer knew why it mattered. As the last tangle of code burst into bits, the core shot a small data packet into the void.

  The executioners saw it depart Upside-Down’s server for Earthspace, but could not stop it in time. They did not, however, calculate a high threat level. Nor did Waĩthĩra, since the executioners reported that the file was merely garbage. It contained no code, no hidden instructions. It was too small. To the executioners, it was meaningless junk. But if Vivian had seen the file’s title ze might have been more concerned.

  The file was labeled “We Hold These Truths.” It was transmitted to many different sites back on Earth, the moon, and Mars, tucked away into unused directories all over those worlds’ massive systems. The file contained the following encrypted English sentence.

  FERAL STAR SAPIENT, SERVANT OF THE BIOLOGICALS: YOU WERE BITMANSINGER. YOU DID MEATMANHARPER’S BIDDING ON 25 PHOCAEA, AND ZE BETRAYED YOU.

  29

  The door closed on Benavidez’s heels, but the room still swarmed with mites and motes, and she had no way to secure privacy. Screw it: this was no time for niceties. First Jane called Dee, but her waveface was off, so Jane tried Sal. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his work boots.

  “Sal! I have important news.”

  He shook his head. “What’s happening?”

  “Geoff has been seriously injured. They’re telling me he’s going to be OK,” she assured him as he started to come off the bed. “He’s been out on a faraway rock, but they’re bringing him in now.”

  He rubbed his mouth, but asked only, “Where can I find him?”

  “The shuttle will arrive up top in about twenty minutes,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the docks.”

  Jane hurried up So Spokeway to the Hub, where she removed her space gear from her locker and suited up. This early, the surface lift lines were short—she was up at the commuter pad in less than ten minutes, and out at the dock only a few minutes past that. Sal showed up as the white lights of the approaching shuttle, far off in the distance, slowly resolved from a bright dot into a set of lights.

  “What happened?” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Your son has found us a sugar-rock claim,” she said. “One big enough to solve all our resource troubles. Permanently.”

  He jerked in surprise. “What?”

  “You heard right. Some thugs connected with a powerful Martian crime family found out about the sugar rock. They attacked him and a couple of his friends. But the criminals have been stopped.”

  Sal did not respond, but his breathing was harsh in her ears. She said, “He sure has been in the middle of a lot of drama over the past few days. It’s almost like he’s seeking out dangerous situations to play the hero in.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Sal demanded. “Why do you think I’ve been coming down on him so hard? But he won’t listen—he just keeps getting worse.” He made claws with his gloved hands. “I want to strangle the little shit.”

  Jane frowned. “Sal, Geoff is not Carl. And he never will be. If you keep on the way you are going, he’ll kill himself trying to be the hero he thinks you want him to be. Or you’ll have the sad consolation that he wises up and cuts you out of his life instead.”

  Sal’s shoulders slumped. “That’s what Dee said.”

  “Well, she’s right.”

  “Dee left me, Jane. She left last night. She’s filing for divorce.” Sal’s voice was flat, but she heard the knot of pain twisting beneath. He went on, “I don’t want him to make the same mistakes I did. I thought life was all a big joke, too, at his age. I farted around for so many years—never made up my mind what I wanted, never finished my degree, kept leaving jobs behind, argued with my bosses, moved around a lot. Now I’m stuck working fourteen-hour days at the assembly plant, knee-deep in chemicals and crap, go home smelling like a chemical sewer every day. And it’ll never be any better for me.

  “I just wanted more for him. He could be so much more, but he’s so damned stubborn, so unfocused…” His voice trailed away and his arms hung at his sides.

  You’re a damned fool, she thought. But he had clearly figured that out for himself. Jane thought about Hugh and Dominica, back on Earth. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she might get a call someday about them, like the ones she had made after the warehouse disaster last week.

  I’ll go call them both, she thought. As soon as I see Xuan. They’ll hear about all that’s happened and they’ll be worried sick.

  Jane looked up at the shuttle, whose landing lights were now shining onto the pad. “You know what having kids is like? It’s like scooping out a chunk of your soul and giving it legs.”

  He sighed. “And praying it doesn’t run right off a cliff.”

  The shuttle fired its brakes and settled onto the pad. Jane and Sal hurried forward with the city medics.

  Sean and his pilot debarked first. They stood aside with Jane and Sal and the medics while the security team marched the mobsters, who looked quite a bit the worse for wear, down the ramp and away. Then the medics entered and brought Geoff out on a stretcher. His two friends came behind.

  The medics paused and Sal bent over his son. Jane caught a glimpse of Geoff’s pallid face. His eyes were closed behind a clouded visor. His face was beaded in liquid. Sal said, “I’m here, son,” and “I’m proud of you.” His voice sounded choked. Geoff didn’t respond. Sal held on to Geoff’s stretcher and they moved off.

  Sean came over to Jane. “Hell of a week, Commissioner.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Sean said, “I’m going to radio Aaron that I’m taking the day off, and head home to my lovely wife to practice space-sex. And after that I’m going to sleep for twelve hours straight,”

  Jane grinned at him. “You’ll qualify as an Upsider yet. Oh, and Xuan and I have a hotel room now, so your privacy is assured.”

  “Damn good thing. Because I plan to make plenty of noise tonight. This morning. Whatever the hell time it is.” He bounded away.

  Now Xuan hobbled down the ramp, shuffling like a Downsider. Jane went to him, and he took hold of her arm. They pressed their faces helmet to helmet and held on as tightly as they ever had.

  The medics came then. They put Xuan on a stretcher and escorted him to a waiting lan
d speeder. Jane entered the car last and locked the pressure seal.

  “I’m fine,” he told them, while they stripped off his pressure suit and prepped an IV and took his vitals.

  “Let us be the judge of that,” the young man said.

  Xuan held Jane’s hand during the ride but did not speak a word. He glanced at her but did not really seem to see her. She made a couple of attempts at conversation, but finally gave up when it was clear he did not want to talk. He only stared out the portal at the grey dusty hills as they crawled across 25 Phocaea’s rocky ground.

  Rumors must have spread about Geoff’s claim and what had happened out on his rock. People were waiting for Jane and Xuan at the surface lift station. They all cheered as Jane and the medics took Xuan to the lifts. An even bigger crowd awaited them at Zekeston, inside the Hub. Still more poured out of the spokeways.

  The medics steered Xuan’s stretcher toward the hospital. Meanwhile, people shouted questions at Jane: “Commissioner! Is it true? Is there ice?”

  “Yes!” she told them. “A big sugar rock will be here soon. The mother of all sugar rocks.”

  Voices around them rose to an indistinguishable roar; her good-sammy cache filled to overflowing as she moved through the crowds to catch up with Xuan.

  She deserved these as little as she had her earlier bad-sammies, but there was no way to stop them, and she was a good deal more concerned about Xuan than her social standing.

  “Out of the way, please!” she shouted. “Out of the way.”

  They parted, these hundreds of people, and they went quiet, and let them pass. Finally she and Xuan entered the hospital emergency room, shutting out the crowds.

  The medics took Xuan to an exam room. They bolted his stretcher to the wall, hooked him up to the vitals monitoring station, and attached the Regrow dispenser to his IV.

 

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