Analog SFF, March 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "I'll do that, if you tell me what's wrong."

  Curt huffed out a breath. “The government raided the Republican National Committee yesterday. FBI, DHS, the whole shebang."

  "On what grounds?” Lucinda said.

  "All of them. Hate-mongering, sedition, treason. Same thing, really, with different names. I guess Gandy's acceptance speech was a mite strong for Lew."

  "Oh, God.” Lucinda clutched at her hair, twisting a strand. “What did they do to her?"

  "She is, last I heard, a fugitive from justice. She's probably gone to ground in her home state.” He walked over to the mini-fridge. “Beer?"

  "No. If I started, I wouldn't want to stop."

  "I'll cut you off before it gets bad, promise.” He held out the can, but Lucinda snubbed it. With a shrug, Curt put it back inside. “Needless to say, the president is working to strike the Party of Hate from the ballot. Even if he can't manage that, the accusation's enough to ruin them, for this election or longer.” He opened his hands to Lucinda. “You were right, my dear. We are stuck with President Burleigh."

  "Of all the things to be right about.” Lucinda found her way to a chair. “So there's no point to delaying anymore. We have to settle on a plan, or maybe more than one, and start acting."

  Curt sat on the bed's edge. “I'm not sure anything we do will help much."

  "Curt, we've procrastinated for two months, hoping the problem would solve itself. We don't have the luxury of that self-delusion anymore."

  "Okay, okay,” he whispered, gesturing for her to keep her voice low. “But the problem is pretty intractable. We have to find a way to perform overlays that still preserves the personality traits we're supposed to be effacing, and do it in a way that fools follow-up scans."

  They started reviewing the ideas they had produced over two months. A few, like hypnosis, were simply silly. Hypnosis required the will of the subject, so it couldn't hold up in patients whose wills had verifiably been altered. Other ideas, like producing nested neural nets, sounded good only until one got past the name. They had no idea how to hide one neural network inside another, or how it could be concealed from scans and still have any effect on behavior.

  Transferring the trait of pathological lying could let a subject slip through a truth scan: the Penn State method couldn't pick up lying in a brain that thought, in the moment, it was speaking the truth. Regular MEG scans, though, could spot the new pathology. “And talk about the cure being worse than the disease,” Lucinda added, capping their rejection of that plan.

  One intriguing notion was implanting subliminal suggestions or commands via overlay. Having a “fixed” patient denounce his rehabilitation once on the outside had real potential. The doctors’ problem was that programming something so precise would require using one specific template, and it would be hard to justify many uses of it. That, and the uncertainty of the work slipping past the screening scans, made them shelve the idea.

  They were left with two plausible options. The first was to perform light overlays. The patterns imposed would hold up during confirmation scans, but the new neural pathways would depotentiate over time, allowing the old pattern to reemerge. This was a great idea, if it would actually work.

  "All the research done on overlays,” Lucinda said, “has been with the intent of making changes permanent. Our earliest experiments on dogs gathered some data on how much re-potentiation is required for permanent changes. I can reconstruct that, and make educated guesses about where the fuzzy line would be with humans, but I can't imagine I could gather any confirming data here until we started doing it this way. We'd be taking guesses."

  "And the fuzzy line won't be the same for every single neuron,” Curt added. “A patient might end up with two patterns jumbled together in the overlaid areas, leaving him a mental mess.” He groaned. “But even that might suffice for our purposes. Enough of him reemerges to lead him to denounce what was done to him, while his rough mental condition brings discredit to overlaying itself. I think it's our best option."

  "No, our best option is reoverlaying subjects on the outside with their original patterns, but you keep telling me how dangerous that is."

  "I'm sorry, Lucinda. Being the president's friend hasn't stopped them from monitoring my mail. I'm convinced of it. There's no way I could upload a file high in the gigabyte range to anyone without having it looked over, and I can't imagine they'd let me send a flash drive out of the Mount."

  "But—” But her frustration didn't change the facts.

  "Besides which, I'm not sure there's a trans-cranial magnetic stimulator left in America that's not under the government's control. That means there'd be nowhere to reconstruct our subjects’ personalities. If I knew more ... but that's not a question I can ask anyone outside without the monitors red-flagging me."

  "All right.” Her head, hanging toward the floor, nodded. “Keep looking for a loophole, but unless we find one, the light overlays are our best option. I'll start working on finding the right potentiation threshold.” She looked up. “You know, the pattern-smuggling idea would have a better chance if one of us could get outside the Mount."

  "I know,” Curt grumbled, “but I can't swing it yet. The authorities are pretty stiff-necked."

  Again, frustration hit Lucinda. “I guess Lew doesn't trust his friends that much after all. They still get their mail censored, and they can't transfer somewhere where they can breathe."

  "I can transfer!” Curt caught himself, too late. “I'm sorry. Lucinda, forget that."

  But Lucinda was already on her feet. “Curt, don't be some gallant knight. Leave me behind if you have to, but get out."

  "No!” He took her by the wrists. “I remember how hopeless you were here, without any kind of support. I couldn't do that. We're going together, or not at all. Got that?"

  His eyes were intent on her, intent and yet pained. Lucinda had heard Curt talk sometimes about his two teenage children from a failed marriage, how frustrating it was not to see them, to be close by in a scary world. He was hurting, but still he was adamant.

  "All right, Curt. It's your call. For my part, I will try to—no, I will behave myself around my new students. No one will have reason to give me any black marks. I hope that's enough."

  Curt's grip slipped down to her hands. “I know how difficult this is for you, Lucinda, I honestly do. Just remember, you aren't alone. You're never alone."

  Lucinda took her time walking back to the dorm. She was taking another long step, teaching those Chinese scientists. It was another one of those things she couldn't have borne to do, at the start. It was terrible how accustomed to things you became in time.

  At least she had Curt as an ally—even if it was obvious how much more he wanted to be.

  It did tempt her. He was the only support she had here, and it seemed the same for him. It would be easy to grasp all the comfort they could have for themselves, but she wasn't ready to take that long step.

  Besides, in her worst moments, she doubted him. He had restrained her from precipitate action for two months and now was telling her their more ambitious plans had to give way to incremental actions. Could he really be Burleigh's pawn, reining in her resistance, keeping her working for their interests as long as they could contrive it?

  But that was lunacy. Far easier to scoop her into custody than to play such a game. Paranoia was becoming a habit down here. No, Curt was a friend. And only that.

  Back at the dorm, she asked for her messages. “One internal,” the information officer said. She tried not to look deflated as she had it uploaded.

  Josh hadn't written her in almost three weeks now, even with two of her letters intervening. His questions about her work had grown complaining, almost selfish. Maybe it was how he veiled his other concerns in a way that would pass censorship—or maybe she was overthinking things.

  Her parents were still writing and hadn't mentioned anything odd about Josh. Who knew what was going on?

  She went off to a corner of
the dorm and read her new message. It was the daily news summary. Recalling Curt's chiding of her ignorance, she began reading it. She could only take a few pages before the content, and the tone, soured her.

  She switched modes on her pocket-comp and started composing a letter to Josh. Half a paragraph in, she stopped, deleted, and started afresh to her parents. She couldn't confront Josh directly with the questions she had, but maybe others could get at it roundabout. And if she was avoiding painful matters, she had gotten a lot of experience in that lately.

  * * * *

  Lucinda managed to enter the classroom without being sick and got through her first lesson without bolting. The strange part, she thought later, was how quickly she took a liking to her nine students, despite what they represented.

  They ranged from their mid twenties to their mid fifties. They all seemed smart, attentive, and receptive, which was no real surprise. They asked her good questions, in good English, which was maybe a bit more of a surprise. She had been restraining the complexity of her language for their benefit and by the end of the lesson had repented. For a fleeting moment, she even felt a hint of her old enthusiasm for the science, a muted echo of its potential for good. That didn't last, but her fears about not being able to bear up didn't either.

  A few weeks into the course, one of her students asked to stay behind after class. This caused a stir with the soldiers escorting them, but it got sorted out. One of them stayed behind, waiting just outside the classroom, while the other two herded their charges to wherever they went after class.

  Wei Lifang had questions about the finer points of tuning the transcranial magnetic stimulator for deep work within the brain. Lucinda had meant to cover this in the next lesson, but gave Dr. Wei some early pointers. Wei thanked her, but did not turn to leave.

  "Dr. Peale. I do not mean to give offense, but ... do you enjoy teaching this class?"

  It might be a dangerous question, but Wei seemed too reticent to be an agent provocateur. Still, Lucinda was cautious. “I do. I've enjoyed having you as pupils. However, I did resist the assignment at first. I didn't think I was the best teacher you could have."

  "Oh, you have been very good, Dr. Peale,” said Wei, with a beautiful, almost musical British accent. “I hope our teachers are doing as well with your colleagues."

  "Your teachers?” Lucinda kept herself under control, but she didn't have to feign the curiosity. “I hadn't heard about this.” That made Wei wary. “So much work goes on down here, we don't get to hear of everything being done."

  "Oh, yes. I know how that happens,” Wei said, amused. “But it is a good exchange. You teach us the advanced overlay techniques, and we teach you our advanced work in—how is the word—neurotheology."

  Lucinda didn't flinch. “Oh. Is it your fellow students teaching us, or others? Or is it you?"

  "No, not me. Two of the students, and a few others."

  "I see. I know a little about neurotheology. What are they teaching, or do you know?"

  "I know some of it.” Wei laid out the neurology, which Lucinda knew in large part. Religious experience and response had a seat within the brain, similar to those of vision or language. It lay largely in the temporal lobe, extending to the parietal lobe and amygdala, with tendrils stretching into the brain in individual patterns. Some wag had dubbed it “the God module” a quarter-century back, and the name had stuck.

  "But you do not need to alter all of it to have profound effects,” Wei said, warming to the subject. “In a compact area, you can manipulate the religious impulse, turn it in more productive directions, toward more, what is the word, appropriate figures."

  "You mean worldly figures,” Lucinda prompted.

  "Yes. It is true, you see, to the tenets of Kong Zi—you Westerners call him Confucius.” Lucinda nodded to keep her going. “Leaders possess the mandate of heaven, to take responsibility for peace, order, well-being. Virtuous and wise leaders deserve obedience. So this way, religious sentiment is appropriate for a great leader."

  "I hadn't known this,” Lucinda said, “about Confucius."

  "It is an ancient truth we are rediscovering,” said Wei. “The West is only beginning to learn it more recently. You see,” she said chuckling, “you are the teacher, but now you are learning things from your student."

  Lucinda smiled back. “Learning from students happens all the time."

  * * * *

  She hurried to Curt's rooms, slowing herself only enough not to appear suspicious to the guards who scanned her now semipermanent pass. She had gotten over worrying about their prurient thoughts, but running to see her supposed lover would set off even their alarm bells. She activated his doorbell with her passcard and was mildly surprised to find Curt there.

  "Lucinda? It's kinda early—"

  She pushed her way inside, waved at him to shut the door, and collapsed into her familiar chair. “Remember how we thought we'd seen the worst from President Burleigh? Well, it just got worse. Much, much worse."

  She spilled what she had learned from Wei Lifang to an evolution of shocked faces from Curt. “And I couldn't say anything for four hours, all through my shift in the monitoring room. I swear I almost threw up in there. Had to tell Nancy I was catching a flu bug. At least that made her keep her distance."

  Curt shuffled zombielike toward the fridge, but his feet stopped, and he stared at a wall. “Can the president be serious?"

  "Why not? Why is this any more unthinkable?” Lucinda ran a hand into her hair.

  "So anyone in his clutches becomes what? Idolaters of the state? Worshipers in the cult of Burleigh? God, Rousseau wrote about this: combining the state and the divine, to be worshiped as one. And now Burleigh's doing it."

  "And how long before it isn't just enemies he forces this on?” She twisted her finger, wrapping it in hair. “There's no end to it. The country stands by, and one by one—"

  "Lucinda, please.” Curt had her hand and was unwinding it gently. “I know you're nervous, but that just sets me on edge.” The lock of hair fell loose. “Besides, you'll pull out all your hair if you get any more anxious."

  He patted her hand and paced away. Lucinda glanced at her hand and began thinking.

  "I'd heard some rumors: people voluntarily getting overlays to prove their loyalty. Even some loose talk about a personal loyalty overlay, but I never imagined such egotism from Lew."

  "Ego,” Lucinda echoed, too soft for Curt to hear.

  "Shows how little I really knew him. Anyway, our hand's forced. We start our sabotage campaign now, with lightened overlays. The data you've gotten me should be adequate. I can perform them. It'd be easier with you on my team, but I think I can cover my tracks well enough.” He groaned. “It isn't much, but it'll give the president a little less of what he wants."

  "Wait. Maybe that's not right."

  "What?” Curt stopped pacing. “You mean go for broke, try to smuggle out original patterns and—"

  "No, no. Maybe we need to give the president too much of what he wants."

  "Huh? Lucinda, what do you—"

  She chopped her hand through the air. “Give me a moment, please.” She thought intently, pulling together all the strands. Curt said nothing, leaning against a wall and waiting.

  Lucinda finally looked up. “Curt, answer me honestly, because I could be wrong. Does President Burleigh have a certain verbal tic about using the word ‘own’ to mean ‘internalize’ or ‘acknowledge,’ especially about responsibility?"

  "Oh, yes. He's been doing that since college. I hear it in his speeches now, when I actually listen."

  "Then it's something people on the outside would pick up on?"

  "If they've heard him talk, sure. And he has been talking a lot."

  A tiny warning sounded deep in Lucinda's mind. The immediacy of her coalescing plan, though, overwhelmed it.

  "Early in our human tests,” Lucinda said, “we found that behaviors from the person providing the neural template could inadvertently be mapped onto
the overlay subject. A physical tic from a template donor, rubbing at the chin, appeared in subjects who had not exhibited it before."

  "Yes, I know that happens. Less now that scans are more precise. But I think I see where you're going."

  "Right. What if we could reproduce such a behavior deliberately? What if we could impress Burleigh's verbal tic on our patients? Once they're released to the outside, would people pick up on it, make the connection? Would they be revolted by the prospect of infinite copies of Burleigh being cranked out?"

  "I think they would,” said Curt, warming to the idea. “There have been plenty of interviews of people who have been ‘fixed,’ ‘reformed,’ whatever. Lew's using it as propaganda of sorts: the sinners repentant. Yes,” he said, pumping a fist, “this will work."

  "If we can get a good template. He's already on file, but we weren't looking for any verbal tic then. And we certainly can't just copy his Wernicke's area wholesale into someone."

  "That means a fresh scan,” Curt said, “and something triggering his use of ‘own.’ Problem is, would he be willing to be scanned again?"

  "You mean, would a man hoping to impose worship of himself and his government on the populace be willing to have parts of his own mind impressed directly on people more often?” She barked a laugh “Curt, this should be the easiest part of the plan. Just pitch it to him right: your vision should be more widely represented, a deeper scan would make your template more widely applicable, blah blah blah."

  "Okay, Lucinda, I'll do that. But I'm telling him it's your idea."

  "What?"

  "For two reasons. One, it's true. Two, it'll put you in good with him, and that means we have a better chance of springing you from here."

  "Since you put it that way, okay. Tell him, oh, that I heard about what was happening with his political enemies, and I decided to act."

  Curt smirked. “That has a certain dual edge to it."

  "Exactly. The best way to lie to someone is by wrapping it up in the truth.” She sighed. “I think I might take a beer now."

  "Sure thing.” He fetched two and handed her one. “You do know, Lucinda, I hadn't expected us to try to beat Burleigh by altering minds more instead of less."