To the Stars -- And Beyond

by Robert Reginald

  Arthur took two steps towards Blanche, and pointed a finger at her. “While you were flitting around with your elite social functions, my mother was making major contributions to both science and technology. She funded the entire project, and spent nearly five years of nights and many days under the SQUID array cap, having the neural currents of her own brain mapped and deciphered. She was still doing it the day she—she—”

  Arthur paused, and breathed deeply, wiped his eyes with the handkerchief.

  “This is sick,” mumbled Blanche, too loudly.

  Arthur gave her a look that promised pain and suffering. “Why don’t we just let Mother tell you about it herself,” he said softly.

  “Randal, how long do we have to hear this?” said Blanche.

  “Your Honor,” began Randal, “I would like to—”

  “I was about to give a demonstration relevant to this hearing, and I have the court’s permission to do it,” said Arthur.

  “Then do it,” said Judge Maxwell. “I don’t think we need more background information at this time.”

  “This is company proprietary information, Your Honor,” said Camus, suddenly standing as Arthur walked back to the apparatus. “We must have a guarantee the details of the demonstration will not go in any form beyond this room.”

  “This hearing is closed, ladies and gentlemen. Any information given here, including this demonstration, stays here. Any information leak will prejudice all future litigation, and be cause for breach of privacy. Are we clear on this?”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. “Yes, Your Honor,” chorused Randal and Camus.

  There was a sudden hum that quickly faded. Arthur sat at the keyboard, fingers playing over the keys. He looked like an organ player sitting there, but this organ had a monitor in front of him, and a wide, black screen stretched like a sail on top of it, between two fisheye cameras. A ball of light had begun to glow, not on the screen but in front of it. Before their eyes a three-dimensional view of a room appeared. The walls of the room were white, the floor carpeted in crimson. There was a sofa and two chairs in red leather, a glass coffee table with a vase of red roses in the foreground. Three shaggy weavings in a rainbow of colors hung on the walls.

  There was an open doorway in the back of the room. Someone walked past it. A man. Blanche felt her heart skip a beat. Only a glimpse, but the face had seemed familiar.

  And then a woman appeared. She was tall, draped in a red silken robe, her gray hair stylishly coifed in swirls framing her face. She could have been fifty, or thirty. She walked like a model, posture erect and defiant, went to the sofa, sat down, crossed her legs and smiled.

  Blanche gasped. “Dear God, it’s Helen, the way she looked years ago,” she whispered to Randal.

  The woman seemed to look right at her. “Well, they say you should pick an age you like and stick with it. Hello again, Blanche. From that frown on your face I’d say we’re still fighting. Are we?”

  The voice was deep and husky, a voice Blanche had been jealous of for over sixty years. Men had been attracted to it like bears to honey. Blanche’s mouth moved, but nothing came out.

  “No? Well that’s not what I hear.” The woman’s eyes moved. “Hi, sweetie. I guess this is court, huh?”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Arthur.

  Judge Maxwell was smiling, and seemed fascinated by the display. “Perhaps you should introduce us to your, ah, demonstration,” he said.

  Arthur blushed crimson, and seemed embarrassed by the request. “I’m not quite sure what I—”

  “Never mind, dear. I’m quite capable of introducing myself,” said the woman’s floating image. “Officially I’m AINI, but some of the techs like to pervert it by calling me Annie. It’s cute, but inaccurate. In every way, you see, I’m Helen Winslow, based on me the person, but synthesized and evolved into my present form by the AINI system. I’d prefer you call me Helen, because that’s who I am, but I’ll accept Annie if you like.”

  “But you are an artificial intelligence system,” said Maxwell.

  “Everyone in this courtroom functions like an AI, Your Honor. We store and retrieve memories, we think and learn, and synthesize new ideas from old. The only difference between you and me is our computers. Yours is organic, incredibly compact, but slow. Mine is larger, but very fast.”

  “Do you know why you’ve been brought to this courtroom?”

  “I think so. Arthur was rather upset when he tried to explain it to me.”

  The woman’s gaze shifted to Blanche, and made eye contact. “I’d be upset, too, if someone tried to charge me with murder.”

  “This is a hearing, and no formal charges have been filed against anyone, Ms.—ah—” Maxwell paused.

  The apparition laughed, a deep-throated laugh that Blanche remembered well. It had turned men’s heads at gatherings large and small for years, without promising anything but her presence. “You don’t know what to call me,” she said. “If you say Helen, you acknowledge my transfiguration, and oh my goodness, what a precedent that would set!”

  She laughed again. Maxwell grinned.

  “Call me Annie, then, but remember who I really am when you hear what I have to say. This whole mess is partly my fault, anyway, and I intend to clean it up.”

  “Very well—Annie,” said Maxwell, and turned to look at several anxiously waiting people in the room. “We’re open for questions, gentlemen. Counselor Haug, would you like to begin?”

  “Randal, this is absurd,” whispered Blanche, as Randal stood up.

  “Are we to consider this—Annie as a viable witness, Your Honor?” asked Randal.

  “You wanted to know about the AINI system,” said Maxwell, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Well, here she is.”

  “I really don’t think a machine can be—”

  “This will go nowhere, Your Honor,” said Annie. “I never could talk sense to lawyers, even you, Randal, and it won’t be any different now. This is all between two sisters, anyway. It’s all about the money, and everything else is smoke. Talk to me, Blanche. We can settle this in a few minutes, if you’ll let it happen.”

  “I doubt that very much,” said Arthur, and frowned at Blanche.

  “Now Arthur,” said Annie, “you promised me you’d go along with whatever I agreed to today. No pouting. Just do what mother says. Sit down with your lawyers, and let me handle this.”

  “I will not talk with this—this thing,” said Blanche.

  “Your Honor, this is a sham,” said Randal Haug. “Mister Winslow has obviously programmed the machine for this performance, and I must—”

  “May I please be allowed to do something useful here?” said Annie. As she said it, a man appeared in the doorway behind her and said something softly. He wore a white bathrobe, and had a toothbrush in one hand. Annie turned, and said quite audibly, “Later, hon. I’m just getting warmed up here.” The man looked disappointed, and went away from view.

  Blanche’s face flushed hotly. The man was Fred, Helen’s late husband, only he looked to be in his forties or early fifties. The shock of recognition must have shown on her face, for the apparition called Annie smiled at her.

  “He’s such a dear, but so impatient, and I have a lot of fleshing out to do on him. So many of my memories are from when he was sick. You remember how hard that was, don’t you, Blanche?”

  “Yes,” said Blanche, and caught herself. “I mean—”

  “I know, I know,” said Annie. “It’s all so real for me, but not for you. It seems like yesterday I was old, and my joints were hurting, and I kept having these little blackouts, and then I can remember Arthur bending over me, screaming hysterically, and then—well, then there was nothing. No tunnel of light, no angels for old Helen. I was just suddenly here, still old at first, but no pain, and everything I thought, everything I remembered and wanted from the past—it just happened, when I wanted it to. Of course I also remembered all the downloading; my God, I wore that brain-sucking cap of theirs to bed for over five years
! But there was no way I could really predict what it would be like until I got here.”

  Annie’s eyes glistened wetly. “It was lonely here at first. Believe it or not, Tickle, I missed you. I knew you were mad at me, and I didn’t make it up to you before I left. I’m sorry.”

  Blanche felt something catch in her throat. She hadn’t been called Tickle since the age of seven. It even softened her heart for one instant, and then she turned it into stone again. “You’ve been doing some research, Arthur,” she said. “It’s not going to work with me.”

  Arthur lunged from his chair, but Camus grabbed him around the chest and held him tightly.

  “Stop it, Arthur! If you want to speak to me again, you’ll sit right down and be quiet. Tantrums are not excusable for a man your age. Do you want me to be ashamed?”

  Arthur sat down as if struck. A tear rolled down one cheek.

  Annie glared at Blanche. “You always were good at goading people, but you were a coward when it came to standing up to me, so don’t try it. Yes, I want to convince you I’m what’s left of Helen; I’m most of her, in fact, if you take away the physical form. I could spend hours reciting things only you and I would know, like the time you bit me when I wouldn’t let you play with my dolls. We didn’t even tell Mother about that. And then there was the time I caught you and your weird friend Ellen doing some interesting things with the little Waltham boy in our garage. I bet the details of that would perk things up in this hearing.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” shouted Blanche, standing, and shaking a fist.

  “I would dare, but I won’t, so sit down, Blanche,” said Annie. She stood up, stepped forward and leaned over, as if peering into a camera lens. “It would be fun to watch you squirm again. Without me around, I bet you’ve been running roughshod over everyone. Want to hear something funny? I’m enjoying myself right now. I’ve missed our fights; they’re stimulating.

  Blanche’s eyes filled with tears. “I haven’t missed them at all. I haven’t missed you at all.”

  “Oh, that was supposed to hurt, but it didn’t. You miss me plenty, Tickle. Sisters know. It’s one of the reasons you’re so angry. Wow, the memories are still coming. I bet I could synthesize a somewhat younger version of you, and we could fight all the time right in my living room. Fred wouldn’t mind. He got used to it a long time—”

  “Ladies, ladies, please!” said Judge Maxwell. “There are important questions to be answered here, and you’re not answering them.”

  Maxwell wasn’t smiling this time. Blanche wondered if he saw through the sham of what Arthur was doing with his machine, the way his creature was making her look like a vicious, old fool. Her hands were shaking. It was just like her fights with Helen over all those years. So real, so real....

  “Question one,” said Maxwell. “How did Helen Winslow die?”

  “A blackout, like I said, only this one brought me here. I’m told there was massive bleeding in my brain,” said Annie. She sat down on her couch again, and crossed her legs.

  “All right. Question two: why was Helen’s head preserved by freezing, and the rest of her body separated from it?”

  Annie thought for a moment. “Well, I remember it said in the contract my body could be used in any way to help the AINI project. Only the head was important, really; there was some data downloaded right after I—I should say Helen—died. Helen’s last image of Arthur was there. Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I have to be Annie to answer the questions, but you know who I am.”

  Arthur was crying, his face buried in a handkerchief.

  “Separating Helen’s body wasn’t a cost-saving measure?”

  “Well, it saved money, but the body was worthless, all used up, nothing left to revive. No matter, now. I’m here, and I have my Fred, my Arthur. We talk whenever we want to, don’t we, hon?”

  Tears were running down Arthur’s cheeks. He nodded his head, smiled, and blew his nose loudly in the handkerchief.

  “He keeps us right in his living room,” added Annie. “It was worth the extra cost, but there’s where I got into trouble with Blanche. I never thought she’d miss a couple of million; she always had more than Fred and I. I just got overenthused about the project, I guess. I was wrong. I was wrong because I promised Blanche the money for her foundation. But then the blackouts started, and Arthur was so upset and alone, and we—we just wanted to be together, at least until he finds that special girl.”

  Arthur began blubbering again. Everyone in the room avoided eye contact with each other.

  “Dear God,” said Blanche.

  Annie bristled. “Oh shut up, Blanche. I don’t expect you to understand, but there is nothing stronger than the love of a mother for her only son. You never had children because you didn’t want them. I did, so try to respect that.”

  Her voice had risen in pitch. Her male companion came into the room, walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “The ice is melting. I miss you.” He kissed the crown of her head.

  Annie put her hands on his, and pointed directly at Blanche. “See anyone there you recognize?”

  The man looked closely. There was no doubt in Blanche’s mind that she was looking at an image of Fred Winslow from at least thirty years before he’d died.

  “Is that Blanche? How did she get to be so old?”

  Again that husky laugh. “I’ll explain later, sweet. Pull the cork. I’ll be there in a minute. Kiss, kiss.”

  He kissed Annie delicately on the mouth, and went away.

  Annie gave Blanche a sultry look. “More upgrades coming, but he’s already quite a man. I’ve kept him waiting long enough, so let’s get to it, Blanche. I’m Helen whether you like it or not, but I’m also a damn good AI. The judge here isn’t going to help us. There are too many precedents involved: legality of AI testimony, the AI as a legal substitute for a human, dead or alive, et cetera, et cetera. I don’t think he cares to appear in the legal journals that many times. Is that an accurate statement, Your Honor?”

  “That is a reasonable approximation of what I’m thinking,” said Maxwell, looking vaguely amused.

  “So it’s you and me, Blanche. How much will it take for you to drop all this mess? Two million? Three? How about four? That’s tops. Otherwise you’re going to trial, and there isn’t a jury around that’s smart enough or imaginative enough to believe I am who I say I am. And you will get nothing.”

  Blanche looked at Arthur. “I’ll write a check for whatever amount Mother says, and make it payable to your arts foundation in the names of my parents,” he said.

  Randal shrugged his shoulders, and wiggled an eyebrow at her. The rest of the lawyers at the other table looked away. There was a long silence, horrible for everyone who waited.

  “Three million,” said Blanche.

  “Write the check, Arthur,” said Annie, standing up and smoothing her robed hips with her hands. “I’ll talk to you tonight. Right now I have a date with your dad. Blanche, do come over for tea sometime. We must stay in touch, and Arthur will set up the machine for you, won’t you dear?”

  Arthur nodded numbly, obviously not pleased with the request.

  “We should talk more often, and I’d really like to see how your foundation plays out. It’s good for me to keep up a variety of interests, now that I have so much time. Promise you’ll come soon?”

  Blanche moved her lips, but could not bring herself to answer.

  “Bye, then,” said Annie, and left the room. Arthur turned off the machine, and the white room with red furnishings was gone. Annie was gone—and so was Helen.

  “Let the record show the parties settled this matter out of court,” said Maxwell, looking pleased and relieved. “This hearing is ended.”

  Everyone filed out of the courtroom. Arthur waited for Blanche at the door. “You’ll have the check in a day or two,” he said, then, “You know, Mother was really serious about visiting with you. Just give me some warning when you want to come over. I don’t have to be ho
me. My secretary knows how to boot AINI for her.”

  Blanche looked away from him. “I really don’t think I’ll be doing that, Arthur,” she said.

  Later, she changed her mind.

  I CAN SPEND YOU

  by Charles Allen Gramlich

  They all looked up at the sound, the clink-clank-clunk of heavily laden saddlebags striking the doorframe as the prospector stepped into the eatery. Their eyes registered both the prospector and his bags, but it was on those worn leather satchels that their gazes lingered, that of the bartender and the cook who had come out of the kitchen to talk, that of the waitress with her thin, angular body and her attractively regular features, that of the few customers: a father and his little one, a couple who were courting, an orbit-trucker who sat humped over his table with a cup of steaming black in front of him. It was a negative ion sort of night, and business was slow at Memory’s Place.

  Limping on what appeared to be two damaged feet, the prospector warped his way over to a table and sat down heavily. He seemed deliberately to choose a site in the middle of the room, as if he wanted everyone’s eyes upon him. He needn’t have worried. The punctuated thud of the saddlebags striking the floor beside him made sure he had all the attention anyone could wish.

  The waitress, who had long cultivated a highly refined sense of boredom, suddenly developed a swift and animate sparkle in her gray orbs. It was perfectly logical to assume the prospector had hit it big, and that meant the likelihood of a generous tip. She was beside the fellow’s table and offering him a menu disk before his chair even had time to cough up all its creaks and cracks. It almost offended her when he waved the proffered disk aside, but she quickly erased the semi-feeling as the prospector leaned back in his chair and began to recite a list of foods that had obviously been ritualized years before.

  It was a long list, but the waitress didn’t write it down. She had a near perfect memory and never needed to. But even if her memory had been awful she would not have forgotten this order.

  ­The old foods­, she breathed to herself. ­The old and very expensive foods­.