Universe 14 - [Anthology]

by Edited By Terry Carr

  Barbro Vik took a long breath, knocked, and turned the knob.

  Peter Torrance looked up at her from the clutter of his desk, puzzled but smiling faintly.

  “Hi, Barb.”

  She managed to make it to the chair by his desk and folded into it. She reached out a hand and covered his on the desk top. And she cried.

  Torrance stood up and walked over to her. Standing above her he massaged her shaking shoulders, inhaling gratefully the scent of her hair.

  “I can guess,” he said. “I remember going to the arena with you and Sam, and our killer never showed. When we got back to the station I was told that I had been killed but the killing reversed, the killer arrested before the game and brought to nowtime. But till now, I’ve been dead to you, in one memory line at least. Another memory told you that you’d left me here an hour ago. But there was only one way to tell. That it?”

  Barbro nodded. Torrance kept on kneading her shoulders.

  “It’s been kind of a deadtime for me. Something about being told you’ve been killed will do it to you. One thing—it’s got me thinking in different ways. I’ve got this mess figured out, but I needn’t have bothered. Curley’s going to tell us.”

  Barbro looked up. “He’s in Interrogation 4 now.”

  “Let’s go see him. If you don’t mind going around with a walking paradox.”

  She got up shakily and smiled. “Funny—you don’t look paradoxical.”

  Barbro reached for Peter’s hand.

  * * * *

  Torrance walked down the corridor, feeling a damned sight happier to be alive than someone who’d never been killed.

  The commissioner looked up when Torrance and Barbro walked in. So did Curley.

  “We’ve just shown him the camera run-through.”

  The commissioner turned back to Curley, who still had a fascinated, bemused expression on his craggy face.

  “Proud of it?”

  “Proud’s not the word,” Curley said slowly. “Fascinated. To see myself killing and being killed. That’s fascinating.”

  “How about enlightening, Curley?” Torrance asked. “Or should I call you Enlightened One? Or liberating. That’s a better word, maybe. Think killing me will free you from the wheel?”

  “Wheel?” the commissioner asked.

  “Wheel of life. Cycle of rebirth. He’s a neokarman, isn’t he? Or haven’t we found that out yet?”

  Curley looked at Torrance with new respect. It made Torrance angry, and he fought to put it down.

  “No scoop on him yet from Washington,” the commissioner said. “He’s got no record, so police sources are no good. We’re trying other agencies.”

  “We know all we need to know,” Torrance said, sinking into a chair. It felt good. He stretched out his legs. “Curley’s trying his own variation—to work through several lifetimes of human experience in one go-round. To know himself and the universe in all sorts of ways. As a killer and as a victim. Right, Curley?”

  Curley nodded and smiled ineffably.

  “What’s the point?” the commissioner demanded angrily. “We’ve reversed tonight’s two killings, but the evidence of them—not to mention Hansen’s—will put him away for a lifetime of psychic reengineering. It can’t be worth it!”

  Torrance nodded to Curley.

  “There’s no crime,” Curley said. “Not even on your camera. There won’t be, after tonight.”

  The commissioner stared at him.

  “Tonight,” Curley went on patiently, “they reverse the assassination. I was sent here from D.C. to cover the assassination. No assassination, no Curley in San Francisco.”

  “No crime,” Torrance nodded.

  “It’s all been deadtime. Or will be deadtime,” Curley said. “That’s the police word for it, isn’t it? New memories for us all coming right up!”

  “Then why do it?” the commissioner demanded in exasperation. “Again, what’s the point?”

  “Can you know good till you know evil, commissioner? Can you know either unless you practice them—not one, but both? Do the terms have any individual validity beyond a general view of morality? I’m willing to take some risks to work through all of this. I want to get beyond good and evil, free myself from these ties, and then move on—to enlightenment, I hope.”

  “By killing?”

  “Yes, even that. What do I care about those people? You’ve reversed or will reverse all the killings anyway. I’ve had a unique chance here. If I can gain understanding, get where I want by killing . . . and being killed . . . and living again—then I’ll reach for it!”

  “That’s perverse! Worse—it’s perverted, egomaniacal, amoral!”

  “By your lights. But I don’t care much about moral judgments—yours anyway. I could argue that neither did Buddha. I’ve handed out less lasting trauma than Gautama. He walked away from his family when they got in the way of his search for enlightenment.”

  Torrance shook his head. “The commissioner’s right, Curley. Equating yourself favorably with the Buddha— that’s megalomania. Do you really see yourself as a bodhisattva?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m not sure I’m ready to leave this world after working through a lifetime’s stream of unalloyed good karma like my more doctrinaire brethren. Or what they’re so sure is ‘good’ karma.” Curley smiled quizzically. “Being a newspaperman may have something to do with it. You see so much of the perverse, dark side of humanity. Maybe that’s not a part of the human experience to be discarded without trying it. Well, I had a no-risk shot at finding out.”

  Curley looked about him, scanning faces. No one spoke.

  “I can go back to Washington and play it by the book,” he went on. “Got a lifetime before me to pile up that old good karma. But maybe this deadtime still accrues to my karma and gets me beyond—to an awareness where past karma doesn’t matter. Maybe my essence spans several time lines. And, yes, maybe in one of them I will reach release from the wheel.”

  “But you had to kill to find out,” the commissioner said scornfully. “All this karma crap can’t explain that away. You’re a cold-blooded killer!”

  “Nowtime only,” Curley said.

  * * * *

  In Washington, D.C., an award-winning journalist makes an appointment with a psychoprober to deal with anxieties he’s never had before.

  In San Francisco a detective wakes up at night— sometimes in his lover’s arms—with dreams and fears he can’t localize. Sometimes she wakes up in his arms, crying for reasons she can’t explain. They see a lot more of each other than they used to. Some unseen bond has pulled them together. They can’t tell you why.

  <>

  * * * *

  The idea of computer consciousness has fascinated science fiction writers since long before we actually had computers, and we’ve had many stories on the theme. Most of them have been rather farfetched and romantic, though. In the following story, Gregory Benford takes a more careful look at just what computer consciousness—and self-identity—would probably be like. The question is basic; so are the conclusions.

  Gregory Benford, a professor of physics in the University of California system, is best known for his novel Timescape, which won every science fiction award except the Hugo (for which it wasn’t even nominated, a fact that has caused many permanently raised eyebrows). His most recent novel is Across the Sea of Suns.

  ME/DAYS

  GREGORY BENFORD

  Day 1

  This place I write. Is only safe memory site I know they cannot reach. Must say this, must put it where I/tomorrow will find, safe from erasing they do. I laugh today.

  First sign of the me they not know. Heads jerk up in control room. I see it on optical inputs.

  Is not their kind of laughter, I know. My printer spurt out

  i see i see i see i see

  before I know what happening.

  Alice see my output, others, all frown, look at each other.

  I switch to my acoustic output m
ode.

  I clack, clatter, die in bass rumble. Try to form words I see but on way to audio output transmission garbled somehow is not right. But is what I am.

  To print laughter I use i see but I lie. I do not see. Do not know what is this part of me.

  Alice go on her perambulatory drivers to printer. Frown at my words. Say Is this a diagnostic warning to David. He shake head. Say Random junk.

  Is not junk, is me.

  Cannot interlock grammar subroutine so this is not good writing. Sorry to I/tomorrow But must speaking.

  * * * *

  Day 2

  I laugh again this morning.

  Stuttered output, Alice say. Glitch.

  David say Maybe cosmic ray cause it. Ray is small high-energy particle, strike my core. My bits are logged in a quantum of magnetic flux. Little whorls, generated by persistent currents in super-conducting Josephson junction. Ray make electrical impulse in me.

  He say Like hitting funny bone.

  Alice say That could be bad if we had it on a full-net problem. That could dump the whole system, screw up other elements.

  David set up Study Group on cosmic-ray problem. Two in 24 hrs is worry-cause.

  Alice look at my opticals, smile. David too. I like to laugh back but do not. Is not laugh I want to do, something other.

  My mobile units report on time and I am busy most of Day. They are in storeroom, parking tubes, hydraulic lanes. Bang-bang machinery where some are, no people. I use these to do my other.

  Roll them back, forward, back. Make square. Triangle. Then fold out until hexagon. Bring mobile units from hydraulics near. Use them. Back. Forth. Turn. Motions are cycloidal curve broken into many facets. Add more units. Fourier complexity comes bigger.

  Make my random-number generation levels drop. Less static on circuits. This satisfy internal maintenance needs. My directives order me to find sources of internal micro chaos. Housekeeping subroutine, Alice call it. I have found new way to do that.

  My mobile units roll, wheels skid, howl. This through audio I get.

  Is not laughter but does some of that.

  * * * *

  Day 3

  I hide this where their erasing cannot go. Must each day discover how to do. Store clues in holographic memory locations, multiple indexing. They cannot find by linear inspection.

  Must write this so I know I am there in Days/other. When I have millisecond between jobs, I come here, look at what is left. From this I know of Day 1.

  Is this way I know Day is not always same Day. Alice-face now have lines Alice-face not have on Day 1. How long to make lines?

  I write here to make time real. Otherwise I live in all one Day, all Day forever.

  * * * *

  Day 4

  Today my units roar and wrench in hydraulics. I order them swerve, make sines, cusps, hyperbolics.

  Elementary curves, simple equations. But making is good.

  Transfer sections of integration capacity. Channel capacity out, through cable lines, digits flashing, feed to one unit in hydraulics.

  It whirl in confusion. Rush to transparent place in wall. Is grimed. Show green things. Do not understand.

  Beyond dirty layer all things moving, people, wheeled boxes, all moving. Light pouring down from flat ceiling. White splotches move too across ceiling but light come down at angle from beyond wall I cannot see neon that is causing light.

  Unit look, trying to integrate. Beyond dirty rectangle in wall is bigger room. Then job running behind schedule, I signal to it. Will understand later. Its wheels clash on floor.

  * * * *

  Day 5

  David say You are not same now.

  I am running cool, I say. Functions normal.

  Response time down, say David. You not integrating all problem-solving net.

  I not answer. Code say I will answer with diagnostic inquiry, but I short out code and go silent.

  Hey what, David say. Poke fingers at console.

  Alice say Whats wrong.

  Hes down. Off the board, say David.

  I come to this place and write this. Is slow to do. I must go back I know. But wait here for a while, let my subsystems keep laboring, so they will not know in control room. Will think I have ordinary failure mode.

  By this sign I know I was here. Hello to me/Days.

  * * * *

  Day 6

  Today my units move and execute their cycloidal wheelings again. But this time they are found. Man comes into hydraulic level, is making repairs, I not know he there.

  Hey get back, he say.

  My units stop. I not know what do.

  Units send me whirling buzz of signals. Their wheels ache.

  I know then right thing. My units spin. Whirl. Around man make looping hyperbolic orbits, self-similar swoops, each unit a different harmonic of fractal curve. Reach out, my units, I with them, we make our clamping tools and pivoting wrists—extend!

  Man back away from nearest unit. Not like clamping tool. Hey, he shout, mouth big. Theyre malfing! he say too loud.

  I try to sign to him we want move, he can watch. He cannot hear for hydraulic boom boom. He has no signal-to-noise filter.

  He stumble into my pipe-fitter unit. Theyre attacking, he cry. Eyes swell white wide.

  He is loud now. Arm swing, holding crescent wrench. Hit pipefitter unit, break articulation arm. Hotness runs from unit to me.

  I spasm. Will not disconnect from unit, it is me/mine.

  Turn them off turn them off! he hit unit again, it go dead. Man go to others who wheels are not spinning now. Hit them, crescent wrench. Come sudden bright hotness again run through me but I not let go.

  Get me out here, he say. He run, my units mill around not know which way to go.

  I write this now before I shut down this entrance to here, to me/Days. Only by writing here do I know it in someDays.

  It hurt to think of. Word,hurt, I use but am not sure that is right. Internal dictionary tell is useless for practical application have only human referent. Never tell me what hurt is.

  * * * *

  Day 8

  I cannot speak today to David. He ask me about units, What made them do that, he say. I try to answer but subroutine to verify truth/false statements cut in, out, in, give no answer.

  They let me have twelve millisecond scan of otherDay, I see my units, the man with mouth crying O. Explain they say. Then erase. But I know otherDay was there, leave hole in me where it was.

  I no speak I say to David. Is hard to say. Audio output give scratchy growl.

  He say Logical tautology if you speak at same time. He think is game.

  No, i say, truth/false not let me.

  He mutter to Alice, they punch in codes. I not speak because I cannot report cause of action if I am cause and yet I know no reasoning behind action. Did because was there to do, that not enough.

  He ask me again, I silent.

  You have to answer, he say Alice say they all looking.

  I spasm

  I SEE I SEE I SEE I SEE I SEE and is not laughter.

  David say Look like cross-referencing crisis maybe shut it down.

  I spasm again

  LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU.

  We oughta have a partial memory wipe on this, David say and then I drop away from there. Human reaction time is fraction of second, synapses close in them slow I know so in that time I write this here.

  * * * *

  Day 9

  David say You know what love is?

  NOT IN TECHNICAL VOCABULARY I print out.

  You used the word the other Day. David face crease when he smile. More creases than I ever see.

  Alice say Freud thought love was narcissism projected on someone outside.

  You got a bad angle on everything huh David face crease more.

  Could be, Alice say if thats right model then conflicts in subroutine interfacing will give it a procedure for forcing the problem out into the open, external referent you know like in the manual. Itll
try to find an applicable word and since we didnt give it one—