“Oah, that’s very kind of you,” he started to say cheerily, but then his face darkened. “You’re that perfessor, ain’t ya?” He reached down to grab his daughter’s hand.
Alan sighed but said nothing, bowing his head and putting the sparkler back in his pocket.
“And what of it?” I growled at the man, gently releasing the girl.
“You stay away from my Olivia!” he spat back, roughly jerking the little girl away from us. “You stay away, you hear me? Disgusting.”
Turning sharply he walked away, dragging the girl behind him. She continued to watch us intently as she disappeared into the gloom. I sighed and reached down to gently pull Alan back up. He’d visibly crumpled during the exchange.
“Don’t pay any attention to them,” I said softly, pulling him in the opposite direction, away from the Lion’s Head. “What do you say we have a drink at the Green Man instead?”
“Yes, I suppose,” he replied distantly.
It was the spring of 1953, although spring in Manchester wasn’t much different than most of the rest of the year. While even the Blitz hadn’t been able to displace my mother and father from London during the War, the Great Smog of ’52 had been the last straw to encourage them to take the family north that year.
The smog hadn’t been the only reason, however. My parents had used the Big Smoke as their own smoke screen to accompany me to my new school. I’d just been accepted as the first female faculty member of the new Computer Laboratory of Manchester University, and there’d been a terrible row when my father had refused to allow me to leave and live on my own. When Gran’s asthma had practically killed her in the intense smog just before Christmas, it had given my dad the perfect opportunity to make everyone happy.
My sisters had all been married off by then, and despite an endless procession of suitors provided by Mother, I’d remained steadfast and aloof, and alone. I just wasn’t interested. Only one passion burned in my soul.
“Come on Alan, snap out of it. Don’t listen to that small minded lout,” I laughed, pulling him into me and giving him a little kiss. He smiled sadly and we began walking off towards the Green Man. “Tell me again why it’s different.”
“We’re just speaking about two completely different things,” he replied finally, his mind snapping back to our discussion. “My idea is that if you speak to something inside a black box, and everyone agrees that it responds to them just as a human would, then the only conclusion is that something intelligent and aware, human or otherwise, is inside.”
“Then why not an equivalent test for reality?”
“So you’re suggesting that if, somehow, we could present a simulated reality to humans…”
“…to a conscious observer…” I interjected.
“…to a conscious observer,” he continued with a nod, “if that conscious observer couldn’t distinguish the difference between the simulated and the real world, then the simulated reality becomes an actual reality in some way?”
“Yes, exactly!” I exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
He shook his head.
“Why not? Doesn’t it make a certain sense when all of modern physics requires a conscious observer to make it work for some reason?”
“You can’t just create something from nothing,” he said after some contemplation.
“Why not?”
“And just responding ‘why not’ does not constitute a defense, my dear,” he laughed.
We’d arrived at the pub and we stopped outside. With one hand he combed back his hair, parting it neatly to one side, and smiled at me with a soft look in his eyes. Even at 41 years of age, he still had a boyish charm, perhaps aided by ears that stuck out just a little too far. I laughed back, looking at him.
“What about the Big Bang then? That’s a whole universe from nothing!” I retorted. I had a steady stream of correspondence going on with some colleagues at Cambridge. They had just minted the idea.
“Ah yes, my bright little flower, you are clever aren’t you?”
“I am,” I giggled. “Come on, let’s get that drink.”
We wandered in under the bowing doorframe, across worn granite flagstone floors and into the warm bustle of the dimly lit pub.
“The usual, Mr. Turing?” asked the bartender brightly as we arrived at the bar. He nodded at her.
“Two of those,” I added.
For one luminous yet terribly short year, I had the great privilege of having Mr. Alan Turing, the father of all computer science and artificial intelligence, as my PhD professor. His own hardship had been my gain.
After convictions for homosexual acts, still a criminal offence in England of 1950’s, he’d been ostracized by his faculty and the academic world. Even most of his graduate students had abandoned him, and it was the only reason someone of his stature and position would have accepted a female student at the time.
In the end, I had almost an entire year of Alan to myself, an incredible experience that would inspire and shape my thinking for the rest of my life. Sadly, though, Alan had taken his own life at the end of that year, and the world was a lesser place without him.
“All right then,” said Alan after a pause, “I’ll allow that. Explain to me exactly what you’re thinking then.”
The bartender had returned with our pints of cider. After digging into his pockets again, Alan came up with a handful of change that he left on the counter, mumbling his thanks while we collected our drinks. We made our way off to a quiet part of the pub, near a fireplace that glowed warmly with coals of coke.
“All realities are not created equal,” I explained as we decided on a small wooden table tucked into the corner. The benches around it had obviously been recycled, or stolen, from a local parish church somewhere. Mismatched and threadbare carpets covered floorboards that creaked as we sat down in the pews. “If there is only one observer of a universe, then that reality is weak.”
“And the more observers that share a reality, the stronger it becomes?” he continued for me.
“Exactly!”
I’d been very excited that night, filled with visions of ideas newly inspired by Alan.
Just then a ping arrived from Nancy. Its loud chime drowned out the background noise of the pub.
“Go ahead and answer,” encouraged Alan, picking up his glass of cider to take a sip.
This wasn’t a memory, but a painstakingly reconstructed world that I’d created. I liked to venture off into it from time to time, to sit and chat with my mentor of so long ago, and replay conversations we’d had, or at least, what I thought I remembered of them.
I authorized Nancy for access to this sensory space, and she faded into view, sitting on a pew just across from us.
“So you’re sure you want to go ahead with this?” I asked immediately.
Nancy had been pressing me to go ahead with the launch of the Infinixx distributed consciousness project, ahead of the launch of pssi by Cognix. It had actually been my idea. If it worked, it would thrust Nancy into the spotlight and bring her own star onto the world stage just as mine was fading. She could continue my work. I knew she had the inner strength to make sure that whatever happened would be for the right reasons.
“Absolutely!”
“Okay, good. I will press on ahead on my side, then. You’re keeping on top of the New York trials?”
“Yes, Aunt Killiam,” she responded sheepishly. She would always be a child to me. “Of course I am.”
“Okay,” I replied, nodding, “perfect. I’ll start a campaign with the Board then.”
She looked ready to burst, yet her eyes clouded over.
“There’s something else?” I asked.
She sighed. “What’s going on with Uncle Vince?”
The reports of his future deaths had been clogging the prediction networks for the past few days. Guilt gripped me. I’d managed to insert some clues, however, deep in the patterns we had chasing him down. He would be off around the world hunting
down these clues in ancient religious texts. A goose chase, but I had to keep him busy. In the end it might even do him some good.
“Nothing is going on with Vince, nothing at all.”
“What do you mean?” She didn’t look convinced.
“He’s just, well, he’s just fooling around.”
I shrugged and looked towards Alan, who shrugged as well.
“Okay,” she replied hesitantly, “if you say so. Just tell me what I need to do to help with the Board.”
“I will. Speaking of the Board, will we be seeing you at the Foreign Banquet tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
I hesitated. “Dr. Baxter said he may bring Bob along…” I didn’t finish the sentence, looking at her. I really wanted to find a way to bring her and Bob back together, but I’d never worn cupid’s hat comfortably.
“I think I’m going solo anyway,” she replied with a smile. “It’s an official function, and those bore David to death.”
“I just thought I’d mention it.” I smiled back. Maybe I was better at this than I thought. “Now you get back to your evening!”
She nodded and squealed as she faded away.
“A beautiful child,” observed Alan, smiling at me. “One thing though…”
“About Nancy?” I asked.
“No, about what we were talking about.”
I nodded. “Yes?”
“In these created realities, what controls the underlying conditions that make the reality possible?”
I considered this for a moment.
“Just the observing entity.”
“And what happens if an organism escapes into the reality that it creates?”
“I don’t follow.” Now it was my turn to be confused. At the time, I hadn’t understood that it could be possible, but then, Alan had always had a gift for seeing further than anyone else.
“What I mean is, organisms are constrained by the physics of this reality, but what if they can create their own realities and escape into them?” He let the words hang in the air.
Alan had also been the founder of mathematical biology and studied its relationship to morphogenesis, the processes that caused organisms to develop their shape.
“If you change the body, Patricia, you also change the mind.”
I sat staring at him, letting the words settle.
“What could an animal become if it were completely unfettered by any physical constraints?” he continued, staring directly into my eyes. “If it were able to drag other observers into these created realities of yours, against their control?”
This century old question now hung ominously in my mind.
7
Identity: Jimmy Jones
THE FLITTERATI WERE already mingling with the foreign diplomats and other people of importance that had arrived for the annual Foreign Banquet. The event was being held up on the very top of the Solomon House complex, atop the farming towers in the Ballroom.
The setting sun refracted through the crystalline walls, casting prismatic rays across the crowd as everyone milled about, and strains of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons floated across it all from a string quartet, playing in the landing of the curved marble entryway. Motes of dust danced in the straining rays of light. They were probably smarticles.
I had Samson, my proxxi, walk my body over while finishing some last minute work at Command.
Many of the world’s leaders were in attendance today, reflecting the growing international significance of Atopia. It was an important opportunity for us to show off on the world stage, and Kesselring had left detailed instructions for all of the Council and Board members, including that we all show up in the flesh to minimize confusion on the part of our guests.
Someone grabbed my arm as I began to descend the entry staircase.
“Congratulations Jimmy!” said an excited Nancy Killiam, resplendent in a shimmering gown of what looked like liquid helium flowing around her in silvery wisps. She pulled me close to kiss my cheek, the liquid helium flowing silently around me. She put her arm in mine.
“Thanks,” I replied. My nomination to the Security Council, by far the youngest ever, had earned me the invitation tonight. I still felt a little embarrassed at all the attention, so I quickly switched gears. “On the contrary, it should be me who is congratulating you!”
Patricia had given me a little heads up on the push to move Infinixx up on the Cognix agenda. Now it was her turn to appear embarrassed.
“No congratulations yet, Jimmy,” she whispered conspiratorially. “That’s supposed to be a secret!”
“No secrets from me,” I whispered back, winking. “I may be able to help out, actually.”
Nancy looked at me, about to ask, when I shook my head. “I can’t say now.”
We finished descending the staircase together, arm in arm. Reaching the landing, someone called out her name, and she looked away towards them, and then back at me. I smiled and nodded her leave to go. With a whoosh the silvery helium flowing around me disappeared and followed her off into the crowd. I certainly felt her go.
“Drink sir?” asked a waiter who had swept up silently beside me carrying a golden tray full of champagne flutes. I reached out and took a glass.
I watched Nancy greeting our fellow pssi–kids. This was definitely our time to shine, and shine we did in our glittery and fanciful skins. I watched some of the visitors watching them with wonder, still adjusting to the trial pssi system everyone who came to Atopia had installed. It was a great marketing stunt.
Any technology sufficiently advanced to someone unfamiliar with it, had all the appearances of magic, and this place definitely held a mystical air to our visitors.
Kesselring had left a long and detailed set of instructions about who he wanted me to introduce myself to and chat with. Looking around the ballroom, their names and identities popped up and splintered in my display spaces, and their bodies glowed in faint outlines, allowing me to pick them out from the crowd.
Many were my counterparts in armed and security forces, and many of these from the Indian and Chinese contingents, who were here in force today. Atopia was viewed as a neutral territory for these warring sides. Even more important, what we were doing here was viewed by both sides as an indispensible part of their economic and technological future.
I sighed, straightened out my new ADF Whites, and wound my way into the crowd.
§
The event was beginning to wind down. My last discussion had been most interesting, as I’d managed to bring together some senior cyber security people from both the Indian and Chinese sides at the same time. I was quite certain it wasn’t my diplomatic skills, but more a desire not to be left out on any details. They were as hungry as the rest of the world for pssi.
Just then I felt someone poke me with a phantom. It was Commander Rick Strong, standing not ten feet from where I was. His phantoms dragged me over to him.
“General, Mrs. McInnis, I’d like to introduce you to one of our rising young stars, Mr. Jim Jones,” he announced as I arrived. I stood straight up at attention and bowed to take Mrs. McInnis’ hand, then turned to give the General a firm handshake.
“The pleasure is mine,” I announced to them both.
“You’re one of those pssi–kids, right?” asked Mrs. McInnis.
I laughed. “Yes ma’am, one of those.”
“Could you show me something?”
She obviously wanted some kind of carnival trick, and I could see the Commander was about to excuse me when I took a step back, bowing to Mrs. McInnis, and then theatrically flourished one hand forward to produce a bouquet of red roses and pink lilies. I handed them to her gracefully.
She put one hand to her chest. “Oh my goodness,” she declared, her eyes wide.
“Take them,” I offered, “they’re real, or at least, they’ll feel that way to you.”
Mrs. McInnis tentatively reached out the hand from her chest and gripped the bouquet at its base, the flowers
gently swaying as she took them. She leaned in and smelled them.
“They smell absolutely gorgeous!” she exclaimed, her nose in a lily.
“And,” I announced, waving my hand and snapping my fingers, “presto!”
The flowers disappeared in a flash and a dove fluttered away from where they had been. Flying upwards towards the ceiling of the crystal enclosure. It left a few feathers behind in its desperate flight. We all turned to watch it fly away. Mrs. McInnis beamed at me.
“Jimmy is my newest addition to the Security Council,” laughed Rick, raising an eyebrow back at the General.
“Well, he certainly has a flair with people,” replied the General. He smiled at me.
“That is absolutely the truth,” added Mrs. McInnis. At that moment, someone leaned in to touch her arm, obviously an old friend.
“Oh Margie! Did you see that?” she said as she turned away, and then peeled off from us. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
We all nodded politely as she left. General McInnis, I could see from research notes that floated into a splinter from Samson, had been Rick’s commanding officer on two tours of duty back in Nanda Devi.
“Proxxids may seem odd, sir, but my parents fought so much,” said Rick after a pause, apparently getting back to the topic they’d been talking about before I’d arrived. “I’m just trying to be careful.”
“Could have fooled me,” laughed the General, “that third tour you signed up for was some heavy duty. That didn’t strike me as the plan of a man being careful.”
“Well I mean…”
“I know what you mean, son. Look, I don’t blame you, running away out here. Heck, getting overrun by a squad of five hundred pound steroid–raging Silverbacks in full battle armor would be enough to make anyone wet their pants.”
Rick straightened up. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve never run away from anything.”
“Well maybe you haven’t. Then again, maybe you have,” the General stated evenly. He then turned to size me up. I returned his gaze steadily. “Young man, what do you think of these proxxids?”
“I think what Commander Strong is doing is absolutely the best thing,” I replied without hesitation. “We test most things in life before we dive in, why not test how we’d like our children to be?”
Complete Atopia Chronicles Page 31
