"I saw you talking." The accent was very pronounced, and very melodic. The beady dark eyes gleamed at her through the profusion of facial hair-lively with humour and energy-and he waggled his head for emphasis as he spoke. "You talk very well, for an inorganic construction." Again the short bark of laughter.
Rafasan covered her mouth with a hand. Sandy just gazed at him for a long moment, eyebrow still raised. Took a deep breath.
"Thank you very much. I think."
Another bark of laughter. "Don't be offended. I am merely poking fun. I did not live this long by taking life so seriously, you know." Smiling broadly beneath the beard. And Sandy found that, somehow, it was impossible to be offended.
"Can I ask how old you are?" she asked. "And why you haven't allowed any life-extension treatments?"
"Oh, but I have, but I have. I am one hundred and sixty-two standard Earth years, Ms. GI, and I have had many life-extension treatments. Many many. And you know what? They work! Haha!"
Rafasan's hand went back to her mouth, very fast. Sandy smiled, the raised eyebrow now turned somewhat incredulous. One hundred and sixty-two? She knew it happened, but the odds were very low, most people didn't get past a hundred and thirty. For a man to take life extensions and live long enough to look like a very old man ... he must be very old indeed.
"I'm fifteen," Sandy replied. "You have me at a disadvantage."
"Indeed, indeed." Nodding agreeably. "But how can you measure what you cannot define, yes? And what is a number to you? A GI, with your tape-teach and preconstructed knowledge? Life should be measured in experiences, not in flawed human time. Time is another thing we should not measure, for it, too, we cannot define, yes?" Nodding again, eyes seeking her comprehension. "Only God knows. And he's not telling."
"And you have come all the way over here to see me?"
"Oh, it is not so far. Not when I have such a helpful and devoted personal staff to attend to me. And to meet you, I thought it well worth the effort for even this old man and his creaking bones."
"Why?"
"Why?" In great surprise. And he laughed again, and the laugh turned into a loud coughing. "Why?" As he recovered, and met her eyes again. "You have come waltzing into this city and caused such trouble, young lady. Such mayhem accompanies you, life here has been turned upside down and the ground has fallen away beneath so many people's feet, and you ask me why?"
"I'm sorry if I caused trouble." Calmly. "The cause of the trouble was already here, however. I did perhaps trigger the trap, but the trap was set well before I arrived. But I'm sorry all the same for the upset, it was never my intention."
"Upset? Oh no no, I am not upset. It has been my great pleasure to see this calamity befall this city, young lady." Sandy blinked in astonishment. The Swami beamed happily. "This city has been in the greatest need of a great calamity for a very long time now, people have grown lazy in their minds and lazy in their hearts. They worship but they do not comprehend why, they talk but they have nothing to say, they listen but they know not what they are hearing. All this ... this progress ..." He rapped his stick hard upon the smooth floor. "... hah, so shameful that it should be called "progress" at all. No, we were not progressing, we were walking backward, moving further and further away. Not progress. RE-gress. And do you know what from?"
Sandy found herself held strangely still, a slow, prickling sensation creeping up her spine. The usually noisy hallway was held as if paralysed by some foreign aura. The Swami's cheerful dark eyes bore into her, and in that abrupt, single instant she truly thought she did know what he was talking about.
"Truth," she said quietly. The Swami laughed again, his head bobbing with great, evident pleasure. Reached his free arm from the young woman's supporting grasp to pat Sandy briefly on the arm, then returned it to the supporting grip once more.
"Truth, truth, truth," he said, still bobbing, as if in momentary prayer. "A most precious thing, truth. Never to be found, only to be sought, and then found in the seeking but never to be held in one's hand. Do you understand this meaning?"
She gazed at him for a long moment. "No. I'm not sure I do."
"And do you not understand, then, why it is that I came to see you?" She shook her head. "Ms. GI, you have brought us much truth to this city. Some of it has been most painful, but that is often the nature of truth, particularly that truth which is most unlocked for. And I also do believe, young lady, that I have found much truth in you." Gazing with a great, joyful intrigue into her eyes. She didn't know who was more fascinated. His hand trembled upon his stick, and she doubted it was a result of age. He seemed positively brimming with emotional enthusiasm.
"Please," she said softly, in that deep, paralysed hush that surrounded, "tell me what you mean."
"For such a long time," he said happily, "many humans have been so very conceited. We believed that we alone had souls ... even," waggling a gnarled forefinger, "even we Hindus, who believe in the souls of animals and all living things all joined together in the greater expanse of the universe before God ... even we Hindus did not always see, though many suspected. Our scientists tell us that all matter is by itself inanimate, do they not? And that all of the molecules that make up a human being, or an animal, were formed only in the hearts of stars, for that is where carbon was first born, is it not so? And so many have theorised that the soul is for some cosmic reason connected to the carbon molecule, and to the natural processes of organic lifeforms, be they carbon or be they otherwise.
"But now we must look at you. You, Ms. GI, who are not at all organic, who is made of artificial parts from the highest technology laboratories, whose entire being is inanimate, inorganic and not at all even alive by the terminologies used by a great many scientists and spiritual leaders before the coming of GIs, and GI technology, from the League."
He shuffled forward another step, reaching for her with that one free, frail hand ... Sandy looked quick askance at the young woman, who gestured, and Sandy took his hand in hers. Felt the worn old fingers clasp upon her own with surprising strength. He smelt, she thought, of the old wood carving oils she'd smelt in craft shops, a strangely musky smell. This close, she could see his age, and count the wrinkles around his dark, smiling eyes.
"I came here to look into your eyes." A thousand wrinkles crin kling with an emotional, beaming smile. "I came here to see for myself that you are alive, and that you have the energy, and the soul, the spirit of a living being ... Ms. GI, do you not see what this means?" Taking that gnarled old hand from her grasp and placing it upon her shoulder.
"The organic is alive." With a look of joy as pure as she had ever seen. "The inorganic is alive. The carbon and the non-carbon are alive. The soul of life resides in all things. Everything is alive. The whole universe, the very walls about us, this floor, the wind, the earth and the suns. The universe is all of one consciousness and life is nothing more than the dreaming of that single oneness. And you, Ms. GI, you are the final, the scientific, the spiritual proof of it all."
She was still feeling lightheaded a half hour later, walking a private meeting room and shaking those hands that were offered to her. She conversed on automatic, thankful that most of those who'd come to see her (and, inevitably, each other) were already somewhat favourable to President Neiland, and at least not totally opposed to her presence within the CSA. They wished for the brief reassurance of a face-to-face contact after the hearing, that was all-a chance, as the Swami had done, to look into her eyes, and know this GI, this killing machine on legs, for a real person. It satisfied whatever human emotional requirements needed satisfying, she reckoned, to convince them that Neiland wasn't completely insane to be trusting her as much as she had. But she found herself paying little attention to any of it, in the lingering daze of her confrontation with the Swami.
She knew the basic philosophical concept. It was as old as philosophy and theology themselves. But she'd never expected to become regarded by a senior theologian philosopher, on a world known for producing such no
ted people, as the key and singular proof of such a concept. Rafasan had found the development exciting. So had Presidential advisor Rani Bannerjee, who was hovering around the meeting room somewhere, in discussion with one visiting rep or other. The Swami, Bannerjee informed her, though highly eccentric, was a leading light of religious and philosophical thinking on Callay, and commanded much respect throughout the Federation among people who followed such things. Such a vote of confidence could only be a bolstering support among a demographic of Federation citizens whose support had been sorely lacking to this point.
Sandy wasn't sure what to make of it at all. She knew Hindus and Buddhists had generally been less opposed to scientific progress, and biotechnology issues in particular, through the ages than the more dogmatic religions of Islam and Christianity ... it helped to explain in part the long Indian embrace of technology and science through modern times, and their spectacular successes thereof. But why the Swami had chosen to uphold her as the example that proved the rule, she could not guess-artificial intelligence had been around in various forms for nearly three hundred years now, from the first computer based AIs in the mid-2200s to the first advances in artificial synapsereplication in the early 2300s, to the first truly synthetic brains in the late 2300s. That had been made possible by advances in quantum mechanics, and thus in nano-construction, enabling the creation of entirely new materials and processes, from individual electrons upwards, that severely blurred the old dividing line between "organic" and "artificial." League science, that had all been, product of the brash, youthful idealism of a new State that truly believed that its unrestricted science policies, and its utter faith in the combined systems of capitalism and scientific innovation, would utterly transform the future of all humanity for the better.
Debates over the nature of sentience, and the legal, moral and ethical ramifications thereof, had only multiplied ever since, and while the scientifically minded had generally been quick to adopt a broadminded definition of what constituted a self-aware, intelligent being, many religious groups had been far more reluctant. Hindus, however, had been the most progressive of those, believing as they did that the body was only the vessel for endlessly reincarnated souls, and seeing little reason why a soul could not take up residence in a vessel of artificial construction as easily as an organic one. So why hadn't those Hindus been quicker to reach the conclusions of the Swami, given that it was the basis of what most Hindus believed anyway?
Perhaps, she thought, it was her intelligence. Not in terms of pure IQ, for AIs possessed levels of intellectual function in specific areas that extended far beyond her own, or that of any non-silicon sentience. But more in her ability to think laterally, and to be more than her physical form appeared to readily dictate. AIs rarely took much interest in the outside world, and lived mostly in the networks and databases of cyberspace-a psychological condition imposed upon them by their physical nature. Lower model GIs designed for combat were mostly illequipped, psychologically speaking, to do anything other than soldiering-also a condition imposed upon them by the design function of their artificial bodies. Their souls were not free, but were bound by physical constraints. And such was the Tanushans' fear of her. Physically, she was lethal. Tanushans feared that her psychological nature would follow the physical as logically as the tail would follow the snake. And yet she preferred civilianisms to simple soldiering, and refused to have her ideology dictated to her by her original masters and creators. A free soul.
Perhaps the Swami was not so much impressed that she was sentient, for that in itself was no big deal to any resident of the modern human galaxy. Perhaps the Swami was impressed that she was free thinking, creative and independent. That the universe was alive was a staple, commonly recurring belief of many Asian religions. That it was intelligent, and possessed intent, and meaning ...
Meaning. A human invention. A sentient invention, that cynics said had no place in the cold, uncaring universe outside of human awareness. But if she possessed free thought, and she wasn't even human, wasn't even organic ... was that what had so excited the Swami? Proof that meaning wasn't just a human invention, but something inherent to the most basic structures of the universe, to be found in organic and inorganic structures alike? How often had she heard that old, philosophical civilianism, the "meaning of life"? Was what the Swami thought he'd found really that significant?
Her dazed wanderings were interrupted by a newly arrived trio, who introduced themselves as the ministers for Transport and Agriculture, and the Chief of the Central Modelling Agency. There followed a remarkably civil discussion about politics, trade, and the increasing resentment among the 63 million Callayans who did not live in Tanusha at how all Callayan affairs had become even more Tanushan- ised in the present crisis-the Agriculture Minister was from Cavallo, capital city of Argasuto, the biggest of the southern continents, and grower of most of the planet's foodstuffs-on the broad, treeless plains of the south where environmental disruption was least, and transgenic technologies made light of the infertile soil. The Agriculture Minister declared that his constituents had put up with Tanushan dominance until now because of the politics of Federation-League conflict, which had until recently papered over so many regional concerns with greater ones. Now, he opined, the war had ended, and people were questioning the old status quo.
"Isn't that kind of their own fault?" Sandy asked him. "I mean, from what I've heard, the whole idea of Tanusha was partly because the other settlements were all so busy squabbling about who should have the centre of power that they thought they'd have to build a new city to accommodate it, and partly because none of them wanted that kind of high-tech, mega-city development to take place in their comfortable, sleepy little settlements. Having decided that, isn't it a bit much to start complaining about the consequences now?"
"Absolutely," agreed the Transport Minister, a Tanushan native. "And now none of them have to contend with terrorist attacks, paralysing security and mass street protests, either. There are advan tages to being sleepy little backwaters, too."
From another side of the room, a civilised commotion of persons gathering about a monitor screen placed upon a small, ornate table ... several were shushing others, and several calling colleagues across to view.
"Is Neiland on already?" asked the Transport Minister. "She's a half hour early ... Ms. Cassidy, please excuse me, it was a pleasure to meet you in person and I must definitely watch this announcement."
They departed, adding to the gathering crowd about the monitor, lesser aides and bureaucrats hastily making room ... Sandy walked to a convenient spot by the rear wall, depositing her empty juice-glass and trading it for a full one from the table there. She leaned against a decorative wall panel with a good view of the carpeted space, where all occupants were now clustered about one side. She opened a mental uplink, accessed the Parliament vid-feeds ... difficult coding, but she broke it down, gained access, and a picture flickered to life across her internal vision, overlaying the room with that comfortable shift to near-focus.
President Neiland, standing behind a podium. Callayan and Federation flags cross-draped behind her ... the press room, she recognised from similar previous broadcasts. Neiland was making some kind of official announcement. The ministers had evidently expected it ... early, they'd said. Why the hurry? And why the timing, when all Parliament media were so obviously focused upon her own presentation in the Hearing Chamber, despite their lack of broadcast-access to the feed? She sipped at her juice, and listened in.
"... a long time in arriving at this consensus," Neiland was saying, "and I can assure you it took many, many long hours of negotiation with all the involved parties." The suit was the most formal Sandy had seen her wear-dark, collared, and with only a pin upon the lapel, and a small white flower, to lighten the severity. The flower, Sandy remembered, had been a gift from a family member of one of the victims of the Parliament Massacre a month ago. The original flower had doubtless long since died, but was continually replaced anew
by Neiland herself to remind all viewers, and political opponents, of the stakes in this most dangerous of political games.
"It has been no secret to many of you in the media for some time now," the President continued, "that ongoing debate over Article 42 has been hitting many roadblocks up to this point in time." On an abrupt impulse, Sandy switched to a wider uplink camera angle, and saw a full crowd of seated media, and a further phalanx clustered along the press room walls. That was an awful lot of media. The word had evidently spread that something was going down. An unscheduled announcement from the President. Something her closer cabinet members had apparently been aware of in advance. While she ... she herself had been stuck in the Hearing Chamber for the last five or six hours, cut off from outside happenings. No one had briefed her ... The timing was most coincidental.
Her glass had stopped just centimetres from her lips, eyes unsighted in the gathering cold chill that ran up her spine. And now she was up here, neatly sequestered away in a meeting and function room, while the real business went on in the central Administration quarter of the Parliament building. Not the first time she'd been kept in the dark of late. Ari hadn't wanted her chasing after Ramoja in the Zaiko Warren-had attempted to send her in the wrong direction. He must have suspected Ramoja would know something he didn't want her to find out ... what, then? Who did Ari work for? Ibrahim. Who did Ibrahim work for? Sure as hell not Ben Grey, not lately.
Neiland. Click, click, click, the pieces were falling into place with frightening, overwhelming speed, as she stood tense and utterly immobilised against the wall, staring into space. Neiland inviting her to speak before Parliament. Now this unscheduled announcement. It all led back to Neiland, all this mad goose chase after Sal Va, the anarchist hacker who'd broken into Lexi and stolen information ... Weren't Lexi a major player in the whole debate over Article 42? Big biotech firms had to be negotiated with, they held huge political clout, surely Lexi's top people had been in negotiations with the Neiland Administration itself, and maybe even Neiland personally ... Oh shit, what did Sai Va steal? Something Neiland hadn't wanted stolen? Something she'd told Lexi's top brass in those secret negotiations? Something so important she directed Ibrahim to put his best, least visible agent onto it, and to recruit the walking killing machine herself for extra firepower to make sure it got done, whatever nasties they ran into? And now here was Neiland in front of the full planetary media, saying something about a big new consensus deal? What deal could possibly be so big?
Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1) Page 37
