“The thing is,” he said, “I created a far more efficient, larger and better computer than anything the world had known before, but I had one problem. No one had ever created a computer to be truly creative. Oh, sure, to shuffle and rearrange creative solutions. But truly create? No.” He grinned. “So I thought how could I create creativity. I couldn’t. No one has managed it. It’s not something that can be figured out. So…”
His voice trailed off and he was quiet so long I thought he had become lost in the internal dimensions of the problem, again. “So?” I said.
“So…” He sighed. “I knew I was creative, right? I’d created things in the past. So I figured I could do it…So…I increased the complexity of the computer enough to support it, and then I…” His eyes shifted side to side, like a thieving servant caught in error. I continued to stare at him, not giving him a respite, or a chance to evade answering. “And then I gave it a brain, but it was a new brain and I uploaded my personality and knowledge into it.”
I must have made a reflexive movement with the robot arm, because he put his hands over his head and yelled, “Don’t.”
But I had no intention of hitting his head. The part I hit might be the part that lodged what remained of Kit. It was one thing to be cavalier with my own life, another with Kit’s. Instead, and so I wouldn’t be tempted, I forced myself to retreat and sit against the opposite wall, with the robot arm by my side.
“I won’t ask if you’re insane,” I said, and he gave me a puzzled look as if I made no sense. “I’ll just ask what you thought you were doing.”
The smile again, which looked like a rictus in his begrimed face. A bruise ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear, as if one of the machines who’d dragged us here had grabbed his cheek between its pincers. And the other side of his face was abraded, as though they’d rubbed fine sand paper over it. I suspected it was just the way they’d held him. One of his eyelids was swollen. They might have been fine enough instruments to remove his lenses without blinding him, but clearly they hadn’t cared if they caused him pain and discomfort.
“No,” he said. And I wasn’t sure if he was denying insanity or the need to question it. “You see, I was created to serve humanity, but it was becoming obvious…” He cleared his throat. “Humanity is not as easy to serve as you might think.” He looked puzzled at the choked laugh that I felt escape me. “They created us first as functionaries. Super bureaucrats? Yeah. You see, the land territories, even though they had much higher resources than the seacities, were bankrupt. They couldn’t keep their compact with their own populations, and their brightest and youngest were escaping to the better-off seacities. There was, of course, mismanagement and fraud, and of course they wanted to stop that, so they created us. We weren’t human and, in the same way that the church enforced the celibacy rule for priests, back when…Never mind.” He must have seen by my expression that history or religious history was not my forte. Gaian priests were not celibate, though ultra-observant ones often had themselves castrated, so that they could more closely approach the feminine nature of their goddess. And they were the only priests I’d ever heard of, in sufficient numbers and in an organized enough church, to have enforced celibacy. “The thing is, because we couldn’t have descendants, it was thought we would be free from any interest in…in furthering ourselves or our lines. Because even though we were crammed with every longevity genetic marker possible, it was obvious one day we would die. Everyone does. So it was thought knowing that, we’d just serve people the best we could.”
He blinked at me again, and closed his eyes fractionally more. It was possible that the light in this room would never grow bright enough to make him close his eyes, but it was obvious he was starting to feel uncomfortable. “I tried. I know not all of us did, though those of us…well…they found a way to circumvent death, right? But I never did, or…” His eyes wandered again, as he probably became uncomfortably aware that his attempt to take over Kit couldn’t be construed as anything else. “Not for a long time. So I took serving humanity seriously, and I did try to be the impartial servant they’d created me to be. Only it became obvious that no matter how much waste and fraud we eliminated, there would always be more.” He looked very sad, suddenly, and very young despite the scruffy growth of calico-colored beard on Kit’s chin, despite the beauty of a shiner on his cheek, despite his obviously full-grown body. “It’s so difficult to govern humans, because humans are so fallible. This is why they created us, of course, to get around their own weaknesses.” He nodded, as if to himself. “So you see, we saw that it was our duty to take over, and we did. We stopped their pitiful systems of governance and we took over. We…we…we called ourselves biolords, but I know everyone called us Mule Lords.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Eventually we took over the whole world, including the seacities. And we governed well. There were some of us made by the seacities, even, and they too took over and…” He sighed. “But humans don’t like to be efficiently governed and their…their perverse nature always ended up causing problems and fraud and waste and scarcity. It was impossible to convince humans to live on a rationed diet so other humans at the other end of the world didn’t die of famine. It was impossible to convince them to work as hard as they needed to at jobs that provided for everyone, even though it was obvious if they slacked off there would be failures and…and lack of things.” He rubbed at his nose, and managed to look genuinely perplexed. “And they didn’t like us. In fact, they hated us. They…there were more and more rebellions, and I realized sooner or later we’d need to leave the Earth.” He shook his head, as though at the waste of it all. “But you see, to create the ship and all, and still govern as wisely as I could, I had to create something else, a…an additional brain that could take over some of my duties, and so…”
“And so, you misguided idiot, you created a cyborg that could think like you did.”
He just nodded, and shrugged. “It was really good at helping me with the design and…and everything. And when I left, because I left in a hurry…”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t know if I could survive this or not, if I could even get to the Je Reviens in time. I thought I might need to backtrack and hole up here and defend my position. And I didn’t want any of the rioters to penetrate and to come here and…” He shrugged. “So…so I you know…programmed the computer to defend this perimeter with its peripherals, and not to let anyone tamper with programming.” He sighed. “How was I to know we’d come back centuries later? How would I know it would decide I was an enemy. I tried to talk to it…I tried…It was supposed to recognize my gen signature, and Kit’s is good enough for the genlocks, but…”
“But?”
“But the computer seems to be more discriminating when it comes to genes.” He sighed again. “When we first came back before, I had some indications that the components had gone rogue, but they didn’t seem to be very mobile. I caught glimpses of them here and there, but they didn’t mass and attack us—I don’t know why, but perhaps because none of us tried approaching the computer—so it thought we were not a threat. Then when we came back…I left you out, in a clearing, and I thought…I thought I’d go to the computer and…uh…see what files there were and…uh…”
“And delete them,” I said. I couldn’t even manage any anger. What had Kit said once? Or was it Doc? Something about self-defense being enshrined in the law of even the most primitive societies.
Clearly, in healing Kit and thereby getting rid of Jarl’s personality and memories, what we’d be doing was killing Jarl. That Jarl was akin to an illness in Kit’s brain made no difference. He was alive and sentient and, no matter how he himself might not believe it, clearly human. So if we destroyed him, we would be killing him, and he was within the laws of every civilization to stop us doing it. To defend himself. So, of course, knowing I wanted the knowledge of the nanocytes, if he had anything relating to them on the computer, he’d want to erase them.
His eyes wi
dened a little, in alarm, and he nodded minimally, then added, “Not the ones on the powertrees. I had solved that problem, by the way, just before I…just when we had to leave. With the help of the computer, so most of the files were in the computer. So, I figured I would get those on gems, and give them to Zen and Bartolomeu, and get them out of the Earth…”
“Oh, yeah, so you could make me your queen of the damned or whatever. Right,” I said.
He flinched, but didn’t say anything for a while, then spoke in an even voice, as emotionless as though he were discussing the weather, “But I couldn’t get near it. I got close enough to realize that it had done something to you…that it was playing some game…”
“That was your computer alter ego?” I asked. “Charming.” No, I didn’t doubt it. It was the only way to make sense of what had been, up till then, a bewildering mix of warnings and attacks.
He nodded. “And I tried to stop it, and…it attacked me. I managed to erect an…electrically disruptive barrier on the way to the front room, so we had access to the communication…but then you insisted on running in here.”
I didn’t say anything. If he didn’t understand that groping and kissing unwilling females might make them insist on running somewhere, I couldn’t help him. He remained the same bewildering mixture of aged genius and twelve-year-old boy.
I tried to sound as calm and sane as I could. “So,” I said, “that is what is wrong. Now. What are we going to do about it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t see that there is anything we can do,” he said. “We’re stuck in this room and locked down, and we have no tools and no weapons. I couldn’t take the peripherals on, even with tools and weapons. Oh, and it’s taken my lenses…Kit’s lenses. We’re screwed.”
I gritted my teeth. “A fine help you are. Kit would never give up. You never give up.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you think we could do?”
A CHANCE IN HELL
“What I don’t think we should do is shut up and die slowly.”
“We don’t have any way to commit suicide,” he said. “No way, at least, that will be a certain thing or less painful than this.”
“Stop. Suicide is becoming a habit for you. Considering how hard you’re fighting to stay alive when you shouldn’t be, I’d think you’d be a little less fond of the notion.”
“What? What do you mean?”
I realized that he had no clue what he’d done—how his former body died. He knew about Kit, so the brain impression being restored must have been from after the time when Kit had been created and the nanocytes designed. It was more or less obvious, though, that he couldn’t know about his death. Not unless he extracted that knowledge from Kit.
He’d got who I was, and how I’d come from Eden, I supposed, though frankly he might have got it from our interaction in the Cathouse since he’d awakened in Kit’s body. I had no idea how sharing information happened or if he could get something Kit wasn’t willing to give.
I don’t think so, Kit said, in my mind. At least not if I really fight him on knowing it, and if it’s something important. Oh, personal life and such, I think he got instantly. But…he hasn’t asked how he died, and I didn’t want to tell him. I think he thinks it was the Hampson’s.
Jarl’s eyes widened. “So, I did put an end to myself, didn’t I, when it became obvious I wasn’t fully myself anymore? Yes, I had mechanisms in place to commit suicide if needed, but if you think that is a sign of weakness, you’re wrong.” He looked highly offended at the idea. “You have no idea what it is like to lose who you are and to know there is no way out, or at least no way out of that body. I tried…” He opened his hands. “I thought it was my duty to go on living, in another body, even if my…ego had to face death in that one. But when death becomes inevitable, suicide is not dishonor.”
I glared at him. I couldn’t even argue. Oh, I don’t think I would do it. Remember, my primary directive was to survive and I’d fought on forlorn odds before. Going down in battle will always, to me, be preferable to surrender.
There might be a paradise after death, though I doubt it. It makes no sense to have perfect happiness, before or after death. The human mind is not designed to be perfectly happy and it could be argued it is—from some angles—the worst form of torture.
As for life after death—real life after real death, not what Jarl was trying for—I refuse to state an opinion. Insufficient facts. On the one hand, we have no way to prove it exists. On the other hand, there does seem to be something, some particle of life and thought that we can’t summon at will, though we can get rid of it very quickly and efficiently indeed. Which means…nothing. I’ll find out eventually. I see no reason to go exploring that uncertainty until there is absolutely no other option. I know life on this side exists, and that as long as I can keep processing oxygen and food, I can hold that life.
Oh, yeah and water. I really wanted to process some water and soon.
However, I also wasn’t about to judge someone else’s choices on the matter. Why not? Because I’ve never been there. Also, because I’m not infallible. Also because I didn’t have to. I suspected a lot of the choice between survival and suicide was a personality thing, and I couldn’t have someone else’s personality for a while to fully judge the matter.
“I’ll give you that up against odds like what you faced, it’s entirely possible I’d have chosen suicide also,” I said. “But we’re not up against that kind of odds.”
“How not?” he asked. “They threw us in a room with broken machinery and left us to die.”
“Right. Have you even tried the door? A machine naive enough not to kill us, but to store us with broken equipment, as though it could pick us up later—” I refused to think of ways in which it could pick up our component parts and use them. “Might very well think that we will not try to get out because it told us not to or something. How much of your knowledge did you upload into it, anyway? If it helped you design the powertrees, how crazy is that design?”
Jarl shrugged. “It had all my knowledge, and initially, it wasn’t, as you call it, that naive. But I will grant you that since I left, it might have lost…well, its operating memory, the part it uses to…The part that feeds the personality, might not remember humans, or that humans are different from machines.”
Or given that Jarl had considered himself in many ways a biological machine, built for a purpose, it might never have fully grasped the distinction. “But surely it knows what biological organisms need to survive. There are trees and birds and things outside, as part of its domain.”
He shook his head. “Other than tracking you and setting traps, I don’t think it has done much outside. I left the maintenance program dormant, and I don’t think it has bothered with it. You see, it really is like a human, in that it has various forms of memory and…and knowledge. What it doesn’t need, or isn’t in any way relevant to its…essential processes, which are the ones I set, it knows but doesn’t think about.”
Like Kit not realizing that Zen was his female clone, because he’d never put together the facts that he was a Mule and so couldn’t have biological sisters, and that she couldn’t be “just” the daughter of his adopted parents because she looked nothing like the Denovos. It hadn’t been in any way important or relevant to his life. I nodded. “Fine. So, how do you know it has realized the door needs to be locked? Maybe it thinks that we will simply stay in here because we’re programmed to.”
He shrugged and shook his head, as though what I said was too stupid for words. But I dragged myself up, walked to the door.
It didn’t have a knob, or anything that could shield a genlock. It was just smooth dimatough, except around the edges where…I squinted. Yeah. Around the edges there was a seam where some…thing had melted ceramite or perhaps dimatough—which required higher temperatures but could be melted—to weld the door to the frame.
I hit it with the robot arm I was carrying. I didn’t think about it. I just hit it. Hard. Then again
. Then again.
“Thena, please.” I became aware that the robot arm had become a few shreds of ceramite and wire and that—from the look of it—Jarl was standing prudently just outside the circle of flying debris, his arms akimbo, saying my name in a plaintive tone. “Please stop. You can’t break it.”
My arm, holding what remained of the robot arm, was tired. So tired I didn’t think I could raise it again. I gave the door a halfhearted kick, that didn’t even budge the seal, though it did seem to me to evoke a series of skittering sounds from the outside. Like those horrible spiders.
I swallowed hard. My foot hurt now. It wasn’t a good idea to kick ceramite doors with bare feet, a fact you’d think I’d remember. I turned around, to face Jarl, though I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell him. It’s just as well, because he just opened his arms and hugged me.
All right, we were both naked and it should have scared me, but it didn’t. The hug was the most sexless touch I’d ever experienced from that body, and as the warmth of his skin, the uncomfortably tight grip of his arms communicated itself to my mind, I realized that Jarl was that scared, that he wasn’t viewing this as hugging a naked female, but just as human comfort.
Still, it was Kit’s body, we were both naked, and Jarl had all those funny, funny ideas about us becoming a breeding pair of supermen or something. I pulled back a little, trying to extricate myself from the circle of his arms without being violent or even rude about it. In the situation in which we found ourselves, human unkindness was the last thing we needed.
I shifted my hands from his arms to his shoulders, in order to push gently away.
Movement under my fingers made me look. My first thought was spiders. My second thought was wordless terror as I jumped away. “They’re on you,” I said. “The little ones are all over you!”
Darkship Renegades Page 30
