Blade, page 29
part #4 of Inverted Frontier Series
Murmuring argument erupted again, only to cut off abruptly at a fierce declaration from the Bio-mechanic: “All right! Yes. It is possible. But it’s wrong. It’s wrong to destroy a self-aware, deeply sentient mind just because it’s grown inconvenient.”
Clemantine endured another shock, realizing the Bio-mechanic had lied. When he had first answered no, he had lied. Oh, she well knew he was adept at hiding the truth, but an outright lie should not be possible. Yet it had happened anyway: a realization that left her unbalanced and swaying as reality shifted around her.
Perhaps Vytet saw her discomfiture, because she took over, asking the Bio-mechanic, “How do you know it’s deeply sentient?”
“I know because I am one with that version of me on Griffin. And there, on the high bridge, I am immersed in the thoughts of that courser, and through the bridge I’ve felt the projected thoughts of Dragon.”
Shock now on the Engineer’s face while Clemantine had passed beyond shock into anger. She exclaimed, “I see it’s not just the philosopher cells that have evolved!”
In surly answer, the Bio-mechanic said, “Sooth. And will you destroy me too? Like you destroyed your own dark twin? Or will you send another Apparatchik after me, the way you sent the Scholar to attack Kuriak?”
The cruel truth of these accusations caused Clemantine to stagger—there in the library or on the gee deck, she couldn’t tell, overwhelmed as she was by her own guilty recollections. Urban’s words still haunted her, from that time he had challenged her mistrust of the Inventions: “So then, what are you thinking? That we should annihilate them?” And her own words, uttered to Vytet out of the depths of her depression: “Remember the story the Tanji told us? A story of war breaking out among the godlings that emerged from Tanjiri’s swarm and how they murdered one another. We’re no different, Vytet. We murdered that other version of me. I murdered her.
She had only ever done what was necessary.
But what was necessary now?
Surely not to destroy a mind only because it was something new, something different.
The Bio-mechanic, no longer an Apparatchik.
The philosopher cells, no longer Chenzeme.
The Dragoneers themselves, ourselves, like the philosopher cells, changed by time, the peaceful descendants of a once-murderous species.
Most of us, anyway.
Urban chose that moment to reappear. He shot a fiery glance in her direction before doubling, one ghost vanishing, the Cryptologist appearing in its place.
“Who is on the high bridge?” Urban’s remaining ghost demanded.
Clemantine frowned. “I thought you were.”
She checked through her extended senses. He was there now. He had just arrived. No one else was present. Next, she checked the ship’s status and discovered Dragon gently accelerating on a curving trajectory.
The dizzy, off-balance sensations she’d endured had not been all due to the stress of events.
<><><>
From his post on Griffin’s high bridge, the Bio-mechanic had been first to suspect the truth: No one was steering Dragon; no one occupied its high bridge.
Through an ongoing exchange of subminds, that version of him standing within his frameless window in Dragon’s library knew it too. “The high bridge was abandoned,” he announced to the gathered ghosts. “In that time and on its own, Dragon conceived a desire to mate and synchronize mind and knowledge with Griffin—a physical act that would ruin us. But Urban will set it right.”
He felt the hostile gaze of the Engineer. Heard the heated anger in his private communication: You’re unlocked.
I am.
Why?
The Bio-mechanic might have explained how it had been necessary, how the Cryptologist had needed him on Griffin’s high bridge, how she had insisted . . . but in the end all he said was, Why not?
That was how he felt and there was surely no going back. Not now. Not when all stood revealed—to the Apparatchiks anyway, and to Clemantine and others, though he thought not all the Dragoneers had grasped it yet.
Make it clear then!
He did so. He stepped outside his window and then closed it behind him, to stand whole on the library’s main deck. A ghost among other ghosts, dressed in shades of dark green. A man among other men, and among women. Like them, possessing an avatar, one waking now in its cocoon aboard Griffin, mind alive with suspense and excitement and a dreadful deep longing for acceptance.
But he did not speak of his own evolution.
He said, “My entire existence has been devoted to understanding Dragon’s inner workings: the physiology of its body and its mechanistic mind. My enemy. That’s how I thought of it. Something to be dominated, leashed, and controlled. That’s how Urban thought of it too.
“But out of that enemy we made something new. Dragon and Griffin. The names are the same, but the minds are not. No longer mechanistic, but bright, vast, curious, and self-questioning.”
He turned a troubled gaze on the Cryptologist; held a hand out to her. She accepted it, imparting to him an illusion of warmth across his palm. From her, he looked to Urban, encountering a sullen gaze.
“You know it’s true,” the Bio-mechanic said.
His progenitor looked away.
No matter. Everyone needed to know what had happened and why. Quickly, he described how Griffin’s philosopher cells had at first accepted the argument, made by the high bridge, that the missiles must be destroyed. “Through the Cryptologist’s art, the cells had been endowed with values of curiosity and peaceful coexistence, but we persuaded them to put those values aside.”
Bitter words from Urban: “And you struck one missile, but not the other. You let the other through.”
“You could not persuade Dragon to strike even one,” the Bio-mechanic countered. “Because Dragon reasoned on its own that such violence was wrong, and it chided Griffin for it, and because of that Griffin perceived it had made a mistake—”
Kona and Urban spoke almost in unison, “It was no mistake.”
“But it was,” the Cryptologist said, turning her troubled gaze from the Bio-mechanic to Urban. “The philosopher cells acted correctly from within the moral framework we gave them. They considered the arguments, considered what they knew of the missiles, considered what was right and wrong, and chose to trust rather than to kill. A deeply disastrous decision, but deeply sentient too—and not unworthy of respect.”
“Your avatar is gone,” Urban said, clipped words past a clenched jaw. “I’m gone too.”
The Bio-mechanic narrowed his eyes, fixed his glare on Urban, and said, “Revenge. You want to burn the philosopher cells out of revenge.”
“For our own protection!” Urban snapped.
The Bio-mechanic shook his head, saying, “No. It’s wrong and I won’t allow it.”
At this, Urban drew back, his expression uncertain and confused, not knowing what to do in the face of the Bio-mechanic’s defiance, leaving it to Kona to answer. “Whatever they are—whatever you are—we cannot remain subject to alien whims.”
Clemantine turned to him, saying, “But they’re not alien, Kona. Not fully. They’re our progeny. A human creation.”
Her words surprised the Bio-mechanic, surprised Kona, surprised everyone. She seized on the ensuing lull. Looking around at the gathered ghosts, she asked them, “Why are we here in the Hallowed Vasties?”
Vytet grasped at once the meaning of this question and answered, “We came here to learn—not just what happened, but what has happened since. What new lifeforms have grown up among the ruins?”
Clemantine nodded and said, “We know now, at least in part, what lives in the Hallowed Vasties. We know there are people still surviving—at Verilotus and at Tanjiri and maybe other worlds. We know of the Tanji, and the Inventions, and we are at least aware that something new exists at Sulakari, and that there is a great project thriving at the Halo. But there are also our philosopher cells. We still call them that, though they are new too.”
She turned her troubled gaze on the Bio-mechanic. He felt its weight. And then he felt a deep sense of gratification when she said, “You are right about the philosopher cells.”
Again, her gaze took in the others. “I’ve been on the high bridge. I’ve sensed it. The Bio-mechanic is right. The philosopher cells are one of the new lifeforms we came to find.”
Now she turned to Kona. “They are descendant of the Chenzeme, yes, but also of Verilotus, and of Ezo, and of us.”
Her shoulders sagged, she bit her lip, and she looked suddenly distraught. In a softer voice she said to the Bio-mechanic, “I have enough death on my hands. You are right about that too.”
She straightened. Looked around the circle. “We designed the philosopher cells to be what they are. I don’t think it will be hard to reach an understanding with them. I want to try. We must always resist the destruction of other entities—unless in the greatest necessity.”
But then her brow crinkled and in a troubled voice she added, “After what’s happened, I think it will be a harder challenge to reach an understanding with the Inventions.”
A murmuring followed. Quiet discussion that soon shifted to the gee deck, leaving the Bio-mechanic and the Engineer alone on the library’s floor, each warily eyeing the other. The Bio-mechanic crossed his arms, using the moment to send yet another submind to Griffin, ensuring his most recent memories would be preserved, regardless of what happened in the next few seconds.
The other Apparatchiks appeared within their windows: the Scholar, the Mathematician, the Pilot, the Astronomer. He felt their questing minds studying his own revised architecture.
The Mathematician scowled and shook his head, saying, “This revision has introduced unnecessary complexity, reducing the efficiency of your thought processes.”
“A trade-off,” the Bio-mechanic replied. “Giving me a broader perspective and much greater range of action.”
“That is not your role,” the Pilot objected.
“It is now.”
The Pilot, little more than a silhouette within a detailed three-dimensional star map, gave a slight theatrical shudder. “I do not understand how you can tolerate such a dilution of mind. I do not wish to ever endure such a thing.”
“Nor I,” the Astronomer declared.
The Bio-mechanic shrugged. What of it? He was not asking any of them to follow him. He eyed the Engineer, awaiting some similar comment from that one. But none came. Not from him nor the Mathematician.
The Scholar only observed, “Your role is not as demanding as it once was because you share it now with the Cryptologist. She has replicated much of your original function.”
“She has made it easier for you,” the Engineer agreed. “Much easier, with her redesign of the philosopher cells.”
Arms still crossed, the Bio-mechanic nodded, because this was true. Then he asked them bluntly, “Now you have seen me, do I need to fear you? Will you seek to erase me or to undo my evolution?”
None answered. Not at first. Their faces and their figures froze, so he knew they had retreated. They would be engaged in a rapid, complex discussion. He could follow them, join them, but he chose not to. Let them decide.
After several seconds, they became animated again and the Scholar spoke. “Clemantine has said we must always resist the destruction of other entities unless in the greatest necessity. We perceive no immediate necessity to destroy you. Are you aware of some hazard that requires your destruction?”
“I am not.”
“Are you still loyal to the fleet?” the Mathematician asked.
The Bio-mechanic sneered at this. “What else? We are in this altogether . . . unless you think I’m suicidal?”
“I don’t know you as well as I once thought,” the Mathematician replied quite reasonably.
“Then I will explain it to you. I am not suicidal.”
No, quite the opposite. He was only beginning to live.
Chapter
44
Not by force, but by gentle persuasion, that version of Urban on the high bridge convinced Dragon to forgo the intended mating on the grounds that a singular mind would surely arise from such a transformative physical union. Far better for the fleet to maintain the parallel perspectives of the two ancient ships.
What then? What is next in this life? What is our goal?
He knew what the ship’s company would choose: after Hupo Sei, there would come a long exploration of the Sun’s dead and empty system. He cared nothing for that. In his own simulated heart he longed for Prakruti, to return there, to be as he had been there, endowed with silver and bound by it, enfolded within the web of that world’s life.
Never again.
That fate was closed to him.
He had become a lesser being.
<><><>
Clemantine ghosted in.
She had come and gone, come and gone, always silent. Assessing his mood and monitoring the nascent intentions of the philosopher cells.
This time she spoke to him. *Your avatar is ready.
*I know it.
*Come then. Inhabit it.
He didn’t say, but he thought, That avatar is not really me. But nothing was hidden on the high bridge.
She said, *It is you, my love. It is that same cocky pirate who fled Deception Well, captured for himself a Chenzeme courser, and returned again, all on fire to do what no one else dared to do—to venture into the Hallowed Vasties.
He didn’t know what to say to this. It turned out he didn’t need to say anything as Clemantine continued, explaining to him, *Decisions are being made. Ro Az Ra Ni has received a new dictum from the Core Forum, but desires to speak to you before presenting it.
This news startled Urban because he should have known of it before; he would have known if he’d been paying attention in his usual way, monitoring events through his extended senses rather than being bound up in brooding. Still, he could guess what was afoot.
*They’re going to ask us to leave, aren’t they?
*I think so.
*I’m ready.
He did not want to visit the Sun’s dead system, but neither did he want to stay longer at Hupo Sei.
*Then you’re in the minority, Clemantine warned him with a soft laugh. *This is a ship of scientists and there is so much more to explore here.
<><><>
Urban woke his avatar. No sense of silver, of course. That was gone. But at least he was free of Lezuri’s shadow.
Clemantine was there with him in an otherwise empty chamber in the warren. In the absence of gravity she drifted among the ribbons of wall-weed, gazing at him with warm affection. As the last of the cocooning gel slipped off his newly created body, he opened his arms to her. She came to him, holding him close as he held her. No words. Just the soothing touch of the wall-weed warm around them.
A few minutes. No more.
“They’re coming,” she whispered, her lips light as butterfly wings against his ear.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Reluctantly, he let her go. Dressed himself in newly generated clothes. Traded a submind with his ghost on the high bridge. Watched through extended senses the approach of the two Inventions.
Despite its size, the tentacled envoy gracefully transited the zero-gravity environment of the warren. It carried the single instance of Ashok that had remained aboard Dragon, wrapped up securely in one long limb. The little Invention’s other instances remained safely away with Alaka‘i Onyx.
The chamber door opened, admitting the two synthetics. Ashok was set free to drift while the envoy’s long tentacles slithered all around the chamber walls, mingling with the wall-weed. It spoke first, its voice issuing from its central hub. No polite preliminaries. Just straight to the point. “I am instructed by my Originalist faction to privately inquire of you, if a sufficient mass equivalent to the Labyrinth is gathered, would you be able to replicate the success of the project?”
Urban shivered. It hurt to hear the project described as a success . . . or more accurately, it hurt because the project had succeeded, only to be destroyed.
He answered the envoy honestly, “No. Tell your faction it is impossible. We no longer possess the means to try again.”
“Then all is decided and we Originalists will make no further argument against the Core Forum’s dictum.”
Ro Az Ra Ni then asked that the ship’s company gather to hear the dictum of the Core Forum, and after that it departed the chamber.
Ashok stayed behind. It said, “Urban, I detected emotional pain in your expression when Ro Az Ra Ni named the project a success.”
Urban responded with prickly resentment. “You know us that well, do you?”
“Yes. I have made a study of human emotions, beginning with Tio Suthrom.”
“A lot of subject matter there,” Urban agreed, inducing a soft scoffing chuckle from Clemantine.
The little Invention continued. “I apprehend your disappointment with the project. From your perspective, its success was brief and its loss painful. But for the Inventions, the outcome has been unexpectedly positive. For many generations, we Inventions endured a tedious conflict between factions. I think that is over now. There is certainly a new unity among us. The Originalists are gratified that the Core Forum supported the project, despite the vast risk of your presence here and of the project itself. They recognize that the entirety of our existence was risked to get them the world they desired.”
Urban started to object, to insist that the project had never threatened the existence of the Inventions, but Clemantine clearly anticipated this and warned him, *Hush, and listen.
Ashok went on. “The project’s brief success has clarified the difficulty of the task the Originalists set for themselves, to re-create a world for the Inventors to inhabit. Most Originalists now accept this will never happen and that the Inventors will never come. This is a good thing, as it leaves us free to recognize our own essential nature. It is clear to us the Inventors anticipated the chance that we would be left on our own and designed accordingly, placing within us the capacity to be independent, creative beings. Even the Originalists have come to accept this as a gift from our Inventors.
