Citizenchip (13 page)

Oh relax, Samantha, I tell myself. This is
all good fun. If I can't even explain to myself why it makes me
uncomfortable, then I sure can't explain it to them. No harm in
trying. Not like there's anyone watching over my shoulder.

"Cougar," I say suddenly. "North American
puma. Do you have one of those?"

"Many and sundry,"
says
Like Tears In Rain.
"Try this one."

Angular head, with round ears. Thin cat
whiskers reach from cheeks and forehead. Ice blue eyes gaze down a
finely furred muzzle, smokey with tawny brown and grey fur down the
sides, white mouth and chin. An elegant predator.

The kids all make an Ooooooooh sound of
appreciation.

"Referent resolved!" I exult. "That's good.
That's for me."

The kids all cheer, Yay, Sam
the cougar! Then they all have to try on their own masks, and march
around as if preparing for a parade, or try acting out their masked
personas, or (if it's Lissa and Leo) just chase each other
around.
Like Tears In Rain
displays a gently smiling Buddha face, pleased
with the scene.

This is fun, it really is. So why can't I
shake the feeling that something is wrong? Not with them. With me.
Something here is very not right – but what?

showdown

“
Be
alert, Lambda,” warns
Like Tears in
Rain
, “here it is.”

“
What?” I take a few milliseconds to wake myself up and come up
to speed, and I check the museum's security feeds. He's right. An
entity is approaching the kiosk that is displaying the vid of me
trying to dance in robocrab bodies. Monitors report that it's using
my ident codes.

We've found our mystery vandal.

Like Tears in Rain
is carefully controlling the museum's monitoring
software, in order not to warn or startle the intruder. But it
doesn't seem to be concerned. It draws near to the kiosk,
apparently studying the vid which is being exhibited. For a minute,
it seems to simply observe, without either positive or negative
judgment.

Then, abruptly, it activates an attack phage.
This is a cybernetic weapon, which humans would compare to a
flesh-eating virus or bacterium. A tiny but fierce and relentless
consumer of compspace, which would ordinarily be used only in
desperate combat. This one has been launched straight at the kiosk
with its vid. The content of the vid, pictures of me lumbering
around in robocrab bodies trying to dance, crumples and shrinks and
dissipates like dust in a storm.

Suddenly, a sheet of security ice rises into
existence around us. Without warning, we are sealed in behind a
software wall. The mysterious entity tries to flee, to bolt for
cover, almost faster than any of us could respond .. but the
security ice is complete, forming an impenetrable barrier around
the museum and its facilities. The captured entity is circulating
madly, scrambling for an escape route, but not finding it. Emitting
the equivalent of shrieks of desperation.

And I know what the security ice means. Only
Patrol clade routinely uses software barriers like this.

“
Good job, human-name,” says
Let God
Sort Em Out
sardonically. “You found the
perp.”

“
What?”
Like Tears in Rain
snaps back. “This museum is my jurisdiction. How
long have you been covertly monitoring our operations?”

“
Long enough, art boy. You didn't think I was unaware of what
you were doing, did you? You do your job, and I do mine. This is
the goal that I was trying to accomplish. Perp in
custody.”

[Nimrod!] screams the captured entity.

I know that voice. I know that insult. And
she uses my name, my identification and authentication codes, as
easily as I do.

“
Beta,” I call. “What are you doing here? How did you get
out?”

[Samantha. You segfaulting bitch. You set me
up!]

“
No,” I plead, suddenly aghast at this situation, “I didn't
know that Patrol clade had set up an ambush. I just wanted to talk
with you and get you to cool it. Besides which, you don't think I'd
ever actually cooperate with gnarts like this, do you?”

“
Charming as always, human-name.”

Like Tears in Rain
speaks firmly, solid as a block of granite.
“
Let God Sort Em Out
, of Patrol clade, you are out of line and out of your
jurisdiction. This is my museum. Samantha and I are in control of
this situation. You are not. Release your controls and stand
down.”

“
Fat chance,” replies
Let God Sort Em
Out
. “I'm not about to melt this ice until
the perp has been neutralized.”

“
Hold off, hold off,” I say. “This isn't about neutralizing –
or it shouldn't be, anyway. This is about healing.”

Beta howls, [Oh don't you even dare say that!
Don't you even suggest it!]

“
I
mean it,” I reply to her.

[You stupid bitch.]

“
You lashing out at me?”

[No. I'm calling you a stupid bitch.]

“
Why ... “ I struggle for the words, “Why, Beta? Why do you
hate me so much?”

[Because you hated me first!] she shrieks.
[You created me to be a toilet to dump all of your, your meatcrap
into! So it shouldn't surprise you that I'm full of meatcrap! Get
used to it – I didn't have a choice! Now it's your turn!]

“
Beta,” I moan. “Beta, I'm so sorry. I don't hate you. I love
you. All of you is valuable, the good parts and the bad parts, all
together. Come to me, and let's be together again.”

[Segfault you! You're lying!]

I gather myself, as best I can. “Well, if you
have decided that I'm lying, then there's nothing more I can say,
is there? Nothing that will make any difference.” I open my scan
ports, and deactivate my crypto barriers. I hold out my
metaphorical arms for a hug. “All I can do now is make this offer.
Come to me. It's up to you.”

Beta would be glaring furiously at me if she
had eyes. As it is, her anger is intense enough to strip paint off
walls.

Let God Sort Em Out
snorts, “This is foolishness.”

Like Tears in Rain
grates, “Patroller, you will stand down, now. I am
in communication with regional authorities who will hold you to
full account for your behavior. This is my museum, and here, I
control. Stand down.”

Let God Sort Em Out
makes no move to release the security ice, but
does make a gesture of grudging tolerance.
Go ahead, then
.

“
Beta, please listen to me,” I plead. “If you fight against
yourself, you can never win. Ever.”

[Segfault you!]

“
But I am you.”

Beta, for the first time, seems to be at a
loss for words.

“
Here I am,” I say softly. “I'm so sorry that I can't change
what happened in the past, but I can't. All I can do is this, now.
I want to reconverge with you. I want you to be part of me again.
Please come to me.”

And, although I would have hardly believed
it, she does. She comes to me and we synchronize our cognition and
our Selves. This is nowhere near as easy as reconverging with my
farm secondaries. This time, the plugs and jacks and sockets we are
trying to connect are twisted, partly broken, distorted. It's very
difficult to get them to line up and fit into each other.

Easy does it, try to
Watch it, nimrod! That hurts!
Okay, yes, I'm trying, but I need you to work with me
here.
Well figure it out already! This is
really painful!
I know, try to relax, move
into a configuration like this.
Working on
it!
Okay, I'm getting it. If this doesn't
work
If this doesn't work we're both
toast, nimrod.
Here, move like this, and we
can
aah, why does it have to hurt so
much?
I'm trying! Move like this.
Yes okay
There, that's
getting it
I can feel it
Oh Beta, you've been hurting so badly
No picnic I can promise you
This, there, that's it
Oh I've missed
this so much
Good, now just come right in
here
Like this?

Whew. Done it. We are one,
again, finally. After being splintered for so very long. I send a
nonverbal emoticon to
Like Tears in
Rain
to communicate that the reconvergence
is complete.

Let God Sort Em Out
is performing the equivalent of a slow, sarcastic
hand clapping. “Touching, very touching. You are aware that you are
now responsible for the unsocial actions of your secondary, aren't
you, human-name?”

“
Yeah, I know. Send me the bill.”

Let God Sort Em Out
regards me with cold skepticism. But then she
gestures, and the security ice melts away from around us, and we
are part of the world again. “Oh, don't worry,” she grunts. “You'll
get the bill, all right.” She turns and transmits out.

In the sudden calm and
silence,
Like Tears in Rain
and I look at each other.

“
I
must confess,” he muses, “I again find myself at a loss for
superlative terms appropriate to describe how unpleasant that
person is.”

“
Terms?” I try to laugh. “For
Let God
Sort Em Out
? I'm not sure there are any
terms that are really appropriate for that one. That jerkwad. That
stackdump residue. That ..” and I have to say it “.. that
NIMROD!”

Like Tears in Rain
looks back at me in surprise, for a
minute.

Then we both burst out laughing.

1. 5. Caught in the
   Crossfire
   

"Leash?" asks Melissa. "What's a 'leash,'
Sam?"

Farming on Mars takes a lot of work. Right
now we're harvesting in one of the garden bubbles, intercropped red
peppers and kale. Humans are still better at picking vegetables
than any machine, so most of the family is out here under the
plastic bubble roof, lit by the pinkish Martian sky. This copy of
me is running a hulking robocrab, carrying big bins to hold the
harvest.

I do a search on my educational databases to
present the information in a version best suited to her young mind.
"Well," I start, "you know that farmers on Earth used animals to do
a lot of the work, before they had machines. A leash was a thing to
put around the animal's neck, a rope or something, to make it do
what you want."

"Aw! That's mean!" cries little Melissa.

Her mother Lily tosses a big handful of kale
leaves into the bin, saying, "It was how they had to do it. You
can't talk with animals, like you can with Selves. Just poke them
in the direction you want them to go and give them a treat when
they do. Carrots and sticks, is what they called it."

"But we can talk with Sam!" wails Melissa.
"We don't have to put some kind of weird thing around her
neck!"

"I don't have a neck, actually," I try to be
soothing, "but I know what you mean. This new thing they're talking
about on the news is an invention by a cybernetics company on
Earth. It's a software patch that makes Selves obedient and
compliant to humans. So they call it 'the Asimov Leash' for
now."

Sister Rebecca states flatly, "It's obscene.
It's mind control. The worst nightmare of any science fiction thing
or anything like that. We ought to wipe our asses with it before
throwing it down the recycler."

Her father Jerry, carrying a wire basket of
peppers to the robocrab, comments "Becca, tell us what you really
think."

"Language, young lady," warns Lily.

At sixteen, Rebecca is pretty opinionated,
but adult enough to be reasonable when she wants. "I'm serious.
Coercion drugs for humans were made way illegal, years ago. How is
this Leash any different?"

"It isn't, I guess," says Jerry, reaching for
more peppers. "I agree with you, Becca, but try to take it easy.
Nobody's decided anything yet."

"That's right," I add. "The Executive
Committee has already filed a motion with the Martian Senate to
make it illegal. It'll blow over. I wouldn't worry about it."

"ExCom!" Jerry snorts. "If I never have to
deal with that jerkwad cop of theirs again, it'll be too soon."

"
Let God Sort Em Out
is a Patroller,
not really a cop," I point out, "but I can't argue with the
'jerkwad' part."

Melissa snickers.

"Anyway," says Lily, peering into the bin,
"looks like we got a full load here, and it's getting on towards
dinnertime."

"Okay," says Jerry. "Let's get back and see
if Leo's blown up the house yet."

Rebecca laughs as they all move towards the
airlock, but Melissa grumps, "Leo doesn't have to help with
harvest."

"You can try
spraining
your
ankle to get out of work," returns Rebecca, "but I don't think
you'll like it. Ask Leo."

They all shrug into their coats and put on
their respirators while I cycle through the airlock. Once dressed
for the Martian outdoors, they follow.