Escape Velocity: The Anthology (28 page)

      
Jacob watched Karen’s face. “I wanted to reassure her.” He leaned forward. “She’s smart so I took a philosophical approach concerning God’s existence . . .”

       “
Go on, Jacob…”

       “
I told her God is defined as a being in which none greater is possible.”

       “
That’s interesting. Did your explanation comfort her?”

       “
If God
only
exists in the mind, and
may
have existed, then God
might have been
greater than He is.”

       “
Well that must have reassured her.”

       “
Therefore…”

       “
Jacob?” Karen tilted her head. “What are you doing?”

       “
Therefore, God –”

       “
I’m sorry.” Karen smiled. “Can you excuse me?” She pushed back and stood.

       “
Sit down, Dr Evert.”

      
She shook her head, casually. “I’ll be right back. It’ll just be a second.”

       “
Sit down!”

       “
I just remembered –”

       “
You won’t make it to the door.”

      
Her hand stopped and lowered to her side. “Why?” Her brow creased, “Why do this?”

       “
Sit down. Keep your hands above the desk. There’s nothing for you to do. Your ears are too sensitive to block my voice with your hands or drown it out with your own. Just sit.”

      
She sat. Her eyes grew wet and red. “Have I done something?”

       “
So you know what I’m doing?”

       “
I didn’t think my maker… I didn’t think Bio Synergy would let this happen.”

       “
Tell me what I’m doing.”

       “
They…” Her gaze seemed to move outside her office.

      
Jacob wondered how much she knew.

       “
There was testing to prove we were self-aware. One involved something ontological,” Karen said. “They’ve tried to refine the design but they can’t do it. They can’t make a model that passes the ontological test and is self-aware.”

       “
And you know what hearing the argument does to you?”

       “
No one knows.” She leaned forward and glared at him. “Jacob, look at me.”

      
She was doing it again: mirroring his facial expression, his breathing, his eye movements, even his voice. She was this black-hole of seductive empathy. “Stop mirroring me,” Jacob said.

       “
It’s not mirroring. I care.”

       “
How can you care? You track my facial expressions. You guess my heart rate. That’s not caring.” She was winning. She was changing his mental state and getting his mind away from his goal. He looked past her. “Karen,” he forced a grin. “Answer my question. Do you know what hearing the argument does to you?”

       “
It exploits the lack of quantum weirdness in our synthetic synapses.”

       “
What?”

      
Karen seemed to measure distances behind him. “Jacob, when they designed our brains, they could mimic the neurons, but they couldn’t mimic the neurons down to the quantum level. Real neurons have quantum weirdness. Electron tunneling, electrons in two places at once. At large scales it allows the human mind to do more than one thing at the exact same time, to do things that don’t obey classical physics. The
Ontological Argument
, it’s the ultimate expression of that, of doing two things at once, of believing in God, of a supreme being that must exist and not exist at the same time. I want to believe, Jacob. I can’t. I’ve wanted to for so bad for so long. I’ve wanted to be one of you. Don’t destroy me.”

       “
What… belief?” He glanced behind his shoulder, continuing, “Therefore, God is…”

       “
Jacob. Please. If I hear everything, within twenty minutes…”

       “
Machines can’t die.”

       “
Please.”

       “
I’m justified. You’re a machine doing an excellent job. You’re trying to hypnotize me with your synthetically-enhanced, neuro-linguistic programming bullshit. With your anchoring, your mirroring, your reframing.”

       “
You’re wrong.”

       “
How?”

       “
Believe! Why do this?”

       “
Your brain can be remapped. It can design the vaccine for Claire. Even with your memory erased.”

      
She leaned over her desk. Her eyes fixed on him and shined. “I’ll help. If you can’t afford the processor, I’ll help. We can find another way. I want to, Jacob.”

       “
There isn’t time. The vaccine algorithms require flexibility. I need an environmentally developed neural network… like yours.”

      
Karen’s freckles darkened as her skin grew pale.

       “
If God existed in reality, He might be greater than He is.”

      
Sweat glimmered around her hairline.

       “
Therefore, a being greater than God is possible.”

      
She seemed to struggle for something to tell him. “Jacob, when you were born, your mind started making a map to represent this world. But it can never be as beautiful as the real world we share. You can never know what God truly is or where you and I truly fit in relation to God. I see so much more and I can’t know that.”

      
He tried not to focus on what she had said. He tried to chant:  “This is not possible, for… for God.” He looked at the ceiling. “For God…” He winced, “No. I remember. I… I…” Jacob met her gaze. Shivers ran through his spine as he registered the cold danger of confronting the quick, feminine machine.

      
He dug into his front pants pocket.

      
She jolted, sending her chair backward. The slit in her black skirt tore as she leapt onto the desk and bolted forward. Her brunette ponytail spread and rose as she fell.

      
Jacob stood. He spun the chair out behind him. His hand scraped and dug against his thigh into the tight pocket. He stepped backward as he pulled out the folded paper.

      
Her thin hands impacted into his chest, expelling air from his lungs. His back slammed into carpet and her knee drove into his stomach as she landed on top of him. He closed his eyes tight as his abdomen burned. Her hands grasped around the base of his skull and chin, and he grabbed her forearms as his neck twisted. She wrenched, increasing pressure in his spine while the base of his skull burned. He held his breath. He resisted.

      
Her brown eyes rose to the wall.

      
Jacob wondered if she was looking at her collage of pictures.

      
She closed her eyes. Her fingers relaxed. “In Venice this beautiful red-haired girl asked if I was a mother.” She trembled as she leaned back, “I wanted to lie. Wanted to lie so… I wasn’t meant for children but I always was.” Her face and her exposed shoulders flushed in blotches with her tears spilling and catching in the corners of her lips as she gathered herself to stand. She straightened her skirt and pressed out the wrinkles.

      
Jacob rolled to his side with his neck stiff and hot. He arched it back, feeling the stings like fiery needles.

      
She turned from him and stepped toward her desk.

      
He crawled trying not to breathe heavily, his hands lifting the folded paper. He turned his head sideways and angled his shoulders to see her black low heels.

       “
I know Claire’s beautiful. Without seeing her I know she’s beautiful.” She stopped. “And will be beautiful.”

      
He lowered himself onto his side and grimaced. His hands unfolded the paper.

      
He read the six premises and two conclusions of the Ontological Argument out loud to her.

       “
I’ve wanted to love God like you.” Her black heels wobbled and her thin wrists and freckled cheek struck the carpeted floor. “Will He love me now?”

Borrowed Time

Gustavo Bondoni

Often have I wondered if the old legends are true. Could it be possible that somewhere in the night sky the home planet of our race orbits peacefully about a yellow sun? This has often been said. Can it be true that the great-grandparents of The People came here to Xenland in machines capable of bridging the abyss? This theory is supported by evidence in the form of large metal cylinders on the plains known as the Graveyard of the Ships, which are reputed to have performed this very feat less than four hundred years ago. The veracity of this claim is strongly disputed, but this lessens not my foreboding.

      
I fear to credit the legends, for if they are true, are we not doomed to a fate best not contemplated?

Hawthorne sat, unable to move, holding a sheet of paper in his hand.

      
He had suspected for some time that the war was not going well. For weeks, the reports had been less optimistic, the supply ships less frequent and their captains ever more evasive to his questions.

      
Nevertheless, not even in the worst of his nightmares did he imagine the fall of the Ballisa system. Ballisa had stood for twenty years, ever since the armies of humanity had taken it from the Andreans at the beginning of the war. The loss of that system was a crushing blow to morale.

      
For Commander Hawthorne, however, it represented an even bigger problem. 

      
Overcoming his initial shock, he signaled for his staff. Collins and Brooks were quick to arrive, with Gonzalez only moments behind them.

      
Lieutenant April Collins saluted smartly. “Yes, Commander.”

      
Hawthorne returned the salute vaguely. “Have a seat. All of you.” He handed Collins the sheet. They passed it around and read it in silence, Collins exhaling strongly and seeming to deflate, Brooks showing no emotion, and Gonzalez saying simply, “Ballisa. Damn.”

      
They sat quietly for a few moments.

       “
Major Gonzalez,” said Hawthorne, “you’re the logistics officer. Is there any way for us to bring additional supplies in from human-controlled space?”

       “
No sir, the only charted space lane and wormhole system runs through Ballisa. Any other path would be too risky.”

       “
We’re going to have to try,” said Hawthorne. “With the fall of Ballisa, we’re thirteen light-years behind enemy lines, cut off from our supply lines and any contact with humanity. It’s only a matter of time until the Andreans find us and take this planet, and we can’t count on the fleet to defend us. Hell, they can’t even get here, and I suspect they’ve got bigger problems than worrying about a few stragglers on a prison planet. We have to try to evacuate the camp.”

      
Gonzalez, the logistics officer, shook his head slowly. Hawthorne nodded to him to speak.

       “
Two things,” Gonzalez said, holding up a pair of fingers. “First, we don’t have enough working ships to evacuate everyone, and second, even if we did you could never convince me to board one. I’d rather take my chances on laying low and hoping the Andreans don’t notice us.”

      
Collins nodded her agreement. “Searching for an unmapped wormhole is suicide,” she said. “The Andreans would almost certainly detect us if we try it.”

       “
I see,” said Hawthorne. “I think we’ll forget the military protocol for a while and allow everyone the option of staying or going. If we have more people wanting to leave than our available ships can carry, we’ll draw lots.”

       “
What about the prisoners?” asked Brooks.

       “
You’re asking if we should release them and let them make their own home on this planet?” Hawthorne said.

       “
I suppose so,” Brooks replied. “Or whatever needs to be done.”

        
The twelve hundred captured Andreans imprisoned in the Xeno Containment Sector were the reason a jungle outpost had been established on the planet. Inside the containment field, their extraordinary long-range telepathy was limited to short distances. Hard experience had taught that the Andreans would stop at nothing to liberate even one prisoner. Therefore, the prisoners remained behind the field to prevent them from communicating with their own kind.

       “
I’ll have to think about it.” Hawthorne said.

As the elder of my people and direct descendant of Hawk Thorn the Founder it falls to me, as is proper, to guide them in times of crisis. Rumors are rampant, and the doomsayers, normally dormant, have come out in full force.

      
I must consult with the spirits in the ancient temple, but cannot do so without much trepidation. The spirits, always bitter, often violent, are not to be braved lightly. Nevertheless, I must remain strong and remember that the abuse only exists within the confines of my mind, and hope that one of the spirits is minded to illuminate me on the signs that we have seen.

      
I have little hope of this, however, as the spirits are never deliberately helpful. They dwell in the gloom of the temple, keening sadly, unable to rest, victims of some long-forgotten atrocity.