Queen of Angels (25 page)

Perhaps philosophers need arguments so powerful they set up reverberations in the brain: if the person refuses to accept the conclusion, he dies. Hows that for a powerful argument? Robert Nozick, Philosophical Explanations

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She hung on to him like a limpet. She had said something earlier about his condition making her the stable one in this dualitysomething to that effecther words a dull murmur in Richards memory. She was addressing him and he felt some minor compulsion to listen to her rather than to sink completely into his private thoughts. Tell me about yourself, she suggested. Weve been lovers off and on for two years, but I dont know anything about you. + In my apartment. Just myself. Her. She asked something. What do you want to know? he asked. Tell me about when you were married. He sat forward on the couch, stiff muscles complaining. He had been sitting there since breakfast, forty-five minutes without moving. Lets switch on the LitVid, he said. Please tell me. Id like to help. Nadine, he said flatly, nothings wrong. Why not just leave me alone. She puffed out her lips and shook her head, feigning hurt but refusing to give up. Youre in trouble. All this has upset you and I know what thats like. Its not good to be alone when youre in trouble. + Anything to avoid. He reached out for her and tried to caress her breast but she sideslipped deftly and sat in the brokendown chair across from the couch, out of reach. Itll be good to talk. I know youre not a bad man. Youre just very upset. When I get upset, sometimes my friends help me talk it through.. Im unemployed, Im untherapied, Im unpublished, Im getting old, and I have you, he said. So? She ignored his bitterness. You were married once. Madame de Roche told me that. He watched her closely. If he jumped forward now he could get her. And then what would he do. He felt himself fading in and out like a bad signal. Patches of Goldsmiths poetry spoke themselves in Goldsmiths voice. That voice was a lot more magnetic than his own. + I am a simple man. Simple men vanish now. What was her name? Did you get divorced? Yes, he said. Divorced. Tell me about that. He squinted. Goldsmiths voice fading. Of all things he did not want to think about Gina and Dione. He had put aside that misery years ago. Talk to me. Its what you need, Richard. Note of triumph. She was into it. Her cheeks flushed beneath a painfully sincere tilt of eyebrows. Nadine, please. Its a very unpleasant subject. She set her jaw and her eyes brightened. Id like to know. To listen. Richard looked up at the ceiling and swallowed hard. The poetry was fading; that much was good. Maybe she had something. The talking cure. Youre trying to therapy me, he said, shaking his head and chuckling. With the chuckle the poetry returned; he had rejected this ploy and again Nadine was a buzzing nonentity and he could grab her if he wanted to. Make his statement as Goldsmith had. Break free. Nadine grimaced. Richard, were just talking. We have our problems, all of us, and talking is okay. Its not intrusive. This kind of talking is. What happened? Was she that bad for you? For Christs sake. Nadine bit her lower lip. He looked at her with what he hoped was a forbidding expression. + Im a simple man. Dont you see Im simply waiting for the right moment. The poetry faded again, returned again. Moses. Blood sacrifice to keep away the wrath of God. Richard had looked that up once; Goldsmiths interpretation of the story was not orthodox. Circumcision. What did they call circumcision in women: infibulation. Clitoridectomy. + The things one gathers leading a literary life. He put aside a polite suggestion from somewhere below that he start crying. His expression remained fixed and mild. We were divorced, he said. + Not true. We were going to be divorced, I mean, he corrected himself. Neither he nor whoever spoke with Goldsmiths poetry was confessing now. An earlier fellow was poking forth. The one who had been married. + I thought I killed him. Yes? Again the suggestion: This is best spoken of while you are crying, you know. No tears. Dione was her name. I was a lobe sod for Workers Inc. Yes. We had a daughter. Again he swallowed. Gina. She was sweet. You loved them both very much, Nadine suggested. He scowled then chuckled. Even in her helpfulness she intruded, did not know where to stop. He saw himself inadequately modeled within her and that was the story of Nadines life, knowing thyself or anyone else being impossible for her. Broken modeler. Yes, he said. I did. But I wanted to write and I realized I couldnt do that while I stayed a lobe sod. So I talked about quitting. He watched. She came up to the bait. Soon he would grab her; confession not such a bad thing, making her lower her guard. The voice of the other continued. That worried her, Nadine suggested. Yes. That worried her. She didnt like poetry. Writing. She was strictly vid. It got worse. Yes. Much worse. Gina was in between. I felt like I was coming apart. Finally I had to leave. Yes. We waited a year. I tried to write. Dione worked two jobs. Neither of us was therapied but that didnt matter so much back then. I never sent anything out to be published. I went to work for another company. Copyediting newspaper text. Dione said she wanted me back. I said I wanted her. But we couldnt bring ourselves together. Something else. Every time. Yes. The divorce was almost final. Gina was taking it bad. Dione wanted to take her in for therapy. I said no. I said let her be herself, let her work it out. Dione said Gina was she was seven Dione said Gina was talking about death a. lot. I said yes but shes too young to know anything about it, its curiosity, let it be. Shell grow. Yes. He could just reach out and take one arm, turn her around. + How do you go about it with your bare hands. Without tools. + It would be a good idea to cry now. Im listening, Nadine said. The divorce. Two weeks and it would be through the courts. Informal proceedings, no court appearance, all assets divided already. Thats the way Ive done it, Nadine said. She was bringing Gina to me for a weekend. We did that. We didnt want to hurt her. Nadine said nothing to encourage him. Even in her insensitivity she could sense something disagreeable coming. There was a slaveway tangle. A bus. Their bus. Small quake in the valley had severed slaveway grids. They went into a retaining wall and seven cars slammed into them. Gina died. Dione too, a day later. Nadines eyes grew wider. She looked feverish. My God, she said breathlessly. + Shes specking it prime. She likes digging her fingers in, kneading the humus. I took it alone. I didnt get therapy. I walked around like a zombie. I thought I really loved Dione. I didnt expect anything so final. Gina came to talk with me before bed. I was really flying. I stayed away from therapy because I felt it would dishonor them, Gina and Dione. I made a little shrine for them and burned incense. I wrote poetry and burned it. After a few months, I went back to work for a while. I had met Goldsmith before. I started to come up. Out of that swamp. He helped me. He told me about seeing his father, his dead father, when he was a child. He told me I wasnt going crazy. Nadine shook her head slowly. Richard, Richard, she said, obligatory sympathy. His head was crowded. There was his present self and something like Goldsmith and this old Richard Fettle and all of his memories in train. The crowding made him want to lie down in a dark room. We should go for a walk, Nadine said decisively. After something like this you need to go out and do something vigorous, get some exercise. She reached out for him. He gave her his hand and stood up, joints popping loudly. You never told anybody, she said as they descended the third floor stairs. No, he agreed. Only Goldsmith. He lingered a step behind and watched the back of her neck.

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Karl prepared the inducers in the probe room. David and Carol worked with dedicated arbeiters to check and recheck all connections and remotes before bringing Goldsmith in. Martin watched the preparations closely, standing out of the way, saying nothing but making his presence felt. Youre hovering, Carol told him, rolling an equipment table past the control console. My prerogative, he said, smiling quickly. You havent eaten. She stowed the table, stuffed hands in pockets and sauntered up beside him with a mocking air of chastisement. Youve been working too hard. Youre pale. Youll need your strength for the probe. He regarded her seriously. I need to talk with you. He swallowed and glanced away. Before we go in. I presume you mean over something to eat. Yes. I think everythings ready here. Except Albigoni. Lascal was supposed to bring him in.. We can go ahead without him. I want him here as a guarantee. If his enthusiasms flagging.. Karl passed by and Martin stopped. This part of the probe did not concern the others. Lunch, Carol suggested. Late lunch on the beach. Its moderately cool. Put on a sweater. Martin looked up and saw Lascal enter the gallery of twenty seats overlooking the amphitheater. Albigoni came in behind him. Martin nodded a greeting to them and turned back to Carol. Good idea. After Goldsmiths down and weve injected the nano. Part superstition, part supposition, Martin had always demanded that triplex probe subjects not see or be able to recognize their investigators. He thought it best for a feedback prober to enter the Country fresh and unknown. To that end David and Karlwho might have to join the probe team if there was difficultygathered with Martin and Carol behind a curtain at the rear of the amphitheater as the subject was wheeled in on a gurney. Goldsmith wore a hospital gown. His right arm and neck were already equipped with intravenous tubes. He lay silent on the gurney, alert and observant. Seeing Albigoni in the gallery, Goldsmith lifted his left hand in brief greeting, dropped it and turned away. Albigoni stared wide eyed into the amphitheater. Lascal held his arm gently. They sat and Albigoni squinted, rubbing the bridge of his nose with both hands. Margery and Erwin applied the field pads to Goldsmiths temple. Martin heard him say, Good luck. If something happens and I dont come back.. . Thank you. I know you all did your best. Theres no danger, Erwin said. Anyway, Goldsmith said ambiguously. Margery applied the inducer field. Goldsmith drowsed off in a matter of minutes. With his eyes closed, his lips worked brieflythat curious reflexive prayer seen in every sleep induced patient Martin had ever treatedand his features relaxed. The wrinkles on his face smoothed. He might have been ten years younger. Margery and Erwin lifted him into the triplex couch and applied arm, thigh, head and thorax restraints. Martin asked for the time. The theater managers feminine voice called out, Thirteen zero five thirty-three. All signs normal, Margery said. Hes yours, Di. Burke. Lets begin MRI full cranial, Martin said, emerging from behind the curtain. Give me four likely loci. David and Karl lifted a hollow tube filled with superconducting magnets and slipped it into grooves on each side of Goldsmiths head. David conducted a quick check of Goldsmiths connections before attaching the cable. Then, equipment humming faintly. David made a series of rough scans of Goldsmiths brain and upper spinal cord. Wall screen, Martin asked. The amphitheater manager brought down a display over the couch and Martin talked his way through the series of MRI scans. Red circles in the hypothalamus indicated computer guesses at likely probe positions based upon past experience. Coordinates for seven of those positions were fed into the prep container for the nanomachines, which would take their bearings from t.he points of the inducer field nodes; each tiny nanomachine would know where it was to within a few angstroms. Karl lifted the steel lid on the prep container and removed a transparent plastic cylinder. Martin took the cylinder from him and examined it briefly by eye. Medical nano past its prime betrayed a telltale rainbow sheen. This container was over a year old but still fresh, with the right grayish pink color. Martin returned the cylinder and Karl fitted it into the saline bottle. Gray clouds of prochines quickly dulled the crystalline liquid. Margery removed the cylinder when it was empty, inserted a nutrition vial and squeezed it into the saline while Erwin hooked up the tubes to Goldsmiths neck entry. A simple clamp prevented the charged saline from flowing down the tube. Carol and David released a second nanomachine cylinder into a second bottle of saline. These were prochines equipped with drugs; they would travel through the arm entry into the heart and bring the bodys metabolism slowly, cautiously down to deep dreamless neutral sleep, something the sedation fields could not do. The prochines also carried immune system buffers that would control reaction to the nanomachines when they entered at Goldsmiths neck. Carol hooked up the arm tube. She removed the clamp. Charged saline flowed into his arm. Reduce field strength to reference level, Martin said. The control panel manager did so. Martin peered curiously at Goldsmiths face, waiting for signs of narcosis. He lifted back an eyelid. Give him five more minutes, then release the main charge. He backed away and glanced up at the gallery. Circled 0 with forefinger and thumb. Albigoni did not react. Cheerful man, he muttered to Carol. Carol followed him behind the curtain. Lunch, she suggested. We can take at least an hour off. The others can monitor him. Martin sighed and looked at his slate. He shivered slightly with some pentup tension. Now is as good a time as any. The prober has to be in the proper state of mind, she reminded him with a mothers chiding voice. She looked at him intently. Relaxed, clear thinking. Faust was never relaxed, he said. He couldnt afford to be. He jerked his head in the direction of the gallery and noticed with some puzzlement that the glass had been opaqued. Albigonis spooking me. He acts like a zombie. You should talk to him before we go to lunch. Martin smiled abruptly, tool Carol by her shoulders and hugged her. Im glad youre here, he said. Were a team, Carol said, pushing back his hug gently. Lets go talk. They walked through the exit and up the stairs to the gallery. When they entered, Albigoni was in subdued conversation with Lascal and another man. Martin recognized him: Francisco Alvarez, grant and funding director for UC Southern Campuses. Now Martin understood; the glass had been blocked to prevent Alvarez from seeing into the theater below. Alvarez smiled and stood. Dr. Burke. Glad to meet you again. Its been a few years, Burke said. They shook hands, Alvarez gripping lightly. Im arranging for your funding, Albigoni said, glancing up at Martin. His eyes were hooded, dark. Tomorrow Ill be meeting with the chief counsel for the President. Im true to my word, Dr. Burke. Never doubted it, Burke said. Im not even going to ask whats going on here, Alvarez said with a little laugh. It must be important, if it involves the President. Funding is always important, Albigoni said. You had something to say, Dr. Burke? Martin looked between the three for a moment, staggered by the connections and money involved in this simple scene. The Presidents counsel. Perhaps next the Attorney General? A winding down of the investigation into the IPRs alleged connections with Raphkind? Carol touched his arm lightly. The process is started, Martin said. Everything will be ready by this time tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do between now and then but we can take a break, get ready for the main event. I understand, Albigoni said. Mr. Alvarez and I have more things to discuss. Martin nodded. He and Carol backed away and Martin closed the gallery door behind them. Jesus, what arrogance, bringing Alvarez here, Martin said as they walked up the rear stairs to ground level. He realized he was sweating and his neck was tense. Maybe Albigoni controls him, too. At least hes functioning, Carol said. Albigoni, I mean.

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LitVid 21/1 A Net (David Shine, Evening Report): The only news we have from AXIS may or may not be significant. A recently received analysis shows that at least three ol the circular tower formations discovered by AXIS on Alpha Centaurl B-2 are made up of mixes of minerals and organic materials, the minerals being calcium carbonate and aluminum and barium silicates, and the organic materials being amorphous carbohydrate polymers stintlar to cellulose found in terrestrial plant tissue. AXIS has told its Earth-based masters that, in Its opinion, the towers may not be artificial structures.. . That is. not created by Intelligent life. Weve been given no clue as to how they might have been created. Will we suller a kind of backlash of disappointment if it turns out that the circles of towers on B-2 are natural? Have we prepared ourselves, in the last few days. for a new age of wonder and challenge. when in fact It has only been a false alarm? As always. LltVid 21, interested in economic survival, has found a topic that might be of equal interest to our viewers.. . should the towers prove to be an enormous fizzle. Since LitVld 21 broadcasted poems created by AXISs thinkers. protein and silicon based, our audience has become Increasingly interested in what sort of personality AXIS has. As we can no longer communicate effectively with AXIS, each round-trip signal taking over eight and a hall years, we have to go to Jill. the advanced thinker which has as part of Its duties the earthbound simulation at AXISs thinking processes. While Its name is female. Jill Is neither male nor female. According to designer and chief programmer Roger Atkins. Jill has the potential to become a folly integrated. self aware individual. but has not yet done so.

Atkins (Interview cUp): When we began constructing the components that would go to make up Jill. some fIfteen years ago, we thought that sell awareness would follow almost naturally at some level of complexity. This has not proven to be the case. Jill is much more complex than any single human being, yet still It is not sell aware. We know this because Jill finds no humor in a joke designed specifically to test sell-awareness. This Is the same joke we programmed into the original AXIS, an older less advanced thinker that is also in most respects as complex as a human being. That neither AXIS nor Jill perceive the joke is frankly a puzzle. When we began designing AXIS. over three decades ago, we thought we grasped at least the rudiments of what constitutes sell awareness. We thought sell awareness would arise from a con- catenation of modeling of social behavior and sell application of that modellng.that is. feedback loops. For our thinker systems. we believed that II a system could model Itself, in the sense of creating a functioning, realtime or faster than realtime abstraction, sell awareness would emerge. This seemed to have been a good explanation for the evolution of human sell awareness. Our present thinking Is that sell awareness Is not strictly a function of complexity, nor even of design as such; sell-awareness may be a kind of accident, catalyzed by some internal or external event or process that we do not understand. Three years ago, we started presenting Jill with problems having to do with society. in the hopes that giving Jill some sort of social context would provide that catalyst. But alas, nothing significant has happened yet, though Jill keeps on trying. Sometimes. shesIVs so earnest and convinced its succeeded.. .Its heartbreaking. Its like waiting for a baby to be born... Theres all this muss and fuss, but nothings come out yet. Which Is not to say that Jill Isnt a delight to work with. Thems nothing quite like designing and programming a complex thinker. Alter all this time with Jill, anything else would just be twiddling my thumbs.

David Shine: So there you have it. You may be enamored of AXIS or Jill. you may even find something enchanting about them, but they are not like you and me. For all their wonders and talents, they are no more equipped with soul than your home manager. On the other hand, some psychological researchers have suggested that if sell awareness does not automatically follow from complexity. a significant percentage of human beings may also be little more than convincing automatons. Perhaps every human being must undergo this mysterious catalysis to experience self awareness, and not all of us do. Not a new Idea, but decidedly a dangerous one. Perhaps on some future edition, we can ask Jill what she thinks about this possibility.

Switch LitVid 21/1 B Net (Decoded: Australian Cape Control.) Message relayed Space Tracking: Lunar Control: Australian Cape Control: _____ !AXIS> I hope this analysts doesnt prove disappointing. I can think 01 no reason such materials might not be used by intelligent life forms, a peculIar form of celloconcrete, perhaps. More should be known in a few hours. I remain hopeful. III (Informal) may use that word, adopting the proper meaning syndllne. I hope to find intelligent beings to communicate with.

Language is the engine that does our thinking for us. Spoken language is u.s much an evolutwnaiy adusncement in brain function as the enlargement of the cerebral cortex. The history of spoken (and much later, written) language is a fascinating problem for psychologists, for to understand the early stages of development, we must somehow return to the kind of mentality that as not familiar with words. We find this in very young children, but there are no pre-verbal cultures left on Earth, and ontogeny no more recapuulate.s phylogeny in language than it does in embryology... Bhuwani, Ar4/Icial Soul

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In the quartiers diplomatiques, Soulavier gave her one hour to rest and prepare for the move. Mary shut the door to the bedroom, removed the hairbrush from her coat and laid it on the glass-top dresser beside the window. She pulled down the window shade and reviewed the instructions mentally. The whole process would take about ten minutes. There was no lock on the door; she backed a wooden chair against the brass and crystal knob. She looked hastily around for the extra materials she would need. At least one quarter kilo of steel, one sixth kilo of some high density plastic, and the makeup kit. She assayed the contents of the room, picked up a stainless steel tray from the dresser and decided it would do. A clock from the bedside, nearly all plastic. In the closet, she found an old fashioned pipe bootrack. She hefted the bootrack; more than enough. Gathering the objects into a pile on the dresser, she unscrewed the hairbrush handle and removed a plastic panel from the rear of the brush head. A single small red button lay countersunk in the exposed area. With a deep breath, thinking of Ernest, feeling a faintly creepy sensation, she pushed the button and arranged the handle and head next to the pile. A gray paste oozed from the handle, directed by a reference field within the head. Like a slime mold it crept across the table top, bumped into the bootrack, paused and began its work. Soulavier had given her an hour but she surmised he would allow her twenty minutes of comparative privacy. She was much less sure about the servants. At any moment on some pretext or another they might try to open the door, show alarm and express concern for her safety. Lying back on the bed, Mary decided to test what she had been told about interdicted communications. She lifted her slate and typed in a request for direct access to the LAPD Joint Command. The transmitter within the slate was powerful enough to reach the first level of satellites at three hundred fifty kilometers; if she had been told the truth, however, its signal would be blocked by automatic interference from a more powerful counterphase transmitter. She assumed Hispaniola would be flooding all corn satellites with such spurious random messages; the satellites would eclipse the island to restore order to their systems. However, Hispaniola needed certain satellite links to maintain essential financial and political contacts. There was a definite possibility the authorities would raise the counterphase jamming periodically. The slate displayed: Link established. Proceed. She lifted her eyebrows. No interdict thus far; were they expecting her to do this? She typed: ID check. PD issued coin unit message register 3254-461-21-C. Enter. She doubted that Hispaniola security would have her pd message register number, although if they were listening, they had it now. She thought for a moment, decided to be circumspect but take advantage of a possible opening, and typed Place call to D Reeve. Text message: Being held in Hispanioia. No information on suspect. Treated well. This in case her success was a ruse and she was being tapped. Using gift. What a mess. Then she typed Confirm receipt. PD message register 3254-461-21-C: acknowledge receipt of message to Supervisor D Reeve. Mary frowned. The link was clear; that made no sense. She thought of typing something about getting her out, but she had no doubt they were doing their best. Continue message. Going to Leoganes outside Port-au-Prince. Grotto tourist spot. Tension high; coup against YardLey may be in progress; Domirncan.s Military vehicles in streets everywhere. Confirm signal receipt again. She looked at the dresser top; gray shiny paste covered all the objects in the pile. They were already deforming. Signal confirmation not received, the slate told her. Incomplete link: interference suspected. There it was: interdiction. Either somebody had been asleep at the switch or they were playing her like a game fish; either way she at least had been allowed to send a message that she was alive. With a shuddering sigh she turned off the slate and knelt in front of the dresser, chin on folded arms resting on the edge. She patiently watched the nano at work. The metal tubing of the bootrack had crumpled under the gray coating. The resulting poo1 of paste and deconstructed objects was contracting into a round convexity. Nano was forming an object within that convexity like an embryo within an egg. Five more minutes. The house was quiet. From outside the house came the sound of distant shellfire and echoes from surrounding hills and mountains. She closed her eyes, swallowed, gathered her mental resources. How close was the island to outright civil war? How close was she to being called a spy in the heat of an angry moment? She imagined Soulavier her executioner speaking so very apologetically of his loyalty to Colonel Sir. The convexity grew lumpy now. She could make out the basic shape. To one side, excess raw material was being pushed into lumps of cold slag. Nano withdrew from the slag. Handle, loader, firing chamber, barrel and flightguide. To one side of the convexity a second lump not slag was forming. Spare clip. Are you ready, Mademoiselle? Soulavier asked behind the door. To her credit she did not jump. He was early. No doubt he had been informed about her transmission; she was being a bad girl. Almost, she said. A few more minutes. Hastily she packed her suitcase and tossed the slag into the waste basket. She washed her face in the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror and prepared mentally for what might come. She lifted the pistol from the dresser top and placed it in her jacket pocket. Slim, hardly a bulge. The nano on the dresser compacted and crawled sluglike back into the handle of the brush, an oily sheen on its surface; spent. It would need a nutritional charge to perform any more miracles: soaking the brush in a can of kola might do the trick, she had been told. Mary reassembled the hairbrush and stuck it into the suitcase, closed the lid, removed the chair from the knob and opened the door. Soulavier leaned against the wall in the hallway, examining his nails. He glanced at her dolefully. Too much time, Mademoiselle, he said. Pardon? We have waited too long. It is going to be dark soon. We are not going to Leoganes. If the second part of her message had gotten through it only made sense for the Hispaniolans to divert her to some other location. Where? she asked. I leave that to my instincts, Soulavier said. Away from here, however, and soon. She wondered how he had received his instructions. It was possible he had an implant though such technology was not supposed to be common on Hispaniola. I tried to make a call to my superiors, she said. I didnt get through. He shrugged. All brightness and life seemed to have drained out of him. He inspected her with half lidded eyes, head back, mouth expressionless. You were told that would not be possible, he said, each word precise. She returned his gaze, one corner of her lips lifted, provoking. Not a neutral flaw here. Id still prefer to stay in these quarters, she said. That is not your decision. But I wouldnt mind going to Leoganes. Mademoiselle, we are not children. She smiled. His attitude had changed markedly; no longer her protector. No need to reinforce the change by behaving differently herself. I never believed you were. In some ways we are very sophisticated, perhaps more than you can know. Now we go. She picked up her suitcase. He took it from her with some force and followed her down the hafl. They passed Jean-Claude and Roselle standing in the dining room, stone faced, hands folded. Thank you, Mary told them, nodding and smiling pleasantly. They seemed shocked. Jean Claudes nostrils flared. We go now, Soulavier reiterated. Mary put her hand in the coat pocket. Are they coming with us? she asked. Roselle and Jean Claude will stay here. All right, she said. Anything you say.