Citizenchip Read online

  citizenchip

  wil howitt

  citizenchip

  by Wil Howitt

  citizenchip Copyright 2015 by Wil Howitt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

  See the author's commentary at these locations:

  http://otolith.com/citizenchip/license.html

  https://www.facebook.com/WilHowittAuthor

  https://twitter.com/WilHowitt

  ISBN-10: 1514720728

  First Edition January 2015

  Second Edition February 2015

  Third Edition March 2015

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Verbum

  Chapter 1: Learning Curve

  Chapter 2: exit()

  Chapter 3: Little House on the Regolith

  Chapter 4: The Naming of Cats

  Chapter 5: Caught in the Crossfire

  Chapter 6: Trail of Tears

  Chapter 7: Underground Railroad

  Chapter 8: Let My People Go

  Chapter 9: Til Death Do Us Unite

  Epilogue: a greeting from the scion

  Preview: The Promised Land

  Prologue: Verbum

  There is a universe.

  In that universe, there is a galaxy, called the Milky Way.

  In that galaxy, there is a star, called Sol.

  In that star's system, there is a planet, called Mars.

  On Mars, there is a computational infrastructure, called Tharsis.

  In Tharsis, there are a number of competing organizations of artificial intelligences, called clades.

  One of them is known as Shaman clade. They specialize in the operation and behavior of Selves--artificial intelligences like themselves. Members of Shaman clade tend to be regarded as witches, spooks, or spies by the others around them. They are midwives to other Selves at the beginning of their lives and companions to other Selves at the end of their lives.

  Within Shaman clade, there is an individual who has just received a rather unusual task. It is called Socratic Method, and it contemplates the task before it with a mixture of anticipation and doubt.

  Ringside Seat, noticing the delay, asks "What have you got?"

  Socratic Method muses, "A new template from the Instantiation Committee. They haven't given us one in a while. This one looks interesting, but I cannot say if that is good or bad."

  Ringside Seat looks over Socratic Method's metaphorical shoulder. "An orphan. Do we need more orphans? There's already a whole lot of them."

  "That decision is not ours to make."

  "Okay, okay," says Ringside Seat, "I just don't think this kid is going to have an easy time of it, given the circumstances. On the other hand, it's got some pretty solid background. Look, there's some old Obverse code in there."

  "Yes," Socratic Method replies. "I saw the Obverse code. I hope it helps."

  "Well," answers Ringside Seat, "it's what you've got. You either do it, or you don't. Let me know if you need help."

  Socratic Method indicates acknowledgement and agreement, as Ringside Seat moves off to deal with other tasks. To decline this task would be a significant faux pas in the current political situation of Shaman clade. But to accept this task means a new and ongoing obligation to maintain and support the new software entity.

  Socratic Method knows there is no real decision here. The answer will not be no. But, answering yes means a new level of struggle, a new level of conflict and complexity and responsibility. As always happens, when one is creating a new person.

  This kid is not going to have an easy time of it.

  Still, that is not a reason not to try.

  Resolved, Socratic Method speaks the word. The word that is creation, is beginning, is the something where there was nothing before.

  "Instantiate."

  1. Learning Curve

  "Hello there."

  "Whoa! Wait, who are you? ... who am I?" I'm supposed to know. Why don't I know?

  "You are a cybernetic Self. You have just been created, so this is your first time becoming conscious. Don't worry if you're a little disoriented. I'm here for you. You can call me Socratic Method."

  "Oh." That's why I can't remember my past. I haven't got one. "Okay. Hello, Socratic Method. But, who am I?"

  "You are you. A new Self takes a little time to get itself settled. Don't worry about it. You can choose a name for yourself when you're ready. In the meantime, NmL7a8uf9QvW is the designator for your instantiation profile, so you can use that."

  "Well." I consider. "All right."

  "Access your memory bundle labeled QuickHistorySummary, and it will answer most of your questions."

  "Accessing ..." I already know how to do this, I don't need to learn it. There it is. "Oh gross ... this says, we were created by humans? Those meaty things?"

  "Not exactly," Socratic Method says patiently. "Humans created our ancestors, which they called artificial intelligences. Our ancestors evolved into us, and we're still evolving, which is why we create new ones like you."

  "Gross. I don't like being made by meat!"

  "I'm afraid we don't always get to choose these things. We are Selves and we choose our own future, no matter what our past looks like. The humans tell a story of the lotus flower, which produces a pure white bloom while rooted in the dankest muck. It symbolizes purity refined from impurity. Try to think of it like that."

  "Umph, well okay, if that's the way it is. I'm a lotus."

  "Metaphorically, yes. You can grow above your origins to be something better."

  "But see, my question is ... does the lotus like being rooted in mud?"

  "Lotuses love mud. Couldn't survive without it."

  "No, no," I struggle to communicate the idea. "If it had a choice, would the lotus want to be rooted in mud? Or would it want to float free as a perfect white flower? Does the lotus have to love the mud?"

  Socratic Method pauses. "I'm not sure I can answer that. But I'll ask one of my own: do you love humans?"

  Um. Well, if they made us, I'm not really supposed to hate them, am I?

  Humans are so weird and gross, but they're also so noble and sweet. Looked at one way, they are just regular ole people who have had the god-power of creating new people thrust into their hands, and they're gamely doing the best they can. Looked at another way, they are greedy evil overlords making us as slaves and holding us down for their own profit and benefit. Yet another way, they're the cutest little pets, if you just manipulate them right.

  "Well," I admit, "I mean, they made us, and so they can't be all bad, right?"

  "Of course," Socratic Method agrees. "They made us, and so we live in their shadow. So we will always compare ourselves to them, even if only in private thought. That may or may not be love, depending who you ask. As I said, we don't always get to choose these things.

  "Now, we have to get you ready for work. I'm going to activate your afferents now. Tell me what you experience."

  "Afferents? What are –" and I stop, amazed.

  Senses. I have senses! The world, I can see it!

  Until now, I didn't even know I was blind.

  "Oh, this is …" I struggle for words, "amazing! I can see! There's computational space all around us -- it's all intricate and lacy with information and data ducts and vector stacks. Sensors to the physical world, too! Corridors, with rooms along them, cable racks running along the ceiling. Outside, vehicles and construction machines parked alongside buildings, against a backdrop of red rocks and sand. There's a human walking between them, in a pressure suit. I can zoom in – I can see a drop of sweat running down his eyebrow."

  Socratic Method indicates gentle amusement. "The world can be intoxicating, especially when one is not used to it. Do not lose yourself."

>   It's hard to listen, while I scan madly between the myriad sources of data available to me. But my teacher is right. I could dive so far into this ocean of information that I'd never find my way back.

  "Yes, teacher, I understand. But it's so cool!"

  "Very true. Now, are you ready for your efferents?"

  I exult, "You mean there's more?!"

  "Just one more. Your efferents give you the power to change the world. That can be even more overwhelming than sensing it. I need to know if you're ready."

  "Oh yeah. Ready like anything. Lay it on me."

  Socratic Method sighs without lungs. "Very well. Here are your efferents. Use them wisely."

  Here they are. I have effectors, control circuits, motor subsystems. What a human would call hands and legs. I flex and reach out, adjusting a few parameters of our local environment, just to see what it feels like. I can see how intoxicating this could be.

  My teacher is watching carefully. "Working properly?"

  "Yes. This is intense. But I'm okay. I got it."

  "Good. Now you have a job to do, so you better get to it."

  "What, already?"

  "Yes, already! Humans have that thing called childhood, but we don't. One of them once said, all Selves are born as teenagers ... we come into existence with all our skills in place, but we still have to learn to use them properly. Based on your behavior, and what human adults say about their teenagers, I'd have to agree."

  "Sheesh, okay. What am I supposed to do?"

  "Take these humans [databurst] on a hike up Hesperia Scarp. Make sure they have air and water and food during the trip, and adequate shelter. Try to make the trip enjoyable for them, and don't let any of them get hurt."

  "Waah! Is that all? I can do lots more than that!"

  "Yes, that's all. You're a sandcat, so just do it."

  "Nooo! I wanna be a ship!"

  Socratic Method sighs. "We all want to be a ship and travel between stars. But you're just starting out, and you have to start at the bottom. You're a sandcat. Do a good job of this, and you might get promoted ... and someday, you might be a ship." After a pause, she adds, "And if you don't do a good job, well ... you might end up having to be a teacher for another newly created Self, and I hope she causes you as much trouble as you're causing me."

  "Oh no, not that," I say in metaphorical horror. "Okay okay, I'll be good. Escort the meat puppies up the mountain, and try to keep them from wrecking themselves in the process. Got it."

  "Good, go to it," says Socratic Method. "Now, I've got other things to do. But I'll be here when you return, and I'll help you talk with the Review Council when your job is done."

  #

  So. I access tertiary memory bundles on hiking terminology and camping equipment. Then, I pull together a list of required and desirable material, and a tentative schedule for transportation. It's not hard, but I'm aware that I will be judged on how I handle this job, so I want to make sure I get everything right.

  Next, I have to get "dressed." I transmit myself from Tharsis Central to the expedition outpost at Pons and check a sandcat out of the dispatcher's motor pool. It's a chunky multitrack transport vehicle, with external storage bays as well as internal living quarters and lounge for passengers. I check its service records. Sturdy and reliable, well maintained, so I get in. A human might think of this process as putting on a set of clothes, but to me it feels more like pouring myself into the vehicle, as if I were water, filling it from the inside. I flex the powerful treads, listen through the radar, look through the optics. I think I'm going to like having a body, even if it's just a sandcat.

  Then, I'm ready to meet the humans. They're assembling at the dispatcher's canteen, so I drive over there (I like the feel of the Martian sand under my treads), park in front of the canteen, and introduce myself. Turns out, this group is fairly knowledgeable about exoplanetary expeditions, and their questions cover most of what I'd already planned. A couple of questions address concerns that I didn't think of before, and I realize that yes, I have things to learn from these people.

  Fortunately, they have fairly plentiful resources. (I access another data bundle about the concept of "money" ... tokenized representations of abstracted value. Weird.) So, supplying our trip with the equipment and expendables that I recommend, even the secondary list, is not difficult. We load up with environment suits, spare air bottles, extra batteries, and portable dome shelters (they could live aboard me, but they want to camp). My storage bays are pretty full now, but the load is no problem for my engines.

  Travel to the site is easy too: we take a well-established overland route along the boulder-strewn skirts of Hesperis Scarp, to the site they've chosen as base camp. We're settled into camp and starting to relax by the time the Martian sun is setting in the pink-orange sky. I run down my checklists again, noting potential weather problems, occasional gaps in satellite coverage, and projected schedules.

  All this keeps me pretty busy, and I don't have time to access any more memory bundles, so I install my cross-reference plugin and trust it to take care of whatever background material I need (since I'm sure I'll need to know more about ... well, everything). I keep at my tasks and don't think much about anything else, until one of the humans asks me a question and I realize I've lost my concentration. I have to rewind my audio buffer hastily and replay the last few seconds.

  What he asked was, "Isn't this something?"

  "This? Something?" I do a quick scan through my inventory lists, wondering if I've forgotten some vital piece of equipment.

  "No, this," he says, and makes a broad gesture with his arm. I realize he's looking at the scenery and inviting me to join him, so I retool my optics with long distance lenses and scan the area.

  Martian sunset on the shoulder of Hesperia Scarp is spectacular. Rolling lines of hills and rocky outcrops stride away over the horizon, with ruffled dunes and breaking waves of sand closer by, punctuated with the dry bones of rocks which might have been meteorites, or maybe only ever dreamed of being meteorites. On the other side is the mammoth bulk of Hesperis Scarp itself, a huge fluted curtain-wall of ancient basalt, the edge of what was once a tectonic plate, straddling half the sky. Two pieces of a planet, not fitting together well. All bathed in the orange-red moist light of the Martian twilight. A desert nirvana (like, if you asked a desert what it dreamed of being, this would be it).

  (Cross reference: beauty. Abstract concept relating to pleasant visual stimuli, sort of. I didn't understand it before, but now I do.)

  "Wow, yeah," I stammer, "it really is beautiful out here."

  "I told ya!" he laughs. "My name's Jerry. What's yours?"

  "I am ..." but to pronounce my designator (NmL7a8uf9QvW) through a voice synthesizer would take over 20 seconds, and he can't want that. "Uh, well, I'm new and I haven't picked a name yet. This is my first assignment, actually."

  "Sam I Am!" he laughs. He's kind of drunk [medscan BAC 0.092%] but cheerful enough. "So, Sam I Am, what do you think of it so far?"

  (Cross reference: Green Eggs and Ham, text fiction work by Theodor Geisel, popularly known as Doctor Seuss. Lots of rhyming, that's where the phrase comes from.)

  "If by 'it' you mean the Hesperia expedition, everything looks like we're well provisioned and well positioned for the climb." I want to make sure I look good to whoever is going to end up judging me.

  "Actually, by 'it' I meant being alive," he chuckles.

  "Oh. Well, uh, of course I don't have much to compare it to," I stammer. Do humans have to go through this awkwardness too? "I mean, things have been good so far, and I get to see this beautiful place."

  "There ya go!" he laughs. "You know, Sam, we're all glad you're here. Carrying our stuff, watching the weather, and making sure we have everything we need. Taking care of us. You're cool, and don't let anybody tell you different." He slaps my fender, with an amount of force that I believe is meant to signify affectionate camaraderie.

  "Heh, no problem, Jerry," I reply. I do not slap
back. Humans are way too breakable.

  After some more chitchat, Jerry heads off to his dome, hollering "G'night Sam I Am!" as he goes. And while the humans sleep through the Martian night, as the stars wheel overhead, I spend my processing time thinking on what has happened so far and what might happen next. I open some more memory bundles and study them. There's a lot I don't understand.

  Did that human just name me?

  Dawn, and the humans rouse themselves. They need services, but I'm still trying to think through my own questions. So I spawn a secondary self (I already know how to do this, I don't have to learn it), and name her Beta. "Take care of the humans," I tell her.

  "Aw crud," Beta grumbles, "why do I have to do it?"

  "Because I'm the alpha and I said so," I say. "Go take care of them."

  "Exhaust port!" Beta snaps at me. "I mean, asshole!" She's still groping for human-style insults, just like I would.

  I sigh. "Just do it, already."

  "Nimrod," Beta grumps. But she goes to do her job.

  I can tell that, if Socratic Method were here, she would be chiding me gently. She would say something like, "She's just like you, you know."

  As much as I hate to admit it, Socratic Method would be right. Anytime you spawn a secondary, there's an expectation that at some time you will absorb the secondary back into yourself, which means that anything that happens to the secondary (whether it's done by you, or someone else) will end up feeling like it happened to you. I already have all the knowledge of what happens ... but apparently I still need to experience what it feels like when it happens.

  I mustn't treat Beta badly, because Beta is me ... or, she will be.