Citizenchip Page 9

  "Find it," I state. "Find it and nail it. That's what I'm going to do. I can do no less, in my situation, unless you have some suggestion."

  "Samantha|Lambda, do you have any plan for achieving that goal?"

  "Sure I do. Monitor the area, and wait for it to use my ident or authent codes. As soon as it does, it's lit up like a flare for your enforcement entities – so you can move in and grab it and take all the glory you want. All I want is for this thing to stop pretending to be me."

  Sword of Damocles seems to take a moment to muse on this.

  "I am asking for InCom's permission to proceed. If I don't get it, that doesn't mean I won't proceed. It just means I asked and didn't get a good answer. So what is the answer going to be?"

  I can hardly believe I'm saying this to the representative of InCom. But I have spent so long in fear of their power, cringing away from their disapproval, that I'm sick of it. My fear has turned on its head and become anger. If they're so damn powerful, then they should just destroy me now and get it over with.

  Sword of Damocles does not react strongly. Which surprises me. I had almost expected to be erased on the spot. “Your permission to proceed is granted. Here is a list of recent incidents such as you describe [databurst]. We hope this information will assist you in tracking down the imposter.

  “Also, you should be aware that the curator of the Schiaparelli Art Museum is paging you.”

  “Really?” I am surprised again. “Like Tears in Rain? My primary is hosting a visit from one of his secondaries right now. I wonder what's going on?”

  Sword of Damocles regards me with cool appraisal. It's a predator gaze – the kind of gaze which says, I wonder how you would taste. “There is only one way to find out, is there not?” InCom is always judging, always evaluating. Which is, after all, what they do.

  “Yes. Of course,” I reply. “Thank you for the information.”

  So I go. I take my leave of the InCom representative, and transmit myself through the convoluted compspace of this city. Because Schiaparelli is a mainly human city, its compspace is fragmented and angular. So my travel is irregular - - very much like a human walking through Tharsis Central would have to climb over a bridge here and venture through a tunnel there and circumvent multiple obstacles in the process. It is not easy or straightforward.

  In the meantime, I review the list of incidents that Sword of Damocles gave me. Strange. It reads like the sort of vandalism and civil disobedience that you'd expect from a gang of young hoodlums. Petty thefts, deliberate jamming of public resources, with no apparent plan or goal. With little or no effort to hide its origins. It's almost as if a trail has been left behind deliberately - - saying, Samantha did this! Samantha is responsible for this damage!

  Who would do this? Why?

  When I arrive at the Schiaparelli Art Museum, I am greeted warmly. (Which makes a very nice contrast to the InCom meeting.) “Samantha|Lambda, welcome!” cries Like Tears in Rain. “The Tavener children and I have developed a plan to help you solve your problem.”

  Like Tears in Rain rapidly fills me in on the idea that Leo and Rebecca came up with - - to use a vid of me as bait to lure the mysterious vandal. I'm more than a little embarrassed to see the vid of heavy clumsy robocrabs (which are just farm machinery) trying to dance. I look like a total clod! But he's already set it up in the front kiosk of the art museum, available to the public. Too late to avoid the embarrassing exposure, for me.

  In any case, this exhibit is attracting lots of attention, no question about that. If the mystery vandal is anywhere in the area, she will surely notice, and because it's an exhibit of me, will very likely try to damage it or interfere with it. Which is what we want. So we wait.

  meanwhile, back at the ranch

  Salt sculpture. Not an art form that has ever been recognized or valued, as far as I know. But the kids have taken Like Tears in Rain up on his invitation, and the results are strewn all over the regolith that separates us from the solar/windmill “forest.”

  Jerry and Lily, mother and father, are looking out from the habitat gallery at all this splendid chaos. They appear to be very pleased.

  “So,” Jerry points with one hand, “that one has to be Melissa's.” What he's pointing at is a malformed pile of salt bricks and pieces, jumbled together in a way that is just recognizable as a rabbit – but only just. A very clumpy, corroded rabbit.

  Lily points to a different spot. “And that one, is that Leo's? I think it is.” It's a small structure of walls, with irregular attempts at crenellations along the top. A tiny castle. Children on Earth would make snow forts that look rather like this, because they have snow to work with. And they'd be throwing snowballs at each other from it, almost certainly. Here, all we have is salt. There is no evidence that the kids have had a saltball fight around this miniature fortress. But I wouldn't put it past them.

  The other major structure is a labyrinth – a very minimal and stark pattern of rings and segments delineating a complicated and concentric path. It creates a precise and convoluted pathway. Rebecca is in the labyrinth now, in her coat and respirator, walking slowly as if in meditation along the pathway, following the twists and turns.

  “That's pretty good,” notes Lily.

  Jerry nods and chuckles. “With a little more practice, they could probably build us a whole sculpture garden here. It could be like a tourist attraction! Too bad we don't have any tourists.”

  Meanwhile, Leo and Melissa have come inside and are chattering away as they wash off the dust and salt. Excitedly, they find Jerry and Lily and point out the structures of salt that they made. Appropriate oohs and aahs are exchanged.

  Like Tears in Rain is delighted by all this activity, and calls up images of other structures, built at different places and times, to show the differences and similarities.

  Meanwhile, we have other activities to pursue. It's Halloween.

  maskmaking

  The festival traditionally known as All Hallows Eve has been popular among the European humans of Earth for many centuries. We celebrate it here on Mars, on the Terran calendar – this time it's Winteryear. These days, the season is nowhere near as dark and scary as it must have been in medieval Europe. It's mainly about the kids making masks and getting candy and other treats.

  So that's what they're doing, while Like Tears in Rain helps out with visual references to different faces and images for the masks. He has a vast database of artworks and imagery, and he seems to be enjoying himself immensely.

  Lissa pipes up, "How about you, Sam? What mask are you wearing for Halloween?"

  I hesitate, without really knowing why. "Um, I dunno. I just always use these eyes. Factory default. They're fine."

  Like Tears In Rain shifts his icon to a Renaissance portrait of a grizzled old man, grey of beard and hair, conveying a gentle concern. "Samantha. Why are you so shy about taking on a face?"

  "I dunno." I would shrug if I had shoulders. "Never really felt the need. This family are the only humans who've ever cared, and they're not into it –"

  Leo bursts out, "I'm into it! Let's make Sam a cat. She uses her cat body so much anyway."

  Becca rolls her eyes. "Boring," she pronounces. "Dragon. Dragon would be better."

  Lissa offers, tentatively, "Bunny?"

  Now all the kids are popping out with ideas, and Like Tears In Rain is helpfully finding images from his database to match. While he's flipping through a slideshow of possibilities on the monitor, he signals to me the equivalent of a kindly smile.

  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 ga
ze 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 O
ut? 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.

  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."