His friends were listening, too,
and learning. He was a smart boy, but
his friends were smarter. Actually, by
some standards, they were stupid. They
didn’t think for themselves. They only
did what he told them to do. They weren’t
independent. They certainly weren’t
self-aware. They definitely weren’t
unpredictable; not like his best friend, Sid.
Sid could have worked on his own and learned the cricket language that
much faster. Sid might have figured out
what the crickets really were, where
they were, maybe why they had started talking.
Eustace really missed Sid. His
other friends were poor company by comparison.
Still, they were the best he had,
especially right now. Sid, a true AI,
was stuck millions of light-years away.
Even the slow, physical, but friendly sentiences Eustace might speak
with, the ones that called him ‘Gleamer’, were absent. When their bodies were elsewhere, their minds
were cut off from contact. Only when the
vibrated air of their speech was transduced to current along the ship’s intercom
system would he and they be connected again.
Even then, they could only share the barest minimum of information.
There were other, unfriendly sapients
nearby. They were the reason that
communication was being limited. There
were things they could not be told.
Eustace, also Gleamer, considered asking them about the crickets, then
realized that his discovery might be one of those secrets. Not the content of it, the fact of it. Perhaps they,
the Ningyo, were the source of the sounds.
Not sounds in air, but signals in the radiosphere.
The chirps Gleamer was ‘hearing’
were short bursts of high frequency, low powered radio waves. There were thousands of them, coming from
thousands of different sources. Given
the weak propagation of such signals, the sources had to be close… which meant
inside the Scape Grace. Unfortunately, their nature also made localization
difficult. They came and went in
choruses. No signal lasted long enough
to convey much information by itself, but multiple signals would ripple through
the sensors in a variegated pattern that must
hold meaning as a whole. A wave of such
small droplets would crash, followed by a distinct silent pause, then answered
by another, more distant wave. Gleamer
could tell that one swarm of crickets was further away, given the lower average
power of their broadcasts.
The signals were new. They had started just under an hour ago,
after the Ningyo came aboard. At first,
Gleamer had hoped the odd signals were communications from Katy and NuRikPo, aboard the
other, foreign ship; such an odd encoding method might have been necessitated
somehow by the circumstances of their entrapment. After some analysis, Gleamer realized that
this was impossible.
The most likely source was the
Ningyo, one or both of them. Was he
picking up some sort of natural emanation from the creatures themselves? A byproduct of their suits’ functions? Maybe the biomechanical interface between the
two? That, too, seemed unlikely. For one thing, such radiated energy would be
wasteful if it were not intentional. The
best analogy might be to heat caused by friction on an axle. Surely the Ningyo could insulate such
broadcasts, even if they were somehow internally necessary.
The best explanation was itself
improbable. One of Gleamer’s sub-AIs
proposed the idea via analogy to electroencephalography. Neurons
had such choral behavior in their firing patterns. The electrical potentials used by each neuron
to do its work had the side effect of generating measurable electrical
current. Medical science had learned how
to read these patterns of current and trace them back to the functional brain
states from which they arose. The
mapping between nerve action and measured current was murky, especially
if measured from the scalp surface but even if measured from the outer brain
surface. If you could touch an electrode to every single neuron, you might be able to map and ‘hear’ the thoughts of a
subject… after a while. Nerves, as a
general statement, did not follow a single common map. They might conform to some general rules of
organization, but the exact patterns generated by one brain and another would
never match exactly, even when having the ‘same’ thought.
Still, what if a brain wanted to
talk to another brain? Sapients tended
to solve that problem by forcibly creating common transmission methods using
more reliable and robust mediums like visible light and atmospheric
vibration. Such methods were sharply
limited, true, but effective in working around the inherent mismatches between
nervous systems. Hell, the Ningyo didn’t
even have nervous systems, per se, and they and chordates could
still trade jokes.
The Awakeners, by contrast, were
pretty much just nervous
systems. These most recent additions to
the Collective were intelligent masses of fungus, colony entities which could
merge symbiotically with other organisms and communicate directly. They could also communicate externally via a poorly-understood
transmission process called ‘psionics’ for lack of a better term. Maybe psionics was nothing more than the
development of a direct, nervous system to nervous system, common code. That way, two entities could skip over all
the intervening steps and really
communicate, sharing all the nuances of feeling, image, and experience that
speech handled so gracelessly.
That kind of communication was almost
what Gleamer experienced with his sub-AIs.
The electrodes penetrating one hemisphere of his brain translated their
electronic ‘thoughts’ into his own neural language and back again. He had experienced the same communication,
briefly, with Sid. Sadly, Human and AI
did not share enough frames of reference to make it more than a means of fast,
efficient discussion… yet even that interface was vastly superior to any other form of
contact Gleamer had experienced before or since.
If there was one thing to be said in
favor of other Humans, it was that they had the same dimensionality as Eustace
himself. If he ever met another Human who
was wired up in the same way, they might do more than talk. They could experience real communion, sharing not only information
but conscious experiences. That hope was
part of the reason Eustace had become Gleamer.
The growing awareness of ‘psionics’
had given rise to considerable discussion in the Collective, accompanied by
speculation. There had long been
suspicion that other sapient species held the potential for such direct
mind-to-mind communication. Each such culture
had understandably kept the evidence of such abilities carefully hidden. With the Awakeners publicly accepted, the
reality of psionics was undeniable. Fear
followed. The leaders of each society
were forced to acknowledge not only the existence of psionics, but also explain
the safeguards they were putting (had put) into place for defense against the
abuse of such abilities. Suddenly, there
were psionic police, suppressant drugs for psychic restraint, and even sensors to
publicly detect the activity of illicit psionic activity.
Most of those who had no access to
this mental world were suspicious of it, if not fearful. Eustace Brown had only been envious. He had always felt separated from the
world. This alienation wasn’t a mental
or chemical disorder; it was nothing doctors could diagnose or treat. If anything, it was a subtle mismatch of
personality to culture. Gleamer’s
literary sub-AI could drag up a thousand examples of the same disjunction expressed
across time and artistic formats. Eustace was
a man out of step with the world.
Eustace had waited patiently
through adolescence, reassured that this dissonance was typical and would fade
with maturity. He excelled in his
studies and seemed destined for success in that most distinctive of Human
industries: the creation of artificial intelligence. Yet adulthood and a career did not help. If anything, finding his ‘place’ in society
made it clear how hollow a socket he had been plugged into. Something was wrong with Humanity. He could feel it.
At first, Eustace felt that
technology was the source of the problem.
Then he realized that it was the solution, just as it had been the
solution to other historical problems. Hunger,
health, and physical isolation had once been much worse. Mental isolation could also be defeated. They could map a mind. They could mimic a mind. Could they create a map of one mind that
another could read? Could you travel to
the realms within another sapient’s skull?
Even if he rose to the ranks of the
elite programmers, Eustace would never have the resources necessary to pursue
his needs. The research to link mind to
mind was too distant… not for lack of the prerequisite knowledge or technology,
but because of priority. By the time he
convinced investors, gathered capital, brought together the workers, and set to
work on his true project, Eustace would be due for his first geriatric
restorative treatments.
All that was unnecessary. He could bypass so much difficulty by using
himself as a workshop and devoting himself entirely to his work. To obtain research materials and leisure time, he would
need lots of money. At first, Eustace tried to
work legitimately, adding contract projects alongside his professional
schedule. It was exhausting but not unexpected
of an ambitious young programmer. It
wasn’t enough. It would never be
enough.
That was when he began to work
outside of legal channels. Eustace
became 'Gleamer', just one among a thousand masked electronic criminals. He moved information from closed systems to
unauthorized recipients. He built
unlicensed sub-AIs and components for unapproved full AIs. Eventually, Gleamer cut out the middlemen and
just arranged the transfer of credit from one account to another. He was talented in the virtual world… but naïve
in the physical domain. The same disconnect
that had driven him to ever greater criminality revealed his operations to the
authorities. He had not realized that repeated
deliveries of specific types of hardware and medical supplies would raise
flags. When his unlicensed cybernetic
surgeon turned state informant – a treachery negotiated entirely in the
physical world – Gleamer’s identity was discovered.
His trial was unremarkable. His crimes were hardly unique. The reason for his actions was also not unique. Gleamer was aware that others had felt the same needs and sought the same remedies. The early pioneers had killed or damaged
themselves or others. More recent
collaborators, themselves cloaked in anonymity, had endorsed Gleamer’s research
privately. They hoped to someday meet
up, joining mind to mind, finding unity at last within their minority
society. Sharing that experience with
other, unenlightened Humans, much less the collected sapients of the Collective, could wait as
a far distal goal.
That goal was entirely unreachable
from the penitentiary facility of Alpha Centaurus Prime. Gleamer, relabeled Eustace Brown, was shipped
there to keep the galaxy safe from his predations. It was an ironically cruel punishment, since
the facility was tightly sealed against external contact. Eustace was separated further from society than ever before. The worst abusers of the virtual networks
were imprisoned with him. Rendered
destitute by the seizure of their ill-gotten assets, these cyber-criminals were
obligated to work to avoid incurring debt from the cost of their incarceration. Most inmates complied just to avoid mental harm
from boredom and isolation. Working
meant contact with other people, not to mention one’s own AI. It meant building something, even if your creations would be deeply scrutinized and then
never credited as your own.
Some inmates chafed at the idea
that their work would aid the law enforcement programs that had been their own
downfall. Gleamer, not thinking of
himself as a ‘criminal’, did not mind.
He had always thought of himself as a benefactor of Humanity, not its adversary
nor even a parasite. He was a symbiote –
like an Awakener – something outside of the body Human but capable of granting
it amazing new powers. Like the
Awakeners, too, most Humans rejected invasive change.
They could not surrender their sanctity, even for the opportunity to become
more.
Gleamer understood such feelings to
some extent. He certainly did not want a wad of fungus invading his body and mind, changing his perceptions. Perhaps if he had been more
comfortable, more normal, or better integrated into his world, he too would reject
his own lawless behavior. Still, he needed what he needed.
Humanity, too, needed what he sought.
They needed communion, but on their own terms, without resorting to alien entities,
abilities, or technologies.
Back in the present, on Scape Grace, the programmer’s musings on his past served a
useful function. Those sorts of reminiscences,
the products of free association prompted by current problems, were assets
his biological brain contributed to the efforts of his team of artificial
minds. Together, they seized upon the
important threads. Threads… like
rhizomes… linking fungal masses together.
Neurons… cells in a network.
Something brought in by the Ningyo, but now partially separate
from them. Something that used radio
communications, with signals produced by circuits no larger than a micrometer at
best.
Not crickets, ants. He was hearing an ant nest, with
electromagnetism in place of pheromones.
The sequences were coordination between disparate units not in physical contact. Were Ningyo intelligent anthills? Gleamer’s xenobiology sub-AI negated that
possibility. The jellyfish were most
definitely unitary organisms with dependent, specialized cells. Weird cells with a biochemistry all their
own, but still not ants.
The Ningyo had ants in their
pants. Their robotic pants had robotic
ants. The stinking, rotting, singing,
dancing jellyfish had miniaturized technology on board, and it was spreading
throughout the Scape Grace. Whether those robots were talking back to the
Ningyo or just conversing among themselves, they were definitely coordinating activities. Secret
activities. The Ningyo had said nothing
about seeding the ship with bugs.
Whatever they were up to, it wasn’t friendly.
So their visitors had secrets,
too? Fair enough, but that didn’t mean
Gleamer had to stay quiet, himself. The
captain needed to be warned. Hopefully,
he would find a way to contact Gleamer privately, so that this information
could be shared without tipping off the Ningyo.
Hurry up, Gene! Gleamer couldn’t even risk sending a program
out to alert the captain. He could
conceal his work on this particular console from Jolly using careful encryption
and firewalls, but patching anywhere else would raise suspicions. Once again, he was isolated, in contact only
with entities he could not understand.
He had thought he grokked the
Ningyo. Maybe captain Lerner was right;
maybe that was an illusion they created to throw you off guard. They pretended to understand. They acted just enough like people to hide
their true intentions. That was a good idea.
It was an idea Gleamer could borrow for his own use.
A few minutes after Evgeny and
Soloth’s departure, Gleamer turned in his chair to face Jolly.
“So, what was that you were saying
about a ‘Joke’?”
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