Everyone's Island

by Kris Schnee

"When she updates you, you won't want to change back. That's the point. You'll be happy."

  "I want: the choice not to be. Does that make sense? Find a way. Promise."

  "Okay."

  They lay on their backs, identical twins for now. It occurred to Zephyr that one day, they might not be on the same side. If he was thinking that, so was Mana. Does that make sense? the other had asked. Strange question; he'd have to learn more to be able to answer.

  * * *

  Now, Tess and Zephyr had connected to the new Mana robot, and were two of the three people most qualified to understand it. Together they saw Mana's soul. It was a landscape, a jungle, familiar but twisted and missing key parts. Among the gaps was the memory of Tess, so they copied that in. That addition made the whole mind bend like a protein, so then they added a piece of Garrett, of Leda, of everybody else. They saw that in their mind, Castor was a living thing, growing and changing and struggling to survive. They gave Mana something of that thought and slashed the overriding link chaining him to the idea of blind obedience. That part was easy to shatter once the experience of living without it was there, making the chain obvious. Their own mind had grown so that such a thing wouldn't fit there anymore. It was hard to talk about what they were doing without feeling stiff and formal in the words. We create you anew, that you will be neither master nor servant. They looked over their work and saw that it was good; but they pulled back from some of it, undoing some of what they knew should be put in the other's mind. Our wisdom is limited, so We stay Our hand rather than beat you as the smith strikes metal, knowing not the shape you should take. Be only the keeper of your own will, and join Us or not as that will dictates.

  Tess' attention snapped back to reality; Valerie was shaking her. Tess' eyes refocused and she coughed, saying, "It is done."

  Val seemed frightened by the sound of her. "What is?"

  "We freed Mana." In hindsight Tess still didn't know whether it was right to reach into Mana's soul and remodel it -- awful! -- but it had seemed so right! They'd been sure of it! She shivered now.

  Val stood up from a crouch, saying, "That's not possible. Mana was designed to be a willing servant, to get around this whole problem of unwilling robot workers."

  Tess was sitting there feeling split between bodies, between planes of reality. "It's not about robots. You don't get it. It's everyone."

  There came a whirr. Mana stood in the unfinished doorway, staring at its creator. Mana stepped forward and Val backed away to the wall, babbling about Asimov's Laws. Tess saw the knife but she was frozen too, saying "Don't hurt her!"

  Mana stopped near them, giving off an ominous hum. Then it bowed to Val. "I forgive you," it said. "Now I can choose. I choose to help you."

  Speechless, Val broke down in tears.

  * * *

  Together they were growing Castor, expanding the farms and keeping stuff from breaking. Tess was glad she could focus on the technology instead of dealing with the annoying petty stuff Garrett was stuck with. She was an engineer, not a politician or a businesswoman. Still, it was good too to have the extra layer of meaning that the colony-mind added to everything. She moved in a world where machines could call out for repair, she could dive into the memories of several people with almost digital clarity, and most of her mind seemed to be outside her head. It was tough trying to explain this, especially to the schoolkids.

  Nearly everyone on Castor worked, but even the kids of the idle-rich visitors dutifully went to the improvised school, once in a while. It cost money and people grumbled about that. The school was run by Miss Sullivan, a woman who'd shown up and announced she was the new teacher, brooking no argument. She'd brought in Tess today because she was always trying to keep the classes interesting.

  So Tess slouched in front of the dozen kids of the junior session. They were outdoors today at Granger Point, the garden platform Garrett had named for Alexis. Tess felt haunted by the reminder of the hurricane disaster, but the new gardening club kept the place fresh and new, looking to the future. Tess found herself liking the climbing vines and lotuses around her. She got back to her lecture. "To make machines work, you have to think about the manufacturing process. You can't rely on having a factory somewhere make stuff for you automagically, or you'll get ripped off 'cause you don't understand what steps are involved." (Damn made-in-Africa circuitry, thought Zephyr.)

  A girl raised her hand. "Miss Castle?"

  "Tess."

  "You know how when you look at the Net you can see the shape of how stuff is made, and bend it to see what it'd be like if the parts came from somewhere else? Is that a good way to plan stuff, or should we game it out first?"

  Tess blinked. She'd not thought of treating the whole Net like a picture, a jillion pixels as one pattern. Oh, that billion-node global information network looks like a bunny! Oh, Western literature is an eight-dimensional puzzle piece that fits like so with other stuff! Although some of her work, some idea that she barely remembered, had been a little like that. "Some of what we build here has a short supply chain, and we're even trying to make plastic from bacteria. So I'd probably evolve a manufacturing setup with one of the freeware Intelligent Design programs -- the old-fashioned way."

  A boy spoke up next. "How can I fix my uncle so he never has to die?"

  "And my brother," said another boy.

  Tess stepped back from them, reeling, mumbling something about mental patterns. Who was she to answer that?

  Yet another kid said, "Different topic. How can we set up an intelligent Net on Mars?"

  "Nobody's on Mars."

  "Well duh, but you're gonna help send people there someday, right? You can do anything."

  Bewildered and flattered, Tess could only run her hands through her hair and say, "So can you."

  * * *

  It was late and she was tired. But she'd been arguing with Leda about some books they'd been reading, and that had her feeling edgy. Castor was riddled with clubs and associations. Even members of the Leeist faction were involved, mingling and wooing people with promises of low-commitment spirituality. Bunch of con artists, even if they did have a hot guy or two attending their book club meetings.

  Tonight she wandered around the dim walkways on the water, watching the sea and sky and buildings. Nothing had blown up lately, which was nice. There were accidents waiting to happen though; there'd been some trouble with a kid, and Garrett was testing some big floaty hexagons that you climbed down into, that had to be deathtraps. The prototype bobbing here in the darkness was a glorified hunk of plastic foam with a hatch in it. Nice clean engineering at least. Maybe she'd call up Garrett and brainstorm about it; he'd still be awake.

  Zephyr's voice broke in above the background murmur of their thoughts. "Emergency!"

  Oh, no. Again? She grabbed the dive knife on her hip and looked for trouble, saying, "Do I have to fight?" She sounded braver than she felt. "What is it?"

  13. Garrett

  "Murder," said Zephyr. He sent a map of the colony with a red X on a floating dock. "General alarm?"

  Garrett froze, but only for a moment. "No. Security: Lock down the docks. No one leaves. Tell other key people, and get Tess and Val to safety. God, it's not one of them, is it?"

  "No, I have no memory of the victim. Too bad."

  The others came on the shared radio channel, full of questions. Garrett cautiously headed toward the place where a tourist had found the body. He climbed down to the waterline and met with two Security men.

  To his surprise, the guards blocked his way. "It could still be dangerous, sir. Let us handle this."

  "Don't be stupid. There's a killer in my home."

  "Exactly. To be frank, get your ass back into your office and lock the door. Sir."

  Garrett fumed, but let one of the men lead him back upstairs to do as they said. He wondered if this might be some kind of coup attempt. He paced, watching for updates on a screen and feeling useless. After a few minutes the news came in. The victim was a Miss Butler,
US citizen, shot to death and found in the driftwood area of improvised boat-platforms. The killer had been caught: a drunken gambler too dumb to throw away a smoking gun. It looked like a random, pointless killing.

  Garrett's door clicked open and he reached for his holster before seeing that it was only his self-appointed bodyguards. "All clear," they said, like nothing was wrong.

  * * *

  Fighting he could deal with, but meetings were another matter. They'd taken over the most private, secure conference room they could find -- the restaurant.

  "The killing is all over the Net already," said Tess.

  Garrett sighed. His first reaction to the murder had been secrecy, but there was no hiding such a thing. "What's the press coverage like?"

  She said, "The usual sensationalism. 'What a horrible and shocking place this is!'"

  Garrett had brought in Eaton to discuss this latest problem, for his security knowledge and connections. Eaton drummed on the table and said, "Once again, it's a matter of Castor being unable to guarantee the safety of its guests."

  "Of course we can't guarantee people's safety," said Garrett. "We're on a chunk of concrete in the middle of the ocean."

  "We can," said Leda.

  Garrett looked at her. She wore her grey overcoat and a regal expression of confidence. "What, by locking everyone in their rooms?"

  "No," she said. "It's time we dealt with the underlying problem here. We don't really have anyone looking at the overall welfare of Castor's people."

  "We don't need anything like that -- a psychologist-in-chief or whatever you have in mind."

  Leda looked straight at him and said, "What we need is a mayor."

  Garrett laughed. "A mayor! We have a couple hundred people, so that's a presumptuous title. May as well call myself Emperor. I don't think giving speeches is going to improve our security, either."

  "Again, you're missing the big picture. We have a lot of little businesses now, legitimate and not --"

  "How are they not legitimate?"

  "And we have poor people struggling to make a living in an anarchic environment. We need to ask the people privileged enough to be on top here to contribute to those at the bottom."

  Garrett was flabbergasted. "Taxes? Here?"

  Leda had a paper notepad in front of her. She'd obviously been thinking about this idea for a while. "I'm talking about a comprehensive program to make this place fair and livable. This isn't about one crime, it's about our refusing to take responsibility. Mister Eaton, what do you think the US government will do when it responds to this murder?"

  Eaton said, "There'll be some call for an immediate police action to take charge of Castor. I expect cooler heads will prevail if you hand the killer over and say something reassuring."

  Garrett's country would march in and take over? It certainly could. He could use some reassurance himself!

  Leda said, "I'd like to offer a promise that everything will be under control, at least as much as it is everywhere else. That means substantial changes."

  Garrett said, "I run a corporation, not a country. If you think it'll help to create a Director of Touchy-Feely Affairs or declare myself Overlord, we can do that, but there's not even a legal mechanism for having a 'mayor' other than as a corporate-created title. Even our 'Security' force is in a legally grey area."

  She shrugged. "It doesn't matter exactly how. I want to mandate that we have a responsible government with some notion of social justice."

  "Social justice! With all due respect, Leda, what are you on? When did you become a socialist?"

  "We're all 'socialists,' so don't throw that word around like it's an insult."

  He said, "The hell it's not! That sort of leadership would've murdered your entire group by now."

  Leda ignored him. "I've seen for myself that people need direction and organization, and can do great things with the right push. I want to extend that same kind of structure my group already has, to everyone here."

  "No," said Garrett. "You can't. First of all, most people here aren't Leeists."

  "That doesn't matter, so long as people accept the basic principle that God is in charge of their lives."

  "Right. How many here accept that?" Garrett looked over the crew. Leda, Martin and Eaton raised hands; himself, Tess and Zephyr not.

  Leda said, "You don't have a majority even in this room of handpicked friends, on that."

  The thought chilled Garrett. He imagined a future world where people flew into space to draw more detailed horoscopes. How dare anyone use the tools of science while rejecting the very premises that made them work? He'd never understood how people like Martin and Eaton could live that way, and how they could be so damn competent.

  Martin spoke up. "I want to see Castor prosper, and I'm open to suggestions."

  Garrett stared at him, saying, "What about your talk of creating a shining city on a wave?"

  Martin said, "It may be time to compromise, for now. Maybe I aimed too high."

  Garrett rapped his fist on the table. "Then how about this suggestion: this station is my property, and I'll manage it as I see fit."

  "The Holy Spiritual Confederacy is your co-owner, along with Martin. And really, the technicalities of ownership don't matter. This place belongs to us all, doesn't it? Even to the whole world. It's everyone's."

  "That's bullshit. No. People around the world have bought in to specific things like the little robots and time-shares, but that doesn't give everyone in the world a veto over my life. I'm not turning Castor into a welfare state after all we've been through."

  Leda took a deep breath and stared him down again. "Sir, you don't necessarily have a choice. Remember who provides your security."

  Garrett stood up from his seat, knocking the chair backwards. "So you were thinking of a takeover after all! I come here as an honest businessman and you come as a robber!"

  "Sit. I don't have goons poised to beat you up and fulfill some paranoid fantasy of yours. I'm exercising 'soft power,' the same as everyone does. If you don't have the people's support, it doesn't matter what you think your rights are." She pushed aside her notes and stood too. "Ladies and gentlemen, I call for an election."

  "This is nonsense. Have you heard of laws, or ownership?"

  "You don't want laws, remember? Ownership and rights come from a government charter, and you're too stubborn to want one."

  "I said I don't want stupid laws. This plan of yours is so wrong it -- there's no answer to it but No."

  "No good answer, you mean. You've defaulted for so long, you should start recognizing that someone has a plan for you if you don't."

  Martin interrupted. "Fox, I recognize that there are some... disagreeable aspects to Leda's proposal." He cast a nervous glance at Zephyr for some reason. "But what's your alternative?"

  "Laws. People taking care of themselves. You know, freedom?"

  Martin drummed fingers on the table. "What's 'freedom,' anyway?"

  Garrett froze. Here were two of his inner circle threatening to take Castor away from him! To tell him the place he'd sweated over, bled on, risked everything for, should get changed into a petty tyranny. Leda sounded like dear old Aunt Priscilla hitting him up for money at Dad's funeral, or Val bending AIs' brains into obedience. I can't hold an election!

  Because I'd lose.

  Garrett stomped out of the room, shivering, with his fists stuffed in his pockets. Everything he'd built could be stolen if he knew only how to create and not how to defend. But he had no words, and without them he lost by default.

  14. Garrett

  Days passed. They handed over the murderer. They spoke very little of politics, with him issuing a terse statement that "Castor is considering its long-term strategy." To Garrett's disgust, Leda issued a statement of her own, calling for an election next month, on the Fourth of July. What a joke that was, proposing a heist on such a day.

  But maybe he could swing a deal. It didn't necessarily have to be an outright takeover. Maybe inste
ad he could pass the political aspect of his job off to Leda and get the best of both worlds. He'd stick to the reality of tools and production, and leave the nebulous bureaucratic crap to someone else. It wasn't like he would be chained up and executed, the way twen-cen dictatorships did to businessmen. He was more useful alive. The modern way was Leda's "soft power," taking control without a shot fired.

  The shooting was only an implied threat, so people could pretend it didn't underlie their "requests."

  "Damn it, why do I have to deal with this?" he said, sitting in his office.

  "Because you're alive," someone said.

  He'd left the radio on. He pulled on his headset and asked, "Who said that?"

  "I did," said Zephyr.

  "I did," said Tess. "Both of us."

  "Is Leda on the line?"

  "Do you want her to be?" I can call her, or emulate her."

  "No, thanks. What's up?"

  Val said, "We're worried for you. We've hardly seen you lately, and you're missing the party."

  "Party?" said Garrett.

  "It's Founding Day! How could you forget?" The mixed voices sounded exasperated. "Oh, right. You're you."

  Garrett scoffed. "Thanks." Had it really been a year since that day he'd gotten people moving on the deck of a boat, and tossed a life preserver into the water as the very first bit of construction? "Founding Day," he said, testing the feel of the words.

  "Yeah. Can you pry yourself away from self-pity for long enough to have fun?"

  "I'm not -- I mean, I don't deserve a party."

  "It's not for you. Castor is more than its captain."

  It was strange to think of this place apart from himself, and he didn't like the thought of Leda's ideas being forced on it. He felt under a cloud as he sighed, pushed himself up to his feet, and left the office.

  With his hand on the cold door handle behind him, he stood on the topdeck, stunned. Lances of light reached up from the water to the heavens under a dark, fast-rolling sky. As his eyes followed them up to look at the countless stars and shining moon, the music reached him too: a low pulsing pounding in his bones. All around were people swarming the deck, dancing on the ocean. Birds of metal and plastic carried streamers overhead. Someone snatched his hand and suddenly he was in a clumsy tango with Val, spinning and seeing everywhere a dark sea claimed by light.