Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

He disappeared, and the door closed with a squeak from its tight seal.

  Laura was petrified when the lights in the workstation went out completely. She was lying on her back in the middle of the chamber.

  "Are you ready, Laura?" she heard. It was Gina's voice.

  "I guess."

  Suddenly, the floor rose to an inclined position like a hospital bed. Then the starry night sky appeared out of nowhere — emblazoned on the ceiling of the otherwise dark workstation. Then the brightly lit horizons crackled into view on the walls and floor.

  Laura was lying outside the computer center on some sort of trailer. Beside her was the sandbagged fortress of Hoblenz's troops.

  Laura was on the truck, she realized, that had driven up just before Filatov summoned her. The tarps that had covered its cargo now lay on the ground. Three empty positions dotted the long flatbed beside her.

  Something was strange about the world around her. Everything seemed smaller. The sandbags, the jeeps. Hoblenz ran about shouting orders to his men, who seemed to be packing up to leave.

  He was noticeably smaller than he should have been at such close range.

  "Mr. Hoblenz!" Laura called out.

  "He can't hear you, Laura," Gina said. "Model Eights can't produce audible sound waves."

  Gina had not spoken with the "all-around" voice of a moment before. Laura turned to look at the sound's source. The muscles of her neck had to work hard against the suddenly stiff and confining hood.

  "Don't try to move more quickly than a robot can," Gina said. "The skeleton restrains you to the robots' range and speed of motion."

  Gina stood tight beside Laura — her image faint and fuzzy.

  Gina was apparently imaginary in the teleoperation mode. Laura looked back at the scrambling soldiers. Their images were sharply depicted.

  "The solid-looking objects you can manipulate," Gina said, anticipating Laura's question. There were faint burping and tipping sounds in the distance. "Hear that? That's Mr. Gray attacking a very surprised Model Eight who blasted him with a microwave version of 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'" There were other sounds, each of different duration and tone.

  They were robot screams, terse data transmissions that screeched over the chamber's sound system. They were inaudible in the real world but perfectly clear in cyberspace.

  "You'd better get up now. Your comrades-in-arms are wondering why you're lying down on the job." Laura struggled to sit up, but the suit made the task very difficult. The motion, however, had been noticed by the soldiers, whose weapons were raised and pointed her way.

  "Be careful with them, Laura. You can hurt them, and they can hurt you."

  Laura looked down at the open brackets around her hand. When she lifted her arm, the Model Eight arm rose. She moved her fingers. Her thumb and the two fingers closest operated the three fingers of the robot's gripper. She could feel the rubberized supports beneath her back with her new robotic skin. Laura and the robot were one.

  Gina talked her down to a standing position on the lawn just beside the trailer.

  "There! You're getting the hang of it! Now, come along, come along." Gina headed off toward the sounds of battle, turning back and waving for Laura to follow.

  Laura began the slow and difficult process of walking. The suit held her like a full-body straitjacket.

  "Come on, come on, come on," a grinning Gina said, skipping in front of Laura and turning backward and forward in a girlish dance.

  Laura peered through the fires and smoke ahead. "What's going on up there?"

  "The Model Eights have taken heavy losses. They started out with thirty, but they're down to thirteen, plus another five or so walking wounded."

  "How about our side?"

  "Not so good, I'm afraid. Most of the Sixes are gone. We've got twenty-nine Model Sevens still functional, plus you, Mr. Gray, and Doctors Bickham and Holliday — my four guardian angels!" She beamed a broad smile at Laura, and it was then Laura noticed that Gina wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. It looked very much, in fact, like what Laura usually wore. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face by two combs.

  "Okay now," Gina said as they rounded a smoldering Model Six. "Get ready!" Laura halted in her tracks. "Don't stop! Sic! Go get 'em!"

  "What do I do?" Laura asked.

  "You go over there and bash their heads in." Gina balled a fist up and comically peppered the air. "Or better yet, their chests — that's where their nets are."

  "But they're made of steel."

  "So are you, dummy! Go-go-go!" Laura headed off, having to concentrate on the simple act of walking. "Thank you," a quiet voice came from behind. Laura stopped and turned. "Thank you," Gina said again, "for this."

  Laura nodded and then ambled into the maze of burning hulks.

  Several of the fallen Model Sixes and Sevens still twitched and writhed. Up ahead she saw the first Model Eight. It was bent over at the waist with its hands on its knees. Its back was turned, and Laura decided it was an easy first target. She crept up and brought her clenched fist down hard onto the unsuspecting robot's broad back.

  "O-o-ow!" Laura heard as pain shot through her fist. Laura grabbed and rubbed her hand, and the robot turned around rubbing its back. "What the hell did you do that for?" the robot shouted.

  "Margaret?" Laura asked.

  "Yes! Jeez!"

  "I'm sorry," Laura said, raising her hand to her chest in embarrassment. "I couldn't tell it was you."

  "The real Model Eights are over there," Margaret said, pointing with one thick finger through the smoke. She then arched the robot's back and flexed its shoulders under the black elastic material.

  "Did that hurt?" Laura asked.

  "You're damn right it hurt! Plus, I'm exhausted! This is ridiculous!"

  "Where are Mr. Gray and Dorothy?"

  "They're over there somewhere." Again she pointed. Her gestures were entirely natural even though she had only three fingers.

  "Why are we doing this?" Laura asked. "Why not just have the computer operate these Model Eights?"

  "The computer doesn't have the motor skills to operate a biped."

  Just then they both heard Gray shout, "Get over here! Now!" A Model Eight stepped around a crumpled Model Seven, waving for them to join him.

  Margaret and Laura started walking toward him.

  "How did he know who we were." Laura asked.

  "We're the only two robots standing around bullshitting. If you look closely enough, you can tell which of the Model Eights are really the humans. They don't act the same."

  The flames from a wreck lapped at Laura's left shoulder. She shied away even though the furious fire seemed only mildly warm.

  When they rounded another heap of metal, they both paused to survey the scene.

  A lone Model Eight did battle with a Model Seven remaining just out of reach of its raised leg. In that position the Model Seven couldn't move. It could only stand unsteadily on its three remaining legs. As the Model Eight slowly circled its prey, the Seven had to plant its raised leg before lifting the next one in defense. It was during one such changeover that the Eight attacked.

  Before the leg closest to the Model Eight could be raised, its two-legged attacker was already upon it. The Seven then clutched the Model Eight into its grasp, and the two robots crashed to the ground in a heap. The spider had no mouth for biting, and the multi-legged clench was entirely defensive. The Eight twisted and turned its body to get free, and it finally pulled one arm from the tangle.

  On seeing the brilliant light and searing flame of a torch, the Model Seven began to kick frantically to repel the Model Eight. But its legs began to fall one at a time, and from the gruesome vivisection came a continuous scream of microwaved agony. When the crippled robot lay convulsing on four short stubs, the Model Eight calmly sunk the torch deep into the spider's torso. Liquid nitrogen spewed from the wound and sizzled in the air, signaling the end of the Model Seven's horrible suffering.

  The smell o
f burning metal from dead and dying robots filled the air.

  Laura felt sickened and ready to turn back. "There!" Margaret said, pointing at a large and confusing cluster of brawling Model Eights. She took off, and Laura followed. A dark form lay curled into a ball on the ground. It was being stomped by the heavy feet of Model Eights. A lone robot flailed at the backs of the surrounding pack.

  Laura heard the whimpers and yelps of pain and fear in Dorothy's voice. The young girl in the Model Eight's body lay under the robots' blows.

  Margaret reached out and pulled a Model Eight to the ground from behind, stomping on its face with her heel.

  Another robot from the pack lunged at Margaret. Laura stuck out her foot, and the robot fell flat on its face. Pain shot through Laura's ankle from the hard contact.

  "Help me-e-e!" came Dorothy's cry.

  With her teeth clenched tight Laura lowered her shoulder and charged. She crashed into the rear ranks of the robots, and they all tumbled to the ground in a heap. Laura lay on top of the pile with her arms wrapped around the squirming forms. The bodies bucked and rolled beneath her, but she hung on as tight as she could.

  Gray had succeeded in crouching over Dorothy. He absorbed blows meant for her on his back. Over the angry burping sounds of microwave transmissions Laura could hear Gray talking soothingly to the sobbing girl.

  A flash of white light stunned Laura for an instant — a sharp blow shooting pain through her jaw. She ducked to avoid the second punch, which struck hard against the back of her head. It hurt far less than Laura had expected — the armor plating on her robot skull absorbing the force like a helmet.

  She struggled to her feet despite repeated blows. Some brought pain, but most were inconsequential. One of the robots she had knocked down was trying to stand. Laura kicked it in the face with her thick boot.

  She cried out at the unexpected pain from her toes. She was learning slowly which robot parts to use as weapons, and her toes were definitely unsuited to the purpose.

  When Margaret made her own charge into the fray, Gray was finally able to drag Dorothy out. Margaret got struck hard in her chest by a metal pole, and she staggered away from the fight cursing loudly. That left Laura alone to face a dozen robots, and she turned to make her own quick escape.

  She ran headlong into a waiting Model Eight. There was a smattering of burping transmissions and then silence. The others got to their feet all around her, but made no move to resume fighting. The lone robot, facing Laura, walked right up to her and stopped. A microwaved "growl" from the Model Eight hurt Laura's ears. All the others stood still, watching the encounter with great interest.

  "Me?" Laura asked, raising her hand to her chest in question. "Are you talking to me?" There was another short burp of data from the robot.

  "I… I don't know what to say? Can you understand me?"

  The Model Eight slowly reached for a holster on its right hip. Equipment ringed its waist, and the robot's wrist plugged neatly into three shiny prongs that rose from the bolt. When it pulled the new attachment from its holster, a searing blaze burned the air with blistering fury.

  Icy panic seized Laura in its grip. She couldn't look at the blinding light from the torch. All she could see was the dark profile of its owner slowly approaching.

  "No!" Laura shouted. "Computer! Get me out of here!"

  "Just a minute, Laura," Filatov said calmly as if over a loudspeaker. "I'll get to you after I get Dorothy out."

  The burning tip of the torch was pointed straight at Laura's chest. A heavy rumbling suddenly shook the ground beneath Laura's feet, and the Model Eights all turned in unison toward the road. A giant crawler was rounding the tiny human fortress at the computer center entrance, and its metal treads chewed up the turf as they rolled onto the lawn.

  The few remaining Model Sixes scattered from the path of the lumbering crawler. One wounded robot, however, moved far too slowly on two flat tires. The crawler pivoted with surprising agility, throwing up huge quantities of sod from the groomed field. The Model Six disappeared in a single crunch, flattened under the millions of pounds of the crawler's weight.

  The Model Sixes and Sevens began to flee in mindless fear.

  Gina's army had been routed. The barbarians were poised to pour through the gate.

  The scene disappeared, the workstation's screens fading to black with a crackle.

  "Are you okay?" Laura heard. Gray stood right behind her. He still wore his exoskeleton, although he had removed his hood.

  But the door to her workstation remained closed, and she hadn't heard him enter. "Are you… here?" Laura asked.

  "In what sense?" Gray replied. His form glowed slightly in the darkness.

  "You're really still in your own chamber, aren't you?" Laura said.

  Gray tilted his head to the side and frowned. "You should know better than to ask complicated philosophical questions so casually."

  "Just cut the bullshit and answer," Laura replied.

  He smiled. "The walls and skeleton can only focus properly based on the position in the workstation of one user at a time. But right now, as I look at you, I see a Laura whose form is morphed out of the wall of my workstation. I see you, just like you stepped into my 'chamber.' It's the mirror image of what you perceive me to have done. But what 'really' happened? Did your virtual representation step into my workstation? Or did mine step into yours?"

  Laura didn't have to ponder the question this time. She knew the answer immediately. "It doesn't matter," she replied. "Whether you're in my workstation or I'm in yours — they're irrelevant concepts. This is cyberspace, here we're both in the same place. Workstations don't exist. Giant crawlers don't exist. The only things that exist are the things we perceive at this moment."

  "Don't forget memories," a third voice came. It was Gina. Her form was not visible, but she was there. She was omnipresent in cyberspace.

  Gray was nodding. "That's right. We do have memories also. Right now, Laura, your memories consist of experiences in the 'real' world and in the 'virtual' world. What is it that sets those memories apart? What is it that differs — qualitatively — between the memories you have of real life and those you have of cyberspace? Will you think back on tonight and remember being inside a workstation? Or will you remember the feel of the blows from Model Eights? And if your memories are of the fight you had with the robots, can you truly say that it didn't happen? That it wasn't real? That it was all a simulation? Or did it happen because you experienced it?"

  A steady breeze had rid the area of its odors. Laura drew a deep breath of sea air. "Plus what we did had an effect on reality," Laura said. "We slowed the Model Eights down. They stopped and fought us instead of charging on toward the computer center."

  "The world is changing, Laura," Gray said slowly. "And this is only the very beginning of it all." The thought hung there, suspended, incomplete.

  Laura let it dangle. She felt no anger. He wasn't teasing her, she knew now, he was baiting her. Luring her out of her time and her world and into the uncharted terrain ahead. He was coaxing her to follow him into the future, but for the moment Laura had ventured far enough.

  "Is Dorothy okay?" Laura asked.

  "She'll be fine. She's mostly just shaken up."

  "Are you ready?" came Filatov's voice from out of nowhere.

  "Yes," Gray replied.

  "So where are we going now?" Laura asked. She was content to let him lead.

  "It's time."

  "For what?"

  "The deceleration."

  Suddenly there appeared on the screens white stars against the black sky of space. The even blacker surface of the asteroid formed an inky pool in which Gray and Laura stood. In the sky was a digital clock, which ticked down past sixty seconds.

  "What's that?" Laura asked, mildly curious.

  "The countdown," Gray replied.

  "Oh," she said, watching the seconds pass. "For the detonations?"

  "Yes."

  She was as at ease in t
hat place as Gray himself. Laura stepped up beside him, and with the slightest of movements she extended the fingers of her hand.

  Their fingers intertwined.

  "Those two seem pretty cozy," Gray said. He nodded to the black forms before them, which were previously unnoticed by Laura.

  "Gina, illuminate the robots, please," Gray directed. The area lit as if under a surgeon's lamp. The Models Eight and Seven lay wrapped in metal bands, which were attached securely to large bolts.

  "We're only a few hundred meters away from the nearest device," Gray explained. "A front-row seat."

  The countdown fell to under thirty seconds.

  "Is this going to work, Joseph?" He had a look of contentment on his face that Laura recognized from before. She felt no need to press him for proof or logic or reason. She just watched the clock pass twenty and waited. Her senses were alert to what would happen next.

  He slid an arm around her waist, and she lowered her head onto his shoulder. The seconds passed, and she was at peace.

  A flash of light forced Laura's eyes closed. The soundless nuclear fire glowed red through her eyelids. When it dimmed, she opened her eyes to see a thousand fading spheres of plasma rising from the surface of the asteroid. Laura shielded her eyes and saw the two robots still lying in their brackets.

  Data flickered across an imaginary screen at their feet. Gray stared down at it.

  "It worked," he said quietly. The asteroid slowly grew dark again. A million sparkling fireflies fell slowly to the surface all around.

  "Tell me the truth," Laura said gently. "Did you really think it might not work? Did you really think that asteroid might hit the earth?"

  "The truth?" he said, pulling back to look her in the face. "No. I always thought it would work." He smiled and looked around the eerie surface of the asteroid. It was bathed in dying red light. "But you never know. That's what makes life so interesting."

  A blinking blue button next to the word Message appeared in place of the clock. Gray pressed it, and the scene shifted. They were standing now on the roof of the computer center. They overlooked the sandbagged walls surrounding the steps down to the entrance.

  The soldiers and their jeeps were all gone. The blast door was open.