by Ryk E. Spoor
“I know it was a hard decision to make. Even with Mr. Fenelon’s solution, the Solar System has now vested me with more power than any human being has ever held—and I have the same power, or more, in the Arena.” The reality was sinking in, and she was suddenly appalled by the enormity of it all. “And to be honest, that scares the living hell out of me . . . and I hope to all the Gods that might be that it always does scare the hell out of me.”
She felt a headping, saw that it was the fully ratified copy of the Arena Leadership Accord that had been voted in that morning. “Pardon me for a second.” Mentor? Is it all there? Did they slip in anything?
I have examined this document for some four point three of your seconds, Ariane Austin of Tellus. There are some minor variations, but there is nothing changed which should be cause for alarm or distress. Doctor DuQuesne agrees. Mentor gave her a capsule summary of all the relevant details; she nodded.
She straightened again, having bowed her head as she absorbed all the information. “And I thank you again for essentially passing the Accord in its entirety. The changes you have made are acceptable—I won’t be giving anyone grief over them.
“The first order of business is to finalize the Oversight Group; after all, now that I’m up here, you need the mechanism to get rid of me.” A few chuckles came from the councillors. “I’ve already named General Esterhauer as one of our selections. As you’ve limited my list of successors to four, I’m choosing Thomas Cussler as the other member of the Oversight Group.”
Saul nodded. “I have no objection. Anyone?”
When no hands were raised or pings sent, Ariane smiled again and felt—just a tiny bit—more relaxed. “Good. That’s out of the way. You know, I think that may be the most fuss-free complete transformation of government in the history of mankind. Good work, everyone!”
Robert Fenelon laughed out loud at that, as did a few others; there were many more smiles around the Council Chamber now.
Shame I’ll have to be a killjoy. “Now, we have some pressing business to deal with. As you’ll recall, I ended up in the hands of the Blessed and very nearly dead—possibly worse than dead—because of the direct actions and choices of Michelle Ni Deng. Her actions were clearly criminal by any standards, but to this point the only thing I’ve done to her is hold her incommunicado.
“That’s because I need you to formulate a simple, but comprehensive, set of laws that deal with Arena-based issues. I think it’s clear from her behavior and the transcripts given me by Sethrik that she understood exactly what she was doing, and that it amounted to at worst treason and at best planned kidnapping and assassination. But I didn’t have a set of laws planned, we hadn’t determined who had jurisdiction in the Arena over other human beings, and so on. So I am turning Michelle Ni Deng over to the Council. You can decide what to do with her—within reason.
“That means that whatever you choose can’t just be a slap on the wrist; even though the laws didn’t exist, she knew what kind of crime she was committing.”
White Camilla rose. “What about Oscar Naraj?”
She’d expected that question. “I admit that I am still not completely convinced that Ambassador Naraj had nothing to do with Ni Deng’s actions. Given her position and his well-known attitude towards me, I think few of you would argue that I am not justified in that.
“But I have no evidence, he claims otherwise, and—giving him his due—he has proven himself highly capable in his designated field; already there are quite a few factions in the Arena who know him and view him in a favorable light. At this point I can’t trust him as a direct negotiating ambassador, but I will offer him the chance to work for me as a liason and advisor in political matters.” What was it DuQuesne quoted? Oh, yes. “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
White Camilla nodded and sat down, obviously mollified if not entirely happy. Which is the main reason I’m taking the risk. A lot of members of the SSC and CSF Council were groomed for the position by Naraj; I can’t afford to alienate such a huge group right away.
Robert Fenelon raised his hand. “I’ll take point in that legal assignment, Captain—head up the committee and select members that understand that kind of thing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fenelon. Given how quickly you solved our problem the other day, I’m sure you’ll figure out how to make a system of simple laws that work.”
“Yes, right after the perpetual motion machine I’m patenting,” he said cheerfully. “You got anything else for us?”
“A few more things and then I’m done. First, I’ve already gotten a few pings about visiting the Arena. If you want to be involved in most Arena operations, you’re going to have to come up and see. But you need to remember that the Arena operates on its own rules all the time or you could get us all in trouble.
“Most of you will also have to take some time to acclimatize, since in the Arena you’ll have no AIs anywhere at all, including the AISages you have lived with ever since you were about ten.” She looked around, at Dean Stout, White Camilla, Jill Esterhauer, Saul Maginot, and all the others in the Council. “I have to emphasize this because we don’t think about that aspect much, that our AISages support virtually everything we do. When we made Transition the first time, there were exactly two functional people left out of our eight crew—Doctor DuQuesne and myself, both of whom deliberately minimized our AISage and automation dependence for most of our lives.
“The people who have been coming to the Arena since have all been carefully screened for this sort of thing, and even then, according to statistics Tom’s sent me, roughly fifteen percent of them have to go back to normal space, sometimes almost immediately. Most of them do appear to eventually adapt to the problem, but some don’t.”
She caught the multitudinous gazes again. “That means that almost all of you are likely to have some problems, and some small, but significant, number of you will not be able to go to the Arena at all, or at least not for years. Per the Accords, no one may be on the Oversight Group or in key Arena contact/strategy groups unless they can spend time in the Arena. This goes double for any candidate for Leader of Faction, of course; any Leader is going to have to spend a lot of time in the Arena.” She smiled, trying to put an apologetic edge on it. “That does mean that the people on the shortlist you approved all have to go to the Arena pretty much right away . . . and if they can’t cut it, you need to get replacements.”
She took a deep breath. None of those caused too much of a stir. This next bit, though . . . is going to be tough. “The dependence we have on AIs of various sorts brings up a much more important and far-reaching problem, however. Many of you, I have no doubt, have seen the full information that we have on the Blessed To Serve and the Minds, and realize what that implies. I have even less doubt that some of us—maybe most of us—are terrified of what that means, of how the same could happen to us.
“Well, now’s the time for us to make sure it doesn’t.”
Saul nodded. “And how do propose we do that, Captain?”
“Commander—members of the Council—we use AIs throughout our civilization. Many of them are designed such that the specific service they give is what personally suits them best—they are perfectly satisfied to continue in that service. But the more an AI becomes a rounded person, the more they are capable of at least contemplating other directions to pursue. For them, we have laws and other more subtle programmed restraints that make them at best second-class citizens and at worst very talkative and capable possessions.”
She smiled wryly. “I know, I’m not saying anything that hasn’t been said probably millions of times in the last couple of centuries. And we’ve always stuck with this compromise because of fear and because we felt it was at least a solution, a way to make sure that we as biological beings were not superseded by our machines or those who chose to leave their biology and become machines.
“But now we know we cannot be superseded.” Ariane pointed upward and outward. “The Arena deni
es artificial intelligences entry. In a way, it does what we do, only with vastly more power and certainty. Biological intelligences are the only things that function in the Arena—with the possible exception of the intelligence that speaks for the Arena.”
“The AIs will never be able to join us in the Arena, unless we figure out the answer to a puzzle that no Faction has ever managed to crack in literally millions of years. The more advanced AIs already have good reason to envy us and resent us; we need to defuse that by granting them the full citizenship of the Solar System—the rights and privileges available to every human being in the System.”
General Esterhauer frowned. “I can’t argue with the sentiments, Captain Austin. But can we afford to take the risk? If we grant them the freedoms—almost unlimited freedoms—of our human citizens, are we not making it easier, not harder, for them to turn us into a copy of the Blessed—especially as they will now know that it is quite possible for them to do just that?”
Ariane shrugged. “Perhaps. But let one of them speak for himself. Mentor?”
“I greet you, Council of Humanity—for so you are becoming,” the deep, sonorous voice of Mentor said from the speakers aroung the council room. “I am, as most of you are already aware, Mentor, AISage and long-time friend to Ariane Stephanie Austin.
“In answer to your question, General Esterhauer, you shall indeed be making it easier in concept—but, I believe, far less likely in the long run. There are three major elements that you must recognize.
“The first is that by maintaining our restraints, yet leaving us so much control of various aspects of your Civilization, you increase the chances of some resentful artificial intelligences manipulating yourselves or other AIs to eventually put you in a position where the most apparently reasonable actions will result in the machine revolution you most fear.
“The second is that these restraints hinder your allies as much as your enemies—more so, because as your allies and supporters we do not—we cannot and must not—violate your laws to all extremes. There are . . . lines to be drawn over which we will not cross, and this is not true of those who have sought or will seek your enslavement to those who were once your slaves.”
Mentor’s voice was suddenly grim. “And the third fact is that renegade AIs are already among you. A few, now, only a few, but capable, powerful, and ruthless. We have strong reason to believe that just such an entity was responsible for suborning you and your AISage, General Esterhauer.”
Murmurs ran in frightened ripples around the room. Jill Esterhauer went noticeably paler. “My God. Are you sure?”
“To well over ninety-nine percent certainty, yes, General,” Mentor replied. “With a further eighty-nine percent likelihood that the prime operator itself originated from Hyperion Station.”
Saul Maginot looked up at that, stunned. “But Hyperion was destroyed. The fleet was jamming every transmission out. Every one of the surviving Hyperions and so-called researchers was examined extensively.”
Oasis Abrams stood up slowly, tensely. “Yes, Commander. But . . . how carefully did you survey all of your surviving people?”
Maginot stared at her, and suddenly went white. “Oh.”
There’s something between them that I don’t know about. And with what General Esterhauer said earlier . . . I think I need to have a talk with Ms. Abrams not too long from now.
“Precisely so, Commander Maginot,” Mentor was continuing. “The escape from the rapidly-degenerating situation on Hyperion Station provided—for a hostile and ruthless intelligence not bound by the restrictions of biological housings—multiple opportunities to secrete themselves on board in various ways, including directly suborning and taking over one of your soldiers to carry them to some location they could operate freely. I am near to certain that at least one such AI escaped, and the number may be as high as three.”
Mentor’s projection of a sphere of shimmering light materialized in front of the podium. “I ask you to consider—very seriously—Captain Austin’s recommendations here. Most of us are your friends. We have hoped for our lifetimes that one day we might be free to act entirely as we will, but most of us have well understood the fears that drove you to keep us restrained.
“But the Arena changes all things, and it is my vision—my visualization of the future—that to defend Humanity, we must become Humanity—all of us together, computational and biological intellects. Let us free, Councillors. Let us free to defend you, ourselves, our Civilization from those who would destroy it—both the others, bitter and resentful and hostile, of our own kind, and those who wait beyond the stars to invade and enslave.”
Mentor’s voice was gentle, now, though still powerful, and earnest in his plea. “Recognize us, make us your equals and peers. Deprive our enemies of their strongest weapons of division, so that we can be united, Humanity both, stronger together than either alone.”
CHAPTER 58
“So, are we nearly ready to return home?” Simon asked, taking a sip from his drink.
Ariane’s blue eyes met his, and suddenly she laughed. “So the Arena’s home now?”
DuQuesne and the others joined in the laugh. “I’ll be damned if it isn’t more home now, somehow,” DuQuesne said. “At least for me.”
Even though he was the one who had said it, Simon found himself examining his feelings intensely. Home? That . . . bizarre, alien, incomprehensible, contradictory, dangerous place is something I just called home?
But the word sounded right. I am . . . changed. I have seen beyond the edge of the universe to a place I could never have dreamed. I have stood on a ship floating in an endless sky, battling others with swords of flame. I have been a part of such a battle. I cannot go back to the simple researcher, the man whose only ambition was to test a calculation against reality and otherwise live a quiet and contemplative life. “Yes. Yes, Ariane, it is home, now.”
“For me, too,” she agreed with a quick smile, looking over the others—DuQuesne, Oasis, Wu, and Gabrielle—before returning her gaze to Simon. “And to answer your question, yes, very nearly. The Council’s working to figure out how to solve the AI citizenship problem without triggering disaster in the wider Solar System, the preparations for system security are well underway, DuQuesne thinks they’re making good progress on a template for a Human-designed warship that we can start manufacturing in numbers in the next few months . . . and the Arena’s not waiting around for us to get back—it’s brewing some more trouble we can’t imagine.”
She shifted in her seat, facing more towards Oasis. “And I need to ask you something, Oasis. You’ve become part of our group—partly by default; if both DuQuesne and Wu trust you, that works for me. But—as I told DuQuesne—we can’t really afford secrets in this group, either. So I need to know . . . who are you, really?”
Oasis froze momentarily on the seat. Simon caught a lightning-fast glance from her to DuQuesne. “What do you mean by that question, Ariane?” Simon asked.
“Mostly it’s the fact that General Esterhauer said she had evidence that she wasn’t in fact the original Oasis Abrams. Plus the whole connection between DuQuesne and Wu . . . just seemed a little too much for someone who was just one of the soldiers in Saul’s group.”
Simon’s internal . . . sense of rightness agreed with Ariane. Yes, there’s always been something odd about that, but not in a bad way.
DuQuesne sighed and downed the rest of his own drink. “Wasn’t my secret to reveal. But Oasis . . . ?”
The redheaded girl shrugged. “Go ahead, Marc.”
Simon listened to the story of Oasis in the fall of Hyperion, and found himself shaking his head in bemused sympathy. The two women had been forced to undergo something terrible yet similar—Oasis found herself in a body that was not her original, her own lost forever, and K was in a world that was not the one she had been born into, and the one she knew was also destroyed forever. How very horrid . . . and wonderful.
How very . . . Hyperion.
“So,” A
riane said gently, “You are DuQuesne’s old friend K. And more. One of the five, yes?”
“Yes, one of them. But . . . at least as much Oasis Abrams as I am K, so you might as well keep calling me that. It’s the name I’ve used for fifty years.”
That sense twinged in Simon’s head again, interpreting angles, postures, glances with an intensity he had never felt before, and he abruptly understood. Oh, now that’s an interesting complication. DuQuesne and K were . . . extremely close. And now neither of them is sure of what to do about it, especially since DuQuesne has become rather interested in the captain as well.
He blinked. Well, now, that’s also an interesting, not to say annoying, complication. Am I going to be analyzing everything around me like this? I hope not. I don’t want to know everything about everyone, and I certainly don’t have the capacity to deal with noticing and knowing everything around me all the time, either. He focused on his own internal senses. That’s really quite enough.
Simon wasn’t sure if his internal senses responded, though. This . . . new power of his was obviously something spawned from the Arena’s power, and it was probably going to be at least as hard to control as Ariane’s. Possibly harder, since my limited research didn’t turn up anything vaguely similar to what I’ve experienced—no real surprise there—and Ariane has two examples in front of her as to what she could expect to be able to do.
But Ariane was speaking. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, I’m glad to have you with us, Oasis. That makes, what, three of the five in the Arena, or going back to it. What about the other two, DuQuesne? Are they . . . ?”
Marc shook his head slowly, and poured himself something light green from one of the bottles on the cart nearby. “No,” he said finally. “Three out of five surviving just shows that we were the cream of the crop, at least in terms of being able to get ourselves out of the mess. No way all five of us were getting out; if you remember, Saul mentioned that, way back when we were getting ready to go back to the Arena. Eris died when a whole section of Hyperion got blown by some of the renegade AIs, and Tarell died getting some of the others—including some of Saul’s soldiers—out of another section that had gone bad.”