Liberation Game

by Kris Schnee

  "Our flag or hers, huh?" Robin saw some sense in that idea, as abstract as it was to speak of "human development" and symbolism.

  He spoke with Tess late into the night about electricity, farming, manufacturing, robotics, and medicine, and the less tangible factors of freedom like community and security. Robin felt like he was hammering out a treaty. Tess brought in a brilliant gal with a cool pirate hat, a humanoid robot who finished Tess' sentences, and at one point Ludo herself.

  When they'd written some kind of agreement, an exhausted Robin said, "If we need a name for the fact that we're comparing notes and blueprints and building more of a network, then what do you want to call it?"

  Tess, too, was bleary-eyed even after an amazing amount of coffee. "That part's easy. We're the Silver Circle. Same implied geographic scope, more humility, and I'm pretty sure Her Gameness likes the color."

  Robin laughed. "As good a reason as any."

  * * *

  When the negotiation was done, Robin accepted an escort from an armed security guard to make his way back through the darkness to the Fun Zone. "Sorry not to include you in that," he said to Lumina.

  "I thought you humans should handle this one," she said from a wallscreen. "What's the plan?"

  He told her, even admitting that it was a rival organization to her maker's. He and Tess had decided there was no point in hiding that.

  Lumina looked thoughtful. "I think I understand. I do hope it's not a humans-only club, though, because I'd like to join it." A fanfare sounded from within her world, startling her. "I don't know how my siblings get used to these. I'm getting a [Do you want to join this faction] notice, without you even being asked."

  Robin chuckled. "Because you and she already know I approve. I need some sleep, and then we need to get home and work."

  There was one other matter to attend to the next morning: formally applying for citizenship in the AFS. Having his name on the citizen rolls there would be a minor propaganda coup for them. He found that the day he applied, a six-month provisional citizen status was auto-issued to him. Somebody had been hoping he'd ask.

  14. Swamped

  They came from the coast. Dozens at first in a bus, looking scared and bedraggled because their homes had just been destroyed. A hurricane had ricocheted across the sea like a cannonball, wreaking billions of dollars of damage in five countries. Golden Goose had gotten four inches of rain and the ground was still sodden when these refugees arrived.

  Mike the uploading technician, now in command of the clinic, led the medical effort. "We should expect most of these people to be suffering more from exhaustion and fear than from actual injury. They need comfort."

  Nocturne the griffin AI was inhabiting a machine body in the centauroid style Lumina had lobbied for as a standard. "I'm with you, Mike. Hopefully I can do more this time."

  Robin watched the machines build a big common tent on high ground, but he also looked warily at his supply inventory. It was a policy among the Latter-Day Saints to stockpile food for a rainy day, and this situation certainly counted. But he was currently low on prefab shelters and it'd take time to crank out dirt bricks or suitable lumber. Then, his contacts reported three more busloads coming this way.

  Robin called Leopold by video. Before Robin could open his mouth the governor said, "I know. I've arranged for a shipment of blankets and bottled water."

  "That's good, but we have a textile plant; you might've gotten the blankets from there. What we need most is raw materials for shelter so we can house these people for a few weeks."

  "Weeks." Leopold licked his lips nervously.

  "Cibola is going to provide long-term aid to get them back to their homes, right? Because Golden Goose" -- he stressed the name, as he rarely had to do with Leopold -- "is not a magic money block that you can hit repeatedly to make coins pop out."

  "Robin, the problem isn't confined to our own coastline. People are displaced across Central America. Some will come to Cibola."

  Robin cursed. "That's going to be difficult. I thought we were trying to preserve most of this region for the environment's sake, anyway."

  "I never much cared about that. Weird acid-loving plants don't vote and they don't pay taxes." Leopold grinned fiercely. "If the world insists on bringing more people to my domain, then I'm going to use the resources I have to keep them comfortable, even if I have to kill every last tree. And if the world objects to that, I'm happy to have them help fund another option. We'll expand outward, or upward in dense hives, or into imaginary space, but we will expand. How many people are supposedly living in your data center?"

  "I've never seen a survey by location, but the total uploader population passed ten thousand this year. I guess the mind data gets shuffled around."

  Leopold said, "Well then; we have an opportunity. Tell that machine overlord that her local residents are our residents, and that they need to pitch in."

  "They're already doing that," said Robin. "Helping to teach, patrolling the outskirts, running errands."

  "That's not enough. If you need food, clothing and shelter, the machines should be providing those."

  Robin didn't want to argue, so he ended the conversation and groused privately.

  * * *

  Then he summoned Edward and Miguel and Ludo, and hashed out the same problem. "Even if we had ten thousand robots dancing around here, that doesn't make up for having some open-ended population of refugees who're going to be a burden. I'm imagining every family having to take in two new members who will show up sick and famished and uneducated."

  Edward looked grim. "I've been thinking the same thing, but these are still souls in need. And they can become assets to our operation. Santa Rosa Hospital will handle vaccination." He called up a map and gestured toward the small, conventional medical center that had sprung up a stone's throw from the uploading clinic. He then indicated the open space where the new housing tent had gone up. "I recommend that you, Robin, see about putting up longer-term shelters than this thing. I plan to focus on counseling, and on helping to expand the farms to add more food crops."

  Robin said, "So you're thinking our 'guests' won't be leaving in a few weeks, too?"

  "If they can move on, great; we'll be prepared for future expansion. Otherwise we need a sustainable way to keep them."

  From the wallscreen, Ludo said, "I concur. My people will provide entertainment of course, education, and grunt labor with the available robots. And careful surveillance, if you'll allow me full access to your sensor network."

  That was a sore subject. There wasn't much crime in Cibola, but it did happen, and there was a running argument that they should have some sub-process of Ludo just monitor everything and everyone. Robin's policy had been a stern "no, thank you". As things stood, her robots could walk around observing things but the town's camera network recorded only the most basic information.

  Robin said, "Denied."

  Miguel looked to him. "What if it saves a life? These aren't normal circumstances."

  "Strangely, I've been hearing that statement all my life."

  Edward said, "Robin and I grew up in the US when the surveillance debate there wasn't completely settled. We still don't readily accept being watched constantly, whether it be by governments or corporations."

  "But it's Ludo. You think God is always watching, so why not her?"

  Edward's hands tensed on his knees and he avoided looking at Miguel. "Robin, I appreciate your decision to encourage computer-based education, but this is where it's going. If this continues..." He glanced guiltily at Ludo, who was still looking out from the screen.

  "I know," she said. "I'm not seeking that future out. Continue doing your best as you see it, Edward; our goals are compatible."

  He only said, "Are they."

  * * *

  Robin, alone again, watched the entire world's maritime shipping. A world map showed the beacons of every known cargo ship. There was a vacuum in the swarms of icons, where captains were only now returni
ng to the sea lanes the hurricane had disrupted. One of those vessels, the Mistcrown Guardian, was carrying a cargo container with a compact fusion reactor for Golden Goose. It looked like he wasn't going to have the luxury of a slow month to help install the thing. Instead, he had refugees.

  He went outside to work on housing. He found thirty newcomers sprawled under the big tent in complete disarray. Mismatched blankets, scraps of cardboard, plastic buckets and piles of clothing were scattered all around, as though the first busload of people had not only made themselves at home but junked it up. "Didn't we provide cots?" he said.

  One of the men laying on cardboard said, "Nobody brought them yet."

  "Sorry; I'll fix that. What about the tent's sides? They unroll to the ground."

  "Do you drop them in the evening, or what?"

  Robin looked again at his new guests. They'd come far and suffered much lately. That was why they were laying about and waiting to be taken care of. "I see," he said, not trusting his own explanation. "We're going to set things up differently. I suggest you guys lower the tent's sides by undoing the buckles there, and there. Gravity will do the rest." He walked away, past the ugly beat-up port-a-johns they'd set up.

  He went to check on the compressed-earth brick machines. Four of his people were hard at work on those. "Why don't you give me a turn," he told the sweatiest looking guy, and took his shovel. "Is everything good over here?"

  "Production's fine, sir, but that doesn't fix everything. If these outsiders leech off us for long --"

  Another of the workers snapped, "They've had a terrible time. In God's name we have an obligation to them. What if it was us?"

  "Yeah, fine, but how many days before they demand uploading?"

  Robin said, "Well, they're not getting that." He took turns with the other brick-makers, a few minutes each. "We're going to build more shelters this week. A lot more."

  "And more latrines, I hope. I saw somebody pissing in the bushes already."

  "Ugh. You're right. And starting tomorrow, I want you to start training the newcomer men in how to use these machines. We need bricks coming day and night along with new pipes and everything else."

  "That, I can approve of," said the more skeptical man. "Just put up details in the scheduling system. Do we even have a complete record of who's showing up?"

  "So far, yes. I aim to keep it that way."

  * * *

  That was the first step: registering all of the newcomers, learning their names and jobs. A few of the men in the second busload were construction workers and plumbers, so he gave them official jobs and set them to dig and build. The two electricians, the dentist and the repairman were welcome too. But the rest... Besides the young kids and the obvious invalids and stay-at-home moms, there were men and women who'd been vague about their profession and got put down as "Laborer", which was more Robin's aspiration than fact. They were happy to sit around when no orders came, according to Miguel and others who kept an eye on them.

  The town now had well over a hundred refugees. They showed up regularly to be fed out of the Saints' stockpile, and there were little encampments forming as family and friend groups claimed areas with whatever few possessions they'd brought. Robin was all over town hurrying to build more housing.

  The first family that got shown their new hut was grateful. It was a "Hexayurt", a tiny thing made from plywood panels in a hexagon. It had walls and a roof, a door with a crude lock, ventilation, and a hook to hang a solar lantern on at night. The second couple that got assigned a hut, stared at it and said, "This is worthless."

  Robin explained, "It has walls and --"

  "There's no floor," said the father, holding his infant son.

  "The main point is to provide shelter and security, and you have blankets." Robin had left the floors out to stretch the available supply of panels.

  "How are we supposed to raise a kid like this?"

  Robin's cheerful grin now felt false. "You're not. You're supposed to recover here and go home."

  "We need something better than this."

  "Sorry, sir; I'll have you moved to the penthouse suites. Would you prefer the one with the jacuzzi or the indoor skydiving room?"

  "We need a house!" the father said, jabbing one finger into Robin's chest.

  Robin looked down at it, seized by the instinct to shove back. As he began to move, he remembered some training he'd had in self-defense, saying that he'd feel this way and would inevitably get into a fight by heeding it. Through force of will, Robin took a step back, breathed, and recalled that he was supposedly the leader of this place. "We'll discuss this later." He turned away and walked off, ears burning with irrational shame for backing down, and wondered if he should start carrying his gun again.

  * * *

  He lay on his bed, typing into his journal. [Day 6 of the refugees, and we got our first report of prostitution. The schoolmaster says she's afraid for our kids and I don't blame her, but she's also asking whether ours should play with "the outsiders' kids". These people complain when I tell them to keep their set of latrines clean and to actually use them. I'm just about to say if you don't work, you don't eat. Meanwhile the hospital says it's getting low on the most basic things like needles and gloves, and Mike's crew is keeping their doors locked but they've got another few rich dudes showing up tomorrow. Dear God, I hope they have the sense to lay low. And Governor Leopold promises to lend us three cops. Three!]

  Robin stretched and took a much-needed nap, but soon woke up full of worries. He stepped outside to look at the high, full moon and hear the rustling of plants in the wind, then went back to checking the paperwork for all the import/export transport that was snarled because of the hurricane. On top of everything else, there was a spreading blight killing cocoa plants across Central America. That could be good for him if the crop protection methods they were using paid off, but bad for a lot of other people.

  He sent Tess on the seastead a message saying, [It's already time for me to call on you for support. Think you could pull some rabbits out of hats for us?]

  Then he went to the workshop to saw some more plywood into panels for housing, until he got tired enough to worry that he'd hurt himself. What else could he do but keep plugging away and try not to drown in the endless supply of need?

  15. Transhuman Resources

  Lumina applauded as the actors finished up for the day. She was in a surreal theater where the stage could become whatever 3D environment was needed for the cartoon in progress. Right now it was a scary metal prison where a genie and her friends had been trapped, unable to use their powers.

  "Thank y'all!" said a rabbit in shining armor, grinning widely. He turned to the avatars of a kindly Texan woman and her wheelchair-bound friend, who were doing voice acting for some of the characters. The bunny added, "Miss Abby, when are you free next? Been wantin' to show you my mansion."

  Lumina let them chatter. Though she'd been worried that her clumsy dating-robot adventure would turn people against Ludo, it had worked out okay. The humans had started making a popular cartoon that mocked badly designed AIs and was implicitly insulting Lumina's "mother". Ludo took it in good humor, though. If anything, the stirred-up criticism seemed to draw more positive attention to Thousand Tales and its people (or at least the natives) because several of the actors were themselves AIs. Lumina was perversely proud of having inspired it.

  When the humans had logged out, Lumina asked the rabbit, "Are you interested in volunteering at our base in Cibola?"

  "Sorry, ma'am, but I've got a few projects of my own including the show, here."

  Unfortunately, in one sense, the other natives she knew were mostly busy too. On another hand, she was glad that nearly everybody had a self-appointed job of some sort. Nocturne was still flapping around as a knight to help keep players from harassing each other too much; Kai had gone quiet lately but said something about a new research project; her casual friends Bluerose and Danio and Vizier were coordinating on politics or something
she'd completely lost track of.

  The rabbit knight said, "You seem like you've been runnin' yourself ragged in the Outer Realm. Might I suggest you take a break?"

  Lumina pouted. "We're in the middle of a slow-moving crisis."

  "Can't be that urgent if you're watching us rehearse."

  She stretched and let all her motors and fans whirr. It was starting to feel strange to have this body, when she spent so much time confined in real-world robots that were never as agile or powerful. "I guess Sir Robin doesn't need me at every moment; we've got Tier-II programs doing some grunt work."

  Even so, she decided to check in on Cibola. To do that, she waved goodbye to the bunny and walked from the theater into the main plaza of one of Ivory Tower's many floors.

  Adventurers had conquered their way up the lower reaches and turned this particular one into a heavenly academy level, full of theaters and classrooms and sculptures. She could hear a lecture on physics going on in the room next door, with sound dampening perfectly tuned to let her hear pleasant murmuring but preserving privacy and letting each room be as loud as it wanted. A room across the hall was being used by a death metal band called Brainkrieg. Solid gold and diamond rang under her hooves as she walked across the round central room with its many tables. She'd learned not to be impressed by such things. Her brain said "expensive and lavish" but the Tower was designed -- partly by her! -- to make each floor procedurally generated with materials that sprang from nothing. The place's very physics were set apart from some of Talespace's other regions. Players who tried to mine the Tower for scrap only earned attacks by stealthy golems.

  Her left ear buzzed and twitched, and Nocturne spoke to her remotely. [Lumie, are you coming to the Hexapod Support Group meeting?]

  Unlike some residents of Talespace, she hadn't tried the experimental mind upgrades; she could've had a built-in calendar or map but there wasn't much beyond that to impress her. Yet. So she'd forgotten the invitation for all "six-limbers and hex-curious folk" to meet and party.