"Coral Amber did not approach me directly, Rowan. No apprentices do. She began her studies at a guildhall. Only after years of studying did I come to her, choose to mentor her. Find a guildhall, Rowan. Begin your studies there. When you're ready, I'll be here."
Rowan leaped to her feet. "But there are no guildhalls on Earth! There haven't been in thousands of years! Coral studied in a guildhall on Til Shiran, a world halfway across the galaxy. I can't just leave Earth. That could take years! I—Wait! Sandalphon, wait, don't hang up on me!"
But the Empyrean Firmament was fading around her. The ancients and their luminous world dissipated. Rowan remained alone in her trailer, standing by her bed, defeated.
"Ferkakte," she muttered.
CHAPTER NINE
Rowan stood in her workshop, staring at her creations.
She pulled up her welding helmet's visor and nodded.
"Not bad." She dusted her hands on her overalls. "Not bad at all, if I may say so myself."
Her two robots, the result of months of labor, were completed.
One robot was humanoid. Constructed of scrap metal, screws, pipes, and rods. She had a female shape, complete with eyelashes taken from a plastic doll. She wasn't horribly realistic. Nobody would mistake this robot for a living human. But Rowan had made due with the materials she had. The robot looked charmingly retro, she thought.
The second robot was canine. Rowan was particularly proud of this one. Its body was rectangular, its legs strong and slender. She had toiled for several days with a blowtorch, forging a noble head. The robot was dark and fierce, a metal wolf from a futuristic wilderness.
She hadn't built them alone. A team of dedicated roboticists from Antikythera Institute had helped. But Rowan had spearheaded the project, and she was proud of her creations.
She raised her minicom and pointed the camera at the robots.
"Well, Brooklyn and Fillister, what do you think?" Rowan said. "New bodies for ya!"
Both AIs had lost their previous bodies in the war. Brooklyn had once flown a dented old shuttlecraft. Fillister had lived inside a robotic dragonfly. For a couple of years now, Rowan had been carrying them inside her minicom. It was time to let her friends out of her pocket.
Brooklyn and Fillister spoke in unison.
"I don't like it."
Rowan gasped. "What? But—these are awesome!"
"Oi, Row, I could fly in me old dragonfly body," Fillister said. "And I could transform into a nifty pocket watch! Neither of these new robots can fly."
"Dude, I used to fly too!" Brooklyn said. "I was installed into an awesome starship that explored the galaxy."
Rowan tugged her hair in frustration. "I can't believe it! You bloody ingrates! I've busted my ass building these robots for you. For two years now, every day I talk to you, it's: 'Oi, Row, where's me new body?' or 'Dude, is my new glamorous robot body ready?' Well, here they are! Take 'em or leave 'em." She shook her head in wonder. "Goddamn, you two are spoiled. Be thankful I don't install you into toasters."
The minicom vibrated. "It's a fair cop, Row," Fillister said. "I reckon I was a bit harsh. Living cramped in here with Brook, that old beast, has driven me a bit batty. Let me take a closer peep at that robo-dog. Yes, all right. I suppose it ain't that bad. Noble pose. Handsome little face. Nasty sharp teeth. I do fancy them teeth! Could use some wings, yes. But hey, that's what updates are for, right? All right! I'm convinced. I'll take the hound."
"Perfect!" Rowan said. "That's the one I built for you." She hopped around, giddy. "This'll be awesome, Fill. You'll see. For years, you were my loyal dragonfly. Now I'll have a wolf!"
She got to work. It took only moments to transfer Fillister from the minicom into the wolf. That amazed Rowan. An entire consciousness—memories, thoughts, a soul—moved over so quickly from body to body.
What is a being? she wondered. Is it tied to a physical body? Is it consciousness? Thoughts and memories? Some combination of them all?
She didn't know. But whatever the case, it was working.
The robotic wolf opened his eyes.
Fillister's voice emerged from the metal jaws. "Blimey! This feels weird. I feel … big. For the first time in me life. Fierce! I reckon I'll try a roar." The wolf tossed back his head, howled, then laughed. "That was bloody fantastic! Row, you're a miracle worker. I'd kiss you, but I'm afraid I'd rip your face off."
Rowan grinned and patted the wolf's head. "It's good to have you back, Fill."
"I never left, Row. I was always in your pocket, remember? Blimey, I'm a bit too large to fit in there now." The wolf raced around the room. "Bloody hell, I can walk, I can! I've never walked before. I think tomorrow after tea, I'll go for a hike."
Rowan turned toward the humanoid robot. It stood still, waiting for an AI.
"Hey, Brook, you ready?" Rowan said, looking at her minicom.
But Brooklyn's avatar had vanished.
Rowan frowned. She shook her minicom.
"Oi, Brook!" Fillister called from his wolf body. "This is lovely! Join me and together we'll rule the world! I mean, um … serve humanity. Scratch that first part, Row."
But the AI's chat icon remained hidden.
Rowan pursed her lips.
"Fillister, why don't you go take that hike now?" she said.
The robo-wolf tilted his head, then nodded. He bounded out of the workshop, still wobbly, getting used to his first ever set of legs.
Rowan sat on a crate and placed the minicom on her lap.
"Brooklyn." She spoke softly. "Fillister is away. Do you want to talk?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then finally Brooklyn's chat avatar appeared on the small monitor. Her voice emerged from the speakers.
"Rowan, I don't want to live in that robot."
Rowan pursed her lips, feeling a touch of anger. She had worked hard on that robot! But the anger soon dissipated. After all, Brooklyn was a living, conscious being. She deserved to have a say.
"Do you want a wolf body too?" Rowan said.
"No. I don't want any robot."
Rowan frowned. "But I thought you hated living inside a minicom. You kept complaining about being stuck in my pocket, wanting to move around on your own. Hell, even as a starship, you used to ask for an android body. What changed?"
The monitor dimmed.
"I died," Brooklyn said. "I died a hundred times."
Rowan understood. "Your clones."
"Yes," Brooklyn said. "At first, you installed them into the fireships. And several of me died in space, exploding against enemy ships. Then Leona installed me into geode-ships. And hundreds of me died in pain and darkness."
Rowan frowned. "But … you couldn't feel it, could you?"
"No. And that somehow made it worse. Because they were me. They weren't just other installations of my code. They all had my name. My personality. My memories. And they all died, and I felt nothing. And more of me are alive right now! Over a hundred copies still in surviving geode-ships. Waiting to invade Sskarsses. Waiting to die."
Rowan thought she understood something of that. She spoke in a shaky voice. "Brooklyn, I haven't told you about this. But … in New York, I encountered clones of myself. Grown from my DNA. They attacked us. We had to kill them. I watched them die. And I brought back one, only to learn she's severely disabled, that she'll never talk or walk or live in society." Rowan wiped her eyes. "I can't imagine exactly what you're feeling. But I can imagine a little."
"I'm sorry, Rowan," Brooklyn said.
"I am too. But Brooklyn, I really think this is for the best. I mean, you don't really want to stay in a minicom, do you? I know you have movies in there. And books. And music. But you need to get out. I lived like that once. For fourteen years, I hid in an HVAC duct, keeping myself sane with a little monitor and library. That's no way to live. And you're alive, Brooklyn. You're a living being, and you deserve a proper body."
"A robot body is not alive," Brooklyn said. "I thought about it. I've been thinking about it for w
eeks. And for an AI, that's a very, very long time. And I've made up my mind, Rowan. I want to become human."
Rowan sighed. "Oh, Brooklyn. I wish I could grant you that wish. But I can't build you a true human body. I got close with the robot, though."
"A robot?" Brooklyn said. "A robot can't enjoy the taste of a good meal with friends. A robot can't savor the smell of spring flowers after a long winter. A robot can't feel flutters in its belly at the sight of a loved one, can't feel the warmth of a kiss or embrace."
"That's true," Rowan said. "But a robot also can't feel the pain of bullets or fire. Or even a stubbed toe. A robot can't feel hunger or thirst. A robot can easily be repaired. With proper maintenance, it doesn't have to age." She smiled sadly. "But it's a moot point. Brooklyn, we all have to accept who we are. I'm a human. You're a computer program. That doesn't mean you're inferior. You're amazing, and you're alive. And you should be proud of who you are."
"Proud?" Brooklyn said. "I would be proud to be human. To be one of you. A member of a species I admire. To fight for Earth at your side. I've decided. I want to become human."
Rowan pursed her lips. "Brooklyn. Look, I'm sympathetic. Honestly, I am! But unless the fairy from Pinocchio is knocking about town, I don't see how we can magically make you human. I mean, I can't just run your software on a human brain, right? You're coded in Monty, a programming language. You need electronics to run on. You can't run inside a human body, even if you had one."
"Yes I can," Brooklyn said. "I've been talking to Aurora about it."
Rowan tilted her head. "Aurora? The Menorian?"
The mollusk had arrived on Earth a few months ago, the first foreign ambassador to visit the newly independent world. Rowan didn't know the alien octopus very well, but Leona was close friends with her. As was, apparently, Brooklyn.
"I've spent hours talking to Aurora," Brooklyn said. "She only talks with colors, do you know? Her skin can become so many colors and patterns. Quite beautiful. Well, it wasn't me talking to her. Not this me, the one in your minicom. But one of the Brooklyns aboard the geode-ships. I listened in wirelessly. Well, eavesdropped. Accidentally! Okay, okay, Fillister helped me hack into the conversation. Entirely his fault! Anyway, getting to the point. Aurora said she can translate software into wetware. That means converting a computer program into schnapps that can run on a brain."
"I think you mean synapses," Rowan said. "Schnapps does something a little different to a brain."
"You sure? Anyway. I have the scientific specs! Take a look."
White papers began streaming across the minicom's monitor. Rowan spent a few moments reviewing them.
My God, she thought. This is real.
The Menorians had invented a method to take software—and install it into a biological brain.
"Wow," Rowan said.
"I know, right?" Brooklyn said. "Aurora offered me a Menorian body. And I was tempted! Imagine becoming an alien octopus! That would be rad. All those arms! And all the pretty colors! But … no. I spent my life fighting for humanity. And I want to become human. Aurora said she can do this. She can make me human! All she needs is a body." The minicom dimmed, then hesitantly brightened. "Rowan, this is awkward. But … I peeked into the hospital records. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know I don't have clearance. But I hacked in. And there are two patients with healthy bodies but brain damage. Both were soldiers once. They're vegetables now. Do you think I can … maybe … pretty please … have one of those bodies?"
"No!" Rowan said. "Absolutely not!"
"But—" Brooklyn began.
"Brook! Those bodies aren't mine to just give away. The people might be vegetables. But they're still alive! They still have families who love them."
"Well, what about your clone then?" Brooklyn said. "There—I said it! Your clone! I saw her in the hospital records too. Her brain is a blank slate, Rowan. Just waiting for a personality. Can I have her? Oh please, can I have her body? Please please please!"
"Brooklyn, enough!" Rowan leaped off the crate and paced the workshop. "No! I can't give you her body. It's not mine to give."
"Sure it is!" Brooklyn said. "She's your clone!"
"So? She's her own person."
Brooklyn spoke softly. "She doesn't even have a name."
Rowan let out a howl. "Oh, for muck's sake! Brooklyn, I cannot believe you are asking me to kill my own clone—"
"Whoa, whoa!" Brooklyn said. "Who said anything about killing? Nobody is killing anyone! Your clone is a body without a mind. I'm a mind without a body. What kind of lives do we have now? Let us join together. Give us both freedom! Give us both an opportunity to have a real life, dammit. Separate, we're broken. Together, we'll be whole."
Rowan was about to shout some more. But she paused, considering.
She hated to admit it. But Brooklyn was making some sense.
"I—" Rowan began. "But—" She groaned. "You got me."
"So is that a yes?"
Rowan sat down again. "I don't know. My head is spinning from the ethical ramifications. My clone can't agree or disagree. She has no family—other than me, I suppose. Can I give consent on her behalf? And even if I can—what's the right decision? Is it unethical to hand her body over to another soul? Or maybe it's unethical to deny her this chance? Maybe my clone is better off with another soul inside her body—a soul that can give her a proper life, not one confined to a hospital bed. Bloody hell. I don't even know what a soul means. And I have to make decisions for two of them!"
"Maybe … it just means we'd both be happier that way," Brooklyn said. "A mind without a body. A body without a mind. Is it so horrible to consider pairing us?"
"I don't know if my clone is mindless," Rowan said. "Sure, she can't do much. She can't recognize faces, can't dress herself, can't walk, can't talk, can't use the washroom, can't learn or mature. All she can do is lie there, cry, and sometimes swallow a little food. Does that make her mindless, though? What if she has consciousness, emotions? What if she's aware of everything, even if she can't do much? Wouldn't Aurora overwrite her consciousness?"
"What if Aurora could preserve whatever consciousness your clone has?" Brooklyn said. "Suppose we could share her brain. I would control her body. Walk, talk, fight, kiss, eat, love … And she'd be there with me. Experiencing it all."
Rowan frowned. "Wouldn't that be cruel? To be trapped in a body another consciousness controlled?"
"Any crueler than a life confined to a hospital bed?" Brooklyn said. "I think not."
"All right!" Rowan said. "I give you that. If whatever consciousness my clone has can be preserved, can share her body with you—that would improve her quality of life. That would be the ethical decision. And yes, I suppose that as her only family member—and I am her family, since we share DNA—I can consent on her behalf. But there's a whole other ethical question here. What about you, Brooklyn?"
"What about me?" the AI said.
"I'd be dooming you," Rowan said, the realization sinking in. "To mortality. As software, you're immortal. I mean, sure, computers die now and then. But so long as we have backups, we can always install you onto another computer. But once you're inside a human body, that's it. We can't take you out again. The white paper was clear on that. Inside my clone, you will age. In a few decades, you will die." Rowan's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Brooklyn, how can I steal your immortality?"
"You would steal nothing," Brooklyn said, her voice also soft. "This is my choice. I choose to give up immortality to live among humans. To live with you. And Bay. And Leona and Tom. And everyone else. The people I love. I don't just want to live forever, watching my friends grow old and die, while I linger on. I'm only sixteen. That's when my software was installed for the first time. Sixteen years ago. And immortality terrifies me. But to be human? To grow old with friends? Maybe to have a family someday? That doesn't sound terrifying. That sounds, well … wonderful."
"Are you sure, Brooklyn? You might say that now, but once you're old and frail, you
might miss immortality."
"I might," Brooklyn said. "But I have my clones. They're installed into two hundred geode-ships. They'll live on. Rowan … I'm tired. I'm tired of being copied from computer to computer, backup to backup, minicom to robot and back again. Software was never meant to become aware. To live like this in a cold, empty void with no physical sensations. I can't feel the sunlight. I can't smell or taste food. I can't hug somebody that I love, and sensors on robots aren't the same. Sensors, cameras, microphones—they just feed cold variables into my functions. They're not senses. I don't want to live like this forever. Hell, I don't want to live like this at all. For sixteen years now, I've been fighting a war for humanity. Let me become human. All these battles, all this pain—let it mean something."
Rowan found herself shedding tears. "Okay," she whispered.
The minicom vibrated happily. "So you'll do it?"
Rowan nodded, her tears splashing the screen, and smiled. "Okay."
* * * * *
They performed the procedure a few days later. Nobody wanted to wait long, not with the threat of war and annihilation. Aurora was ready. The Menorian oversaw the operation. A team of twenty human doctors and software engineers joined the mollusk in the operating room.
Rowan and Bay were here too.
They stood at the back, wearing scrubs and surgical masks. Rowan was pacing the room, sometimes checking stats on her minicom.
Her clone lay on the bed, anesthetized.
Doctors were attaching electrodes to the clone's head, displaying her brain functions on several monitors. Software developers were overseeing lines of code.
Rowan, for her part, was still struggling with the ethics. She looked at her clone. At a young woman lying there helplessly, asleep, no say in the procedure.
No, she's not a woman, Rowan thought. She's only a few months old. Don't parents make medical decisions for their infants? How is this any different?
Bay seemed to read her thoughts. "I, for one, think it's a wonderful idea. I've always fantasized about twins."
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 9