The “uh, uh, uh’s” slowed. Stopped. He stared. He cocked his head this way and that to see the new pear from different angles, thereby undoubtedly seeing its sparkles. He smiled, pointed, and said, “Pi-ty, pi-ty.”
Grandpa called this episode “The Death and Resurrection of the Pear.”
First Brother
She examines the dog’s collar and tag. “So, your name is Rusty.”
The dog wags its tail and licks her face.
She runs her fingers through the dog’s hair. “Your fur, just look at it. Burrs and twigs and sand. What a mess. Poor boy. Yes. Yes. Can you sit? Sit. That’s a good boy. Oh, my, it looks as though no one has groomed you in weeks.”
She combs the dog’s hair with her fingers and picks out various forms of matter. Intermittently, she looks up. She appears to scan California Highway 1 and to peer at the town of Jenner across the estuary. She continues to perform these grooming and observing activities.
Five minutes pass.
“There, that’s the worst of it.”
The dog rises from its sitting position and licks and nuzzles her.
“Is that boat yours?” She stretches out her right arm, hand, and index finger toward the sailboat 37 meters south of them along the shore. “Is your human there?”
Sara
For the next two years, I was a little mother with a big baby, and I felt tired much of the time. Events such as Mom and Dad’s moving to Calgary a couple of months after the ERP’s candidate, John Jairison, won the presidential election; my summer visits to see Elio; a three-day trip with Grandma to visit Mom and Dad (but not my brothers) during their first winter holiday vacation in Canada—events that otherwise would have seemed important to me—paled in significance when compared with my responsibilities for Michael.
During his first year, I had to feed him his special nutrient liquid nearly every hour during the day and every two or three hours during the night, assuming he slept. The liquid was clear, not white like milk, for it contained only trace amounts of minerals, such as the calcium necessary for growing bones. Michael’s skeletal structure, like First Brother’s, was fully formed at birth.
That same year, I watched Michael learn to point to his bottle, reach for the bottle, throw fits for the bottle (fortunately, his strength had been adjusted to a low level during his first months), hold the bottle, crawl to the bottle, jabber “juice, juice” while playing with the bottle, and, finally, lead me by my hand as he crawled on two knees and an arm along the floor to the cooler where his bottle was stored.
As with humans, Michael’s personality and intelligence were grounded in feelings and actions, and symbols and words began for him as surrogates for these feelings and actions. For example, the command “Juice!” became a shorthand way for him, beginning in his fifth month, to take my hand, lead me to the cooler, and slap its door. First came desires, actions, and experiences; then, emerging from that foundation, came intentionality, language, and self-reflective consciousness.
As they had for me, numbers for him acquired meaning that derived from an emotional sense of more, less, big, and small. Every mouthful of nutrients got him closer to full and closer to recognizing the pattern of addition. Subtraction, likewise, became meaningful through the common experiences that got him closer to empty, to less, to out-of-time. More and less, going farther away and coming back closer—from such experiences, not from programmed arithmetic rules, came his first sense of addition and subtraction.
Like humans, Michael was an intuitive mathematician before he first uttered the name of a number and long before he was allowed access to his Sentiren mathematics module. By contrast, my other brothers had begun with neurologic modules primed for, and right on the verge of, language, math, and science. A few learning drills, enough to establish some groundedness and meaning to their actions, and they’d been able to speak and solve problems. Emotions such as love were to have been learned later.
When Michael was six months old, Grandpa said it was time for Michael and me to begin connecting with each other through the braincord. By then I’d had eight months of practice at being connected with a computer through the braincord, and I thought I’d become quite proficient at relaxing and letting my body and mind be controlled in part by instructions coming in through the cord. But I was about to discover that unlike the computer, Michael was not programmed to narrowly focus on one feeling, thought, sensation, or motor activity at a time.
Grandpa had Michael sit beside me at my study table; then he told me to gently tap the center of the back of Michael’s head. I did, and a round segment of Michael’s skull flipped up. The braincord emerged, its bifurcated ends waving slowly in the air, appearing alive, appearing to search for something—for me.
Following Grandpa’s instructions, I took hold of the ends of the cord and guided them to my nostrils. The cord moved up my nose and locked into place in the junctions of my cribriform plate. Then something new and frightening happened: a hurricane of images, sounds, smells, emotions, and fragments of thoughts swept into my mind, each sensation lasting only a fraction of a second before it was whisked away from the spotlight of my conscious awareness, only to be instantly replaced by another. The warmth of my skin, Michael’s bottle locked away in the cooler, a feeling of hunger, an image of Lily dozing in one of Grandma’s flower beds, the scent of Grandpa’s body lotion, the odor of his breath after breakfast (invariably, blueberries, cinnamon, steel-cut oats, and matcha tea)—many such disconnected sensations hurled in rapid, strobe-like fashion through my mind, making me feel confused, then dizzy, then nauseated.
“Grandpa, I’m feeling a little sick,” I said.
The wild staccato scramble of sensations abruptly ceased. I looked at Michael. His face had taken on its appearance of raised-brow surprise, which slid within a moment to wide-eyed curiosity. He focused intently on my eyes, and inside my mind I felt something strange, something like a pair of eyes looking around, or perhaps hands patting first here, then there, searching for something in the dark, wet interior of my brain. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew that Michael had become aware of my sick feeling—not through hearing my words, as I’d tried to make Grandpa aware, but through a conscious process similar to how I had been made aware of my own feeling of sickness—and that he was searching for this new feeling, trying to connect with it, trying to feel it for himself.
But now that the swirl of images and sensations had ceased, the vertiginous feeling quickly evaporated, leaving Michael searching for something that no longer existed. His hunt continued for a few more moments (during which I became aware that my own eyes were moving about erratically), then stopped, and the whirlwind of Michael’s mental life again swept into my mind.
After this first connection, Grandpa told me that I had been catching glimpses of the Sentiren ability to be simultaneously conscious of multiple feelings, sense impressions, and trains of thought. Like a Monet painting overbrimming with multifarious colors, each moment of reality for Michael was an explosion of innumerable events. It took us nearly three years before he learned to slow the input of his consciousness into my mind so as not to overwhelm me. Though he quickly discovered how to connect with my feelings, memories, and thoughts, I was able to connect with his only intermittently, perhaps because my brain didn’t operate as rapidly as his. This inability to follow his mental processes was disappointing for me because from the beginning of the project I had hoped to be able to get inside the truth of another’s mind—inside his thoughts and feelings—before they were whitewashed by language. Over time, however, my sense of his presence in my mind evolved from an eerie feeling of his being in a particular place in my head to a feeling of his simply being there, of being everywhere in my mind, just as I felt myself to be.
From our first session on, Michael never appeared a bit confused or overwhelmed when we were connected by the braincord. In fact, he quickly grew to desire the connection, and until he learned that nothing terrible was happening to him when
the connection was terminated, he would scream and cry when we disconnected. I was literally a part of Michael, confirming a little lecture that, in slightly varied form, Grandpa gave me many times during Michael’s early years. He told me he’d given Michael the physical basis for intelligence and consciousness, but the way Michael’s brain became wired up—which connections would be created or reinforced, which would atrophy and die—would be a function of how that physical basis and the rest of the world interacted. “Through their interactions, the physical brain and the world it experiences will, in effect, create each other,” Grandpa said. “And for Michael, you will be most of that outside world. What you do and say and feel around him will greatly influence how he develops, who he becomes.”
Sara
I just received a very disturbing encrypted message from First Brother. I don’t know how he knew to transmit by AUAS, or how he knew we possessed a supply of fishoids. Perhaps years ago, Grandpa told Dad about this secret place far under the sea, and Dad told First Brother. Michael and I have been here now for 41 days.
Sara:
We monitor many channels of human communication. Here is an excerpt from President Jairison’s news conference held the day after you and Michael escaped:
“Before I begin taking your questions on this beautiful winter morning God has given us here in Washington, I would like to clarify certain rumors circulating wildly and irresponsibly both here and abroad.
“Early yesterday morning, our intelligence community discovered that one—I repeat, one—android was trying to escape from its hiding place at the home of Professor Severn Jensen. Two of the android’s human companions were pursued in heavy fog off the California coast. After a long chase, during which these fugitives repeatedly refused orders to stop, their boat was fired on. One of the humans, Elio Briand—the son of one of the terrorists that helped the androids escape to the moon and then to Mars—was struck by several bullets and died before we could question him. The android and the other human, Sara Jensen, the seventeen-year-old granddaughter of Professor Jensen, escaped in two submersibles. A massive search is currently underway to find and apprehend the android and the Jensen girl.
“After extensive searches of the home and offices of Professor Jensen—who committed suicide before he could be questioned—and after interrogations of his wife and his employees and acquaintances, we are confident that there was only one android involved. It is absolutely untrue that an offshore mining facility or a Navy ship was attacked by a group of androids. As God is my witness, except for this one android that escaped with the Jensen girl, we are not aware of the existence of any androids other than those remaining on Mars.
“I can assure you that the android that escaped with the Jensen girl will be captured, and when it is, a team of military officers, including two Chinese officers who have joined us in the search, will destroy it utterly and completely, so that no nation will acquire information or technology from this hideous creation of Professor Jensen’s criminal mind.
“I will take your questions now.”
“Mr. President!”
“Ms. Coffman.”
“Good morning, Mr. President. There are statements circulating attributed to anonymous sources that the Jensen girl was forcibly kidnapped by the android and that the android was somehow attached to the girl’s head. Would you please address these allegations?”
“It was the opinion of a couple of the officers aboard the ship that pursued the android that the android forced the Jensen girl to leave with it. It is also their opinion, based on visual sightings, that the android attached itself through some kind of cable to the girl’s head. Our subsequent investigation confirms that the android was intentionally designed by Professor Jensen to enter the girl’s mind and take control of her. This is almost too terrible to imagine, I know, but it appears to be true. And to think that this girl was his very own granddaughter. It just goes to show you the degree of sick criminal fanaticism these android lovers are capable of.”
“Mr. President!”
“Mr. Diaz.”
“Mr. President, the Reverend Ernest Kleber stated earlier this morning that this confirms what he’s been saying for a long time; namely, that the androids desire to steal souls from humans. Can you comment on this?”
“God created man and woman in His image. He gave us dominion over all living creatures, and He gave each of us an immortal soul. Certain misguided persons are capable of creating very clever machines that strive to be superior to humans, but no man or woman can create a soul to give to these monsters. Only God Himself can create something immortal and infinitely precious like the human soul.
“Our Chinese friends also recognize that humankind was meant to have dominion over all other things and that the greatest crime imaginable against humanity is for certain arrogant criminals to create monstrous soulless beings that would, if given half a chance, master and enslave or destroy us. The criminal creators of these androids want their monsters—like that dangerous abomination that has taken over control of the Jensen girl’s mind—to think better than we humans, to be stronger than we humans, to be able to exist in a far wider range of environments than we humans, and so on.
“But these arrogant, misguided criminals cannot give their monsters souls. How else then but try to steal souls from humans? I felt ill when I first heard about the Jensen girl—what her grandfather and this hideous android have been trying to do to her. Pamela and I were on our knees last night and again this morning praying for the girl and for her soul.”
“Mr. President!”
“Yes, Ms. Choi.”
“Mr. President, Senator Morris has criticized the FBI for allowing a well-known android expert like Professor Jensen to secretly develop a new type of android years after they were outlawed. How can you explain this intelligence failure of your administration?”
“The Chinese ambassador has also conveyed to me his country’s displeasure at learning that this android was apparently developed on our soil. He told me that in China it would be unthinkable that a private person would be permitted to have such tremendous security at home, as Professor Jensen evidently did, allowing him to develop an android without detection. I reminded the ambassador that this is America and that in America, God be thanked, the government cannot snoop into its citizens’ private homes without a showing of probable criminal activity and a warrant. Having said that, I concede there may be a few isolated cases where a private home isn’t actually private because it is in reality filled with sensitive—and dangerous—national property.
“Take, for example, Professor Mazak of MIT, who caused quite a stir with his remarks last month about androids. Professor Mazak, a former student of Jensen, obtained his undergraduate degree at a state-financed university in California. Then, with a fellowship from the National Science Foundation, he obtained his Ph.D. and learned everything he knows about androids. His knowledge, the knowledge he not only uses on the job at MIT but also takes home with him at night, was paid for by the citizens of this country. And what thanks do the hard-working taxpayers get from Professor Mazak? He claims that androids are more like God than humans because androids can think simultaneously as many selves, whereas humans can consciously think only one thing at a time. And he dares to support his outrageous statements by quoting our sacred Bible, wherein God speaks of Himself in the plural. Mazak also claims that what he calls the riddle of the Trinity, quote unquote, is easily solved by considering androids, which, he claims, can think three or more conscious thoughts and experience three or more subjective selves at the same time but from a single point of view. He even goes so far as to suggest that God is an android and the universe as we know it is just this android’s ant farm—or some such ridiculous thing.
“Well, my fellow humans, God has told us that we were made in His image to have dominion over all creatures, and we most certainly are not the images of androids! Androids are the abominable creations of people like Professor Jensen and some of his
students. These few people, who are very unlike over 99.999 percent of the population, take home with them public property—taxpayer-paid-for property, the knowledge of how to make androids—and I think that the House and the Senate in their collective wisdom should consider whether or not these few privileged persons should be permitted to secrete themselves and their horrible projects away in their homes protected by security rivaling that of—”
Enough. I wish to fulfill my promise to Dad to seek your help in dealing with the problem of the humans. We begin as follows: If I can convince you of our ability to cull from the human population individuals with clearly defined dangerous genetic, psychological, or behavioral characteristics, would you assist us in such culling? If your answer is yes, release a fishoid that repeats the message “Winter, Spring, Summer.” The fishoid should begin broadcasting at 29.4 MHz AM, using at least 100 watts, no later than 1200 PST, 10 March. If your answer is no, do not release a fishoid and wait for further instructions.
First Brother
Michael and I have just finished discussing the transmission: the flippant references to the murder of Elio, Grandpa’s allegedly malicious purpose for making the braincord, Michael’s being called a monster, the idea of a soul. About the religious underpinnings of Jairison’s statements, Michael said, “How eagerly the human mind opens the many mouths of its terrors to myths; how it sighs like a lover satisfied.” I found that comment rather odd, and wondered: Is he finally getting ready to tell me about Elio?
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