“The codes,” she murmured. “The codes that Scientist discovered.... They were put there. That was why it was built."
The feature lines of Kort's face frowned. “Why what was built? Go on—I'm listening."
“This.... Everything here.” Taya lifted an arm and waved. Kort wasn't sure what she was gesturing at. “Merkon.” Her voice gathered tone. “The Ancients knew that the disaster would befall their world. They saw the fires twisting across the sky and the whole surface of Azure convulsing—the Flood, the Conflagration, the Times of Darkness.... But whether any would survive, they could not tell. Unless...” Taya rose from the chair and turned from the window. Kort started forward, but she sensed his movement and raised a hand to stay him.
“So they built Merkon, and in it they wrote the codes that would resurrect their race. They didn't know how much of the system of Vaxis would be disrupted in the upheavals. Perhaps conditions too hostile to risk would be created everywhere. So they sent Merkon far away to a safe star to draw life and protect its charge until the Cataclysm had passed."
Kort brought a hand up to his brow—an acquired human mannerism that had become unthinking. What Taya was saying was believable, but he still couldn't quite connect all the pieces. He looked at her over his fingers. “Can you hear me?"
“Oh, I hear you, Kort."
“Why couldn't they have migrated? Start a colony at a new star."
“A huge undertaking to support. What if there was no habitable world where they arrived? For how much longer would they need to be able to support themselves? Nobody knew the answers. But the codes would be preserved indefinitely."
That much made sense. Yet it was still incomplete. “But the way they did it left too much to chance,” Kort protested. “Depending on the codes being discovered like that.... Why couldn't the machines simply have been preprogrammed to activate them after a certain time?"
“But that was the whole point, Kort. The Ancients knew that machines would be essential to rebuilding their culture—or starting a new one if the old had indeed perished. Intelligent machines, Kort. The programs were written so they would evolve. But how long would it take for them to reach the level of intelligence needed to guide the rebuilding of a high-technology culture? Because it would all depend on them. The newly formed humans couldn't do it—they would just be children. The descendants of any surviving Azureans? Never. You saw the barbarians they degenerated into.... So how would you know when the machines were ready to return and commence the task?” Suddenly Kort felt a pang of something acutely discomforting, a hollowness of anticipation. Taya was still looking at him, focusing on him now. “When they had learned to unravel the codes! When they were able to do that, then it would be safe to entrust them with regenerating the children.... “With a subtle, automatic protection feature built into the plan, Kort could already see. For until the machines passed the test, they would be unable to regenerate anything anyway.
And then, whatever had taken possession of Taya abated. She was still standing facing him, but the invisible strings that had seemed to pull her erect and draw back her shoulders were gone. Her body wilted as he watched, and she put a hand on the table by the chair to steady herself. Yet Kort could see in her eyes, scanning his face for a reaction even as the light in them faded, that the awareness remained; she was conscious of everything she had said.
He felt a strange confusion of thoughts, none of which would single itself out to assume control—a daze, unlike anything in all his previous experience. For he had just learned that they—himself and all the other machines of Merkon—had been just tools all along. Everything they thought they had achieved and had become, their sciences, their growing understanding of the universe, even the eventual creation of Taya and the Star Children, all of it had been there from the start, implicit in the design of the Ancients. The purpose, from the beginning, had been for the Ancients to preserve and resurrect themselves. The machines were just incidentals in the Plan.
For a moment Taya had given the impression of experiencing an elation in what she was seeing that she seemed to expect Kort to share. The concern written on her face now showed that she saw she had miscalculated, letting pride in her kind get the better of her. She put a hand on his arm and tried to muster a smile, as if to let him know. “I'm sorry if I got too carried away. I'm so used to thinking that we and you are all the same. We're not the same, are we, Kort?"
The words were another echo from long ago. Taya had raised the question here, by the window in this very room. That was the day he had first taken her to the Cognitive Processing Center and shown her the units in which his thinking parts resided, and told her about the machines and their achievements. He had thought then that she would share his pride. But the experience had almost destroyed her trust. Her words came back to him again, hurt and resentful. You're a doll, just like Rassie, a doll that the machines made. And now, in this strange reversal of roles, he did feel like a doll. But not just him—all the machines. Dolls that the Ancients made.
He was about to make some reply, when he realized that the hand which a moment ago had been resting on his arm was clutching more tightly for support. He could feel Taya's body starting to tremble. At once his negative feelings died away. How could he have even felt them at a time like this? “What is it?” he asked.
“I'm cold,” she said. “I think it took the strength...” She leaned on him more heavily, unable to finish.
“No more talk. Let's get you warm.” Putting an arm about her, he supported her through what had once been her workroom into the sleeping quarters—more or less as it had always been, except for the larger bed installed as she grew older. He helped her into it, pulled the covers high around her and propped her with pillows. “Anything else I can get?” he asked.
Taya shook her head. “No, I want you here.” She reached out and pulled his hand. Kort eased himself down onto the chair by the bed. “I feel like the Princess again,” she murmured. Kort brushed her hair back with a finger and tried to smile. Taya's eyes closed.
Inwardly Kort was assailed by disquiet and doubts. More of her anguish on that day was coming back to him as he probed deeper into memories that he should probably let rest but which a part of his mind wouldn't leave alone. I'll always be alone, she had sobbed, before she'd known about the existence of the others. I've never felt alone before.... How long will it go on? What will happen to me, Kort? Now he was wondering the same questions and feeling the same emptiness—except for him, it would go on forever. He had been formed for one purpose only, and that purpose was almost done. What now? Strange, unfamiliar churning sensations shuddered through him.
The machines could have the feelings of minds, but if what Physicist said was true, they could never aspire to becoming full, Insightful minds in the way that bio-minds could. They were just parodies of minds, in the same way that the crude dolls they had fashioned were mere parodies of persons—like mecroids, given just as much intelligence as was needed to carry out their function. Had the Ancients known this would happen when they dreamed up their macabre game? Kort gazed at the far wall and pushed away the thought. No, he couldn't feel blame. It was unlikely that there could have been any way for them to have known what detailed forms the evolving intelligences would assume. Would it have made any difference if they had? He didn't know; why ask? What was the point of tormenting himself with such questions?
He thought of the other minds—they had withdrawn for the present, letting him be the representative of all of them. Would this be the time to share with them what he had learned? He could see nothing to be gained from hastening to add to the heaviness they already felt as things were. For their reactions? He already knew what they would be. Physicist had already as good as settled on the conclusion that the extended universe would be permanently inaccessible to mec-minds anyway, and would be cynically unsurprised. The rest would wait for Thinker to think of something. Kort knew, because he contained pieces of all of them. Only Mystic would take a di
fferent line, probably arguing that Scientist's laws only applied to the stuff that brains were made of, whereas the minds that ran in them existed in a different realm that only Supermind understood. Physicist would insist that they knew about that realm now, and it operated according to the same laws as the rest. And it would go on and on, and Kort didn't want to hear it. If anything, he wanted to believe Mystic, but he couldn't because there was too much of Skeptic incorporated into him.
The realization of how he felt came as a mild surprise. Why did he want to believe Mystic suddenly? ... Because ... He wasn't sure. Because it would mean that some of the things the Azureans believed were true. Well, not exactly. It wouldn't follow automatically that they were true, but that they could be. That was it. It would bring the possibility of ... He sought for a word. Of hope. Hope of what? His gaze strayed unconsciously back to Taya....
And he saw then that she had gone very still. Her hand still lay around his fingers, but it had fallen limp. The skin was cold. And although he had been trying to prepare himself for weeks, a huge void seemed to open up inside him. He waited, telling himself it could be an illusion he was creating, that in a moment everything would snap back again as it had been a few minutes ago.... But she didn't stir. There was no breathing. He could detect no movement of any kind. He eased her hand from his and laid it under the sheet gently. His mind operating mechanically, he composed a brief message, sent it out in the general circuit to the other minds, and closed down all input channels against their responses. He needed this moment to be private.
Feelings came piling in upon him then, suddenly, deeper and darker than any he had ever known. He sat for a long time gazing at the still face, his mind and body gripped in a paralysis. For the first time ever, he had no sense of anything to plan toward next, no purpose. He pictured the world below of air and light, mountains oceans, beyond the walls enclosing Merkon; himself going back down there alone ... to do what? Flashes of images replayed themselves of places he had been to over the years, always with Taya: the awe both of them had felt when they first saw the rain forests; her enchantment with the high mountains; crowds gathering and parting as they walked through cities; alone together on the ice cliffs above the buried ruins of Vrent.... And then he saw the villa in Aranos, empty now, and quiet—except for the staff, the birds in the orchard, the fishes in the pond.
An interrupt servicer signaled an incoming call requesting to connect. Kort ignored it and deactivated the circuit.
His mind seemed to be going through a curious process of disassembling into parts watching the workings of each other—as if different facets of his personality were each in turn being presented with the opportunity of taking control but none of them wanting to. It was then that the resolution that had perhaps been slowly forming beneath them for days, maybe even longer, came together as a force that he could feel consciously, like a form taking shape as it rose from the depths of murky waters. The other parts understood, for they had known that it was there, but they were too numbed to react; in any case, they had already abdicated.
He rose and turned away heavily, and went back through the rooms. Voices from the past came again, when a tiny figure had looked up at him long ago.
It's far away, in another part of Merkon. We have to go on a journey, he heard himself saying.
Oh good! Will we walk there or can we go in a capsule?
We'll have to go in a capsule. It's a long way. The floor might be cold there, and the air is cool. You should put on some shoes and take a warm cloak.
He came out into the corridor that led to the transit tube. The walls flowed by on either side as he began walking, but he was barely aware of them.
Which place are we going to?
None of the ones you've been to before. This is a new place.
I didn't think there were any more places I could go in than the ones I've already been to.
The machines have been changing more places so that you can go into them. There was a time, once, when you couldn't go anywhere and had to stay in those rooms all the time.
Didn't I get bored?
When you were smaller, you didn't need to be doing things all the time.
Kort and Mystic had spent a lot of time talking together lately, more so than they had in the past. Perhaps it was because the things that had been troubling Kort had more to do with feelings than logic, and little that the other minds had to say felt comforting or even seemed particularly relevant. Mystic had formed the notion that if the sensitivity that brought bio-minds their capacity for Insight was also the reason for their mortality, then mortality brought about Insight. It was Mystic's way of arguing for an existence beyond the material, in the way practically all of the Azurean religions believed. Logician scoffed that simply because one thing might cause another, there was no validity in postulating any cause the other way around, but Mystic had been as impressed by that as he was by anything else Logician ever said. Kort had no way of knowing what the ultimate truth might be behind such conjectures either. But Mystic's musings on the subject brought with them an implication that nobody had ever given serious consideration to before: the possibility that a machine mind might die.
The capsule sped silently through Merkon's brooding vaults and labyrinthian interconnections of compartments. The tube ended at a system of glass tunnels, with vast machines and structures extending away into shadow on every side.
What are we going to see?
If I tell you, it won't be a surprise.
Give me a clue, then. Is it the eyes that can see the radio stars?
No. I'm going to show you where I live.
But that's silly, Kort. You live in the same place I do. This is a riddle, isn't it?
It had never occurred to anyone that machine minds might die because they had been carefully designed and constructed not to. All power was duplicated and backed up. Vital circuitry was distributed with high redundancy. Copies of the central data cores were updated constantly at remote locations. No internal malfunction short of something involving virtually the destruction of Merkon could disrupt a mec-mind irrecoverably. It could only be done from the outside.
The Cognitive Processing Center was not a spectacular part of Merkon as far as appearances went—just a room full of rows of gray cabinets and their attendant cable ducts and the rails that the maintenance pods traveled on. But in function it was perhaps one of the most sophisticated. It was where the primary mec-mind consciousnesses, that directed the various subsidiary centers distributed through the complex and from where the safety backups were copied, dwelt.
Kort entered and paused inside the doorway long enough to ask if anything in him had changed. But the effort of rethinking would have been too much by now. His earlier resolution had built up a momentum of its own that impelled him forward. He moved between the rows to a particular cabinet. The pod that he had called ahead to summon had already opened it with its specialized tools. Kort stared into the mass of tightly packed electronics and photonics assemblies, crystal cubes, and connecting fibers. Somehow, he had half expected that he would stand here for a long time now that the moment had come, reflecting and deliberating with himself in a torrent of final doubts. But there were none. All of that was already past now. He felt surprisingly calm. Reaching up, he detached several of the pod's tools that he would need and set them on top of an adjacent cabinet.
First, he disabled the pod, so it would be unable to intervene. Next, he needed to dispose of the remote backup copies from which he could be restored. Using internal monitoring diagnostics, he located the connectors to the outgoing trunk cables and physically switched them to other ports that would overwrite the files with what would effectively be random data. Still actively monitoring internal system functions, he registered the alarm signals being flashed around the system. Service had reported the pod as not responding, and Emergency was sending another to replace it.
All that was left of “him"—the thinking parts that corresponded to a biological corte
x, as opposed to the ancillary support and motor functions operating elsewhere—was now concentrated in the two racks lying open before him. Three independent power lines were all that remained to keep it operating. They ran together from a distribution unit at the rear of the lower rack, behind the cortical electro-photonic arrays. Three cuts would reduce it all to nothing more than shapes formed of lifeless matter, as inert as the metal supporting rack, or the cabinet that held it. Then would come ... oblivion. An emergency-priority input line activated, signaling multiple message sources attempting contact. Kort squatted down, the cutters in his hand, and reached slowly in past the rows of shimmering crystal.
And then a sudden giddiness swept over him. The world came apart into spinning fragments of thought, an explosion of color and light carrying away the fleeing shards of perceptions. Kort drew back on his haunches, while the room swam in a strange iridescence of sharpened hues. He stared. A bare foot was dangling from the cabinet next to him. A child's foot. Above it was the hem of a blue dress.
“I'm so glad you didn't,” Taya's voice said.
Kort straightened up slowly. She was sitting there as she had done, her red cloak spread beneath her. Her face was clear and pretty with its upturned nose and mouth that dimpled when she smiled, framed by the yellow hair.
“That way, there would have been nothing. We hoped you'd see first, instead."
Kort decided he had gone mad. All the stress, the confusion.... It happened with bio-minds.
“We?” was all he could manage.
“Me and Mystic.... Well, and all the others. I'm not sure how to explain it to a machine mind. But you'll see."
There was a feeling of lightness about everything, that Kort hadn't known for a long time—if he had ever quite known it before. The emptiness, the confusion—all had gone. This was madness?
“You mean, Mystic was right? ... We can be complete minds too, like you?"
The Stillness Among the Stars Page 4