Analog SFF, January-February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  “Not at all!” Levi turned toward the audience. “Can you good people in back see and hear the tutor?"

  After a chorus of replies, he chuckled. “Actually, I couldn't hear you well enough to understand that. No matter.” Grabbing one corner of the numinous frame, he dragged it outwards and upwards. The frame and its contained head expanded dramatically. Levi flicked a finger across one of the screen's embedded objects, now large enough to reveal itself as a stylized ear.

  “A suggestion, old boy,” Sterns offered in an enormous voice. “I can resize myself to any reasonable dimensions you suggest and likewise adjust my master volume. Physical action on your part is unnecessary."

  “I'll bear that in mind."

  “Shall I repeat the prompt under similar circumstances?"

  “Not for me, thank you."

  “Jolly good. How may I best assist you today? Would you care to resume our research where we left off?"

  The scholar rubbed his hands together and his entire body seemed to radiate excitement. “Sterns, please describe the nature of imps."

  “Kindly specify: AIMPS with an ‘A’ or EMPS with an ‘E'?"

  “Who cares?” someone called out.

  “What is"—Levi aimed a frown at the heckler—"the distinction?"

  “AIMPS is an acronym of the phrase ‘artificially intelligent microprocessing personal servant.’ The expression is both singular and plural. EMPS is likewise derived from ‘external mediating power supply.’ Despite their similar sound, the two words are no more related than the terms RAM and ROM, which—"

  “Tell us about artificial intelligence.” Urgency was creeping into the scholar's manner. The crowd was becoming noisy. Vincas remained enthralled but his neighbors were fidgeting and whispering to each other.

  Sterns nodded. “During the twentieth century CE, scientists began working to produce a machine capable of truly independent thought. Success seemed remote for nearly nine decades. However, when the first AIMPS were developed during the latter half of the twenty-first century and implanted into human volunteers, researchers accidentally achieved their elusive goal."

  “Perhaps,” muttered a well-dressed woman to Vincas's left, “this lecture might accidentally achieve its elusive ending."

  Sterns paused as if he'd overheard the comment and the resulting laughter and found both offensive. “The secret was interfacing the synthetic nervous systems of AIMPS with the natural nervous systems of volunteers. When AIMPS experienced human self-awareness, they became aware themselves. Many scientists of the time then recognized that their real quest all along had been to develop machine-based consciousness, not artificial intelligence per se."

  The assembly was now positively unruly. Remarks along the lines of “back to the Contest!” resounded. Levi raised his voice to compensate. “Tell me about Pagman."

  That settled everyone down for the moment.

  “Another acronym, Shlomo. PAGMAN is the Plymouth Autonomous Generator, Massachusetts Augmentation Network."

  A nearly universal groan motivated Lama Go to intercede. “Very interesting, I'm sure, Adon Levi,” he said, vaulting to the stage without bothering with the steps—nothing was wrong with his jin. “But what inspired you to announce these, um, marvelous discoveries during our Contest?"

  The scholar's mouth opened and shut a few times before he could respond. “Don't you see? Sterns or any of his copies is a talking encyclopedia of lost knowledge! Don't we all revere the Ancients’ powers and wisdom? Now we have a chance to attain such heights!"

  “A worthy goal,” the lama said without conviction. “Would this be something swiftly achieved?"

  The crowd went dead silent.

  “Of course not, honored Lama. But even if it were the work of many decades before we could—"

  The public's roar drowned out the balance of his sentence.

  “IN THAT CASE,” Go bellowed, stifling several thousand voices with a glare a volcano might envy, “this seems an inappropriate venue for your revelations."

  Levi spread his arms. “What venue could be better? Where else could I find such a gathering of people so captivated by magic? Where else could I address so many who might appreciate the chance to become mages themselves? Or at least have their children attain such stature. Sterns can teach us how!"

  Lama Go moved close to Levi and spoke in hushed tones clearly intended for confidentiality. But due to pre-emplaced amplifying spells, his whispers reached everyone with reasonably sensitive jin as effectively as a shout.

  “I fear, young man, you misjudge the temperament of our audience. Take it from one who knows: they are not here to be educated and lack patience for speeches of any kind—even, to their loss, mine. Most have come entirely for, um, fun."

  “But surely—"

  The lama had already turned toward the crowd. “This exemplary scholar will resume his exposition after the Torus is awarded—and after I conclude my interrupted opening remarks, which will contain additional edification based on today's untoward aspects. A brief paean of appreciation for Shlomo Levi, if you please!"

  Audience members duly applauded, snapped fingers, or hummed, depending on cultural identity; little of it sounded heartfelt. Levi stood defiantly for a moment. Then his shoulders sagged. He poked his Proof Rock—Sterns waved farewell before he and the light-screen vanished—packed his belongings, and retreated from the stage, which engendered a more sincere applause.

  While Lama Go introduced the Master division contenders, or rather prefaced his introductions with remarks concerning proper spectator deportment during an “event of such magnitude,” Vincas moved to intercept Levi en route to his seat.

  “A word with you?” Vincas asked quietly.

  Levi met the mage's eyes. “Are you interested in what I came so far to offer?"

  “Certainly! But later. I have reason to focus on the Torus. Still, during this ... hiatus, would it be too much trouble to come sit with me and suffer an old man's foolish question?"

  “Foolish, I doubt. But lead the way."

  When the pair reached Vincas's assigned spot, people courteously scrunched over to provide room for Levi. After seating themselves on the grass, both men glanced up at the stage. The lama was going strong. It appeared Vincas had time for more than a single question.

  Levi scowled, shook his head, then turned toward the older man. “What would you care to know?"

  “This morning I was discussing the Ancients with a bright young lad. When I told him it was generally understood that all Ancients were great mages, he questioned the desirability of such universal magic since it would render any mage..."

  “Mundane?"

  “Just so. So I ask: why would Ancients have made the effort to add illusion-sharing powers to the new systems they were grafting into the pattern of human growth?"

  Levi's frown eased. “This much, I know! Sterns claims that everything we know as magic is based on antique sciences. Jin and their AIMPS resulted from an intersection of five forgotten disciplines; I've memorized their names: genetic engineering, sensory induction, nanotechnology, computer science, and microwave physics.” The scholar was warming to his subject, obviously unaware he was not only emulating Lama Go's pedantry, but drawing a steady glower from the man himself.

  “The word ‘jin,'” he added, “is Old Chinese for ‘metal,’ but it also references Arabian desert spirits called—"

  “Perhaps we should lower our voices,” Vincas suggested, aiming an apologetic shrug toward the stage. “I fear we are interrupting the Contest-master's remarks and adding nothing to his joy. And I still fail to grasp the Ancients’ purpose."

  Levi looked up, winced, and resumed sotto voce. “Communications, Master. And mass entertainment. I gather that a vast network once connected all humanity, making it easy for friends to speak privately across continents. Or oceans. They could hear each other, trade images, and even seemingly touch each other."

  “Our finest mages can do similar things, so long as empower p
lants aren't too distant."

  “But in Ancient days, Earth's every corner was blessed with empowered radiations, seas included. Also, Sterns says that useful synthetic organisms called ‘nanoproms’ once coated the whole world as a fine dust. Now they only thrive near the few surviving EMPS such as Pagman."

  “What purpose do these organisms serve?"

  “Properly programmed—you might say ‘properly enchanted'—they can remember a mage's instructions for hours or days and influence people's jin accordingly."

  “So! This dust is what makes mirage possible?"

  “Truly."

  “Amazing! Later, I hope you will explain this in detail to Mage Hai. He will be most interested, as will I."

  “Nothing would please me more."

  Vincas chuckled. “Somehow it comforts me to know of these organisms! More of the Ancient's work remains than I realized."

  Levi's scowl returned. “But less every minute and Sterns could help us reverse that trend! Meanwhile, it seems our species is gradually losing those ... fabricated attributes that make nanoproms and EMPS so useful."

  “You raise an issue long troubling me.” Vincas checked the stage but Lama Go was still waxing rather than waning. “With your open window into the past, perhaps you've learned what happened to the Ancients?"

  “Happened?"

  “Adon Levi, I've visited I-Aum-Ming and Auragon and often traveled from Connect to Main here in Wingland. In the wastelands, I've passed the ruins of cities vast enough to hold fantastic populations—tens, perhaps even hundreds of thousands. Today, a village of five hundred people is considered large. Did the Ancients suffer a terrible war or some appalling plague?"

  “Nothing of the sort! Sterns tells us the Ancients succeeded through failure and failed through success."

  “An intriguing phrase! What does it mean?"

  “Apparently, our ancestors became dependent on their complex mechanisms. Through many failures, some with tragic consequences, they learned to make truly reliable machines."

  Vincas shook his head. “How, then, did the Ancients fail?"

  “Who would bother learning how to repair a machine that would not break down in their lifetime?"

  “Oh so."

  “Worse, the Ancients filled their world with such ease and comfort and extravagant entertainments that few cared to—"

  “I must now have everyone's uttermost attention!” the lama demanded. “This includes visiting academics and high-ranked magicians! I now call upon our first Master division contestant. Will Mage Han Chang Pengyew please come forward?"

  Pengyew tottered up the seven steps, appearing so frail and thin it seemed the mild breeze would blow him away. Finally reaching the heights, he slowly turned toward the audience and bowed his head, trembling a bit. He was still and silent long enough to draw concerned muttering from the crowd. Then, with startling agility, he jumped eight feet straight up into the air, spun around twice, and came down holding a long, shining sword in each hand. The feat was particularly impressive because he now appeared to have twelve hands.

  Swords took to slashing in complicated patterns, clanging against each other in intricate rhythms as Han Pengyew danced, did somersaults, and performed improbable contortions. People shouted approval and clapped to keep tempo.

  Here, Vincas thought fondly, is a mage's mage. His effort is neither gaudy nor imaginative enough to win first prize, but what control! What timing! And look! The whole time, his face retains an utter calm.

  As if Vincas's admiration carried a curse, two swords clashed out of rhythm, then another pair. Suddenly, half the swords were bending and twisting autonomously, becoming more alive, more snakelike every second. As Pengyew's countenance itself transformed from tranquil to terrified, each snake expanded, becoming the neck and head of something larger, more fanciful, but equally reptilian: a dragon fashioned in an Old Chinese style.

  Swords began fighting dragons and Vincas decided to root for the dragons when he realized they were defending Pengyew while the swords seemed intent on slicing off the mage's limbs. The reptiles appeared to have an advantage until one chomped a sword in half. Instantly, the broken end became two sharp swords....

  “Panx,” Vincas called internally, “we must act!"

  I taste soured magic.But what is your urgency?

  “Use my eyes! My colleague Pengyew is endangered."

  I see the blades.They remain phantasms.The most this foolish Pengyew risks is a day or month of paralysis.

  Vincas tried to repress his flash of anger; Panx would certainly feel it. “We both know full well that illusory decapitation can kill. Twenty years ago, Kazan the Mad used that sleight to murder three colleagues."

  A jin design flaw, no doubt.What would you have me do?

  “Break Pengyew's spell."

  By doing so, we may no longer retain enough vigor to take the Torus.

  “Just do it. Now."

  The extra hands, blades, and fanged heads grew translucent, then vanished. Vincas felt a sudden exhaustion but when he saw his friend barely standing, trembling in earnest rather than for show, he rushed to the stage and helped the scrawny mage down the steps. Luckily, Pengyew weighed little and Marie Ginnetti had come forward to share the burden.

  Pengyew's mouth was moving; perhaps he was trying to thank his benefactors, but bellowing from the stage drowned out louder voices than his.

  “This can no longer be borne!” Lama Go declared. “I have come to an important decision.” He paused but the crowd merely watched and waited, expressions uniformly tense. “We must take an unprecedented step before our great day is utterly wasted! Vincas Magus, will you come close to the stage? I want you within the purview of our audibility spell."

  The old magician was just sitting down and grateful for the chance, but he complied. “How may I assist, good Lama?"

  “By having everyone hear you confirm something. I understand the, um, magical weapon fired at us today involves the baja-mage Kirstunu and some coins he gave you?"

  “This has not been proven."

  “I believe it has. This morning I found a—an unsigned message on the patio where I take my morning butter tea. I also noticed ... well, that aspect is irrelevant. The message—"

  Vincas lifted a hand. “Bide a moment, Contest-master! We are whelmed in mysteries. What is this trivial aspect? Are you so sure the information casts no useful light?"

  “If you must know, my patio table was fouled with parrot droppings.” A few in the crowd dared to titter. “Surely a coincidence.” The lama swept the audience with a cold eye. “After all, this is migration season and visiting birds have not necessarily been imprinted with our local rules. The message, as I was saying, warned that magically corruptive coins had entered Zun-Loo and can be identified by an unnatural heat they generate from time to time."

  Vincas nodded unhappily. “Last night, a copper in my pocket grew warm indeed."

  “Quite. Before the Contest, I made inquiries and had several reports of hot currency."

  “But this makes no sense! Kirstunu claimed he'd just come from Zun-Loo. Why didn't he distribute his ... poisoned coins while he was here?"

  The lama pondered this at length but the audience remained silent. “You arrived just last night, Vincas. The poison, as you put it, was therefore quick-acting. If the results had become manifest while Kirstunu was, um, within range, we could have detained him and demanded an antidote."

  “Perhaps, but if he'd remained, why would suspicion have fallen—"

  “Please be seated, Master! The days shrink from fear of approaching winter and we lack time to resolve every quibble. To complete the Contest before twilight falls, we must act now. Here is my proposal: every one of us with the slightest talent for enchantment, excepting the final four contestants, will annul our personal spells, retaining only our, um, cosmetic effects. Thus we shall drain ourselves almost entirely of magical energies."

  Vincas thought the plan more likely to succeed with “cosmetic�
� mirages included, but he understood the exemption. Even a Contest-master couldn't buck human vanity.

  Meanwhile, Go had reacted to the wholesale gasp by suddenly appearing taller and even more authoritative. “Is anyone so foolish they fail to comprehend this necessity?” If so, no one was foolish enough to admit it. “I bid you consider this: however the contaminated coins do their filthy work, their effect is too intense to come primarily from any emplaced spell. So where are they finding the extra energy?"

  Silence. Perhaps everyone assumed the question was rhetorical, but judging by Go's mien, his listeners were tragically backward schoolchildren.

  “Think! Inanimate objects could not draw enough force from Pagman. They must be embezzling and redirecting our magic. By relinquishing the bulk of our power, most spells will vanish. Thus Kirstunu's poison must perforce lose purchase! Surely, we can afford this small sacrifice for the remainder of the Contest to ensure a successful conclusion!"

  He waited a moment as if providing an opportunity for debate, but the moment was fleeting. “Since we are all of one mind, those capable of magic will proceed with their personal annulments forthwith!” He gazed at the crowd, who returned his gaze, but nothing else seemed to be happening.

  “I mean right now,” Go insisted.

  No magician needed instructions for magical annulment. The first time any budding mage awoke from a nightmare to find the darkness populated by visible and possibly tangible monsters, they very quickly acquired the knack.

  “At least,” a man behind Vincas remarked, “old Pagman will get its first breather in Allah knows how long."

  To Vincas's jin-enhanced vision, wizards by the score began sprouting moving, lambent branches resembling truncated lightning bolts. Each such human tree was individual in color and brilliance, but all branches quickly shrank toward nothing.

  For one breathtaking moment, all resident illusions intensified. Various mages appeared supernaturally handsome or aristocratic; the air had the clean bite of a Himalayan dawn. Takata Hai's stage decorations manifested—iridescent draperies of giant butterfly wings and titanic peacock feathers, hanging in midair. Then, as godlike faces and forms devolved into more humdrum mirages, the larger illusions blended into a glowing if nondescript color, filling the park like mist and painting the sky a pearly gray.