by Ted Chiang
Before leaving, he checks his messages, and is puzzled to see a couple from strangers accusing him of running some kind of scam. The messages seem legitimate, so he reads them more closely. The senders are complaining about a digient approaching them in Data Earth and asking for money.
Derek realizes what must have happened. He recently began giving Marco and Polo an allowance, which they usually spend on game subscriptions or virtual toys; they've asked for more, but he's held the line. They must have decided to ask people in Data Earth at random for money and been rebuffed, but since the digients are running under Derek's Data Earth account, people assumed that he had trained them to beg for money.
He'll send complete apologies to these people later on, but right now he tells Marco and Polo to enter their robot bodies immediately. Fabrication technology has reached the point where he was able to afford two robot bodies of his own, customized to complement Marco and Polo's avatars. A minute later, their panda-bear faces appear in the robot's helmets, and Derek reprimands them for asking strangers for money. "I thought you would know better," he says.
Polo is apologetic. "Yes, know better," he says.
"So why did you do it?"
"My idea, not Polo's," says Marco. "Knew they wouldn't give money. Knew they'd message you."
Derek's astonished. "You were trying to get people angry at me?"
"This happen because we on your account," says Marco. "Not happen if we have own accounts, like Voyl."
Now he understands. The digients have been hearing about a Sophonce digient named Voyl. Voyl's owner—a lawyer named Gerald Hecht—filed papers to create the Voyl Corporation, and Voyl now runs under a separate Data Earth account registered to that corporation. Voyl pays taxes and is able to own property, enter into contracts, file lawsuits and be sued; in many respects he is a legal person, albeit one for whom Hecht technically serves as director.
The idea has been around for a while. Artificial-life hobbyists all agree on the impossibility of digients ever getting legal protection as a class, citing dogs as an example: human compassion for dogs is both deep and wide, but the euthanasia of dogs in pet shelters amounts to an ongoing canine holocaust, and if the courts haven't put a stop to that, they certainly aren't going to grant protection to entities that lack a heartbeat. Given this, some owners believe the most they can hope for is legal protection on an individual basis: by filing articles of incorporation on a specific digient, an owner can take advantage of a substantial body of case law that establishes rights for nonhuman entities. Hecht is the first one to have actually done it.
"So you were trying to make a point," says Derek.
"People say being corporation great," says Marco. "Can do whatever want."
A number of human adolescents have complained that Voyl has more rights than they do; obviously the digients have seen their comments. "Well, you're not incorporated, and you definitely cannot do anything you want."
"We sorry," says Marco, suddenly appreciating the trouble he's in. "Just want be corporations."
"I told you before: you're not old enough."
"We older Voyl," says Polo.
"Me especially," says Marco.
"Voyl's not old enough for it, either. His owner made a mistake."
"So you not let us be corporations ever?"
Derek gives them a stern look. "Maybe one day, when you're much older; we'll see. But if you two try a stunt like this again, there are going to be serious repercussions. You understand?"
The digients are glum. "Yes," says Marco.
"Yes," says Polo.
"Okay. I've got to go; we'll talk about this more later." Derek scowls at them. "You two get back into Data Earth now."
As he drives to the restaurant, Derek again thinks about what Marco is asking for. A lot of people are skeptical about the idea of digients becoming corporations; they view Hecht's actions as nothing more than a stunt, an impression Hecht only reinforces by issuing press releases about his plans for Voyl. Right now Hecht essentially runs the Voyl Corporation, but he's training Voyl in business law and insists that someday Voyl will make all the decisions himself; the role of director, whether filled by Hecht or by someone else, will be nothing but a formality. In the meantime, Hecht invites people to put Voyl's status as a legal person to the test. Hecht has the resources for a court battle, and he's itching for a fight. So far no one has taken him up on it, but Derek hopes that someone will; he wants the precedents to be well established before he'll consider incorporating Marco and Polo.
The question of whether Marco or Polo would ever be intellectually capable of becoming corporations is another question, and to Derek's mind a more difficult one to answer. The Neuroblast digients have shown that they can do homework on their own, and he's confident that their attention spans for independent tasks will increase steadily over time, but even if they become able to do sizeable projects without supervision, that's still a far cry from being able to make responsible decisions about one's future. And he's not even sure if that level of independence is something he should encourage Marco and Polo to have as a goal. Turning Marco and Polo into corporations opens the door to keeping them running after Derek himself has passed away, which is a worrisome prospect: for Down Syndrome individuals, there are organizations that provide assistance to people living on their own, but similar support services don't exist for incorporated digients. It might be better to ensure that Marco and Polo are suspended in the event that Derek can't take care of them.
Whatever he decides to do, he'll have to do it without Wendy; they've decided to file for divorce. The reasons are complicated, of course, but one thing is clear: raising a pair of digients is not what Wendy wants from life, and if Derek wants a partner in this endeavor, he'll have to find someone else. Their marriage counselor has explained that the problem isn't the digients per se, it's the fact that Derek and Wendy can't find a way to accommodate their having different interests. Derek knows the counselor's right, but surely having common interests would have helped.
He doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but he can't stop thinking that getting divorced offers him an opportunity to be more than just friends with Ana. Surely she's considered the possibility too; after all the time they've known each other, how could she not have? The two of them would make a great team, working together for what's best for their digients.
Not that he plans to declare his feelings at lunch; it's too soon for that, and he knows Ana is seeing someone right now, a guy named Kyle. But their relationship is fast approaching the six-month mark, which is usually when the guy realizes that Jax isn't just a hobby, but the major priority in her life; it probably won't be long before the breakup follows. Derek figures that in telling Ana about his divorce, he'll be reminding her that there are other options, that not every guy will think of digients as competition for her attention.
He looks around for Ana in the restaurant, sees her and waves; she gives him a big grin. When he reaches the table he says, "You won't believe what Marco and Polo just did." He tells her what happened, and her jaw drops.
"That's amazing," she says. "God, I'll bet Jax has heard the same things they have."
"Yeah, you might want to have a conversation with him when you get home." This leads to talking about the benefits and drawbacks of giving the digients access to social forums. The forums offer richer interaction than the owners can supply by themselves, but not all the influences the digients receive are positive ones.
After they've discussed digients for a while, Ana asks, "So aside from that, what's new with you?"
Derek sighs. "I might as well tell you: Wendy and I are getting divorced."
"Oh no. Derek, I'm so sorry." Her sympathy is genuine, and it warms him.
"It's been a long time coming," he says.
She nods. "Still, I'm sorry it's happening."
"Thanks." He talks for a while about what he and Wendy have agreed upon, how they'll sell the condo and split t
he proceeds. Thankfully the process is mostly amicable.
"At least she doesn't want copies of Marco and Polo," says Ana.
"Yeah, thank goodness for that," agrees Derek. A spouse can almost always make a copy of a digient, and when a divorce isn't amicable, it's all too easy to use one to get back at one's ex. They've seen it happen on the forums many times.
"Enough of that," says Derek. "Let's talk about something else. What's happening with you?"
"Nothing, really."
"You looked like you were in a good mood until I started talking about Wendy."
"Well, yeah, I was," she admits.
"So is there something in particular that's got you feeling so upbeat?"
"It's nothing."
"Nothing's got you in a good mood?"
"Well, I have some news, but we don't have to talk about it now."
"No, don't be silly, it's fine. If you've got good news, let's hear it."
Ana pauses and then, almost apologetically, says, "Kyle and I have decided to move in together."
Derek is stunned. "Congratulations," he says.
Chapter 6
Two more years pass. Life goes on.
Occasionally Ana, Derek, and the other education-minded owners have their digients take some standardized tests, to see how they compare with human children. The results vary. The Faberge digients, being illiterate, can't take written tests, but they seem to be developing well according to other metrics. Among the Origami digients, there's a curious split in the test results, with half continuing to develop over time and half hitting a plateau, possibly due to a quirk in the genome. The Neuroblast digients do reasonably well if they're permitted the same allowances in testing that dyslexic humans are given; while there's variation between the individual digients, as a group their intellectual development continues apace.
What's harder to gauge is their social development, but one encouraging sign is that the digients are socializing with human adolescents in various online communities. Jax becomes interested in tetrabrake, a subculture focused on virtual dance choreography for four-armed avatars; Marco and Polo have each joined a fan club for a serial game drama, and each regularly tries to convince the other of the superiority of his choice. Even though Ana and Derek don't really understand the appeal of these communities, they like the fact that their digients have become part of them. The adolescents who dominate these communities seem unconcerned with the fact that the digients aren't human, treating them as just another kind of online friend they are unlikely to meet in person.
Ana's relationship with Kyle has its ups and downs, but is generally good. They occasionally go out with Derek and whomever he's dating; Derek sees a series of women, but nothing ever becomes serious. He tells Ana that it's because the women he dates don't share his interest in digients, but the truth is that his feelings for Ana refuse to go away.
The economy goes into a recession after the latest flu pandemic, prompting changes in the virtual worlds. Daesan Digital, the company that created the Data Earth platform, makes a joint announcement with Viswa Media, creator of the Real Space platform: Data Earth is becomming part of Real Space. All Data Earth continents will be replaced by identical Real Space versions added to the Real Space universe. They're calling it a merger of two worlds, but it's just a polite way of saying that, after years of upgrades and new versions, Daesan can no longer afford to keep fighting the platform wars.
For most customers, all this means is that they can travel between more virtual locations without logging out and in again. Over the last few years, almost all of the companies whose software runs on Data Earth have created versions that run on Real Space. Gamers who play Siege of Heaven or Elderthorn can simply run a conversion utility, and their inventories of weapons and clothing will be waiting for them on the Real Space versions of the game continents.
One exception, though, is Neuroblast. There isn't a Real Space version of the Neuroblast engine—Blue Gamma folded before the platform was introduced—which means that there's no way for a digient with a Neuroblast genome to enter the Real Space environment. Origami and Faberge digients experience the migragtion to Real Space as an expansion of possibilities, but for Jax and the other Neuroblast digients, Daesan's announcement essentially means the end of the world.
• • •
Ana is getting ready for bed when she hears the crash. She hurries out to the living room to investigate.
Jax is wearing the robot body, examining his wrist. One of the tiles on the wall display next to him is cracked. He sees Ana enter and says, "I sorry."
"What were you doing?" she asks.
"I very sorry."
"Tell me what you were doing."
Reluctantly, Jax says, "Cartwheel."
"And your wrist gave way and you hit the wall." Ana takes a look at the robot-body's wrist. As she feared; it will require replacement. "I don't make these rules because I don't want you to have fun. But this is what happens when you try dancing in the robot body."
"I know you said. But I try little dancing, and body fine. I try little more, and body still fine."
"So you tried a little more, and now we have to buy a new wrist, and a new display tile." She briefly wonders how quickly she can replace them, if she can keep Kyle—who is out of town on business—from finding out about this. A few months ago Jax damaged a piece of sculpture that Kyle loved, and it might be better not to remind him of that incident.
"I very very sorry," says Jax.
"Okay, back to Data Earth." Ana points to the charging platform.
"I admit was mistake—"
"Just go."
Jax dutifully heads over. Just before he steps on the platform, he says quietly, "It not Data Earth." Then the robot-body's helmet goes dark.
Jax is complaining about the private version of Data Earth that the Neuroblast user group has set up, duplicating many of the continents from the original. In one respect it's much better than the private island they used as a refuge from the IFF hack, because now processing power is so cheap that they can run dozens of continents. In another respect it's much worse, because those continents are almost entirely devoid of inhabitants.
The problem is not just that all the humans have moved to Real Space. The Origami and Faberge digients have gone to Real Space too, and Ana can hardly blame their owners; she'd have done the same, given the opportunity. Even more distressing is that most of the Neuroblast digients are gone as well, including many of Jax's friends. Some members of the user group quit when Data Earth closed; others took a "wait and see" approach, but grew discouraged after they saw how impoverished the private Data Earth was, choosing to suspend their digients rather than raise them in a ghost town. And more than anything else, that's what the private Data Earth resembles: a ghost town the size of a planet. There are vast expanses of minutely-detailed terrain to wander around in, but no one to talk to except for the tutors who come in to give lessons. There are dungeons without quests, malls without businesses, stadiums without sporting events; it's the digital equivalent of a post-apocalyptic landscape.
Jax's human friends from the tetrabrake scene used to log into the private Data Earth just to visit Jax, but their visits have grown
increasingly infrequent; all the tetrabrake events happen on Real Space now. Jax can send and receive choreography recordings, but a major part of the scene is live gatherings where choreography is improvised, and there's no way for him to participate in those. Jax is losing most of his social life in the virtual world, and he can't find one in the real one: his robot body is categorized as an unpiloted free-roaming vehicle, so he's restricted from public spaces unless Ana or Kyle is there to accompany him. Confined to their apartment, he becomes bored and restless.
For weeks Ana tried having Jax sit at her computer in his robot body and log into Real Space that way, but he refuses to do it anymore. There were difficulties with the user interface—his inexperience with using an actual comput
er, compounded by the camera's suboptimal tracking of gestures performed by a robot body—but she believes they could have overcome them. The bigger problem is that Jax doesn't want to control an avatar remotely: he wants to be the avatar. For him, the keyboard and screen are a miserable substitute for being there, as unsatisfying as a jungle videogame would be to a chimpanzee taken from the Congo.
All the remaining Neuroblast digients are having similar frustrations, making it clear that a private Data Earth is only a temporary fix. What's needed is a way to run the digients on Real Space, allowing them to move freely and interact with its objects and inhabitants. In other words, the solution is to port the Neuroblast engine—to rewrite it to run on the Real Space platform. Ana has persuaded Blue Gamma's former owners to release the source code for Neuroblast, but it will take experienced developers to do the rewriting. The user group has posted announcements on open-source forums in an attempt to attract volunteers.
The sole advantage of Data Earth's obsolescence is that their digients are safe from the dark side of the social world. A company called Edgeplayer markets a digient torture chamber on the Real Space platform; to avoid accusations of unauthorized copying, they use only public-domain digients as victims. The user group has agreed that once they get the Neuroblast engine ported, their conversion procedure will include full ownership verification; no Neuroblast digient will ever enter Real Space without someone committed to taking care of it.
• • •
It's two months later, and Derek is browsing the user's group forum, reading the responses to an earlier post of his on the status of the Neuroblast port. Unfortunately, the news was not good; the attempts to recruit developers for the project haven't met with much success. The user group has held open-house events in their private Data Earth so that people could meet the digients, but there have been very few takers.
The problem is that genomic engines are old news. Developers are drawn to new, exciting projects, and right now that means working on neural interfaces or nanomedical software. There are scores of genomic engines languishing in various states of incompletion on the open-source repositories, all in need of volunteer programmers, and the prospect of porting the dozen-year-old Neuroblast engine to a new platform may be the least exciting of them all. Only a handful of students are contributing to the Neuroblast port, and considering how little time they're able to devote, the Real Space platform will itself be obsolete before the port is finished.