Freenet

by Steve Stanton

  “I’m just trying to make a point.”

  “I sculpt my body by private choice. I work hard at my strength training, but I try to have some fun with the challenge. I keep to 1,500 calories with vitamin supplements and a drug that makes my muscles exercise while I sleep. I enjoy the discipline.”

  Drugs? How did that work? Roni imagined her freakish body twitching like a frog stabbed with electricity. He shook his head to dispel the image. “Sorry. Let’s not make this personal.”

  “Neurozonics does not practise a culture of control,” Niri said. “The omnidroids were manufactured for a specific purpose and have been set loose to accomplish their task.”

  “Sure. They streamline all the V-net data and tell us what we want before we need it.”

  Niri nodded. “No firewalls, no filters. They do that by their nature, but their true value goes far beyond mere predictive social physics. The omnidroids have the built-in capacity to communicate with an advanced celestial consciousness.”

  Roni blinked. “What?”

  “The highest goal on the digital frontier is to share the human collective mind with another sentient form. That’s the only real hope for progress.”

  “You’ve lost me. What other sentient form is out there?”

  “Colin Macpherson postulates that an omnidroid hive-mind has spread into space from ancient times to influence the course of cosmic history.”

  “Are you talking about connecting to some sort of intergalactic god?”

  Niri paused. “Where there’s smoke, there must be fire. The earliest religions arose from dreams and visions. Various prophets accessed a higher consciousness and recorded the first inklings of psychic revelation. Neurozonic brains were designed to maximize that potential in order to make first contact with a universal sentience.”

  “No way.” Roni stood and stabbed a finger to challenge the screens before him. “I’m here about the murder of two omnidroid children, Ruis Limkin and Elana Mant. Real people in the real world. You can’t hide behind a smokescreen of superstition. I’ll get the truth out, no matter what. On the Daily Buzz or elsewhere. You can’t stop me.”

  “Roni, please.” Niri held out her palm. “Colin8 has changed his mind. He’ll see you now. Please sit down. He’ll need a few minutes to prepare.”

  Finally, some headway. Roni resumed his seat.

  Niri turned to a nearby viewscreen. “These are the flight documents pertaining to the helicopter crash. Look closely here. Do you see the revision notifications?”

  Roni peered closer at a segment of machine code. “Revisions?”

  “These markers indicate huge gaps in clock time. The original data has been altered, perhaps fake instructions to the pilot or falsified mechanical readings that were later erased. Only an omnidroid could make these changes. No mere human has that zero-day capability. We find the same pattern on the data record of the troopship, as you can see here.” The screen changed to another page of program code. “And also on the flight record left behind on the vessel owned by Randy Ying. I’ve sent all three documents to your studio office. You can have your technicians check their reliability.”

  “The omnidroids arranged the accidents? Why would they kill two of their own?”

  Niri pressed her lips. “Morality is an anthropological concept, but a superior intelligence might be tempted by efficiency. Natural selection is a ponderous genetic refinery, but why wait for generations of evolutionary history to refine the genome? What better way to cull the herd than a death match with fate? Only the precognitive omnidroids would survive, and their DNA would remain pure for the future.”

  “No, that’s diabolical.”

  “So we humans would say. Colin8 will see you now.” She stood and led Roni toward a seam in the wall that slid open on proximity. A comfortable light glowed from a change room inside.

  “Leave your clothes here for pickup later. Step through the scanner into the germicidal shower and keep your eyes closed until the tone sounds. Then proceed to the irradiation dryer. You’ll find fresh cellulose clothing in the fabricator on the other side.”

  “Why the sterilization?”

  “It’s been months since Colin8 has had any human contact from outside his white zone. He doesn’t carry the natural immunity to germs and diseases that you and I take for granted.”

  The door slid shut between them, and Roni made his way through a gauntlet of cold steam followed by glowing purple heat from overhead driers. A sharp disinfectant tickled his nose. He pulled on fitted cellulose clothing and paper slippers and stepped through the final gate into a spacious hallway.

  “Roni Hendrik,” a boy said as he strode forward with an outstretched arm. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit that seemed foppish on his teenage frame—like a child pretending to royalty. “I’m Colin8.”

  Roni studied the boy as they shook hands, blond hair sweeping off a large forehead with big ears like butterflies and a prominent chin. “You’re Colin Macpherson?”

  “The current custodian, seventh clone of number one.”

  “Are you in charge here?”

  “We exert a collective will. The elder progenitors have transitioned to digital experience, but I still enjoy the occasional foray into the mundane world. Thanks for visiting.”

  “I didn’t have much choice with my show pulled off the air.”

  “Yes, you seem to be working with some erroneous assumptions. Niri has set you straight with some of the facts.”

  “There’s still the matter of Randy Ying hiding away on Babylon while working on your payroll.”

  Colin8 waved backhand in dismissal. “Mr. Ying was hired as a guardian to Simara, and he performed his job admirably for many years before his breakdown. As you can see by the altered data transcripts from his vessel, he was clearly being manipulated by the omnidroids. We’re not going to cancel his pension just because he goes missing for a few days.”

  “Why was the first omnidroid working the hard trade route all those years instead of living safely at home in your lab?”

  “Evolution is not mimicked by coddling. Simara was sent to us from Earth by Colin7. She was in distress after implant surgery, overwhelmed with raw V-net data, and unable to cope with her experimental wireless installation, her brain scrambled, memories wiped clean by trauma. At first we didn’t know if the child was a danger to herself or others. We didn’t know if she might be hunted because of her psychic powers, so we sheltered her under a caregiver for long winters on Babylon where the V-net signal is sparse. She needed a sanctuary to grow in relative isolation until she learned how to master her potential.”

  “A biogen smuggled through the Macpherson Doorway?” Roni’s news-nose pointed suddenly toward a hot byline. “In defiance of the embargo?”

  Colin8 affected an impish, cultured charisma of entitlement. “Those laws weren’t in effect at the time, and I doubt there’s any tawdry substance there for a ratings boost on the Daily Buzz.”

  Roni shrugged. “Depends how we spin it. The poor little orphan girl cast out from paradise, a biogen denied her natural birthright on Earth. The viewers will lap it up like goat’s milk.”

  “As you wish. But is that really the best angle for your story? Remember, you’ll only get one chance to tell it. That’s the thing about the news of the day—it has such fleeting substance.” Colin8 turned and began walking at a leisurely pace.

  Roni nodded as he followed down the empty hallway. He wondered what other information might be on the serving tray at Neurozonics. He didn’t even know the right questions to ask. “So you deny any involvement in the omnidroid accidents?”

  “Of course. Why would we harm our own children and squander several lifetimes of work? We’re only now seeing our cherished dreams come to fruition.”

  “Talking to God?”

  The young clone smiled. “I’m a scientist, Mr. Hendrik. I prefer facts over faith. My progenitor broke the space-time barrier. That’s my heritage. We built a Doorway across the galaxy and fo
und a new home to expand the human race. We chose the closest blue planet and terraformed it to our liking. But when I look out at the night sky now, I see only squandered opportunity.”

  “The universe is a big place. We’ll get there eventually.”

  “Indeed, we already have. Progress has left us behind like protozoa trapped in a tidal pool.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Doorway folds the fabric of space-time. That’s the best way to describe it. A place distant in space is pulled close enough for an instantaneous jump through the wormhole. But any Doorway travels through time as well. Our trip to Cromeus, for example, vaults twelve million years into the future in the blink of an eye.”

  Roni nodded. “It boggles the mind.”

  “Just think how many Doorways have been built in the last twelve million years. It takes a lot of resources, more than we could ever manage from the Cromeus colonies, but Earthlings might manage one every five hundred years on average, wouldn’t you say?”

  Roni took a moment to perform the mental math. “Twenty-four thousand Doorways?”

  “Conservatively speaking, there must be an empire of twenty-four thousand solar systems by now, and some of those will have spawned Doorways of their own. Some will be far in the future, but, more importantly, some will be far in the past.”

  “How far back could they go?”

  “It takes just as much energy to travel twelve billion years as to travel twelve million years.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “Exactly. Mankind has already taken omnidroid technology back to the beginning of time and forward to the end of eternity. The universe is riddled with wormholes, and we’re stuck here alone.”

  “But we can go back to Earth any time. We’re still connected.”

  Colin8 shook his head. “We can go back to view the Earth as it was in antiquity, not as it is now. We can never know the modern age. By now the omnidroids of intergalactic history will have evolved a psychic network of communication that spans the cosmos.” He stopped to palm a sensor, and a portal slid open. “This is our genetics lab, open for your inspection in full cooperation with the media.”

  They stepped forward into a large expanse filled with computer hardware and bulging tanks like bathyscaphs. The stagnant air smelled stale. Colin8 extended his arm with sweeping grandeur. “The equipment in this lab was first developed to pioneer cloning technology for our illustrious progenitor.”

  Roni surveyed the vast array of dormant apparatus. The viewscreens were blank and control boards unlit, and a series of empty office chairs stood in line like a regiment. No signs of staff, no tools on trays or jackets on the chair backs. “Where are all the workers?”

  “Alas, you have arrived at the party long after the music has ended. We closed up shop some time ago. The latest biogen is seven years old now. This lab is a mausoleum, an ancestral relic.” Colin8 stepped toward a large ovoid vessel covered with a thin layer of dust. “This was my womb, my first home in an amniotic sea.” He pointed underneath at four hydraulic legs. “It moves on a programmed pattern to stir fluids in a natural manner.”

  “You were born from a machine?”

  “The omnidroids as well. We had all the in vitro systems in place, so after Simara arrived, we used her blueprint to splice together twenty-four more omnidroids, enough to establish a stable procreative base. Brain implant surgery was performed right here in the womb by micro-robots. Each omnidroid has an octahedral array, hardwired with the foundational source code of the V-net. They were born into digital space long before their first breath of air. The V-net is their true home.”

  “How did you get around the trauma problem that plagued Simara?”

  Colin8 held up a single finger. “That was our surprise breakthrough. We experienced no problems whatsoever. The new omnidroids connected with Simara from birth, even from the dark reaches of Babylonian winter. She became a den mother to all the children through a psychic tether that does not diminish by distance. Do you see how important this is?”

  Roni nodded. “The mothership.”

  “We can’t be sure if the hive-mind originated from Simara as a cognitive mechanism to cope with her digital distress, or whether the mothership is an actual first contact with a celestial intelligence. That is the most critical question under current study.”

  “So you want to use the mothership to communicate with omnidroid colonies in space?”

  “Yes. It’s our only hope to avoid an impoverished future. The speed of light is too slow to connect in any meaningful way. The universe is far too vast. But the omnidroids use their freenet to stay in constant communion, using science we are just beginning to fathom.”

  “But what about us? What about simple humans? We’ll be left behind on the dust heap of history.”

  The young clone nodded. “That much is true.”

  “You’re willing to relinquish the future to the omnidroids? Just throw up your hands and walk away from your human heritage? That doesn’t sound like the Colin Macpherson of legend. How will your baby clones compete with their biogen peers? You’ll be second-class citizens.”

  Colin8 slouched his posture in confession. “I’m the last of the Macpherson line, the final custodian. Eight lifetimes is enough for any man, and cloning leaves no room for the type of evolutionary development of which we speak. We have a 50% DNA interest in the omnidroid species, strictly speaking, though most of the code is augmented to creative schematics. We’ve secured a good foothold for posterity, a majority interest in this strain.”

  Roni studied the young man more closely, frail of stature with pointed chin, high cheekbones, and wide ears. He recognized it now, the elfish look in all the omnidroids, a common ancestry. “What gives you the right to engineer the extinction of mankind?”

  “Ah, the cry of the giant Neanderthals and the pygmy hominids. Humanity is changing, not disappearing. Nature selects the best features suitable for new environments, and always will. We’re introducing nothing foreign to the genome. Omnidroids can’t predict the roll of dice or the winning numbers on a lottery, but they can summon affective precognition under stress, and this gives them great social advantage, as you can plainly see. You’re the one being led around by the nose.”

  “What are you insinuating? I’m not working for the omnidroids.”

  “You are the vehicle of influence, the show with the biggest bandwidth. You have the three worlds watching daily vigil on the omnidroid elder, intimately concerned for her good health, while a week ago she was on her way to a courtroom lynching. You alone have changed the tide of public opinion and helped quash a murder investigation that has laid a protective mantle of double jeopardy on Simara’s shoulders. And for what? More eyeballs on the V-net bonus chart? More wireheads sucking up the feelie feed? You accuse my company of dastardly deeds while you spin a dangerous web for your own benefit.”

  Roni shuddered at the possibility. “I’m just reporting the news. I’m not making anything up.”

  “Our intent is to protect the good standing of Neurozonics and preserve the historic integrity of the Macpherson name. You make slanderous statements against us in the media, accusing us of conspiracy and attempted genocide, so we have no choice but to burden you with the truth. We created the omnidroids and are joyous at the outcome. We willingly lay down our heritage of cloning technology, now primitive in comparison.” He pointed a level finger at Roni. “Mothership manipulates you like a dancing marionette, dropping clues for you and falsifying data. A hardened newsman like you might not heed the warning, but I’ll voice it nonetheless: if you dare to tell the real story, no one will believe it. Your reputation will be slighted forever, and silence will be your only option.”

  Roni’s chest tightened like a vice. “I’ll fight back.”

  Colin8 turned and walked away. “Your time is up,” he said over his shoulder. “Niri will escort you to the tram.”

  In a daze of confusion, Roni returned to the change room and put on his st
reet clothes. He palmed a door sensor and stepped into the entrance foyer where Niri sat in her circular workstation. She looked over from the flashing thoughtscreens surrounding her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Niri rose from her perch and sidled toward him. She slipped a sinewy arm under his elbow. “The truth is hard, but I hope you can see the glory of the vision. No secrets, no crime, a future where every thought is freely shared.”

  “Just because someone can read your mind, doesn’t mean they’ll respect your interest.”

  “Twelve billion years is a long time to learn wisdom.”

  “Or perfect domination. These omnidroid gods are going to enslave us with trickery and deceit unless we do something to stop them. When’s the next tram?”

  “There’s one out front. You can just catch it.” The plate-glass doors swung inward as they approached. “But don’t mistake altruism for tyranny. The machines weep for us, Roni, because we’re so primitive.”

  Roni took the tram back to his apartment and poured himself a stiff shot of white allkool. Zen was in the kitchen roasting a chicken for their Heritage meal together. A fragrant cloud of spices filled the air and seemed to seep into Roni’s mind with a calming influence as he sat on the sofa and wrestled with his responsibility as a newsman. If Simara had used him unwittingly in pursuit of devious schemes, he would make it right and make amends. He would tell the real story, goddamn it. The future was squarely in front of Roni, risk and reward, passion and promise. The omni­droids were an evil menace and potent threat to all humanity.

  He kept his thoughts to himself during the Heritage festival dinner. No sense burdening the Bali boy with guilt, or trying to explain the paradox of time travel to a cave dweller. They toasted allkool in tribute to every spiritual inclination in memory, religions past and present on planets near and far, but Roni couldn’t help wondering if a divine hive-mind had spawned them all. Did ancestral omnidroids wait over long eons for the first apes to walk upright on the fertile savannas of Earth? Did they use their amplified psychic powers to guide primitive hominids toward consciousness with archetypes and symbols, toward their own predestined fabrication at the hands of emerging homo sapiens—the worm ­ouroboros devouring its own tail across time and space?