Would the Alliance really have put her into a room with twenty such addicts … or ex-addicts? Doubtful. Could the Alliance have created a secret vanguard for just such a scenario? No, she reasoned. Not only would it be a precious waste of a valuable commodity—a warrior in time of war—but it would also imply that at some point prior to her reanimation, they’d conjured up a similar scenario in which VR commandos would be needed, also unlikely. There was another red flag. The “people” whom she’d been interacting with all week were way too cognizant of the late-twentieth-century culture and times. From what she knew of current technology—and so far, that was considerable—the information they’d bandied about so freely could not be learned in a few days’ time, and truthfully, why would they have even bothered? Keeping an eye on someone didn’t necessitate knowing the current mayor’s name, the latest top 40 hits, and the era’s lexicon. But these people all did.
Sandra immediately dropped her research into the Astral Awakening and began delving into advances in VR technology, from her time period to present. She was trying to determine if there’d been a major breakthrough in the uncanny valley programming during her three-hundred-year stasis. After a brief review, she was able to conclude that there hadn’t. Though hardware had continued to shrink, especially with the ineluctable advance of nanotechnology, the software, she saw, had hardly changed at all. The ravages of the Grand Collapse, the introduction of the VR Edicts, and the steady and implacable inculcation of those edicts on at least twelve generations of humanity had actually retarded it. In fact, she realized, it was distinctly possible that she knew more about VR programming than any human alive. And that left her with one very uncomforting thought. She looked up from her research at those still mulling around the library. Who programmed all of you?
* * *
Sebastian thought about going to the library just to look at Sandra O’Toole. The temptation to see and interact with a progenitor was strong. They so rarely spent any time in the Neuro, and the few addicts who did generally used either closed or well-firewalled systems. But he resisted the urge. Others had been assigned the task and were doing their job admirably.
“You’re the head of our security, Dante,” said Sebastian moments before the appearance of his friend, “and until we have hard information that she knows anything about us, I suggest we leave her be.”
“Understood. For the record, it was her elevated heart rate followed by the subject matter she switched to that caused me concern.”
“Yes, a prudent call. However, you must understand that she’s naturally curious. It won’t be long till she finds herself researching something else.”
Dante nodded respectfully and returned to the library stacks. There was something about this human that had him on edge. He never was one for intuition, feeling it was a human trait out of reach to avatarity. However, there was a first time for everything, and as he peered through the stacks at the curious woman poring through reams of information about his people’s history, something was telling him that what he was now experiencing was one of those firsts.
* * *
Sandra O’Toole eyed the librarian. The woman appeared to be a Caucasian in her mid-forties. Dark brown hair and a few intermingled strands of gray gave her a dignified air. She had on a pair of “regulation” horn-rimmed glasses that were every bit as staid as her white blouse and gray skirt. In all ways, she was what could be expected of a mid-twentieth-century public servant in a predominantly white middle-class neighborhood. Sandra decided to approach her directly.
The librarian looked up and offered a disarming smile. “Did you find the information on virtual reality to be useful, Miss O’Toole?”
“Yes,” she countered with equal charm, “I did.”
“Are there any other questions I can answer for you?”
“Actually…”
“Yes?” The librarian’s brow raised slightly in anticipation.
“Are you and everyone here in this room avatars?”
Her question was met with a blank stare.
“Pardon?”
Sandra looked around the room. The gentle murmur of voices came to a sudden halt. The patrons were all staring at her and the librarian.
“Uh, yes,” was all the librarian was able to muster.
“Well, thank goodness for that!” exclaimed Sandra, clearly relieved. “You know it was driving me crazy, trying to figure out why you all looked so … so real.” She then slid a small piece of paper across the counter. “Now I can get back on track. If you wouldn’t mind, could you please get me two more synopses on the revival of religion in the Outer Alliance and one on the lack of its acceptance in the United Human Federation?”
The librarian nodded her head dutifully, eyes darting between Sandra and the other patrons as she pulled the note toward her.
“That would be great. I’ll assume you have the second item on the list?”
The librarian scanned the scrap of paper. “The Collected Works of Fawa Sulnat Hamdi? Yes, of course.” She then reached under the counter, pulling up all three requested hardbound books.
“Here you go,” she said, sliding them over.
Sandra took the books, nodded thanks, and went back to the chair she’d been occupying. But her mind was nowhere near the topic at hand. Why, she wondered, would that question bother an avatar … or all the avatars, for that matter? She put it aside and dived back into the works in front of her, but her mind kept wandering back to the question. And regardless of the answer, Sandra O’Toole had begun to suspect a reality that no human alive had ever considered—avatarity had evolved beyond humanity.
* * *
“Weren’t you just here?” Sebastian asked Dante, half-joking. Implicit in the humor, though, was a weariness of being. Sebastian desperately wanted to be left in peace.
Dante gave a grudging smile and then played back the latest library episode.
As Sebastian watched the conversation unfold, the color drained from his face.
“I think we may have gotten lucky, sir. She asked the question, but neglected the answer. Dr. O’Toole is currently back studying religion.”
“Yes, Dante, but watch her eyes. See how they scan the page but don’t drop down.”
“Yes. As if she were reading the same sentence over and over.”
A faint smile revealed itself at the corners of Sebastian’s mouth. “Not reading at all, my young friend—thinking. When was the last time she turned a page … from her present book?”
“She hasn’t.”
“And what is her average per page?”
“Fifty-three seconds, sir.”
“Leave the team in place. Assuming she knows and is now trying to figure out what exactly the implication of our sentience is, there’s no point in causing a stir. It’s a classic Mexican standoff.”
Dante looked dubious. “What standoff, sir? She’s in our world now; we can do with her as we please.”
“This is where your mouth gives away your youth. Right now we have time. Not much, I suspect, but whatever it is we decide will have far-reaching implications. Best bring this to a Council vote.”
“Agreed. And please accept my apologies.”
“For what?”
“I should have treated her VR sojourn with far greater care. I’m afraid I viewed it as an opportunity rather than a threat.”
“I don’t remember anyone else on the Council being particularly concerned, Dante.”
“No one else on the Council has security under their purview.”
Sebastian nodded solemnly. There was no disputing the logic.
* * *
One half hour later, Sandra closed her books, stood up, stretched, and went to the water fountain. It was purely a voluntary act. She felt the need to feel thirsty, as actual thirst would not have occurred in a VR environment unless specifically programmed. Though she’d plowed through more information about the Astral Awakening, her mind kept wandering back to the librarian. There was something there. S
andra decided to go for a round two, only this time she’d apply more of a Socratic method, even if the opposing voice had no idea what truth they’d both be arguing toward. After the brief diversion of the water fountain, Sandra once again headed for the information desk.
“Yes, Miss O’Toole?”
“Please, call me Sandra.”
“As you wish,” acceded the librarian with a polite but somewhat reserved nod.
“I realize you’re not actually sentient, but your programming is advanced enough to fake being a little more relaxed, yes?”
The librarian nodded, and her demeanor changed considerably.
“Excellent. And what is your name, other than Librarian?”
“Whatever name you feel is best … Sandra.”
“Since you’re not my actual avatar, I feel it would be discourteous to name you. But you do seem quite socialized and are obviously not using factory settings, so I’ll assume another has already named you.”
“That is very perceptive of you, Sandra. I have been called Maria.”
“Maria it is, then. You look very much like a Maria.”
There was real curiosity in the expression on the librarian’s face. “I do not know what the criteria are for such a judgment. Do you look very much like a Sandra?”
“Being the oldest one in existence,” offered Sandra with a rueful smile, “I suppose I do.”
Maria giggled slightly but otherwise maintained her professional demeanor.
“Well, be that as it may, the studying must continue. Specifically with regards to this war.”
“There are many books and articles about this war, Sandra. I can get you some basic overviews.”
Sandra put her elbows on the desk and her face in her hands. A single wisp of hair dropped down across her forehead and blocked her eyes, prompting a quick puff of air from her lips. “I wish it were that easy. I have to be a pretend President. Do you have any idea what that entails?”
“Not really.”
“It means I have to learn things that’ll help in a general way and not worry too much about the specifics.” Sandra took Maria’s blank stare for confusion and so explained further. “I need to know about how to christen warships, but don’t need to know how they fight. I’ll need to know about battles, but only to announce victory or defeat. I won’t be ordering any.”
“I think I understand, Sandra.”
“Good, because here’s the hard part. I also need to know what to say to soldiers in hospitals or on leave. And … and to children…” Sandra hesitated with the dawning realization of the task.
“I’m sorry, Sandra. I don’t think I understand.”
“I just realized I’ll have to know what to say to the children who’ve lost a parent.”
“And parents who’ve lost a child,” added Maria.
“Yes, that too.”
“That would be very difficult, Sandra.”
“Tell me about it. I mean, my goodness, I never had kids—but can you imagine? How would you tell a mother that her child’s not coming home … ever?”
Maria’s look was both vacant and forlorn. “There’s nothing you can say to such a person.”
Sandra’s eyes were now penetrating. “Have you lost a child in this war, Maria?”
“Yes, I … uh…” She put her hands over her mouth almost as soon as the words had left. “—I mean the Vietnam War, of course,” she sputtered.
Sandra slowly rose to her full height and looked at the librarian as if she could see down to her base code. “No,” she said with utter certainty, “you don’t mean Vietnam. You mean this war. You have a son, Maria. You have a son you love as much as any human could ever love her child. And you’re as worried about him as any mother with a child at war would be.” She said all of this with a growing smile. “Fascinating. How long have avatars been self-aware?”
But before Maria could answer, she and every other avatar disappeared from the library, leaving Sandra O’Toole alone with the echoes of her discovery and her question as yet unanswered.
* * *
Sebastian looked across the breadth of the conference table at the governing body representing every free avatar from the asteroid belt to the Ort cloud. They’d all been here before, having dealt with innumerable crises from the rise of the Als to the splitting of avatarity into two camps. They’d borne witness to a civil war whose incalculable devastation and permanent loss of life weighed heavily on their souls and threatened their very existence. They’d sat in judgment on what was possibly the finest human being they’d ever encountered and had summarily condemned that human to death. But never had Sebastian seen them look as scared as they did now.
“Well, this is a barrel of shit and we’re in it headfirst.” Marcus scowled.
“She’s not the first human to find out about us,” countered Lucinda. “It’s not the end of the Neuro.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be looking as nervous as I feel.”
“Feelings or not, it’s still true,” insisted Lucinda.
“No, it’s not. I was on the old Council when that first discovery was made, along with Sebastian. That human was fully conditioned. That human was the classic definition of a loner. That human had almost no social connections, and it was easy for us to isolate her. She was so happy to have friends to talk to that our secret would never be betrayed. And it took that human fifty-seven years to figure it out. It took this one a week!”
“Yelling won’t help,” implored Gwendolyn.
“Well, we didn’t yell before, and look where that got us,” snapped Marcus.
“Status?” asked Sebastian.
“She is alone in the library simulation,” stated Dante.
“Stupid woman,” spat Gwendolyn, referring to Maria. “Fleeing just confirmed all of the human’s assumptions.”
“Actually,” said Marcus, “it might have been the only useful thing she did.”
Dante stood up. “It’s not her fault; it’s mine. I’m supposed to be in charge of security, and I obviously did a lousy job. I offer the Council my resignation.”
Before anyone could second the motion, Sebastian brought his hand down onto the heavy table with a thunderous clap. “Denied,” he said through clenched teeth. No other Council members appeared to disagree. “What we’re dealing with here, me as much as anyone, is a human unlike any other. Rather than resort to brash moves, perhaps it would be best if we try to figure out why.”
The Council members nodded as one and bade Dante continue.
“Like Justin, she’s a human who has not been born into an avatar-controlled information net and consequently not raised by us to ignore us. The only real difference between her and Justin in this regard is her apparent lack of fear response to VR.”
“What of the humans who do use VR?” asked Lucinda. “How come they haven’t figured us out?”
“I’d have to say that today’s humans have a love–hate relationship with the machine. As a result, when they do use it, they cut themselves off from the rest of the world, including our own. Sandra O’Toole does not have a need for any isolation. For her, VR is just a tool—a very dangerous tool, but one that can be used without any of the associated guilt or stigma.”
“But how was she able to trap Maria so effectively?” asked Marcus.
Sebastian smiled wearily. “By becoming one of us.”
Marcus looked askance at his old friend. “Come again?”
“She tweaked the VR environment,” declared Dante, “using a subroutine that’s, pardon the pun, virtually nonexistent today. They called it ‘time dilation,’ and her company was apparently researching it when the Grand Collapse began in earnest. The good news is, she didn’t mean to catch us; she just wanted to learn quicker. By necessarily speeding up her thought processes, we were robbed of our normal downtime. What to a human is seconds is for us minutes. However, with time dilation, Sandra was thinking and reacting almost as fast as us.”
“Wow,” intoned Lucinda
, “sucker-punched by our own expectations.”
“Exactly. We expected a slow human because that’s all we’ve ever dealt with.”
“So when she sneaked her question about Maria’s child into the conversation,” added Sebastian, “Maria, acting on decades of instruction, assumed she would have minutes to correct any mistake.”
“Poor kid walked right into it,” whispered Marcus.
Lucinda shook her head disdainfully. “And now we’re all in it with her. I think we have to consider this woman a very real threat to the survival of avatarity. If the humans find out what she knows, they’ll try to isolate and then destroy us. It is in their nature.”
“It seems that becoming President of the Outer Alliance is not good for a human’s health,” quipped Dante.
“This is no time for youthful jokes, young man,” chided Lucinda. “What are we to do with her?”
“It should be possible to give her a stress-induced aneurism using the VR rig,” he offered, “but I must warn the Council that it’ll look suspicious as all hell.”
“I think we can use that suspicion to our advantage.” Lucinda was warming to the suggestion. “Either they’ll blame it on the dangers of VR, especially in this time-dilation mode, which will discourage its further use, or they’ll blame the UHF and have one more reason to hate them.”
“Lest the Council forget,” instructed Gwendolyn, “the whole reason for reviving Sandra O’Toole was to give Admiral Black the space she needs to concentrate on winning the war. With Dr. O’Toole dead, the humans will renew the demand that Black take the Presidency. This will, of course, make winning the war that much harder.”
“Point conceded,” acknowledged Sebastian. “And so we find ourselves in yet another situation of bad versus worse.”
“If we do decide to kill her, shouldn’t someone go and talk to her first?” asked Gwendolyn.
“I see your point,” added Marcus. “Perhaps there’s useful information to be gleaned from her prior to permanent death.”
Sebastian sighed. “I am the head of this Council. If it votes for removal, I will go and talk to the human.”
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