The Truth Machine

by James L. Halperin

  “Earth to Pete,” Maya interrupted herself good-naturedly.

  “I’m right here.”

  “Maybe in body, but not necessarily in spirit.”

  “Honey, I can repeat every word you just said to me.”

  “I’m sure you can, but that doesn’t mean you were listening. I don’t think about other things when we’re talking.”

  She was right. About to argue the issue, Pete suddenly realized he couldn’t refute her words without lying. He knew letting his mind drift to work during social interaction was simply a bad habit, and one he ought to break.

  If I love her, I should be capable of concentrating on her when we’re together. It’s not like I’d forget any of the work if I put it off until later. The work’s always there, he decided, but people are immediate. If you lose the moment, it never returns

  Through example, Maya taught Pete how to be more open toward others, even if it meant sharing his feelings. It was a slow and difficult process, but because of her he was becoming less introverted.

  If I’d met Maya 25 years ago, he mused, maybe I’d have been outgoing enough to call Al Bonhert myself instead of trusting the job to Scoggins.

  (Note: How that would have changed history!—22g CP)

  Initially uncomfortable during their discussions and occasional arguments, Pete realized that such friction wasn’t the price of a relationship, but a benefit. He needed it to grow as a human being. Only through friction could the rough edges of his personality become refined, and Maya skillfully polished him like a fine diamond.

  He never used his ACIP override in his personal relationships; although quite expert at dancing around certain questions, he reserved “O Captain, My Captain” exclusively for government scips. Very often, lying would have quickly ended arguments with Maya, but he had never succumbed to it. Only occasionally had he even avoided answering questions she’d asked—always in instances in which doing so would have exposed his crimes, since he couldn’t put her in that position.24 And he knew for a fact that she had never lied to him. It seemed that the ACIP had taken much of the risk out of marriage.

  Maya had spent most of her time in Dallas since meeting Pete, although he also visited her in New York City. They were seldom apart, except during their long working hours; both driven by work, each understood the other’s obsession. In fact their time together every night was like an oasis, a respite from the blinding concentration and intense pressure they were forced to apply to their chosen vocations. When not working, both were homebodies. Only occasionally did they venture from Pete’s house or Maya’s brownstone and when they did it was almost always to join David and Diana.

  Like Pete, Maya had never been married; both were leery of marriage, being set in their ways. And Pete was tormented by the ethics of his situation. He knew it was selfish to marry and less forgivable to consider starting a family, but still he succumbed to instinct, longing for continuity and kinship. To resist it would have been as difficult as deciding to stop breathing.

  I love her. I need her. I’ve been alone my entire life and now here she is, making me realize how lonely I was before. With Maya I’ll be happy for the next four years—and after that my life will be over. Then what’ll happen to her?

  Pete had proposed exactly three months and one week earlier. Before meeting him, Maya had expected to wait until she was at least 50 to get married, as most career women did. Pete had counted on remaining single for the rest of his short life.

  He had added one caveat: “Honey, I have a secret I can’t discuss. It has to do with my work, and several things that happened a long time ago, things that will probably come back to haunt me in a few years. That’s all I can tell you. There are questions you might ask that I can’t answer right now.”

  Wishing he could tell her everything right then, Pete promised himself he would explain it all to her at the appropriate time; then they would decide what to do—together.

  “I understand,” Maya said. “I won’t pressure you to tell me anything before you’re ready.”

  Several days later, Maya and Pete examined each other’s genetic scorecards as all engaged couples must, and learned that any possible defects were curable. Even knowing that four years from now he might be in prison or dead, Pete realized he was secretly pleased that they might have children together. Children who might someday take the helm at ATI—and contribute great things to humanity.

  “We are gathered here this day, in the midst of all the majestic forces of the universe, in the presence of God and these witnesses, as you two join together in marriage, an institution flowing out of the very nature of our being. . . .”

  The ceremony took place at the Stamford Unitarian Church25 just five blocks from the house where Maya grew up. From the day it welcomed its first congregation, it had never been a somber place, but today it was a madhouse. Maya’s parents had invited about 100 of their friends, in addition to hundreds of friends, relatives, and colleagues of the bride and groom. Since Pete was the groom and David and Diana were best man and matron of honor, the wedding inevitably turned into a media event.

  Maya’s maternal grandmother, Sue Dunlap, 92 and frail, had decided to postpone her cryonic suspension in order to attend her favorite granddaughter’s wedding. Since the early 2040s, the World Health Department had advised anyone over 80 years of age to wear a Life-Monitor at all times, and to keep an Emergency Care Machine in all sleeping quarters. The Dunlaps kept two ECMs, but Sue Dunlap seldom wore her Life-Monitor to bed. On July 29, she had died in her sleep. Her death had been discovered six hours later, far beyond the period for brain reconstructibility.

  (Note: Anyone revived or frozen within 300 seconds of pulmonary failure is unlikely to sustain any brain damage, and most impairment suffered during the first two hours at room temperature is now repairable through nanotechnology.—22g CP)

  Maya grieved, guilt-ridden that she hadn’t offered to reschedule the wedding in order to accommodate her grandmother.

  Her heartbroken grandfather tried to console her. “It was nobody’s fault, Maya. I remember when Grandma was your age I could never even get her to wear a seat belt.26 She was always reckless.”

  At least, Maya reasoned, her grandmother had lived a happy, full life—short though it may have been. She could barely imagine the guilt Pete must have experienced over the tragic death, long ago, of his three-year-old brother.

  “O God of many names, we solemnly petition Your blessing upon this holy union. Do you, Maya Helene Gale, pledge to love and cherish Randall Petersen Armstrong, to do all within your power to preserve the integrity of this marriage for the sake of you and your children, and to remain together throughout triumph and adversity, until all your offspring attain adult age, and if you are able, until death or cryonic suspension?”

  (Note: The Unitarian Universalist Association was first to encourage couples to incorporate realistic expectations into their marriage vows. Today many churches have followed their lead. After all, at current rates about 23 percent of all marriages will end in divorce. Ironically, prior to the ACIP, the divorce rate was double what it is now, yet nearly all brides and grooms pledged eternal love “until death do us part.”—22g CP)

  “I do.”

  “Do you, Randall Petersen Armstrong, pledge to love and cherish Maya Helene Gale, to do all within your power to preserve the integrity of this marriage for the sake of you and your children, and to remain together throughout triumph and adversity, until all your offspring attain adult age, and if you are able, until death or cryonic suspension?”

  “I do.”

  “As you have pledged yourselves each to the other in marriage, with the authority vested in me by the church and by the World Tribunal, I now acknowledge that you are husband and wife.”

  As he kissed his new bride, Pete realized his life was completely and irreversibly transformed. Suicide no longer an option, every decision from now on would be made with his love’s best interests in mind.

  Afte
r all he had been through and all the mistakes he’d made, he considered Maya Gale the greatest miracle of his life.

  CHAPTER 43

  LEONARD

  Dallas, Texas

  December 5, 2047—With great fanfare, World President Boris Malinkov signs the International Weather Control Act, allocating $73.4 trillion over nine years to construct weather-proof domes over every major city and to set up weather control stations in all populated areas on earth.—In the second such scandal in seven months, a cryonic suspension station in Bombay is discovered to have lost power, resulting in the premature thawing and subsequent loss of 26,112 persons. The seven managers whose negligence was responsible for the breach are expected to receive the death penalty.

  He had never tried to talk her out of it. Once Maya decided she wanted a child, Pete admitted to himself that he did, too. It would work out—somehow.

  “Pete, I think it’s time. The contractions are five minutes apart.”

  “Contractions? How long have you been in labor?”

  “About six hours.”

  “Six hours?” Pete continued talking into his wristband, as he ran at full speed from his temporary office to Maya’s study on the other side of the house. “Why didn’t you tell me, honey?”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t see any reason to interrupt you—ooooh—ooooh—until just now.”

  Pregnancy was a major inconvenience, and with childbirth reputed to be extremely painful, few women opted for the old-fashioned approach. But Maya wanted to experience all of the bonding, hormones, contractions, and pain her own mother and grandmother had felt giving birth to their daughters. And if his wife was willing to subject herself to natural pregnancy and childbirth, Pete made sure he was home when she went into labor.

  At first he had discouraged it, urging her to consider the normal, cybernetic method. It would be less risky to both mother and child, and of course more convenient.

  But Maya wouldn’t relent. And as her belly grew, Pete started to understand his wife’s feelings. By her sixth month, he felt almost as if he were pregnant himself. He couldn’t look at Maya without experiencing a rush of love for her and their unborn son. Nothing in the world was more important to him than his family; if necessary he knew he would kill or die for them without hesitation.

  He had arranged a delivery room and maternity ward to be specially built onto the house, hired a full-time human obstetric staff, and purchased all the latest equipment. He also kept the normal robotic equipment to monitor the human staff’s work, and as a backup. He had established a temporary office and laboratory so he could work at home as Maya’s due date neared.

  He even arranged for Maya and himself to take their parenting license scips at home so they wouldn’t have to go out in public.

  Pete walked Maya to the delivery room and stayed at her side throughout the next 15 hours of labor. David and Diana arrived and remained with them for most of the final 11 hours, including the birth. However, at one point, a sobbing Diana, overcome by memories of her deceased son, had to excuse herself. David tried to comfort her, but she insisted he return to Pete and Maya, recognizing even in her grief that their situation was far more urgent than hers.

  For over 40 minutes Maya shook uncontrollably between contractions; once the baby’s heart rate climbed above 250 beats per minute. The entire staff, forced to focus on Maya, had no time to explain to Pete what was happening. For a while it appeared that the baby might need to be removed robotically. At that moment Pete discovered he was much more worried for his wife than the son he had not yet seen.

  He and his wife were lovers, friends, and business partners who now worked side by side at ATI, their interests completely aligned. They didn’t agree on everything, but presented a united front to the rest of the world, which took much pressure off him; their working relationship was as he had fantasized it could have been with Leonard or David: two minds with one set of goals and ideals.

  In the midst of this crisis, he tried to appear calm, willing himself not to shake or bite his tongue, both dead giveaways to his true mental state. This restraint required total concentration because inside he was terrified.

  Finally the baby’s heartbeat returned to normal and the crisis ended, but labor was still profoundly painful. Already having decided he would rather not have another child than watch his wife risk a second pregnancy, Pete was actually relieved when she screamed, “Next time I’ll take the drugs! No, make that the pod. In fact, if you ever let me put myself through this again, I’ll choke you with my bare hands!” (A threat they would both laugh about later.)

  Eventually she delivered the child naturally, without painkillers. It was the most intense, exhausting, and wonderful experience of their lives.

  The baby was perfect. He weighed eight pounds exactly. They named him Leonard Gale Armstrong. When Pete held his tiny, helpless son in his arms, he knew that everything he cared about was now centered on this child.

  December 19, 2047 (Two weeks later)

  Fatherhood agreed with Pete, but not in every way. He awakened at 3:45 a.m., exhausted.

  Maya had left the bathroom light on so that when Leonard woke up she would have an easier time nursing him. Apparently, Pete mused, it’s difficult to connect mouth to nipple in total darkness.

  Most parents used their baby-nurse machine to feed their infants at night, ever since BNMs had been proven equally healthy for the child. But Maya would have none of that. “It’s not as healthy for the psychological development of the parents,” she’d insisted.

  In the faint light Pete could see his wife and child quite clearly even without adjusting his contact lens chip. Leonard always slept in their bed; it was much easier on them and, they assumed, pleasant for Leonard as well. Pete watched them lying together, fast asleep, her left arm draped gently and protectively over the baby’s back and side.

  He’s so tiny, so cute. Is there anything in the world so beautiful as watching the woman you love caring for your child?

  He was too keyed up to fall back asleep. At 4:05, he got up and put on his work-out clothes. Maybe I’ll go for a run this morning.

  He hadn’t run outdoors since Leonard was born; he never had time and never got enough sleep. It was hard to stay motivated. He checked his meteorology guide, since weather control in Dallas was only operative during summer months. The outside temperature was 41 degrees Farenheit and would not rise over 44 degrees during the following three hours, so he put on a pair of climate-regulated running shorts.

  First, he decided to work on the computer models.

  Walking toward his office, he thought to himself, I love this house. He loved how it looked, its clean lines and sparkling white walls, remarkably modern for a house built just after the turn of the millennium. It was the right size too; not overly expansive, but big enough. Maya had redecorated it since their marriage, but she’d let him keep all his favorite objets d’art on display.

  Most new wives in her position would have made their husbands buy all new art—or more likely a new house, he realized, appreciating Maya’s pragmatic side. Why’s that? Jealousy of past relationships shared in the house? Marking their territory? Jockeying for power? Demanding sacrifice as proof of their husbands’ love? I’m glad Maya isn’t like that.

  Finally he sat down at his screen. When he did, as always, sensation was put on hold. He became cerebral, escaping into the work; no more thoughts of exhaustion or fear of death. Pete could remember these feelings, but no longer felt them.

  Oblivious to the sounds of the house, the pneumatic pipes, the temperature control system, the house-cleaning machines, the irrigation units, Pete blocked out the “white noise” and any louder cacophonies. Still one clamor could reach him in the zone: Leonard was crying in their bedroom.

  Should I continue working, or see if I can help Maya? He would have preferred to keep working, but in the end conscience won. He found Maya in the nursery holding the baby, trying to burp him as he screamed, his tiny face bright red from
the strain of shrieking.

  “Must have too much air in his stomach.”

  Leonard burped. Mother and child seemed much happier.

  “I have to pee,” Maya announced, “but you need to go back to work, right?”

  Guilt. “No, honey. I’ll take him.”

  It was now about 6:00 a.m. He sat in the chair rocking Leonard, marveling that his son was so much more alert than he had been as a newborn just 14 days earlier.

  I can do this for a few more minutes, even enjoy it. But probably not for much longer.

  (Note: You humans don’t like to admit that babies are boring, but of course they can be.—22g CP)

  I have no idea how women can hold babies for hours at a time without climbing the walls. What on earth is Maya doing? It’s already been five minutes.

  Maya returned. “I’m going back to bed. Why don’t you ‘bond’ with your son for a while? If he falls asleep, you can put him in bed with me.”

  “Bond?” Did I detect sarcasm in her voice? Damn! What does she want from me? It was her choice to nurse him herself. She knows I’d rather she took him with her. But she really needs some sleep. Obviously I’m in no position to argue.

  He sat in the chair for 10 more minutes. Leonard was now content but still wide awake. Pete noticed how perfect his little hands were; not scaly or red like they were after birth, or even just a few days ago. Somehow, 10 minutes knowing exactly what he was supposed to do was easier for Pete than the previous five minutes spent wondering when Maya would be back.

  Why’s that? I guess I still don’t deal with uncertainty very well.

  He let the BNM change Leonard’s diaper. Then he rocked him for five more minutes.

  Maybe I can have the machine rock him while I work on my computer.