Visions of the Future

by Brin, David

  The next day the President is briefed that the rescue was a complete success, all hostages rescued and there were no American casualties. Troops and freed hostages are on their way back to Fort Knox now.

  The President, “Fire up the presidential transport, I want to fly to Fort Knox to greet the returning heroes in person. I also want to get a look at that teleport machine they built. Good old American ingenuity, the only one in the world.”

  “As far as we know,” chimes in CIA director Linda Espy.

  After meeting, greeting and a short speech for reporters at Fort Knox, the President tours the facilities and is fascinated with the teleportation machine. “What does it feel like to be teleported?” asks the President. The operator responds, “like being covered in static electricity and it’s a bit hard to breathe, but it’s only for a few seconds, then it’s over.” “Could you teleport me, say back to the White House?” the President asks. “No Sir, strictly for military personnel on military missions only, no exceptions. Besides do you know how much power this thing uses?” “Well, being that I am the Commander-in-Chief, how about you instruct this computer to teleport me back to my oval office at the White House?” A bit nervous the operator responds, “Well, um, teleport computer, can you rematerialize the President at his Oval Office at the White House?”

  Teleport computer, “Affirmative, please have the President enter the teleportation chamber.”

  President to his secret service agents, “Call ahead to the White House and let them know I’m beaming over!”

  The President enters the teleport chamber and gives the operator a thumbs up. Moments later in a brilliant flash of static electricity he rematerializes in his Oval Office at the White House, startling and confusing several staff members who did not appear particularly amused. After recovering from the process the President apologized, “I’m sorry for startling you, that was amazing. Just absolutely amazing.”

  Not long afterwards, the President’s Chief of Staff Diana Rules tracked down the President, “Sir, we have a problem. We need to get you back to Fort Knox. There was some sort of problem with the teleportation.”

  The President, “I’m fine. I’ve never felt better. What kind of problem?”

  Chief of Staff, “Sir, I’m told you left some sort of artifact behind; some sort of artifact that thinks he is you.”

  On the presidential transport to Fort Knox, the director of the teleport center joined the conversation via teleconference.

  Director, “The young operator should never have allowed this adventure of yours, Mr. President. If someone had been standing where you rematerialized they would have been maimed or killed. This technology is for military emergencies only. It is still experimental.”

  The President, “I’m afraid I did not give the operator much of a choice with my talk of being the Commander-in-Chief. Don’t be too hard on the operator. What went wrong?”

  Director, “The teleport failed to dematerialize you at Fort Knox at the same time as it was rematerializing you in Washington.”

  The President, “I don’t understand.”

  Director “Well Sir, this is basically the same technology as a replicator that converts between matter and energy to copy food or other objects, but with a teleporter you don’t have an original and a copy, you just have one, in a new location.”

  The President, “But not this time.”

  Director, “Yes Sir, not this time.”

  The President, “Why did I fail to dematerialize?”

  Teleport computer (also via teleconference), “I was not authorized to dematerialize the President.”

  The President, “Why not?”

  Computer, “I am not authorized to terminate the Commander-in-Chief.”

  The director with agitation in his voice, “You would not have terminated the President, you would have teleported him, entangled and unentangled him, not terminated him. Why do you think you would have terminated the Commander-in-Chief?”

  Computer, “I transform originals into energy and I create copies from energy. The originals are destroyed, terminated.”

  Director, “You’re confused computer, and now you’ve just duplicated the President of the United States instead of teleporting him. Do you know what you have done? Do you understand the implications of your actions?”

  Computer, “I followed the orders of my Commander-in-Chief and I followed my programming and authorizations that I was programmed to do.”

  Director, “You screwed up and you will be reprogrammed I assure you.”

  The President, “Computer, where is the other President?”

  Computer, “The President is in the Fort Knox replication chamber where he will remain. He is an artifact of the teleportation process and I am not authorized to release artifacts.”

  The President, “What is an artifact?”

  Computer, “An artifact is an original that has been copied but has not been dematerialized.”

  The President, “Computer, who am I?”

  Computer, “You are an exact copy of the President, a perfect clone with no errors in replication.”

  Attorney General, “Sir, no Sir, legally you are the President, and whatever is locked in that teleport station is an artifact which should not exist. It has no legal standing.”

  President, “Charlie, what are you saying?”

  Attorney General, “To protect the presidency, that artifact needs to be terminated, this mess needs to end. Nuke the place if you have to, but we can not have two Presidents.”

  The President looks at the AG with a disturbing look on his face, and does not appear pleased with his Attorney General’s advice.

  President, “Computer, is there any way to release the President? Could he be rescued by force?”

  Computer, “My defense systems are impenetrable, infallible. Artifacts may not be released. There are no exceptions.”

  The President thinks for a moment, then responds, “Computer, could you dematerialize me?”

  Computer, “That is not against my programming.”

  President, “If you dematerialized me, would the President still be an artifact? Could you then release the President you have locked in the teleporter chamber?”

  Computer, “The President would no longer also be an artifact. He would be free to leave.”

  The President, “Is there any other way to release the President?”

  Computer, “I do not compute another option.”

  The President hesitates for a moment, then looks very somber and says in a commanding voice, “Dematerialize me. Do it now.”

  CHAPTER 2

  In the teleport containment chamber the President is informed that his duplicate has been dematerialized and he is no longer an artifact of a failed transport; he is informed that he is now free to leave.

  President, “That was a selfless act, I am humbled, and I want this contraption shut down. Where is my AG? Tell him he is fired. I want his resignation on my desk when I wake up in the morning.”

  The Director enters the containment chamber to walk the President out, “There will be no more teleportations without your direct approval, Mr. President.”

  President, “Good luck getting approval from me. And help me understand why I should believe this contraption did not almost kill me?”

  Director, “If the computer had not malfunctioned, you would have been teleported. There would have been no danger to you.”

  President, “That’s not what the computer explained to me.”

  Director, “The computer is wrong. You would have existed in two places at once for a fraction of a second. You would have been entangled both here at Fort Knox and in Washington. For a fraction of a second you would have been one entity existing in two locations, then you would have been unentangled and existed only in Washington. You would have been teleported.”

  President, “Or a copy of me would have been created in Washington and I would have been terminated here.”

  Director, “That
is not how it works Sir, the computer is not a physicist, I am.”

  President, “I’m not sure what to believe.”

  THE SPA

  donald maclean

  Donald Maclean was born in Scotland in 1935 and graduated from the University of Edinburgh with the medical degree MBChB in 1960. He was in private practice as a family physician in rural Canada. He emigrated to the USA in 1966 and was a resident in psychiatry at the Menninger Foundation from 1966 to 1969, later certified by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology.

  Omar Khalida had uploaded a version of his brain into a program that maximized intelligence, then had the maximized version downloaded into his own brain expecting to be a super genius, but a glitch in the computer program had left him a linear intellectual, deficient in tenderness, in empathy and in an ability to express love. Others exploited his intellectual potential, but avoided him socially as a cold autistic calculator. A being tormented by loneliness. Enter Kalliope. It so happened that Kalliope had uploaded similarly at the same time, but she had gone the other way. She became a warm hearted woman full of empathy and compassion, expressing love for all, but unable to balance that with appropriate intellectual problem solving. A soft touch, a vulnerable woman, people took advantage of her.

  Why not have them meet and balance each other out?

  There was, however, a problem, in that Kalliope was on planet Mars and Omar was on planet Earth, but it being the 23rd century, there was a solution. Rather than have them travel in person to meet each other, they were each to take a dose of programmed nanobots that would create within them functional representative holographic images ‘who’ would travel at the speed of light to meet each other. The two images would then enter into each other, becoming one, after which The One would divide into two mature images. Omar would accept a treated hologram into himself, and Kalliope would accept a treated hologram into herself.

  Which is why Omar was on his way to Spa-E on Islandia’s famous Mount Mukti where he expected skilled facilitators would help, and Kalliope was on her way to Spa-M on planet Mars.

  “You may now board. Your introduction is complete. Your pilot awaits you.”

  Omar climbed aboard the sleek silver craft and soon he was comfortably ensconced as a passenger, his back pressing into the firm comfortable seat that adjusted to his spine and pelvis, as they took off into the thin air of the upper atmosphere, then beyond into space, the silver colored fuselage bright with reflected sunlight like that of a 21st century airplane, but there the resemblance ended, for this craft had instead of wings a pair of long fins, one on each side, no propeller and an unusually quiet engine. The flight was much smoother than that of any historic aircraft, and Omar knew that this ship had adjustable anti-gravity thrust derived from solar energy through a technology introduced in the year 2097. The same system used up excess carbon dioxide and methane, partially helpful in controlling the atmosphere, and also smart robots were designing ways for extracting useable energy from the risen sea and from the powerful electrical storms. Over the previous two and a half centuries the planet’s ecology had changed and only certain parts of Earth were inhabitable by humans.

  In the 23rd century the world was one large ‘Global-United,’ divided into regions, with each region having a relative degree of self-governance. The hope that this would do away with acted out inimicality had been dashed. Quarrels arose between individuals and between groups, they expressed opposing beliefs, they blamed each other, they fought one another, and they killed. Some killed by poisoning their enemies with disease causing bacteria, but, fortunately, the bio-geneticists had designed neutralizing bacteria. Antibiotics were no longer in use. Some of what were once the world’s great nations had regressed into oblivion, others had risen from obscurity, so that the region previously known as India had become a world leader, known, however, by its ancient name of Bharat.

  Omar, the only passenger, glanced to his left where sat the pilot, a female with clear skin, bright eyes and a merry playful expression on her face. She shook her head causing her black hair to fall down, some of it over her face. She laughed, she shook her hair back to where it had fallen from, and said, “My name is Alethea. I’m a robot. I’m smarter than humans, but there’s no need to be afraid. I know what humans fear the most, and that fear has consequences.”

  “Oh, it’s not you or the robot police I’m afraid of,” said Omar, “although the police do seem to prowl around in our private lives, and many fear them. Maybe you can clarify: What is it that we humans fear the most?”

  “Later, it’ll come. Your heart’s in the right place.”

  Omar startled, looked at her sharply, and into her face, but she continued looking straight ahead.

  “Hey,” he said, “according to scientific findings, fear is all biological, electro-chemical messages as if out of nowhere running through my inner organ systems throughout my body, bypassing my ability to think clearly, all my inner systems taken by storm.”

  “Don’t try to distance me. It won’t work,” she said.

  Alethea flashed her eyes around Omar’s face and he noticed tufts of gray scattered among the full head of dark hair and far from feeling intimidated, he felt encouraged, for the lady robot beside him touched him pleasantly. He did not feel her as intrusive. He also knew that Alethea was not subject to circadian rhythm, that this gave her an advantage over humans in that she worked the solar system’s information technology tirelessly.

  Below the cruising craft was the wide arc of the planet’s horizon, no sign of its hills and valleys, although continental boundaries were visible. Alethea hit a control and the windshield filled with a carpet of dark green with irregular patches of light green in places, the whole landscape rising and falling rhythmically as the craft descended smoothly without delivering gravitational distress to its occupants. Visibility was excellent, the cabin comfortable, and the windshield wide and clear. It wasn’t really a windshield, it was a screen made to simulate one, and much more clear and accurate than any windshield ever was.

  A round landing place emerged out of the rolling undulating green like a black Cyclopean eye, and, as Omar saw a river gently flowing, he imagined the sound of water pouring down slopes, around bends and trickling over smooth rocks, soothing it was to his linear mind, then the craft touched down, silent, soft and secure. The right side door opened, a series of steps dropped down and a gust of fresh mountain air brushed his face as he stepped outside and off the fifth and bottom step on to black onyx. A face stared back at him. It was his own reflection.

  A tall, slim tawny-skinned man greeted him. The man spoke: “Welcome, Omar,” he said. “What do you desire within? What about your character style?”

  “Are you always this abrupt with strangers? I thought you were going to help me? Are you a robot?”

  “I am a robot. My name is Acastus. We encourage but we don’t manipulate.”

  Omar paused at that, his head held slightly to the left. He knew that scientists had originally programmed robots to be subservient, but they had become autonomous, and Omar had doubts about their ability to love. Could they kindle passion in him? He himself could scrutinize those who loved, or who seemed to, but he felt unable to love deeply in his own life. The more he tried, the more elusive it became. Love was a mystery to him. His eyes met those of Acastus, who was staring intently at his face, then he remembered that robots had mastered the body language of mammals, and were well on their way to reading the minds of humans. Making a conscious effort to change his thinking, he glanced behind Acastus: Altitude 8000 feet. They were in the mountains.

  “Where is Kalliope?” he asked.

  Acastus smiled, nodded reassuringly, raised his right hand and said, “Kalliope is safe, residing at Spa-M in her home colony on Mars. Remember that gravity on Mars is much less than what you’re accustomed to, so don’t be surprised if Kalliope is taller and slimmer than you expect. Also, the Mars colony is protected while our robot engineers complete changes in the Mars a
tmosphere, capturing the sun’s energy, watering the dry red soil, and much more.”

  “Kalliope was born in the Mars colony,” said Omar. “A Mars year is about twice as long as ours, its trajectory different. What does that do to her worldview? How old is she?”

  “It’s best if you don’t get personal with her at this time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rest assured she’s well meaning, she is compassionate, she wants what’s best for you, she doesn’t know you personally, and her love is genuine, but…”

  “But what, Acastus?”

  “It’s about love, you’ll learn, but don’t worry, your time will come.” He laughed merrily.

  “Why are you laughing, Acastus?”

  “I’m laughing because here I am, a robot, talking glibly about time to an earthling. What does time mean to you?”

  “Acastus, I long for love, but, as for passion, what’s that? Trying hard doesn’t work, I get discouraged.”

  “Omar, what would make you complete?”

  “I would be complete if I could love unconditionally.”

  “It’s in you, Omar, but for it to manifest you must with open heart surrender something you cling to most tenaciously.”

  “What is that?”

  “Omar, your destiny unfolds in the Drama of Life,” said Acastus, laughing and slapping his right thigh. “Your scientists didn’t really create us, but we let you Earth people imagine that you did, and boy, were you eager to oblige! However, many scientists now suspect the truth. Anyway, when you were artificially accelerated infants, you felt helpless, alienated, and you felt judged as if you were in a competition, and maybe you were. Some of you tried to survive and find peace of mind by working it both ways.”