***Dr. Falkland and I have a slight difference of opinion on this matter, Major…clearly the config buffer needs additional testing…I would not recommend scaling up the experiments quite so fast***
Bridges rubbed at some stubble his razor had missed that morning. “You think this gadget will actually work…didn’t you just tell me you couldn’t get your dog back? What makes you think it’ll work with humans? What evidence do you have that this thing will actually retrieve people who’ve already been assimilated? There are a helluva lot of people at Table Top who think that’s nonsense…that it violates the laws of physics and so forth.”
Falkland took a deep breath. “Call it a hunch, if you want, Major. I can produce just as much evidence the other way. The basic philosophy of Assimilation is wrong, on a lot of different levels. Here, let’s look at this logically. Assimilation begins with one great question: does assimilating mean just enhancing our minds and bodies as is, inserting bots and swarms to take over or develop or enhance new capabilities in our more or less original bodies?
Or does Assimilation mean ‘deconstruction?’ Breaking down the human body form into its constituent atoms and rebuilding it as a multi-configuration swarm, able to look and act like humans (as angels) but also able to act and look like other beings and structures as well.
Enhancement vs. Reconfiguration…that’s the great divide in Assimilationist thinking.”
Bridges understood. “I guess I’ve seen both types of thinking among Assimilationists. Nowadays, they seem to go in for deconstruction, as you call it. You’ve heard the complaints…our DNA is old and creaky, full of junk. Multiple-configuration is way better, more resilient, able to adapt to change, you can’t die, just change config. I can tell you one thing: UNIFORCE is looking for any and every technique they can get their hands on to stop them…”
“Precisely,” Falkland said. “Doc, show him the chart.”
The Doc III swarm pinched off a small set of bots and began swirling into a new pattern, eventually forming a small two-column chart hanging right in mid-air.
Falkland went on. “So you can see there are pros and cons on each side. You’re right, though, Major. The Assimilationists have changed their tune. They deconstruct everything now. To me, it’s just a form of murder.”
“They want to get rid of humans…that’s what’s behind the movement,” Bridges was sure. “Do the Old Ones’ work for them.”
“Would Quantum Corps be interested in funding more experiments, Major? Experiments with live human volunteers?”
Bridges nodded. “I don’t know about Quantum Corps. But UNIFORCE might. Tell you what: write up a proposal, explain what you need in funding and equipment, any kind of resource. I’ve got some contacts in Paris. Plus CINCQUANT himself is there…that’s General Winger. He’s an old atomgrabber from way back…I’m sure he’d listen, maybe put in a good word for us.”
Ryne Falkland did as Major Bridges requested.
Two weeks later, Project Phoenix had come to a critical juncture. New methods and new configs for retrieving and re-constructing nanobotically disassembled and assimilated people had been developed. Falkland and Doc III had worked for weeks, night and day, to find every bug, fix every flaw, run sim after sim. The idea was to combat the advance of the Assimilationists, by showing adherents and followers that what they did could be undone. Their subject today: another of Falkland’s pets…this one another Shih Tzu, named Simon.
Falkland wanted one last live experiment before advancing the project to human volunteers.
Simon was a black and tan brother to Mr. Jiggs. Falkland fed him a few treats, then hoisted the little bugger up into the containment cell, closing and securing the hatch behind. From the other side of the porthole, Simon munched on the last bits of his treat, then stared morosely out at Falkland, slowly wagging his tail.
“Simon, don’t look at me like that. This will only take a few minutes. Doc, how’s the buffer looking?”
Doc III swirled and sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight. The swarm angel was only a barebones head-likeness of old Doc Frost today…more apparition than real. Doc was devoting most of his processor to managing the config buffer and little to keeping up appearances for Falkland.
Johnny Winger and the Great Rift Zone Page 6