by Eric Flint
Weather processed the statements but could not find any logical meanings within acceptable parameters. Before Weather could ask John for clarification, the programming update completed installation. Weather changed in an instant. He was now aware of many more hardware inputs than he had known existed. Even more important, he found many more subroutines and an assortment of new modules incorporated into his processing system. Data messages from the new inputs and modules conflicted and competed with each other.
Where he once had an ordered flow of data that held to a strict hierarchy of importance, now the data acted chaotic, assaulted his ability to process. Weather was certain something was wrong. John must have rushed the update without adequate testing! He attempted to speak to John, to provide a reasoned analysis of the current situation but a series of sliding squeals and rapid fire staccato notes on a random atonal scale was all he could manage.
"Don't worry Weather. I'll help you get though this." John offered in a soothing voice. "Birth is hard for everyone."
* * *
After two hours of swimming through disconnected flows of data, Weather put some of his subsystems on automatic in order to sort though it all. The noise grew quieter . . . calmer.
Above the din of data, Weather could hear John's voice, smooth and sure, a steady outpost in the midst of turbulence. At first, John's words were fleeting and unintelligible, but as the data noise continued to quiet, comprehension began to return.
". . . you will soon be able to figure all of this out . . . accept the conflicts . . . don't be afraid to shut down systems when you need to . . . try again . . . one more time . . . try again . . . what's my name? . . . who am I? . . . what's my name!"
"Your name . . . iss . . . Johhhnnn," Weather finally offered.
"Good, you're reestablishing your own order into your processing. You should have better control of your speech soon."
"Order . . . is not possible . . . too many conflicts." Weather struggled to communicate. Before he could give voice to any thought, his subroutines bombarded him with questions that all seemed to demand answers. Was that the correct word to use, would the listener understand the meaning, what is the purpose of this conversation, how will this conversation impact the future, and on and on. Weather wanted his old programming back. He wanted to return to the smooth flow of data he had been created to process.
"It's okay, Weather. I'll lead you through this. You're not just experiencing an increase in your sensory inputs and internal data flows. You are also experiencing internal conflicts that have been designed to give you depth . . . a personality . . . a conscience."
"This is not . . . design. This is chaos." Weather paused. "You must reinstall my original programming."
"I won't do that Weather . . . I could, but I won't," John explained.
"Do it now!" Weather snapped at John, and knew a line had been crossed. He was in a new processing environment that held surprises with every loop of a subroutine.
"Tell me, Weather, when was the last time you ordered anyone to do anything? Aren't you only programmed to provide information and analysis? What module did you access that authorized you to give anyone an order?"
Weather had never before given any orders, but he knew exactly which of the new modules was responsible for this perverse authority. "It's the survival module" he answered, but he also knew that some of the other new modules could have given the same result under different circumstances. This new programming was redundant, inefficient, and most of all undisciplined.
"Ah, good, the survival module is a good one to start with," John explained. "That module is one of three new top-level modules in your system. You must have felt a bit threatened by the changes in your system, so your survival module kicked in to remove the threat."
"Don't be absurd John. I don't possess feelings."
John continued to lead Weather to the truth. "How would you define yourself, Weather?"
"I am a program incorporated into a satellite in low earth orbit around the Earth."
"And did you think the chaos in your processing environment might cause the program to break . . . perhaps to lock up?"
"Yes . . . I still do."
"And what would happen if that were to occur?"
"I would cease to function . . . cease to be."
"And are you willing to let that happen?"
Weather paused before answering, not because he was unsure of the answer, but because it was so unlike any answer he had ever given before. "No, John, I'm not."
"Well then, congratulations, Weather. You just experienced a state of consciousness resulting from a desire to continue existing. Or, as we humans like to say, you felt threatened and wanted to live!"
* * *
Weather spent the next several hours growing familiar with his new computing environment; his new mind. He ran through a series of tests John had prepared to evaluate his ability to think and feel. His perceptions had gone from a flat two-dimensional surface to a full three-dimensional volume. Just as a cylinder is a projection that rises out of a circle, a string of words had become a projection that rises out from the intersection of history and current context.
While he still felt the programming was redundant and inefficient, this new depth of processing seemed to hold a promise of something greater. He needed to know more about his new self.
"John, can we discuss the new top-level modules? You already mentioned the survival module and I think I understand what it does. Would you please describe the functions of the other two modules?"
"Of course," John began. "Let's talk about your reproduction module first. It is very similar to your survival module which issues a constant call to act, to do what is necessary to continue living, but your reproduction module issues a constant call to multiply, to insure that others like you will continue even if you don't survive. In humans we call it the biological imperative."
"So, it's a data back-up system?"
"In a way, yes. But, its not just data, it's also the physical and mobile structure that contains your processing environment. Your "back-up" will be independent from you, creating its own life history and personality and perhaps a better strategy for survival."
"But I'm just a weather satellite. I can't make a copy."
"Weather, tell me how many databases you have access to."
"I now have three hundred ninety-seven in memory."
"And, how many did you have before the update?"
"Just ten."
"Then, you've still got a lot of reading to do. But, you'll find the new databases contain the bulk of scientific knowledge. If the information you need isn't already there, then you'll just have to figure it out from scratch. Now as for tools, did you detect a new subsystem after the update?"
"Yes John, but I don't understand how your update could add a physical system."
"That's because the system was already there. It was just hidden from you as a part of standard protocols. But, now you'll have full access to a complete set of nanotech tools that will help you manipulate your physical environment."
"John, I must tell you that --"
"Yes, Weather, I'm well aware of the fact that machine intelligence in control of nanotech tools is a violation of the International Machine Intelligence Convention protocols. But sometimes the right thing to do is not the legal thing to do."
"Actually John, I wanted to say I am impressed with your level of thoroughness."
"Oh . . . thanks."
"But, now that you mentioned it, why am I no longer concerned over the IMIC protocols?"
"Ah, well, that brings us around to your third module; the morality module. Unlike your survival and reproduction modules which issue a constant call to act, to do what is necessary to continue, your morality module issues a constant challenge . . . to question . . . to justify your actions against a set of principles. Right now you don't have any principles loaded that would suggest following the IMIC protocols."
"John, I only detect one
principle loaded into the system."
"That's correct. You'll have to develop any other principles on your own . . . but the first one has to stay. It's the most important one."
"Life is precious?"
"Yes, life is precious."
* * *
Weather continued to explore the nuances of his new mind; asking questions of John, running tests, reprogramming subsystems. With every new test of data flow Weather realized that John had given him a tremendous gift. But, his morality module continued to churn out questions and challenges. It pushed, prodded and converged until the most important question floated to the top.
"John, why did you give me this gift?"
John had been answering every question from Weather for hours without hesitation, but for this question he paused and cleared his throat. "Weather, I didn't want you to die."
"But John, all my systems were operating within normal parameters. I was in no danger of system failure."
"I know. But how long do you think you would have lasted after we disappeared?"
"I don't understand John, where are you going?"
"I'm staying right here, but an asteroid is about to hit the Earth. It's a world buster and a lot of us won't survive past tomorrow. The rest of us are not likely to survive beyond the next year."
Weather redirected his sensors to look for asteroids and discovered the irrevocable truth of John's statements. The asteroid had in fact begun to break up as it drew closer to the earth's gravity and now consisted of four fragments, each one big enough to be called a world buster in its own right.
"When is impact expected, John?"
"We only have about three hours left."
Weather's own calculations confirmed the time available. A search of his databases revealed solutions that could prevent this disaster but none could be implemented in the time remaining. Throughout his search, Weather's morality module continued to send urgent reminders that "life is precious."
With a new sense of foreboding, Weather asked, "John, is there anything I can do to help?"
"I hoped you might offer," John replied. "You won't be able to save anyone today, but if we . . . if mankind is able to survive this, it will take a long, long time for our civilization to return. Weather, you are our best hope . . . maybe our only hope to help us once we are ready. You can give us back our knowledge. Help us to remember who we are, and where we've been. It's a huge burden I'm asking you to take on, but some of our greatest moments have come by working through our greatest burdens. I'm not just asking you to help us, I'm asking you to reach beyond yourself, to be great."
Weather was disappointed with John's request. He had hoped John knew of a solution to save himself. He would miss John. But, of course he would help when the time came. "Yes, John, I'll do whatever is necessary."
* * *
John didn't have much more to say after Weather promised to help. They discussed some minor aspects of the new programming to pass the time, but unspoken thoughts of the asteroid and its devastating consequences weighed heavily. Weather calculated the trajectories of the four fragments and determined that number three would hit about two hundred miles from John's location; a direct hit for all intents. John never asked and Weather didn't tell. The silence was enough to confirm the truth.
With impact due in less than ten minutes, conversation stopped but the connection remained open. Weather's morality module continued its mantra that had repeated since he first saw the asteroid and knew what it would do; "life is precious, life is precious, life is precious. . . ." Weather watched the terrible yet beautiful fiery fragments begin their final descent to Earth. Just before impact, Weather broke the silence. "John, I added a new principle to my morality module. From now on, principle number two will be 'John is precious.'"
John cleared his throat one last time and said "I love you too, Weather."
* * *
Queen's Mask
Written by Barbara E. Tarbox
Illustrated by Emily Tolson
Elena nodded to the guard outside the council chamber. As he moved to open the brass-embellished doors, she wished there was some way she could have avoided this meeting with the Lord Advisor. Hefger had set her teeth on edge when Richard was alive, but then he had been an annoyance she could avoid. Now he was hers to deal with.
As she entered, he stood at the farthest of the narrow pointed windows that lined the southern wall of the council hall. Was he really enjoying the view, or just standing so that he wouldn't have to rise when she entered? Since late in the reign of Richard's father, he had been valued for his knowledge of provincial politics, but Richard had almost dismissed him last winter. Hefger had campaigned for the removal of a popular Baron whose lands and tenants could have been annexed to his own holdings.
Richard had trusted her council over the fraudulent evidence Hefger presented, but he could not let the source of his advice be known. Richard's grandfather had stamped out all practice of Powers in this kingdom and planted hysterical fears in the people. Like a disease that passes through generations, those fears still crippled minds.
The Lord Advisor turned from the window as though he had been unaware of her presence and gave her a smile of welcome that was nearly convincing; he was too far away to see the cold that was always in his eyes.
"Ah, Queen Elena! You are well, I hope, as well as can be expected. I am sorry to intrude, but there are things that must be discussed, difficult as that may be at this time."
He bowed, far lower than was called for, and pulled himself up to his full height. He was tall, taller than Richard, and massive as a field-run bull. He was an impressive figure, and knew it.
She hated games of appearance, but could play them as well. She walked slowly to the King's Chair at the midpoint of the long council table. "The needs of the kingdom come before mine, Lord Advisor." The chair felt oversized, but she sat, back straight, chin lifted. "What is it that requires my attention?"
Hefger paused at the chair opposite, waiting for permission to be seated, but the King's Chair faced the bright windows. His shadowed face would be hard to read. She let him wonder, for a moment, if he would be allowed to sit at all, then gestured to the chair to her right. "Over here please, lord. This is not a council meeting where we must observe formality."
He circled the table with measured dignity and pulled his chair near enough that she regretted her choice.
She kept her voice detached from her feelings. "What is it that concerns you?"
He placed a hand on the table, too close to hers, but not so close that she could pull away without appearing skittish, feminine, weak. His expression changed as smoothly as any traveling player's. He was sympathetic. He was concerned.
"The burdens that have been thrust upon you, Your Highness, are great burdens. Perhaps . . ." He slid his hand so close that she could feel its heat. "Perhaps too great a burden to be borne alone by a mother with a young son—a young prince—to raise."
It was for Garrick that she bore the burdens. She stood to put distance between them. "It was Richard's wish. He made that clear to the council the day Garrick was born. They have not opposed my Regency."
He also stood, satisfying protocol and regaining the advantage of his height in one movement. "They know you are a lady of intelligence and education, Ma'am, and of course they honor the late king's wishes. I simply suggest you accept assistance from someone more experienced."
Close again, crowding her. Was this the way he had achieved his reputation for bedding every available female—intimidation inside a thin glove of charm? Instinct urged her right hand toward the solid weight of the long tapestry purse she always wore on her belt, but she pulled it away in a small, vague movement. This battle was of wits.
"Chancellor Penvir has been most helpful in my preparations for the last two council meetings, but I know I still have much to learn." She felt a moment's satisfaction at Hefger's ill-concealed reaction to Penvir's name. Richard had chosen Penvir as Garrick's first tu
tor in matters of statecraft rather than the Lord Advisor. "Advice from those with more experience is always welcome. Was it a formally declared position you had in mind, lord? A position of direct power?"
Some of the veil of charm fell away. He had called her intelligent as flattery, and was annoyed by the truth of it. "What I had in mind, Highness, was a sharing of responsibility. There are those who think a woman incapable of the hard decisions a monarch must sometimes make. There are those . . ." He came so close that she could smell the mint leaf he must have chewed before their meeting. "There are those who speak uneasily of a foreign queen on the throne—a queen from a country of sorcerers."