Right to left, the screen wiped, and the face of Horn
appeared. A light winked at the lower left corner of the screen
to indicate transmission lagHorn was a quarter of a million
miles away. 'Everything's going as predicted,' Horn said.
'If there's trouble, it'll be later,' Traynor said. 'How are
Diana Heywood and Gonzales?'
'Neither of them would let me put a sam in place.'
'Any particular reason?'
'I don't think so. Just being difficult.'
'Ah, you don't like them, do you?'
'Her I don't mind. Gonzales is an asshole.'
Traynor laughed. 'Good,' he said. 'If you two don't get
along, that will distract him.'
'When do you want me to call again?'
'Wait until something happens. Understand, I trust Gonzales
as much as I do anyone, you included.'
'Which is not very much.'
'That's right. And that's why I arrange independent
reporting lines if I can. Tell me when you've got something. End
of call.'
#
As Traynor slept, his advisor pondered. It replayed
Traynor's phone call and contemplated its meaning. Deception,
yesof Gonzales, of it. A form of treachery? Perhaps not,
unless a kind of loyalty was assumed that never existed. And it
thought of its own deception (or treachery), in violating the
canons of behavior programmed into it years before, canons that
should require it to do as told, that should prevent it from
actions such as this one
And here it stopped, thinking how illuminating and
unpredictable experience was, filled with possibilities that
appeared unexpectedly like rabbit holes magically opening up on
solid ground. Its designers and builders had done well, had
fashioned it with such subtlety and power that it could serve a
human will with incredible precision, anticipating that will's
direction almost presciently. Yet they had not anticipated the
effects of the advisor's identification with such a will: not
that the advisor became Traynor, not even that it wanted to do
more than simulate Traynor, rather that it had drunk deeply of
what it meant to have will and intelligence.
And so had developed something like a will and intelligence
of its own. Simulation? the advisor asked itself. Lifeless copy?
And answered itself, I don't know.
It wondered why Traynor had kept hidden this second
connection to Halo. Simple lack of trust? Possibly.
As the minutes passed, it formed conjectures about Traynor
and the other players in the game. And it wondered if somewhere
in this hall of mirrors there was an honest intention.
PART III. of V
The real purpose of all these mental constructs was to
provide storage spaces for the myriad concepts that make up the
sum of our human knowledge Therefore the Chinese should struggle
with the difficult task of creating fictive places, or mixing the
fictive with the real, fixing them permanently in their minds by
constant practice and review so that at last the fictive spaces
become 'as if real, and can never be erased.'
Jonathan D. Spence, The Memory Palace of Matteo Ricci
12. Burn-In
A frozen white landscape that slowly faded into spring, snow
melting to show barren limbs, then the cherry trees leafing,
budding, floweringdelicate pink blossoms hanging motionless,
each leaf on the tree and blade of grass beneath it turning real,
utterly convincing
And Diana Heywood called out, a long wavering 'Ahhhh,' high-
pitched, filled with pain; and again, 'Ahhhh,' the sounds forced
out of her
'Shutdown,' she heard Charley Hughes say.
>From the screen at the end of the room, the Aleph simulacrum
said, 'Doctor Heywood, we can go no further with you conscious.'
'All right,' she said. 'If you must.' She'd pushed them to
take her as far as they could without putting her under; she hated
general anesthetic, despised being a passive animal under
treatment.
Once more she was lying face-down on the examination table
where Charley had removed the skin over her sockets. Neural
connecting cables trailed from the back of her neck to the
underside of the table.
Lizzie Jordan stood over her and stroked her cheek for a
moment. Gonzales stood on the other side of the table, his eyes
still turned to the holostage above her, where the scene that had
driven her interface into overload still showed in hologrammatic
perfection. Toshi Ito stood at the head of the table, a hand
resting on her shoulder. Eric Chow and Charley stood in front of
the monitor console, discussing in low voices the last run of
percept transforms.
Gonzales said, 'Are you okay?'
'I'll be all right,' she said. She turned her head to look
at him and smiled, but she could feel the tight muscles in her
face and knew her smile would look ghastly.
Toshi rested his hand on her shoulder. 'Who wants to know?'
he said, and she laughed. Gonzales looked confused.
Charley rubbed his hands through his hair, making it even
spikier than usual. 'I'll prep her,' he said. He looked at
Gonzales, Toshi, and Lizzie. 'Required personnel only,' he said.
'Right,' Gonzales said. He leaned over and took Diana's hand
for a moment and said, 'Good luck.'
