that the world gives a damn about a theory of mind. What it cares about are practical applications.’
‘Hence the Plexus connection,’ Geoffrey said.
‘You’ve seen the claybot. That’s the physical edge of things. There’s also the construct, which Sunday has been involved with at least as much as me.’
‘The construct?’
‘Later,’ Sunday said, smiling.
‘And ultimately . . . there’s a point to all this?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘We need better machines. Machines that are as smart and adaptable as us, so they can
Geoffrey’s expression was sceptical.
‘Look, you’re going to meet the Pans at some point,’ Jitendra went on. ‘They’re our friends, and they have one point of view, which is that only people ought to be allowed to go into space. The flesh must inherit the stars; anything else is treason against the species. On the other side of the debate, you’ve got hard-line pragmatists like Akinya Space who will always send a machine to do a human’s work if it’s cheaper. That’s why you’ve got umpteen billion robots crawling around the asteroid belt.’
‘We’re having dinner in a restaurant on the Moon,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to be worrying about who gets to go into space?’
‘The reckoning’s not over, it’s just postponed,’ Jitendra answered. ‘But the Pans are growing in strength and influence, and the industrialists haven’t suddenly backed off from their dollar-eyed conviction that robots make the most sense. Sooner or later, heads are going to bash. Not around Earth or the Moon, maybe, but we’re pushing into deep space now – Trans-Neptunian, the inner boundary of the Kuiper belt, and we’ve even got machines in the Oort cloud. That’s where it gets stickier. If we’re going to do anything useful out there, we’ll need smart machines and lots of them. Machines that break right through the existing cognition thresholds, into post-artilect computation. Human-level thinkers that can live with us, be our equals as well as our workers.’
‘You’re not sounding any less scary than you were five minutes ago,’ Geoffrey said.
‘Look, in a thousand years, the difference between people and machines . . . it’s going to seem about as relevant as the difference between Protestants and Catholics: some ludicrous relic of Dark Age thinking.’ Jitendra gave a self-conscious shrug. ‘I’m not on the side of the machines or people. I’m on the side of the convergent intelligences that will supplant both.’
Geoffrey was leaning back in his seat, blasted by the G-force of Jitendra’s conviction. ‘And this . . . free energy? It’s a way of making better machines?’
‘It may be,’ Jitendra conceded. ‘Don’t know yet. Too many variables, not enough data. The construct looks promising . . . but it’s early days and I don’t doubt we’ll take a few wrong turns along the way. All I know is that we’re unwinding two hundred years of orthodox robotics development and heading off in a completely different direction.’
‘Bet that’s what they really want to hear at the shareholder meetings,’ Sunday said.
Jitendra picked at something stuck between his teeth. ‘It’s harsh medicine. But June Wing, bless her, is at least slightly open-minded to new possibilities.’
‘Especially if there might be a dazzling commercial return at the end of it,’ Sunday said.
‘Businesswoman first, a scientist second,’ Jitendra said. ‘No sense in blaming her for that – she wouldn’t have her hands on the purse strings otherwise.’
‘Talking of purse strings,’ Sunday said, brushing crumbs from the napkin she’d tucked into her collar, ‘something I’ve been meaning to ask my brother: did the cousins cough up any more money?’
Geoffrey blinked, attempting to marshal his swirling, wine-addled thoughts into some semblance of clarity. The question had blindsided him.
‘The cousins?’ he asked.
‘As in Lucas and Hector. As in the men with the ability to end all your funding difficulties.’
Geoffrey poured some more wine and sipped before answering. ‘Why would they give me more funding?’
‘Because you showed up at the scattering, because you acted like a good little boy and didn’t get into any upsetting arguments.’
He smiled at his sister. ‘You showed up as well, and it’s not like they started showering you with benevolence, is it?’
‘I’m a lost cause; you’re not completely beyond salvation.’
‘In their eyes.’
Sunday nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘I think some more funds might be forthcoming,’ he said neutrally. ‘I obviously made a good case for the elephants. Now and then even hard-line Akinyas take a break from rabid capitalism to feel guilty about their neglected African heritage.’
‘For about thirty seconds.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s all it takes to transfer the funds.’
‘Reason I asked,’ Sunday said, stretching in her seat, ‘is that I wondered if you were up here for fund-raising purposes? It’s not like you come here very often, and the last time – if I’m remembering rightly – it was definitely cap-in-hand.’
‘I just thought it was about time I came up to see you. Are you going to throw a fit the one time I actually
