detailed and compelling that-well-who needed words?
Then there were the ones generating so much excitement and controversy-victims of the Autism Plague who had been sent here from all over the world by parents seeking hope. The Atkins specialized in “savants,” so Tor had come expecting feats of mathematical legerdemain and total recall. And there were a few impressive demos- mentally calculating long-ago dates and guessing correctly the number of beads in a jar-stunts that were old news. Dr. Sato wanted to show off more recent accomplishments-less flashy. More significant.
Tor watched as boys and girls, long mentally isolated from close human contact, now held normal-looking conversations, even collaborating in a game. After going on a while about eye-contact rates and Empathy Quotients, Sato made his point.
Tor had commented that some of the faithful might find this offensive. One more grab by science at territory once reserved for belief. But Sato shrugged as if to ask,
Conversing with some patients, Tor came to realize something that distressed her as a reporter-there’d be little useful video from this tour. The Atkins patients, once crippled by a deep mental handicap, some of them effectively disconnected from the world, now seemed talkative, cogent, not so much hopelessly detached as… well…
She did have shots of some beaming parents, visiting from faraway cities, calling the work here miraculous.
Now, ensconced in a plush chair with her stalk-cam panning across Sato’s office, she hurried back on topic. “You say you just offer options, Doctor. But folks in Carolina didn’t want those choices. And those here in Albuquerque range from ambivalent to hostile. Is it a case of too much too soon? Or something deeper?”
“I think you know the answer, Miss Tor,” Sato replied, placing both hands on the desk. “If we were merely helping some types of borderline autistic children to behave more
Tor nodded. “Hm, yes. We’ll get to all that. But first, let me ask, after being forced to leave Charleston, why didn’t you resettle in one of the high-water townships along the coast where you’d fit in? Just another merry band of would-be godmakers, no more offensive than your local biotinker.”
Sato frowned, a deep furrow creasing his youthful-looking brow above soft, almond eyes. He had seemed about forty, but Tor now guessed higher. Triggered by attention cues, her aiware sifted, finding the professor’s latest sculpt, last month, at Madame Fascio’s Facelifts.
“We dislike the term… ‘godmaker’…, It implies something elitist, even domineering. Our goal is the opposite. A general empowerment, across the board.”
“Commendably egalitarian, Doctor. But does it ever work out that way? All new things-from toys to tools of power-tend to be gathered up first by some human elite. Often as a way to
Sato arched an eyebrow. “Now who’s sounding radical? Are you suggesting we revisit the Class War?”
“It’s a simple question, Professor. How will you ensure that everyone gets to share these mental augmentations you seek? Won’t equality be stymied by the very same human diversity you celebrate?”
“Explain, please.”
“Suppose you find a way to enhance human intelligence. Or for people to focus attention more creatively, beyond the Thurman Barrier. Assume the process is cheap with few side effects…” It was her turn to express doubt, with an ironic lift of an eyebrow for the jewelcam. “And further that your process isn’t monopolized by some clade of aristos, who use wealth or influence or public safety as an excuse-”
“Are you really that suspicious of aristocracy?” Sato tried to cut in. “How old-fashioned.”
“-even assuming all of that, there will be no way to avoid one final division-between those who
“Our… gift.” Sato mulled for a moment. Then he turned back to her with a gaze that seemed dark, glittering. “You know, our modern endeavor as would-be
“Stories about humans trying to be godlike. But don’t most of them portray that as sin? Prometheus was punished. Frankenstein gets killed by his creature. The Tower of Babel crumbles amid chaos.”
Bridging his fingers, Sato intoned:
“I beg your pardon?”
“Babel. Building a tower to heaven. The attempt failed when we were deliberately sabotaged by a curse of mutual incomprehension, by forcing us to speak a multitude of languages. Most theologians have interpreted the Babel story the way you just did-as showing God
“But read it more carefully. There is
“Maybe the confusion was meant just to
“Recall what scripture says-there’s no limit to our potential. We’re inherently able to do or be anything. Anything at all. So, what’s to stop us now?”
Tor stared at the neuroscientist.