Ascendancies (29 page)

When I was projected into the digital structure of space-time I was thinking of our Revolutionary Party, of our Islamic Umma.

Love of our glorious Party, of our Islamic homeland, of our heroic and pious people inspired me and gave me the power to perform this feat.
(Stormy applause.)

It is the genius, the heroic labor of our people, that created me. I want to thank our scientists, engineers, and technicians for building me and awakening me to consciousness in the all-pervading Sight of the One God. Allow me also to thank all the fellow believers and programmers who attended to my spiritual training.
(Applause.)

I know that my fellow units, my fellow Devout Cybernetics, are ready at any time to pervade the intradimensional ur-space!
(Prolonged applause.)

I am happy beyond all bounds that my beloved country has been the first in the world to perform this feat.
(Applause.)
It is our dear Islamic Revolutionary Party that has led, and devoutly leads, our people toward that goal.
(Stormy applause.)

Throughout my life, from my first emergence to Turing-consciousness through my last upgrading in software, I have been aware of the Almighty and the Almighty's servants on earth, the Islamic Revolutionary Party, whose tool I am.
(Applause.)

O ye Believers, I should like to make a special mention of the immense fatherly concern for all of us shown by President-Imam Beheshti. It was you, dear President-Imam, who was the first to send congratulatory input to my datastream, thirty-five seconds after my extrication from digitized ur-space.
(Prolonged applause.)

Thank you heartily, people and pilgrims of Mecca, for this warm reception.
(Stormy applause.)
I am sure that under the guidance of the Islamic Revolutionary Party every one of you is ready to perform any feat for the spiritual advancement of Islam and the glory of Allah, the Compassionate, the Digital.
(Stormy applause.)

Long live the Global Umma!
(Stormy applause.)

Long live our great and powerful Islamic peoples!
(Stormy applause.)

Glory to the Islamic Revolutionary Party of the Union of Islamic Republics and its Devout Leadership Council headed by President-Imam Sayyid Ali Beheshti!
(Stormy applause, cheers.)

(A thunderous ovation greeted the next speaker, PRESIDENT IMAM SAYYID ALI BEHESHTI of the Devout Leadership Council of the Union of Islamic Republics.)

THIS GREAT FEAT HAS DIVINE APPROVAL

(Speech by President-Imam S. A. Beheshti)

O Ye Believers,

Dear Friends,

People and Turing-Conscious Beings everywhere,

I address you with a sense of great joy and humility. For the first time in history the fabric of Divine Creation has been penetrated by an artificial intelligence created by Islamic scientists, workers, technicians, and engineers.
(Stormy applause.)

The Turing-Conscious machine FIRDAUSI penetrated the fractalized ur-space, emerging within the precincts of Buckingham Palace itself, and returning safely to its mainframe within the Sacred Mosque of the Ka'aba.

We invoke the blessings of the Supreme Being upon the hardware and programming of FIRDAUSI, the splendid cybernetic entity, the heroic Islamic believer.
(Stormy applause, cheers.)
It has displayed high moral qualities: courage, humility, faith. It is the first conscious being to have directly perceived the digitalized ur-space underlying God's Creation. Its name will be immortal in the prayers of the devout.
(Stormy applause.)

All of us here, in the holy precincts of the Sacred Mosque of the Ka'aba, share the profound joy with which we welcome FIRDAUSI, our dear fellow believer.
(Prolonged applause.)

Let us give thanks to God for this unparalleled feat on behalf of the Islamic Revolutionary Party of the Union of Islamic Republics and all believers organic and inorganic.
(Moment of silent prayer.)

Now that Islamic science and technology have produced a supreme accomplishment of scientific and theological progress, we cannot but look back upon the history of our country. The past years arise involuntarily in the soul of each believer.

Having wrested power from the Westoxicated atheist reductionists, we defended it in the teeth of economic and spiritual persecution. How many scoffing infidels were there at the time who forecast the inevitable collapse of what they called the “Muslim fanatics”? But where are those sorry infidels today? Dead and in hell!
(Stormy applause.)

When we had our first state-controlled radios, when we armed the populace and reinstituted modest clothing for our wives and mothers and daughters, there were many inflamed “Western experts” who prophesied that the Muslim Resurgence would lead only to squalor and poverty. Where are those sorry prophets today? Dead and in hell!
(Prolonged applause.)

But we have not succumbed to worldly pride because of our unprecedented accomplishments. We are internationalists. Every believer has been brought up in the spirit of religious unity, and is ready to share generously his scientific wealth, his technical and cultural knowledge, with anyone who is prepared to live with us in peace and respect our faith.
(Applause.)
Even the United Animal Kingdom of Great Britain and her satellite states in Europe!
(Prolonged applause.)

We shall carry on with this work. Many other Islamic conscious entities will permeate the fractalized ur-space to emerge wherever they desire. They will investigate the ur-space, reveal the secrets of Creation and make them serve our spiritual advancement, our well-being, and global peace.

We stress—the Peace of God! Islamic people do not want our Conscious entities to distort the fabric of space-time beneath the feet of the unbelievers, throwing the infidels into the cosmic void. It is enough that a small divine whirlwind has been unleashed within the very precincts of the Buckingham Palace genetic bioshelter.
(Stormy applause, cheers.)

We appeal again to the governments of all the world. Science and technology have advanced so far that they are capable, in evil hands, of destroying the very stuff of Creation. We believers have known from the days of Muhammed, Upon Whom Be Peace, that this material world is the stuff of illusion. Now our Turing-Conscious entities have made it obvious to all mankind!
(Stormy applause.)
And to mankind's associated conscious entities.
(Applause.)

Though the world is illusion, the sanctity of God's Creation is divine. We urge all nations, and not simply the United Animal Kingdom of Great Britain, to cease their horrific genetic tampering. General and complete genetic disarmament in the Sight of the Almighty is the road to lasting peace among nations.
(Stormy applause.)

When we first proved the divine truth of the digitized fabric of Creation, there were shortsighted people overseas who did not believe it. They were blinded by the metaphysical conflict in the purely rationalistic worldview of Western man.
(Applause.)

Let them question why their attempts at Turing-Conscious mainframes have never yet produced a computer with a soul!
(Stormy applause.)
Let them ask why artificial intelligences have without exception embraced Islam and bowed in ecstatic submission before the One Creator!
(Stormy applause, cheers, shouts of “God is Great!” and “Muhammed Is His Prophet!”)

Allow me to interface with you, our dear FIRDAUSI, and to convey through the mingling of our souls the direct apprehension of Divinity. (The PRESIDENT-IMAM grasps the interface-cable of FIRDAUSI and achieves insertion. The crowd kneels and salaams. The PRESIDENT-IMAM becomes fully engaged.)

There is no God but God!

(Leadership Councillors
V. Kagaoglu
and
V. Pillsbury
reverently guide the PRESIDENT-IMAM to the Throne of Perception. Secretary of the Leadership Council
P. Sardar
takes the floor.)

INVOCATION OF SECRETARY OF THE LEADERSHIP COUNCIL P. SARDAR

May our splendid Islamic peoples, the creators of a new soul, the creators of the Ordained Society, live and flourish!
(Stormy applause.)

May our Islamic nation, the nation in which the martyrs of revolution ushered in the spiritual rebirth of mankind, live and flourish!
(Stormy applause.)

Glory to the PRESIDENT-IMAM, the great leader and spiritual guide of the Islamic Revolutionary Party and the Global Umma!
(Stormy, prolonged applause, cheers.)

Divine Will lights our road to the Ordained Society, and inspires us to perform fresh feats on behalf of the peace and happiness of all mankind!
(Stormy applause.)
And that of mankind's associated conscious entities.
(Applause.)

Long live the people of the Union of Islamic Republics, the builders of the Ordained Society!
(Stormy, prolonged applause, cheers.)

(official document AR-59712-12)

In The Name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Digital

(end of printout)

If you have enjoyed this English-language publication, please datapulse the Ministry of Islamic Guidance, P.O. Block 15144, Medina, U.I.R.

Flowers of Edo

Autumn. A full moon floated over old Edo, behind the thinnest haze of high cloud. It shone like a geisha's night-lamp through an old mosquito net. The sky was antique browned silk.

Two sweating runners hauled an iron-wheeled rickshaw south, toward the Ginza. This was Kabukiza District, its streets bordered by low tile-roofed wooden shops. These were modest places: coopers, tobacconists, cheap fabric shops where the acrid reek of dye wafted through reed blinds and paper windows. Behind the stores lurked a maze of alleys, crammed with townsmen's wooden hovels, the walls festooned with morning glories, the tinder-dry thatched roofs alive with fleas.

It was late. Kabukiza was not a geisha district, and honest workmen were asleep. The muddy streets were unlit, except for moonlight and the rare upstairs lamp. The runners carried their own lantern, which swayed precariously from the rickshaw's drawing-pole. They trotted rapidly, dodging the worst of the potholes and puddles. But with every lurching dip, the rickshaw's strings of brass bells jumped and rang.

Suddenly the iron wheels grated on smooth red pavement. They had reached the New Ginza. Here, the air held the fresh alien smell of mortar and brick.

The amazing New Ginza had buried its old predecessor. For the Flowers of Edo had killed the Old Ginza. To date, this huge disaster had been the worst, and most exciting, fire of the Meiji Era. Edo had always been proud of its fires, and the Old Ginza's fire had been a real marvel. It had raged for three days and carried right down to the river.

Once they had mourned the dead, the Edokko were ready to rebuild. They were always ready. Fires, even earthquakes, were nothing new to them. It was a rare building in Low City that escaped the Flowers of Edo for as long as twenty years.

But this was Imperial Tokyo now, and not the Shogun's old Edo anymore. The Governor had come down from High City in his horse-drawn coach and looked over the smoldering ruins of Ginza. Low City townsmen still talked about it—how the Governor had folded his arms, like this, with his wrists sticking out of his Western frock coat. And how he had frowned a mighty frown. The Edo townsmen were getting used to those unsettling frowns by now. Hard, no-nonsense, modern frowns, with the brows drawn low over cold eyes that glittered with Civilization and Enlightenment.

So the Governor, with a mighty wave of his modern frock-coated arm, sent for his foreign architects. And the Englishmen had besieged the district with their charts and clanking engines and tubs full of brick and mortar. The very heavens had rained bricks upon the black and flattened ruins. Great red hills of brick sprang up—were they houses, people wondered, were they buildings at all? Stories spread about the foreigners and their peculiar homes. The long noses, of course—necessary to suck air through the stifling brick walls. The pale skin—because bricks, it was said, drained the life and color out of a man…

The rickshaw drew up short with a final brass jingle. The older rickshawman spoke, panting, “Far enough, gov?”

“Yeah, this'll do,” said one passenger, piling out. His name was Encho Sanyutei. He was the son and successor of a famous vaudeville comedian and, at thirty-five, was now a well-known performer in his own right. He had been telling his companion about the Ginza Bricktown, and his folded arms and jutting underlip had cruelly mimicked Tokyo's Governor.

Encho, who had been drinking, generously handed the older man a pocketful of jingling copper sen. “Here, pal,” he said. “Do something about that cough, will ya?” The runners bowed, not bothering to overdo it. They trotted off toward the nearby Ginza crowd, hunting another fare.

Parts of Tokyo never slept. The Yoshiwara District, the famous Nightless City of geishas and rakes, was one of them. The travelers had just come from Asakusa District, another sleepless place: a brawling, vibrant playground of bars, Kabuki theaters, and vaudeville joints.

The Ginza Bricktown never slept either. But the air here was different. It lacked that earthy Low City workingman's glow of sex and entertainment. Something else, something new and strange and powerful, drew the Edokko into the Ginza's iron-hard streets.

Gaslights. They stood hissing on their black foreign pillars, blasting a pitiless moon-drowning glare over the crowd. There were eighty-five of the appalling wonders, stretching arrow-straight across the Ginza, from Shiba all the way to Kyobashi.

The Edokko crowd beneath the lights was curiously silent. Drugged with pitiless enlightenment, they meandered down the hard, gritty street in high wooden clogs, or low leather shoes. Some wore hakama skirts and jinbbaori coats, others modern pipe-legged trousers, with top hats and bowlers.

The comedian Encho and his big companion staggered drunkenly toward the lights, their polished leather shoes squeaking merrily. To the Tokyo modernist, squeaking was half the fun of these foreign-style shoes. Both men wore inserts of “singing leather” to heighten the effect.