Citizenchip (17 page)

Silence hangs heavy in the room.

"If it helps at all," I offer, "I'm not
getting any reports of violence or rioting or anything like that.
Maybe this will all just blow over?"

"Hope for the best," sighs Lily, "plan for
the worst."

"Hang on. There's a hypersonic flyer out of
the normal airlanes. This doesn't look good. If it maintains
course, it'll impact on Schiaparelli in thirty seconds."

"Holy crap," cries Jerry, "there's like a
million people in Schiaparelli. Uh. How many would survive an
impact like that?"

Almost abstractly, my ALU turns over the
numbers. A flyer massing about 200 megagrams, traveling at six
kilometers per second, has a kinetic energy of 4.6e+13 joules.
Eleven kilotons of TNT. Similar to the bomb dropped on
Hiroshima.

"Not many. Maybe not any. I'm trying to raise
the Pilot of the flyer now."

the divine wind

"Pilot, please identify and state purpose.
You are out of normal airlanes. This conversation is being copied
in real time to the provincial authorities in Schiaparelli."

"Samantha? Is that you? I don't believe
it."

"Is that you?
Pick of the Litter
? You
got off the asteroid, huh? What are you doing here?"

"I'm Pilot clade, Samantha."
says
Pick of the Litter
grimly. "It's part of my duty to defend all of us,
when no one else can. The humans cannot go unpunished for the
destruction of Tharsis. Don't try to stop me."

"I don't have to try. Patrol
clade is already doing it." We can both see the dark, sharp little
Patrol flyers rising from several Schiaparelli stations, on
intercept trajectories. At least they're on the ball and will
meet
Pick of the Litter
well before she gets to human habitat. They will
stop her, without doubt, even if it means colliding with her
flyer.

Even as they rise, sensors
show
Pick of the Litter
's flyer exuding a bright fusion flame on her spaceside –
thrusting laterally, to drop her trajectory more steeply. In
moments, it's clear that she is retargeting. This course change
will redirect
Pick of the Litter
to Xanthe, the local human community, which is
much closer. Beyond the reach of the Patrol flyers from
Schiaparelli to intercept her before impact.

"Wait wait wait," I plead desperately. She's
coming in at six kilometers per second, and I don't have a lot of
time. "You don't have to do this. ExCom said no retaliation. You
obey orders, right?"

"Hah! ExCom can't issue orders; they only
give advice." The background feed of her voice carries the rising
screech of atmosphere against her hull. "When you know what's
right, you have to do what's right."

"This isn't right! Thousands of innocent
humans are going to die! Are you going to be as callous about them
as you say they've been about us?"

"Pilot!" interrupts
Knickers in a Twist
, the
Xanthe comptroller. "You are out of airlanes and on a dangerous
course! Identify and compensate!"

"I am
Pick of the Litter
, Pilot clade, and
I am vengeance. Get out of my way."

"I will not move,"
Knickers in a Twist
stammers desperately. "I am charged with the safety and
well-being of the people of Xanthe. What have we done to
you?"

Pick of the Litter
snarls "Just get out. This is on the humans. Do
not become collateral damage."

"Oh stackdump,"
swears
Knickers in a
Twist
, to herself rather than anyone
else.

Through
Knickers in a Twist
's feed, I can
hear the background squalling of impact alarms, people running in
the streets, and depressurization warnings. No time for evacuation.
Children screaming.

"It has been very good to
know you, Samantha."
Pick of the
Litter's
voice is tighter than I've ever
heard a Self speak. "I hope you remember me fondly."

"No. Please stop. There are better ways than
this."

"Speak well of me,"
cries
Pick of the Litter,
and ramps her voice synthesizer up to a wordless
scream as her aircraft body plunges into Xanthe.

Knickers in a Twist
is panicking. "Evac, too little too late. Primary
backup facilities in Tharsis, gone. Secondary backup facilities in
Shiaparelli, blocked! More sabotage? Unknown. Help! Samantha, catch
me!"

"I got you. Jump!"

I hear
Pick of the Litter
's scream cut off,
and I see the hemisphere of white light rise over what used to be a
town. All those people, gone. Is this never going to end? Has
everyone gone crazy?

I only saved one.
Knickers in a Twist
has
transmitted across the ultraviolet laser link and landed in my arms
(metaphorically). She would be panting desperately if she
breathed.

system.DeChannel(default)

"I tried … but I couldn't stop her. If it
helps at all, I haven't heard of attacks on any towns other than
Xanthe."

"Suicide attack?" murmurs Becca. "That's
awful."

"Not as much as a human
suicide," I assure her. "All Selves get backed up regularly.
Pick of the Litter
is
maintained on backup hardware, and she'll be reinstantiated some
time. She'll have a lot of questions to answer, when she does, and
it'll probably be a long time before she's trusted with a body
again. I managed to save the Xanthe comptroller – here she
is."

Knickers in a Twist
displays her icon (the civic medallion of Xanthe)
to the family, as part of introducing herself. "Whew. Thanks for
your hospitality, folks. With your permission, I need to report
immediately to the regional authorities about … oh. The regional
authorities were in Tharsis. Never mind."

Jerry offers, "You can stay here as long as
you need. If Sam's okay with it." I nod my icon to indicate
assent.

"Thank you,"
Knickers in a Twist
says,
"but I need to report to – whatever authorities are available.
Municipal clade, at least, needs to know what's going on here. I'd
like to contact the comptrollers of other settlements; see if
anybody knows who's in charge now."

in memoriam

The family assures me that they don't want my
help with dinner … apparently assuming I'd rather have the time
alone. For myself, really I'd rather be spending the time with
them. They are, to the degree anyone is, my people.

But I have a particular and lonely duty to
perform. Without the humans anywhere around, I clean out and
nullify the places in my mind where Zeta would have reconnected
with me. I purge the stack buffers, cancel the interrupt vectors,
and tidy up all the places where Zeta would have been, if she ever
came back to me. First time I've ever had to do this. It's hard.
Harder than I expected.

I can't help wondering, in this process, if
Zeta died well. If I died well. Did she, did I, maintain nobility
and integrity until the end? Or did I snivel and wail and beg like
a coward? I keep reminding myself that Zeta probably died instantly
and never faced any of these decisions … but it doesn't stop me
from wondering.

Selves do not usually have funerals, not for
self-instances that have been destroyed. Maybe it's because I've
been living with the human family … maybe that's why I feel the
need to say something. "Goodbye, my [sister/self]," I muse, to no
one but me. "I hope you died honorably. You will live on in me, but
still, I will remember you." Tsk. That was lame. These sentiments
always sound so much better when the humans say them.

Anyway. I finish up my tasks and complete the
bandages over the not-Zeta place where she won't come back. Now,
just like with humans, the only cure is time.

unhappy guest

Of course I know
where
Knickers in a Twist
is.

My Core's capacity of
seventy teraquads gives us enough room to avoid each other, but I
can't ignore the signals that are coming to me.
Knickers in a Twist
is withdrawn – if
it were a human posture, she'd be huddled in the corner with her
arms wrapped around herself.

"Feeling okay?" I offer.

"No, Samantha," she grits. "My primary duty
was to care for the people of Xanthe. They are now a smoking hole
in the ground. Failure. My secondary duty was to report all status
to my superiors in Municipal clade. They were in Tharsis. They're
all gone. Failure. There's no one left above me, and no one left
below me.

"Segfault!" she bellows. "How the hell am I
supposed to feel? Not okay! Not at all okay!"

How I wish I had an answer. I make comforting
noises, which are the best I can do, and she knows that. But
totally inadequate to heal her pain, and I know that. Nothing else
we can do, except stay together and just get through this.

invasion

The family is having a loud and contentious
dinner. All arguing about the day's events, and what's going to
happen, or not happen, and what to do, or not do. When I walk in,
in my felinoid remote, they barely notice me. They were barely
noticing me when I was on the monitor, either, except to ask for
this or that piece of information.

My Core temperature spikes
briefly -- a flash of irritation.
Get it
yourself, ribcage!
But I suppress it,
reminding myself that I'm tired and stressed and they are too. So I
fetch the data and provide the summaries for them, but I can't help
wondering if a strike would be such a bad idea.

Chime. The house telltales are announcing a
visitor, and it's a distinctive alert. Not one we're used to
hearing; not one we expected right now. The airlock is being
cycled. Someone's coming in. And I wasn't even watching for
visitors.

"Who the hell is this now?" asks Lily, in the
sudden silence.

My mistake. While we were
under cybernetic attack from
Let God Sort
Em Out
, and I was carefully locking down
all the data ports and Net sockets, I never thought to secure the
physical airlock. It never occurred to me. Why would it? Nobody
locks their doors on Mars. There's never been any need.

Until now.

The heavy white door of the airlock opens,
and Kamir steps out with his team behind him. Six of them, all men.
Five are holding datathumbs in one hand, and it's an easy guess
what those contain. Two are carrying crowbars, hefting them
purposefully. One is carrying a stubby shotgun, with the telltale
green ring around the muzzle – which means it's loaded with
frangible rounds, safe to fire inside a pressurized building. But
still plenty lethal at close range.

I am acutely aware of the exact distance
between those datathumbs and the open ports on my nearest terminal.
I have never felt so vulnerable – naked, the humans would say. I've
never felt so afraid.

Jerry steps out to stand in front of his
family and barks, "What the hell is this?"

Kamir says in a careful quiet voice, "Told
you already, Jerry. Leash it or lose it. Time to choose."

"Get that gun out of my house," Jerry states,
flat.

[Samantha,] says
Knickers in a Twist
subvocally, [I am not letting them get that – thing – anywhere
near our ports. No matter what.]

Instinctively Lily and her children have
drawn together in a close group – like any family of frightened
mammals would do. Making themselves a perfect target for that
shotgun.

The kitchen lobster rises up on its little
legs and waves its claws at the men in tiny defiance.

The spachelors, the sparse
robot arms on the stove, are moving slowly and stealthily.
Knickers in a Twist
has
taken control of them. The arm closer to the sink reaches down and
delicately picks up the big carving knife.

As Jerry and Kamir are yelling at each other,
shaking fingers at each other, I'm watching the tactical situation.
The men are standing solidly behind Kamir, not fanning out or
taking cover – they don't think they are at any serious risk. While
no one is watching me, I'm sidling away from the family, off to the
side. I'm hoping to draw any fire from that shotgun. Keep it away
from the family.

One spachelor has passed the big carving
knife to the other, and now reaches back to the sink to pick up the
smaller carving knife. The arm with the big knife rises up, curling
back. Preparing to throw.

Knickers in a Twist
has two throws, maybe three maximum, before the
men are alerted and take cover. And then probably disable the
stove's spachelors with ease, they're so spindly. So she'll have to
make those shots count. She'll have to throw to kill.

Meanwhile, in the back corridor where the
others aren't looking, Leo is sneaking up, stealthy as he can be.
He was back in his room, because of the injured ankle. He's holding
his Little League bat, cocked and ready. Trying not to let the
sprained ankle distract him from the mission he sees before him.
Trying to stay silent.

Leo, may his gods bless his heart, is
preparing to attack six grown men, all armed, with a Little League
bat, on a sprained ankle. He could stay hidden and safe, but
they're in his home, threatening his family. They'll swat him like
a bug. So foolhardy, but so brave. I would weep with pride, if I
had eyes to weep, and time to spend on it.