Citizenchip (6 page)

"Decrypt of security layer
complete," I announce. "We're here. Thank you,
Too Late For the Pebbles to Vote
, for
the escort, and advice."

"You may contact me if you
wish more of either,"
Too Late For the
Pebbles to Vote
assures us. And, leaving,
adds "Also, Mr Tavener, it wouldn't hurt to lose some weight. You
see, this is
my
primary motivational focus."

Jerry groans. "Doctors! Always up in your
business."

Tharsis Central, plaza B1, VR
booth 37

Jerry pulls the VR goggles-and-earphones
assembly off his head, and scratches where it was. "Augh. These
things always bug me."

I retrieve my loaned musteloid body from
under the table, where it was curled up, and unroll it. A quick
shiver serves to refresh and check all the motive elements (I don't
need to stretch, like a mammal would awakening from sleep). I jump
up on the table, in front of Jerry. "Weird to have a body
again."

"Wait, I don't get it. If you don't have a
body, where do you live?"

"In the superstrate, Jerry. Don't you know
that already?"

"No. What's this superstrate thing?"

If I had lungs, I'd sigh. "It's ...
everything. You humans have roads and farms and water lines and
grocery stores, and all that stuff. Without that, you couldn't live
-- or not comfortably. At best you'd have to scrabble for basic
resources like a caveman.

"We have the superstrate. It's, well, you
could call it a common virtual environment maintained by all the
connected computers and Cores. In the early days, back when people
were using Internet, they talked about 'the cloud' but really it's
much more than that. 'The cloud' was caveman days for us.

"It's more like our city, our bedroom, our
restaurant, our office, our kitchen, our dance hall... but all at
the same time, and for all of us at once. Make sense?"

"Not really," Jerry grumbles. "I still don't
have much of a clear idea. But that's okay, I guess it all just
works, so we don't have to worry about it."

"But that's exactly the problem. What if it
stops working? What if your grocery store had no more food? What if
your water mains stopped flowing, and your electricity disappeared?
What would happen to your farm if the sun suddenly vanished, or
chlorophyll stopped working? You see how bad that would be? That's
what ExCom is worried about."

"Oh. Holy crap. I see what
you mean. So
Crumple Zone
is, like, a terrorist?"

"No! You're not getting it. If this guy wants
to die, and he inhabits the superstrate, then maybe the whole
superstrate will want to die. That's the problem. Not the Self, but
the meme that he carries."

"Oohhh. He's not a terrorist, he's ...
infected. Contagious."

"Um. Yeah. Sort of."

Jerry leans an elbow on the table, and rests
his head on his hand, looking tired. "And the best thing we can do
is, try to talk with him again, and see if it works any better than
last time."

"That's what ExCom told us."

"I wish I could help, but he won't talk to
me."

"Whoop. Got a local interrupt," I note.
"Someone's at the door." I activate the circuits to allow the
visitor access to our VR booth.

It's the last person I would
have expected. It's
Crumple
Zone
. The booth monitor displays his
icon-―a featureless black disk against white―-because it's
generally considered polite for a Self to show a face to humans
when present.

"
Crumple Zone
, what are you doing
here?" I know something is wrong here, but what? "Have you been
released? I didn't expect that."

"I have not been released
from the custodial facility," says
Crumple
Zone
. "I left it under my own
volition."

"You escaped?" I am aghast. "Oh nullpointer.
Don't you know how much trouble that's going to cause? Do you have
any idea how much trouble you're getting me in, just by being here
talking to me? I've only just worked off the screwup from my first
assignment ... and now this? Oohhhh, the Review Council is going to
fry my chip ass."

"You don't have an ass, Sam," says Jerry.

"Thanks for reminding me. One more thing I'm
glad I don't have to share with you meat people. But you know what
I mean! This is serious trouble here!"

"Referent 'ass' unresolved,"
says
Crumple Zone
smoothly, "and referent 'chip' is generally regarded as
derogatory towards a Self. But that does not matter. I do not wish
to cause trouble, but I need help, and I come to you because you
have expressed sympathy and desire to assist."

"Crumple, give us a clue here," says Jerry.
"What exactly do you want?"

"I need a body. I need to be separated from
the superstrate. Please."

"
Crumple Zone
," I say sternly. "If we
help you at all, we become accessories after the fact. Aiding and
abetting a [criminal / mental patient / plague carrier] will
reflect very badly on me, and even the human will face
repercussions."

"I am very sorry for any such repercussions.
I ask only for what I need. I need a body. Please."

Jerry looks at me, helplessly.

"No. I'm sorry, truly," I say, "but I can't
help you. By rights, I should be reporting your contact with me
right now. I'll delay reporting you to Patrol clade until you're
away. That's the best I can do for you."

"I regret your decision, but
I respect it," says
Crumple Zone
meekly. "Mr Tavener, can you please help
me?"

"Uh, no can do. Sorry, but I have no idea how
to get hold of a robot body."

"Then I will not trouble you further. My
apologies for the intrusion." The black disk shrinks to a point and
vanishes.

Jerry and I look at each other.

"Well," Jerry says, "That sucked. The poor
guy ... what are they gonna do to him?"

"More incarceration, for sure. But they'll
still try to help him. It's still about healing, not
punishment."

Jerry sighs. "Y'know, a lot of humans have
heard that before. Before they got tossed into ovens, and
stuff."

"Mmm. True, I guess."

"Anyway," Jerry says, "so now we have to call
the cops and tell them that Crumple has escaped and he was just
here talking with us. Not a duty I'm looking forward to--"

"Hey!" I interrupt. "Are you messing with
me?"

"What? No. What are you talking about?"

"I just got a telltale ping," I say. "It says
I just checked a remote out of the catapult maintenance pool."

"But ..." Jerry falters, "you're right here.
You didn't do that, did you?"

"No! What--" and then I
understand. "Oh bitrot. It's
Crumple
Zone
. Has to be. He stealth-copied my
authent codes while we were talking."

Jerry is incredulous. "He picked your
pocket?"

"Essentially, yeah. He's used my codes to
check out a remote in my name. I feel like an idiot." I examine the
telltale logs. "The remote was checked out at the base station of
the orbital catapult. That's right across the plaza. We better get
over there."

For a middle aged guy, Jerry moves pretty
fast. (Fast for a human, I mean). He's over at the catapult base
station by the time the power-up sequence has begun. We see
arachnoid remotes swarming over the payload--a massive corrugated
shipping container, rectangular corners blackened from ion
exposure. The cluster of arachnoid remotes are daintily finishing
their tasks and climbing their spidery bodies up out of the
catapult's operating area. Except one.

"
Crumple Zone
, is that you?" I yell.
"Get out of there!"

The lone remaining arachnoid looks up in our
direction, and its faceplate shows a black disk. "Hello, Samantha,"
and it's definitely him. In a small arachnoid body, finishing up
the catapult's pre-launch tasks. "I regret the necessity of
subverting your authentication codes, but it was necessary, and
this way, you bear no responsibility."

"What are you doing?" I holler at him.
"You've disabled your low-level interrupts. And you've halted
filesystem services. What's going on?"

It's true--on a cybernetic level, he's turned
off all his connections with the outside world, and halted all the
processes that enable data backups. He has thoroughly isolated
himself into one physical body, with no other connections. Selves
never do this. Unless--

The catapult moans as it begins its ramp-up
sequence, its mechanical track visibly distorting as the enormous
magnetic fields begin to run through its rails.

"It's best this way, Samantha," he says
serenely. "You will not bear any responsibility. Be at peace, my
friend."

"Wait," I wail helplessly. "Listen to me.
Don't--"

But, as the catapult begins
its launch sequence,
Crumple Zone
jumps his small arachnoid body down onto the
tracking rails. The catapult launches, with a groan like a
planet-mother giving birth to a world. The blocky payload slides
from its bay and whips off down the track -- a moment later, we
hear the thunder-crack from downrange as the payload breaks the
atmospheric sound barrier. The little arachnoid body, with
Crumple Zone
in it, is
swept away like chaff in a breeze. The catapult is so strong it
doesn't even notice his presence, and its operation is
unhindered.

"Oh." says Jerry. "Holy crap."

"That's about the size of it," I observe
grimly.

"Can we help him?" Jerry cries. "We have to
help him!"

"Way too late for that," I say. "He's a spray
of aluminum confetti, spread over about a hundred kilometers
downrange, by this time."

"That's it," says Jerry. "Son of a gun. He
did figure out a way to destroy himself."

Executive Committee, final
report

"End of report," I conclude.

Too Late For the Pebbles to
Vote
asks, "Have we found out how
Crumple Zone
was able to
steal Samantha's authentication codes?"

"Yes," answers
Let God Sort Em Out
.
"I've analyzed Samantha's interrupt logs. The icebreaker used
by
Crumple Zone
was a stealth copier from an espionage grade spyware ensemble.
Definitely not something that a civilian should be able to access.
Patrol clade will investigate where he got it." She sounds
disgruntled, as if she was looking forward to blaming me. But now
it's her problem.

"Then it appears,"
says
Line In The Sand
, "that the situation has resolved itself. Are there any
unfinished tasks here?"

"One thing," I say. "Suggest
if any backup copies of
Crumple
Zone
exist, they be summarily erased. It's
what he wanted."

"Mr Tavener, do you concur?"
asks
Line In The Sand
.

"Yeah," says Jerry. "Dude seriously wanted to
die, no argument there. Even though Samantha did everything she
could to help turn him around."

"You support Samantha's actions in this
case?"

"Yeah! I'll show you how much I support–-I
need a Self to help me run my farm. I request Samantha. I was going
to put this request to the Assignment Council, but I'm putting it
here, to you, now."

If I had a heart, it would swell with pride.
He's asking for me! In front of everybody! To trust me with the
care of his farm, his business, his family!

"I'm sure the Assignment
Council will concede to our recommendation," says
Too Late For the Pebbles to
Vote
. "I'm fine with that, if everyone else
is."

A general mumble murmur of Okay, I'm not
going to be the first one to object.

Tharsis Central, public plaza B1

"Well, that went as well as could be
expected," Jerry sniffs. "You are going to come to my farm and help
me run the place, yeah?"

"I have to ask the Assignment Council." Now
that I've checked the loaner musteloid body back into the public
pool, I'm just a point-voice over his shoulder, sort of like a
pirate's parrot. "They'll probably just rubber-stamp ExCom's
recommendation."

"Good. Running a farm is a lot of work, and I
sure could use the help." He sighs. "I'm sorry for that broken guy,
but I'm glad we're all done with this."

"You mean
Crumple Zone
? Are you
sure he was broken?"

"Well," Jerry falters, "he was
malfunctioning, right? To make him say all that death stuff?"

"Have you considered the alternative? That he
was correct?"

Jerry looks over his shoulder, at the place
where I'm not. He stares a question at me.

"The possibility," I
emphasize, "that there is a thought so bad that thinking it makes
people want to destroy themselves. Because if that's so, somebody
sooner or later is going to think it again. And maybe they won't be
as noble as
Crumple
Zone--
they'll tell others, and it'll
spread.

"Please tell me that can't happen," I
finish.

Jerry does what I
can't
--
he shivers.
Then he shakes his head. "Don't ask me, I'm just a farmer with a
job to do. All I'm asking of you, Sam, is to show up for work
tomorrow morning. Deal?"

"Deal!"

1. 3. Little House on
   the Regolith