Galactic Empires (8 page)

“We didn’t know that. We don’t have access to Merioneth files now.”

“Wouldn’t have done you any good. The New Immortals have coveted their own planet for some time. They did a lot more than simply finance the Isolation revolution on Merioneth. They infiltrated its civil service quite some time ago. Any records you did access through the Unisphere merely say what they want them to say.”

“And you didn’t feel obliged to tell us this?”

“Us?” Justin Friland smiled faintly.

“The Intersolar Senate. The Serious Crimes Directorate.”

“Ah. Your government? No. Pardon me, Paula. I wasn’t about to come running to the organization that officially condemned my projects as the work of the devil. Besides, up until they started killing Dynasty members, our Immortal brethren didn’t actually do anything illegal. Political shenanigans are perfectly permissible under our oh-so-liberal Intersolar constitution.

Manipulating public data for ideological ends is common practice. I assume you have better statistics than I do on the subject.“

Paula thought about arguing but decided against it. The information might be useful later, if the Directorate decided to press complicity charges against Friland. “The New Immortals?” she asked. “I assume it’s a relevant name. What method have they adopted? And why does it need an Isolated world?”

Julian Friland looked distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s a modified version of today’s re-life memory succession, which eliminates the requirement to rejuvenate a body.”

“Thank you. You’ve just told me nothing.”

“If you suffer bodyloss today, your insurance company grows a clone and downloads your secure memory store into it. Many people regard that as death. It’s a question of continuity, you see. In rejuvenation, your body simply floats in a tank while its DNA is reset. The you that comes out is still the you that went in a year before, so there’s no doubt about originality and identity. What Moalem and his group proposed was operating
continuous
bodies. A mental relay, if you like, with a personality twinned between an old and young version of the same person.”

“So when the old physical body dies, the young one carries on.

“With continuity intact,” Friland emphasized. “I acknowledge the concept is an elegant one.”

“Not entirely original,” Paula said, thinking about the emissions she’d detected coming from Moalem. She frowned, trying to follow the idea through to its conclusion. “Surely, the two bodies would have to be close together. If they started to diverge, see and react to different things, then the personality would also start to fraction.”

“Good point. The New Immortals claimed that was actually a desirable outcome. Moalem decided that a singular personality input-point was a primitive notion. The human mind should be able to expand to encompass many bodyforms, all inputting their experiences to the unifying mind.”

“That has to be unstable. Bipolar disorder and multiple personalities are notoriously erratic.”

“I’ve been through these arguments so many times with Svein. He maintains that inherent mental illness is completely avoidable in these circumstances, that the human mind can evolve in conjunction with its physical environment. The host personality has to be willing and receptive to change, to want to learn how to be different. He’s probably right.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. You say the Foundation split because of this? I thought you were all about exploring new forms of human existence.”

“We are. I set up the Foundation to advance humanity through genetic modification. But change in isolation is not a desirable thing. Hence Huxley’s Haven. Not only are its citizens perfectly adjusted to their jobs, the entire society is designed to be stable, so that only the professions and abilities we have allowed for are needed. There are human clerks who make electronics, especially computers, redundant. Engineering is constitutionally fixed to equal early-twentieth-century development, so mechanics are capable of performing all repairs, rather than writing software for maintenance bots. It’s a level that was specifically chosen to give everyone a decent quality of life without dependence on cybernetics. Which is what makes Huxley’s Haven a perfectly integrated society. It doesn’t change because there is no requirement for change. That is what Commonwealth citizens found so disturbing; it’s also why it works. Within the Foundation, we had a very large debate as to whether we should Isolate it once it was established.”

“Why didn’t you? A society like that can only be challenged by an outside force, so why risk continued exposure? There are plenty of idealists even today who would like it stopped.”

“I didn’t believe we had the right. Maybe in a few hundred years’ time, the Haven will choose to isolate itself from what the Intersolar Commonwealth will become. Who knows?”

“And if it starts to fail, you can fix it,” Paula guessed. He had that kind of egotism.

“That’s what the freethinkers are for,” Friland said. “And to a lesser degree, the police such as yourself. All societies should include a mechanism for self-correction.”

“You’re distracting me,” Paula said. “Why the split with the New Immortals?”

“Very well,” Friland said. “I owe you of all people that explanation, if nothing else.”

“How ironic for you, having to explain yourself to your creation!”

“I’m not a Frankenstein, Investigator.”

“Of course not. The split?”

“First, the prospect of a hive mind is one I resist. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t regard it as a human goal. Yet there is that danger. Svein knows that you need more than two bodies to guarantee life-continuity. The more you have, the higher the personality’s survival probability There is no theoretical limit. He can possess hundreds, thousands, of bodies. More still. Exponential growth rates are a favorite politician’s scare image, and I don’t like to use it, but something close to exponential expansion is a very real threat in this case. What happens to individual, normal humans if a New Immortal expands its nest of selves? An Immortal by his or her nature becomes focused on survival. That will trigger competition for resources, possibly as bad as it was in the twenty-first century before Ozzie and Nigel developed wormhole technology. Would the singulars survive? Would they be
allowed
to survive? And what about other nest Immortals? One route is merger. The universal monomind. Again, something I instinctively shy away from. Svein was not complimentary about what he perceives as my outdated reactionary thinking.”

“That must have been painful for you.”

“Quite. The other problem I have is the method that the New Immortals have chosen. It is not pure genetic evolution, which is our creed.”

“Now you’ve really lost me.”

“If you have children, Investigator, they will remain true to your nature. They will inherit the genetic and psychoneural profiling that make you the perfect law enforcement officer. We set the traits that make you what you are; they are dominant. Even if all our fabulous society should fall, if the wormholes are closed, the factories break down, electricity cease to flow; if the human race enters into a new age of barbarism-what the Foundation created will remain. Our heritage is written in our genes. When we define an advancement, we incorporate it in our DNA. It can never be lost. An equal science can remove it, but our advances would endure a dark age. Svein’s system will not. He shares his thoughts and memories with his other bodies via the unisphere. He needs OCtattoos and inserts to transmit and receive. He needs clone vats to grow new bodies. His is a cybernetic, technological future. It is a very short step from what he wishes to become to simply downloading your thoughts into a machine, like today’s uniheads do with the SI. After all, a machine can be made far stronger than human flesh. This is not the route I wish the Foundation to go down. At the far end, it is not a human outcome that awaits.“

“Surely, that’s all contrary to the stasis of Huxley’s Haven?”

“The Haven provides us with a proof of concept. We know we can match our genetic and societal requirements synergistically. That sets the stage for our next advances.”

“Which are?” she asked sharply.

“Development along all fronts. Extreme longevity-ultimately, self-rejuvenation. Increased intelligence. Huge disease resistance.”

“Bigger. Stronger. Better,” she murmured.

“Yes. These advances are slowly seeping into the human genome. Parents have baseline procedures carried out on their embryos to give their offspring healthier physiques. Reprofiling is commonplace in rejuvenation tanks, at least for those who can afford it. We are a slow revolution, Paula. People find our long-term aims uncomfortable, but they continue to incorporate our immediate successes into their very selves. Given such development, society will inevitably adapt and evolve. Which is why I reject the obsessional goal of the New Immortals. I will happily continue my rejuvenation treatments every thirty years because they will ultimately be temporary. In four or five hundred years’ time, I will be beginning my senior life span, which will be measured in millennia. Can you imagine what kind of culture that will play host to?“

“Even if I could, I obviously wouldn’t have a place in it. I’m just a halfway stage experiment, remember.”

“Oh no, Paula, you’ve become much more than that. You’ve humbled us by showing how adaptive humanity is. You are an inspiration that we can all exceed our perceived limits.”

“How very lovely for you,” she said acerbically, and stood up.

Justin Friland looked up at her. “What will you do to Svein Moalem now that you know what he is?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied truthfully. “I’m sure I’ll
adapt
my nature somehow, and bring him to justice.”

He smiled sadly. “We’re not adversaries, Paula, not you and me.

“Not yet. Not quite. But keep on going the way you are, and we’ll wind up facing each other in court. The Senate has strict laws concerning genetic manipulation outside designated human parameters.”

“I know. And I’m very tired of them, which is why we’re finally leaving altogether.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to Isolate another world?”

“No, we don’t have to. The Commonwealth is desperate to make a success of Far Away; the Senate spent so much money getting there, they have to justify it to the taxpayer. It’s a blank canvas of a world, thanks to the solar flare that eliminated its indigenous life. My remaining colleagues are moving there with me. The Senate’s authority and its laws are confined to one city; out in the wild, we’ll be free of the petty regulations that restrict us here, and we can design a new biosphere environment to complement whatever enhancements we build into our bodies. The ultimate synergy, eh?”

“That sounds like a project that will keep you occupied for a few decades.”

“We would be honored if you’d join us. You would be an enormously valuable asset to any community, Paula.”

“Thank you, but no. I have work to do in this society.” She started toward the door.

“There could be tens of him by now,” Friland called out after her. “Dozens. You’ll never get them all.”

“Nonetheless, he will face justice. You know that. That’s how you made me.”

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT

The countryside outside Baransly was certainly a lot more hospitable in summer. A warm G-class star shone in a deep ocean-blue sky. High wispy clouds laced the horizon ahead as Paula walked down the narrow farm track that cut through the big fields, pushing her lightweight p-bike over the scattered stone. The air was thick and warm, heavy with the sugary scent of the fireflower vine. She knew the name now. It was the district’s main crop. In the summer’s warmth and humidity, the rows of wire frames were transformed into long dunes of vivid crimson flowers with thick yellow stamen. Petals were already starting to crisp and brown at the edges as midsummer approached; in another month, the fruit would ripen to fist-sized globes a dull purple in color. The pulp was a local staple, equivalent to meat-potato, though the fruit could be crushed for oil as well.

She reached the concrete road at the end of the track and straddled the p-bike. There was no traffic. She twisted the throttle and set off toward Baransly’s outskirts, five miles ahead.

The city’s traffic management network was still functioning. It registered her p-bike as she crossed into the official city boundary. By now, she was on Route Two, one of the main highways into the city, with the midafternoon traffic starting to build up around her. She told the network that she wanted Lislie Road and received a route authorization. Her vehicle license had been accepted as current.

Lislie Road was in the middle of a pleasant residential suburb, with small dome-roofed houses grown out of air coral. Paula turned off the tree-shaded road itself onto the broad pavement and started peddling the p-bike. That way, she was no longer monitored by the traffic network. She stopped outside number 62 and wheeled the p-bike up to the front door. It accepted the code she put in and swung open for her.

Nelson Sheldon had paid Terrie Ority, the previous occupant, a handsome sum for his codes, just as he’d paid another Merioneth refugee for a bike license. The preparations had taken over a month. Paula and Nelson had put the operation together on Augusta, the Sheldon Dynasty’s industrial world. It was the first time in nine decades that Paula had taken a holiday from the Directorate. She’d accrued eight years’ leave. The personnel office was delighted-her director curious.

Inside number 62, the air was musty. Terrie Ority was a fussy man-he’d turned off all the power before he left. He had also left behind most of the furniture. Paula switched the air-conditioning back on and ran the taps to cycle the plumbing system. A couple of ancient maidbots were sitting in their alcoves, fully charged, so she ordered them to start cleaning.

She spent the rest of the day establishing her legend identity in the civil and commercial systems. Her bank account was opened and loaded from a card. She registered with several local stores and had food delivered. Then she sat back and accessed the planetary cybersphere, with her e-butler extracting news summaries to build a picture of Merioneth after the wormhole had closed five months earlier.