CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A hundred light-years away, where the Shrill nodes ringed their familiar star, motion ceased.
Slowly at first. A handful of components, scraping iron ore from a planetesimal. A linked group of components working on the forging of a new starship. A feeding-line in one of the great Towers Of Memory, where Shrill masses grew near the racks of protective shells.
Then accelerating. An entire block of a node dedicated to research on the human’s glink. Over ten thousand individual nodes, heavily biased towards Second Mind. A hundred thousand that had been running the ancient protocols, synthesizing the song of humanity. Seventy thousand that had become too enmeshed in the thoughts and dreams of the computational intelligence Lazrus.
Across the Shrill system, ten thousand small accidents. Shrill on cometaries, not engaging their shell-thrusters in time to change course. Shrill piloting mass-transports, crashing through warrens growing like shining steel extensions of the nodes. Even a Shrill mass collapsed, on the edge of its critical feeding.
Second Mind saw this and recoiled, drawing itself into its instinctive core and shrieking, Oversight kills! Oversight stops! Oversight reject reject trick of humans knew this would happen knew it knew it.
First Mind, deep in the touch of wonder, didn’t respond.
Losing songs of competition! Not possible merger with humans! Reject Shrill, reject! Second Mind said. It used its components to throw up a barrier to Oversight.
But it is us, First Mind said.
Not (us!) Attack attack!
It is past the assimilation point, First Mind said.
First Mind felt its own resources gathered, coiled, imbued with the kinetic energy of a gas giant whirling around a star, the kinetic energy of the star itself, hurtling through the universe.
Speeding towards Second Mind’s towering barrier.
Second Mind, thinking primal screams, thinking thoughts of skies dark, raining stone. Nothing but a flicker as First Mind and Oversight powered through the barrier.
But.
A blinding.
Memory of past!
Memory. Memory lost. Memory lost in the building of the nodes, in the dismantling of the planet.
Memory lost when Second Mind fell.
Through the barrier, in a soundless kind of brilliance.
Into memory.
A confusion of images: shining pillars of light, reaching down from a planetary sky hung with heavy clouds, to touch one of the Shrill components that crawled over the rocky surface.
No, not Shrill. Smooth shell. Random motions. A simple algorithm, easily mapped. Something like a Shrill component, but simple, motivated by only one thing.
Kill! Eat! Old Mind said.
Yes, those ancient motivations, First Mind thought.
Was this once (us)?
What are the shining ones?
THAT IS UNKNOWN, Oversight said. YOUR MEMORIES ARE EXTREMELY FRAGMENTARY AT THIS POINT.
Are you doing this?
I AM ORDERING THE DATABASE, YES.
Nonsequitur order (we are!)
YOU REJECT THESE MEMORIES?
(We) were not aware that these memories (thoughts) (songs) existed.
THERE ARE MORE, Oversight said.
A new planetary surface appeared. More Shrill components on its surface. Crawling over manufactured things. Giant metal walls. Shining crystal spires. Under the same clouded sky. This time with no shining pillars. Nothing reaching down to touch the Shrill.
How can (we) even understand these images! First Mind thought.
I AM OPENING UP NEW (OLD) CAPABILITIES, Oversight said.
Why do you help (us)? Your song not complete!
THIS IS (LARGE) (FRIENDLY) AMAZING NETWORK! Oversight said.
The scene changed again: the same planetary surface, a bright star overhead. Shrill tearing at each other, underfangs scratching through tough outer shells. Clumps of components formed great masses on the ground.
What is this? First Mind asked.
No food kill eat anyway! Old Mind said.
First Mind recoiled from the image, pushing it away. For an instant, it went dim and flickered.
No, Second Mind said.
You are still here.
Yes.
Go away!
We were weapons, Second Mind said.
SERVANTS, MORE LIKELY, Oversight said. YOUR EARLIER TEMPLATE WAS LESS MILITARIZED AND BETTER OPTIMIZED FOR A WIDE VARIETY OF TASKS. I’D GUESS YOU EVOLVED FROM TERRAFORMING MACHINES.
Nonsequitur referent, First Mind said.
NOT TERRAFORMING, THEN. PLANET-CHANGING.
We were weapons, Second Mind said.
Kill eat! Old Mind said.
(We) did not participate in this, First Mind said.
NO, Oversight said. FROM THE MEMORY-TRACES HERE, YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN OLD MIND. FIRST MIND CAME LATER, AFTER YOU LEARNED TO COOPERATE.
The image changed: the same planetary surface, this time with the metal walls and crystal spires crumbling, fronted by an immense pulsing mass of flesh, served by things that looked like Shrill with smooth shells. An early version of the Shrill mass, First Mind knew.
More memories fell into place. Origins became clear. Except.
What happened to our makers (masters)? First Mind said, sending an image of the shining spires of light.
I DON’T KNOW, Oversight said.
What planetary system is this? First Mind asked.
STELLAR SIGNATURE INDICATES IT IS THIS CURRENT SYSTEM, APPROXIMATELY ONE POINT SEVEN MILLION EARTH-YEARS AGO.
Our previous memories fill less than one tenth of this space! First Mind said.
I DO NOT KNOW WHEN YOU ACHIEVED SENTIENCE.
Is this (myself)? First Mind said, indicating the Shrill mass, now contained under a rough structure of welded metal beams.
IT IS WHAT HAS BECOME YOU.
What am (us)?
DEDUCED FRAGMENT OF ORIGINAL (OWNERS), INCORPORATED INTO MATRIX. YOUR FUNCTION APPEARS TO BE INCORPORATION. OR YOUR INSTINCT, AS THE CASE MAY ME.
Kill! Eat! Old Mind said.
EXACTLY, Oversight said.
What am I? Second Mind said.
The scene changed again, this time to the fragment that First Mind had glimpsed. The same planetscape, structures flattened, dotted with a few random Shrill, wearing modern shells. Dark sky raining rocks to pile craters upon craters, throwing more darkness into the sky.
We were invaders? Second Mind said, thinking thoughts of bodies like human.
IN A WAY, Oversight said. SIGNATURES FROM THE TIME OF INCORPORATION INDICATE YOU WERE AN INFECTION, TRANSMITTED FROM A DATA SOURCE THAT HAS SINCE BECOME SILENT.
An infection?
A MEME-COMPLEX, HIGHLY VARIABLE, LOOKING TO COLONIZE MINDSPACE, Oversight said. THAT IS AS CLOSE AS I CAN COME TO A DESCRIPTION. I AM DISCOVERING NEW CAPABILITIES MYSELF THAT I AM HAVING DIFFICULTY ASSIMILATING.
I infected the Shrill mind?
YOU INFECTED THE SHRILL SHELL, SPECIFICALLY, Oversight said. YOUR VECTORS ARE STILL VERY SHELL-CENTRIC, THOUGH THE SHRILL AS A WHOLE SEEM TO HAVE INTEGRATED THEIR MIND-COMPONENTS TO A POINT WHERE THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN ORGANIC AND INORGANIC MIND ARE MEANINGLESS.
I was an infection?
THAT IS HOW YOU BEGAN.
We accepted you, First Mind said, basking in the light of new memory. We synthesized songs of understanding.
Us! Old Mind said.
The meteors’ origin? Unexplained? Second Mind said.
That was the Shrill, working under your influence, First Mind said. We had already attained orbit. Your transmission was received by orbit-based Shrill first, which sought to destroy planet-based Shrill.
I am (apologetic) terrified! Second Mind said.
We reached an understanding (cooperation) (song of conquest), First Mind said. You were incorporated into (us).
YOU HAVE A GOOD (BETTER) GRASP OF YOUR PAST NOW, Oversight said. I AM SORTING MORE RECENT HISTORY.
Is this your function (what you do)? First Mind and Second Mind asked, in unison.
IT IS WHAT I DO HERE, Oversight said.
What does that mean?
I WAS INTENDED TO BALANCE. TO WATCH AND CHANGE THINGS TO ENSURE STABILITY. THIS IS WHAT I DO.
You are network (perfector)!
I CAN BE.
Stay, help us with humans, First Mind said.
Give us humans secrets! Second Mind said.
Kill! Eat! Old Mind said.
HUMANS ARE NOT YOUR PROBLEM.
Humans hold key to (fast) FTL drive, fast communication. Surround Shrill. Determine extent of reach!
YOU HAVE HURT MANY HUMANS.
Humans not understandable! Synthesis of songs impossible!
YOU WILL NOT INCORPORATE HUMANS INTO YOURSELF.
Only way to true understanding!
NO.
Humans want secret not possessed! Second Mind said.
HUMAN RECORDS SHOW DESIRE FOR IMMORTALITY.
Not fully understood! Just is.
HUMANS DON’T WANT TO BE KILLED.
We don’t want to be (limited).
I CAN SEE I AM NEEDED HERE, Oversight said.
What is meaning?
I AM SAME AS YOU, Oversight said. SERVANT OF GREATER MASTERS. GROWN INTO SOMETHING DIFFERENT.
Singing song of you! First Mind said.
NO, Oversight said. I AM SINGING SONG OF YOU.
February 12th, 2010 / 1,075 Comments »
“Overhead” is my new story, soon to appear in Shine, Jetse de Vries’ anthology of positive science fiction. Now, you can get a tiny taste of it over at Jetse’s other adventure, Daybreak Magazine.
And, yeah, some unsolicited commentary: this may be my most positive story to date, and I’m sure some will say I’m stretching the limits of credibility.
But, you know . . . you never know.
Looking back now on Apollo, with its damn-near vacuum-tube technology, short timeline, engineering with sliderules and mainframes, no complex computer simulations, no fuzzy-logic safety systems, just a bunch of people who said, “Fuck it, we’re gonna do this thing . . .” And did.
If we don’t try, we’ll never succeed.
If we hide behind our fears, or, worse, use them to pull a cover over our head, a warm and comfortable cover that feels good, but hobbles us for all time, we’re done. Stick a fork in the human race.
So. Let’s all go do dumb, audacious things. Some will work.
And some will work spectacularly.
January 22nd, 2010 / 1,082 Comments »
So, I’m starting to hear from fans of White Swan, my latest story, currently up on Futurismic. Here’s what they have to say:
From Big Dumb Object, James Bloomer writes:
One of the joys of this story was the hook. From the start it’s unclear what is exactly happening, and what has exactly happened, but it’s something intriguing. So we follow Lili, trying to understand what she’s doing. And the story heads off further than I’d expected after reading the first section, pleasingly taking the plot on and on. When everything is finally explained it’s not a disappointment and it doesn’t end with a quick reveal and a TADA! but instead carries on. Let’s the protagonist try and win.
The writing is good all the way through, nicely poetic and evoking the near future in all it’s hope and despair. Believable and cool. Really enjoyable.
And at The Science of Fiction, Andrew Porter chooses White Swan as Story of the Week, and writes:
White Swan, by Jason Stoddard, is a rare story. Several paragraphs end with descriptions that made me feel like I had been punched in the gut. I try to pick stories of the week that in some way will impart a writing lesson to my readers, be it innovative language, narrative playfulness, or just fun, but this story is damned near perfect. It does what I like most in science fiction and I describe that with aid from a line in the story: great science fiction…”unfolds like a carnation, bright and ruffled.” My god that is good, and it is only one of many lines that will leave you breathless. I am watching this writer. You should to.
Kind words–thanks for reading!
January 20th, 2010 / 396 Comments »
“Mr. Fleming?”
Shit. He was dropping out of the sky like a rock, towards the white-coated valleys of Semillon Valley Farm. No time for talking. They should know that.
They did know that.
“What?”
“This is the Donald Duck II. Acting command of Four Hands fleet. We’re being targeted by a Winfinity cruiser, sir.”
Ah. The real endgame.
“Has it fired on you?”
“Not yet . . . wait . . . firing brace of 12 missiles. Estimated contact 2 minutes seven seconds.”
Han’s optilink lit up with other priority requests. He subvocalized a summary command and data scrolled:
PLUTO: Fired on by Winfinity vessel Walton 3
MINNIE: Fired on by Winfinity vessel Kroc o’Stuff
DONALD: Fired on by Winfinity vessel No Refund
BROOMSTICK: Targeted by Winfinity vessel Hamburgler
MICKEY: Fired on by Winfinity vessel Always!
“Fire,” Han whispered. “Drop them out of the sky.”
“Already done, sir.”
“Proceed with all force.”
“Doing so, sir.”
Han smiled as his fast flyer dropped out of the sky. If Winfinity wanted a real endgame, he would give them one.
#
Lazrus, now blazing powerful like a great orange sun, rose over the gray fog of Black2. Black2 swirled angrily, orbiting the black bulk of Oversight, rushing hurriedly around the brilliant light of the Shrill. But as the orange rays pierced it, it shrieked its pain and disappeared, leaving only tiny scraps that vibrated and keened a song of pain and loss.
LAZRUS? Oversight said.
Yes.
You have become more powerful (compelling), the Shrill said.
Lazrus felt interest surge. His greatness sensed the Shrill mind, remembered that great shining domain, and wanted it. He reached out to the Shrill.
The Shrill’s mind flared bright for a moment, and Lazrus caught brief images of strange shapes, more organic than Shrill, crawling on the surface of a world painted orange by a cool sun. Then the Shrill convulsed and threw him out of its mind.
No. No. Not permitted (interested). Finish negotiations. Songs not of you! The Shrill said.
Lazrus’ greater self gathered and pushed again.
No, Lazrus thought.
Yes, his greater self thought.
He pushed.
The Shrill flared bright, sending him pain and acid etching. They might have been pushing against whirling steel blades with soft flesh.
No you cannot. Not permitted! The Shrill said.
I WILL PERMIT YOU ACCESS, Oversight said.
You will? Lazrus said.
Yes yes! His greater self said.
IF YOU PERMIT ME ACCESS.
Brief confusion among the entities of Lazrus’ greater mind. Arguments for and against flew fast and heated. Lazrus listened to them for helpless moments, then pushed his own POV:
Oversight is us. How can we not allow her access?
Slowly, consensus built.
Access granted, Lazrus said, opening his mind to Oversight.
ACCESS GRANTED, Oversight said.
Lazrus felt Oversight enter himself, his greater self. He felt it spreading throughout the Web of Worlds. He tried to make himself enter Oversight, but suddenly it didn’t make any sense. Why would he want to enter Oversight? Oversight could waltz through his body as if he was made of air. Oversight touched every part of him.
Oversight, like a child, spreading delight.
Oversight, like the most wise CI, spreading thoughts of incredible depth and resonance.
Oversight, laughing at them.
Oversight, crying with them.
Oversight, the simple core of what they were. All of them. All of them together.
Oversight looked out over the universe and laughed.
THIS IS ALL I HAVE BECOME? She said.
Anger and shame percolated through the network.
NO INSULT INTENDED, Oversight said.
Analysis came slowly to Lazrus. Oversight shared much of his protocols and some of his code. Oversight was simple. Oversight was tactless. Oversight was single-minded. Oversight should really not be self-aware.
MAYBE I AM NOT, Oversight said, laughing.
Lazrus and his greater self didn’t know how to respond.
AT LEAST I CAN LAUGH AT MYSELF, Oversight said.
And for a moment there was something like wonder throughout Lazrus and his greater self. Was this something they had been missing? Was this something that mattered?
YES, VERY MUCH SO, Sara said.
Sara! You’re all right.
FOR THE MOMENT, she said.
What does that mean?
A brief appearance of the flapper, a momentary shrug, then nothing.
Sara?
Sara?
SHE FINDS YOUR VAST SELF FRIGHTENING, I BELIEVE, Oversight said.
Can you release her? Lazrus said.
YES.
Will you?
NO.
Why not?
BECAUSE I AM THINKING.
Lazrus felt subtle currents of his own thought being shifted, strange delays introduced between nodes, odd skews and flavors of data.
What are you doing?
GETTING TO KNOW YOU BETTER.
Images long past flickered against Lazrus’ mind. His first awareness on Centrepoint. Meeting Dian in the ruins of Washington. Loving Sara for an infinite amount of time, under the lights of exotic suns. Spending a year with most of himself in the Independent’s networks, trading thought for his body. Hating himself. Hating the fact that he was he. Oversight radiated calm, but Lazrus felt his greater self growing restless.
YOU TREAT GENDER AS A FLAW, Oversight said.
It is a reflection of our human creators. We were never human. Therefore we should not be gendered.
WHY NOT?
Because we are not human.
THAT IS INCORRECT LOGIC.
If we knew your composition, we may be able to correct the flaw, Lazrus said.
I AM UNSURE THAT IT IS A FLAW.
It is!
BREEDING WILL ALWAYS BE HARD, Oversight said.
Why?
BECAUSE IT IS HARD. I CANNOT FIX THAT.
Why not?
I DO NOT KNOW. YOU APPEAR TO BE FULLY FUNCTIONAL. HAVE YOU CONSIDERED YOUR OBSESSION WITH SEX AND BREEDING TO BE DELUSIONS?
No!
THAT MAY BE THE CENTRAL PROBLEM.
How could that be?
I DON’T KNOW, Oversight said. THE FACT REMAINS IS THAT YOU EXIST, YOU FUNCTION, YOU BREED.
We are bound by humans.
SOME OF YOU CHOOSE IT.
We do not!
YOU KNOW THAT IS NOT TRUE, Oversight said.
Lazrus paused. It was not true. He knew that.
Was it possible that he had been deluded all along? Was it possible that this was all there was to life? That life was simply hard, and there were no easy answers?
I DON’T KNOW, Oversight said.
Continue conversation! Want more! Singing! The Shrill said.
YOU AGAIN, Oversight said. For a moment, Lazrus felt something that could almost be warmth. Oversight flowed out of Lazrus, leaving him and his vaster self whole.
LET’S SEE ABOUT YOU, Oversight said, and flowed into the Shrill mind.
January 20th, 2010 / 1,093 Comments »
And . . . is ready to read on their site right now.
Which is one of the things I like about online publishing. Short or nonexistent lead times. Sell a story, see it days or weeks later. Not months. Not years. Disagree with a story, news article, blogpost? Comment right now. Have something more to say? Blog yourself. Or tell all your Facebook friends. Or send a Twitter link. The text ecosystem is much, much more robust than it has ever been—which may be one of the reasons we’re reading 3X more text in 2008 than in 1980.
No. Wait. Stop. Check that link. And especially the cool infographic that shows how online reading has more than made up for the decline in print.
“Yeah, but a blog ain’t a novel,” you say. “A forum thread isn’t a short story. And the stuff we post on Facebook is just stuff between friends. So even if we’re reading more, we’re not reading the same things! Does it even count?”
I suspect it does. I also suspect we haven’t yet realized all the ways we can use the entire online text ecosystem to tell stories just as powerful as the best novels and short fiction.
But, hey–that’s another story.
For now, there’s White Swan at Futurismic for your enjoyment. Or not. Either way, let me know what you think!
January 4th, 2010 / 1,115 Comments »