Shadows of Golstar (6 page)

“I need to explain why my template was modified,” the
AI said.  “It was out of desperation, Hec’s desperation.”

Owens’ frown had returned, “He had to be pretty desperate
to violate such a fundamental law. If what you say is true, he committed a
category-two felony with some serious penalties attached.”

“Being an AI tech, Hec knew the law, but his
rationality had taken a serious blow. His mind wasn’t functioning as well as it
would normally.”

“So just what caused him to ignore the law?”

“Well, you see, he was only a little over 180 years
old when unexpectedly, his health began to fail. He was losing motor control of
his arms and legs. His doctor diagnosed that he was suffering from selective
rejuvenation rejection. As you probably know, rejuvenation rejection is pretty
rare these days.”

“Yeah, you don’t hear of many cases on the media
news,” Owens commented.

“Unfortunately, along with its rarity, it is also one of
a few remaining illnesses that as of yet has no cure.”

Owens nodded to himself. It was a disease humanity had
not yet defeated, but he seemed to recall reading somewhere, a research outfit
claimed they were only a few years off from finding the solution.

The AI continued, “Normally, the human body readily
accepts the rejuvenation treatments without major complications. Of course,
over time the treatments become less effective. Natural aging will eventually
happen but not before tripling, sometimes quadrupling a human’s normal life
span. However, in the rare case of rejuvenation rejection, the body reacts
negatively to the treatment at some stage, and the human’s life is prematurely
cut short of its potential. As part of the body’s immune systems, the T-cells
begin …”

Owens interjected. “You can spare me the explanation.
I’m aware of rejuvenation rejection, at least in general terms, who isn’t these
days? Don’t bother with the medical detail. I sure as hell wouldn’t understand
any of it anyway.”

The AI agreed to forgo the technical aspects of the
medical condition. “Being that it was a selective rejection, it affected only a
portion of his brain. His body and other major organs continued to thrive under
the standard rejuvenation regimen. Unfortunately, in his case, his gross motor
functions began to degrade. After the diagnosis was confirmed, it was only a
matter of a few weeks before he was confined to a hover-chair. It was fortunate
that his higher brain functions had still not been affected, or at least so he
thought.”    

“At first Hec was bitter. He figured he was being
cheated out of at least 85 years of extended life. He had long dreamed of
traveling extensively in his retirement and had planned accordingly. He wasn’t
a native, but had spent almost his whole adult life working on Genhome. He was
a little over a hundred and fifty centimeters tall and looked forward to
finding someone he could talk to eye-to-eye instead of the top of their head.
However, based on the doctor’s sole recommendation, the only trip he could look
forward to was the one to the corpsicle emporium. There he would sign-up for a
nice cozy freezer-stasis unit and suspend all conscious existence until a cure
could be found sometime in the indeterminate future.”  

“Well, it sure beats the alternative,” Owens
interjected.

“Hell yes, it does. Anyway, time went on and his
condition gradually worsened. As his ability to control his body diminished,
Hec began to search for ways he could still, somehow fulfill his goal of
distant travel. Near the end, he figured out a way in which, if he couldn’t
personally roam the star-lanes, a reasonable facsimile might be created so that
at least a part of him could satisfy his dream of travel.” 

Owens shook his head, “It sounds like your alter ego
was beginning to become a little unhinged. What was he thinking? If he got
caught…”

“I can’t disagree,” responded the AI. “Near the end,
Hec wasn’t totally rational. His obsession with travel grew proportionately
with the deterioration of his ability to control his body. He had no family to
speak of. The whole focus of his last ninety-five years was to put sufficient
money aside to allow him to travel anywhere in the civilized systems. He had
just about saved enough to travel in relative luxury for the remainder of his
life after retirement. He was only a few years away from retirement when the
rejuvenation rejection hit.”

“As his remaining time shrank, Hec had become more
desperate, and he began to research possible options. Now looking back, it’s
doubtful that he could have passed a standard sanity test. He became more and
more frantic as he failed to find a workable solution.”

“I think that I’m beginning to see where this might be
leading,” Owens said.  

The AI continued, “Well, in the end Hec found what he
saw as the solution. He decided to create a mental template of himself in the
form of an AI personality matrix. Hec reasoned that the AI’s travel experiences
could eventually be transferred back into his memory once he was thawed and
cured.”

Owens interrupted, “So you really
are
talking
about a human personality overlay.” He shook his head. “You must know that all
forms of personality duplication are highly, I stress highly, illegal. I know,
because I was a cop before I went private and I enforced those laws. Personality
duplication, the superimposition on other life forms and transfer of
personality matrices on artificial constructs or clones were all outlawed by
the 2350 Rules of the Civilized Worlds Act, which includes the unlawful option
that he…
you
eventually chose.”

“Unfortunately,
yes,” the AI agreed. “Hec was desperate and the option that he finally took…”
the AI paused then corrected, “…the option that
I
took was most
definitely illegal.”

The
listener slowly made her way out of the lower palace grounds and headed for the
false residence she had established when she first accepted the assignment to
spy on the Grand Patriarch.  The residence was a ten-minute ride on a
low-speed auto-jitney from the Palace. The jitney was nearly empty, and the
listener allowed herself a small sigh of relief that the assignment was almost
over. The ride was uneventful and before long the jitney slowed. It was her
stop. Her residence was only a block away.

Her
quarters were situated in a modest worker neighborhood. She had rented a
comfortable four-room modular unit nestled between two larger units on the
seventeenth floor of an eighty story multiplex. Not surprisingly, both adjacent
units were vacant. The front and side entrances were unmonitored. This allowed
the spy a good deal of freedom to move around the complex unobserved.

She entered through the seldom-used side entrance and
took the express lift to her floor. The pale yellow walls of the hallway were
illuminated by elaborately designed metal sconces, each holding a softly
glowing glass chimney. The hallway was deserted as she walked on thick, richly
patterned carpet runners that covered the dark, polished wooden floor. The
walls were hung with replicas of paintings from old Earth. Their gilded frames
of antiqued gold added to the image of an ancient Victorian hotel.

As she approached the entrance of her residential
unit, she noted that the hallway remained empty. She looked directly into the
retina scan disc discretely positioned to the right of the wood-framed door.
Within a few seconds, a soft neutral voice originating from the scan mechanism
acknowledged her presence. It spoke her name, indicating the listener’s
identity was confirmed, and entry was allowed. This was followed by a muted
click, and the door swung silently inward. The listener hurried into the
residence, the door closing smoothly behind her.

In contrast to the hallway, the apartment was more
functional in its decor. Although the furnishings were plush and substantial in
nature, their design trended towards being functional than decorative, with the
floors covered with neutral, mono-colored carpeting.

As she walked toward the hygiene cubicle, she left a
trail of discarded clothing.  Kicking off her shoes, her day robe and work
shift dropped to the floor in quick succession, followed by various pieces of
underclothing. By the time she reached the cleanser, she was naked. She pre-set
the temperature and timer on the cleanser stall. 

Turning towards a full-length mirror, she carefully
removed the wig and placed it in the container she had left on the small
vanity.  She glanced at herself in the mirror.  She saw a small,
compact woman with sandy blond hair and the typical dusky salmon-hued skin of
her race. In her mid-forties, she appeared much younger. Her features matched
her body. Her pale amber eyes looked out from an attractive, if not beautiful
face.  She thought she could stand to lose a few kilos but overall, she
was satisfied with what she saw.  Making a mental note to get more
exercise, she then activated and stepped into the cleanser.

Later, refreshed and casually dressed in a silk,
cream-colored blouse and a full length, dark-brown skirt, she made the call to
her contact. The vis-panel cleared as a man answered her call. “Chalden,” she said
brightly, “I was hoping to catch you at home.  I was afraid you might be
attending evening Services.”

The portly man’s image smiled back at her, “No. I
caught the morning one, so I am free this evening.  What about you?”

Her smile matched his, “Me also.”

“Well,” he said. “If I am free and you are free, would
you consider meeting me for dinner?  I understand the Light of Way
restaurant has recently reopened.” 

Nodding thoughtfully, she replied, “I think I would
enjoy that.” The time and directions were then worked out, and the conversation
continued with light banter for a few minutes longer. After the call
terminated, the smile vanished from the woman’s face. The meeting was set.
 

After tonight, she would not meet or speak to Chalden
again.  He, like she, had been recruited for a one-time assignment, his
being that of her control contact. Instead of having a friendly dinner with a
male acquaintance, she would meet him and give him her report and recordings.
He would be the one to convey her findings to her father and associate that
night. Afterward, her assignment would be complete. She could then look forward
to resuming her normal life as an archivist at the University Center on the
other side of the continent.

The listener, Elaine Senn, worker class 2, was not a
professional spy. She had been recruited and trained for this one-time mission
by her father and a close associate, a fellow high-ranking member of the
Council of Guidance. Months before, her father had invited her to a small
gathering at his residence. On arriving, she had been surprised that her father
had included only one other guest, the chairman of the Council.

Her father then allowed his associate to do most of
the talking. Although reluctant at first, as the man described the paranoid
ramblings of doom ascribed to the Grand Patriarch, she was finally convinced it
was a duty, if not an honor, to perform the mission. However, it was not for
the reason given by her father’s friend. Initially, she had not believed
accusations levied against the Grand Patriarch. By accepting the assignment,
she could at least provide information she knew would exonerate the great
leader.

At the beginning, she remained steadfast in her belief
the accusations against the Grand Patriarch were unjust and patently false. She
could not accept that the Grand Patriarch was guilty of his alleged
transgressions. However, in the ensuing days, as she monitored the
conversations between the Grand Patriarch and his advisor, she slowly became convinced
that the great leader had indeed become unstable.  She listened as he
clandestinely plotted to correct imaginary evils created from his obviously
deranged mind. He had even convinced the Guardian of the Way and his own
daughter the crisis was genuine.  

She had been deeply hurt to discover the allegations
against the Grand Patriarch were indeed true. Worse, he was infecting others
with his delusions. She was only consoled by the fact that her information
would help halt the damage caused by their misguided leader. He had to be
stopped. 

Her recordings and report would soon provide her
father and his associate with the damning information that would confirm their
dark suspicions. They could then take action as they saw fit. She surmised her
father and his friend would present the information to the full Council of
Guidance. With this last act, it would be over. Her report would discharge her
responsibility, and she would then be free to return to her interrupted life.
Sitting back on the living area’s lounge, waiting for the evening to come, she
closed her eyes and thought of returning to her comfortable home.

The Rialto’s AI or Hec, the name it now answered to,
finished its long explanation on how the original Hec recorded his personality
and memories, and loaded the resulting overlay into the matrix buffers of a
specially modified AI module. The AI’s voice took on a note of particular pride
when it described the matrix buffer augments, increases in memory capacities
and micro-mechanical interface modifications the human Hec had designed and
installed in the AI. Without these modifications, the personality matrix
overlay could not have been achieved, the AI assured Owens.  

Owens took advantage of a momentary pause to ask a
question. “Just how did you figure to get off the planet as a surface
transport?  All this work was aimed at interstellar travel the original
Hec was so avid about. It seems to me a ground transport would not be the best
choice as a means to get into space.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t intend to get stuck
chauffeuring a ground-bound transport. No, I had something else entirely in
mind, but things just didn’t seem to turn out quite as I had planned,” the AI
responded. The AI finally fully embraced Hec’s identity in its mode of
speech.    

“That sounds like an understatement,” Owens snorted.

“Hey, I really did have a plan,” the AI protested.
“And it was a good one too.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What was it?”

“I was going to incorporate this module into a
servitor, specifically one employed by a commercial star-liner. You know the
kind I mean, the A7 models?” When Owens didn’t respond, the AI continued. “The
A7s are part of a liner’s crew and designated for the exclusive use of VIP
passengers. Once assigned, the A7 serves the passenger both on-board and
accompanies them at ports-of-call along the itinerary.” 

“Now I’m really confused. Just how were you going to
get your module installed in a servitor, a
Starliner’s
A7 servitor?”
Owens asked.

Hec answered, “Actually, that was the easy part.
Lisemore Star cruise ships stop here regularly as part of their exotic animal
tour. Did you know there’s a section in the northern jungle that’s been set
aside as a nature preserve? The preserve has a rather large variety of unique
animals native to Genhome. I understand the stopover is quite popular with the
tourists.”

“Can we get back to my question?”

“Sorry. Anyway, I have… or I should say I had a
maintenance contract with Lisemore to service and upgrade their A6 and A7
servitors. Their liners dock here on a regular scheduled basis, at least once
every quarter. There’s usually one or more A7s brought in for service. At about
the time I had the identity overlay incorporated into the AI module, a liner
had docked for a planned layover of six local days, and sure enough, two A7s
were brought in for a memory upgrade. I was lucky to have the opportunity and
time to make the switch. I finished the modification and loaded the ‘alter-me’
into the personality matrix.”

“So, what happened?” Owens asked. “Obviously something
went wrong.”

“It was bad luck, pure and simple bad luck. The
rejection syndrome had started to accelerate,” the AI explained. “The day I had
set aside to switch the AI mods was the same day I lost the neural connection
to the hover-chair’s servo-manipulator arms. I could move myself, but not my
artificial arms and hands. Until I could go through a risky, emergency medical
procedure for a temporary repair, I wasn’t capable of performing the AI
swap.  To schedule the procedure and allow time for my system to
stabilize, provided the procedure actually worked, didn’t leave me enough time
to do the job.”

“This is becoming quite a story. So, what did you do?”

“Well, like I’ve said all along, I was desperate, but
in that moment of desperation, I had a brainstorm.”

“How do you know that? You said that the personality
transfer had already been made. You were a bodiless mind sitting in a metal
shell.

“I know this because my... that is, it was
Hec’s
last act was to inform me through a transcription of his final intention.”

“Talk about confusing… let me make sure I understand,”
Owens interrupted. “The original,
living
Hec uploaded a message. In it,
he told you of his plan for switching the AI modules.”

“That’s right,” the AI answered. Then the AI told
Owens he received no further updates from the original Hec after receiving the
description of the idea. The first conscious thought the AI had, was
awaking
in the late model Rialto.  It was obvious something had gone very wrong.
 

“Okay,” Owens said, “What
was
his plan?”

“Hec’s message described his idea to engage a
part-time worker whom he… or rather
I
had occasioned to use in the
past,” the AI responded. “He planned to have the worker do the switch. By my
present circumstance, it’s obvious this man must have thoroughly bungled the
job.”  

Accessing Hec’s implanted memories, the AI recalled
there was a number AI modules mounted on service stands arrayed around the work
area in Hec’s shop. AI equipment cases and their interface plugs were
standardized and to the eye, were identical. The AI went on to surmise the
worker had somehow confused the serial numbers he had received from the human
Hec, which was the only way to identify the module designated for the A7.

“When I found myself in the Rialto,” the Hec AI
continued.  “My real self had already made the trip to the cryo-center. I
guess he was slipping fast and left the completion of the final task in what he
thought were the worker’s capable hands. The real ‘me’ probably went to sleep,
serene in the knowledge that everything was taken care of and at least a part
of his dream would finally come true."  

Owens asked, “What do you think happened?”

“In my memories as the human Hec, I remember thinking
I needed to replace the original refurbished AI back in my Rialto so it could
be sold off with the proceeds added to my assets. You know, I was always
tinkering with the thing. I must have lost control before I placed it back in
the Rialto. I can only now assume I had left additional instructions for the
worker to take care of the Rialto.”

“So,” said Owens. “This worker must have mixed up the
modules. You ended up in the Rialto and the Rialto’s original AI ended up in
the A7 servitor.”

“That seems to be the only answer,” agreed the AI. “I
can just imagine the crew’s reaction when the servitor started signaling the
ship’s core computer for data input intended for weather, grid maps and surface
traffic road conditions.”  The AI fell silent.

The silence stretched to a minute. Then, shaking his
head, Owens said, “Okay. Okay, let’s say I believe this wild story. I still
don’t understand why you blew your cover. The shutdown mode is a simple ship
safety protocol. All it does, as I understand it, is prepare you to disconnect from
the Rialto’s onboard reactor so we can power it down for safe storage when
we’re in space. Basically, you go to
sleep
at a minimal power level on
your own internal backup battery. So what triggered the balk?”

“That would have been a real problem. You see the
modification I made to this module took up a lot of space,” the AI answered
sheepishly. “Actually, the modification took up more space than was available,
but I needed to keep the external dimensions unchanged if it were to fit
properly in an AI receptacle.”

“So,” Owens said. “Since the mod needed more space
than was available, you obviously had to sacrifice something.”

“Well, yes,” the AI admitted. “The extra memory and
interface hardware consumed about seventy percent of the space normally used to
accommodate the AI’s battery. The original battery had to be replaced with a
much smaller one. My reserve is now down to twelve standards, instead of the
normal sixty. Still, I didn’t see that as a problem. I expected to have regular
access to the A7’s on-board ship reactor. A servitor is not typically required
to shut down for storage. On a star liner, the A7s have their own standby power
receptacles when not assigned to a passenger.”  

“So when you discovered I had decided to keep the
Rialto and planned to ship you back with me on a thirteen standard day
journey,” Owens began.  “You…”

“Panicked,” the AI finished.  “By the time your
ship would reach the Central Cluster, my matrix would be empty of the
personality overlay and
this
version of me at least, would be
dead.”  The AI again fell silent.

Owens thought a moment, trying to decide what to do
next.  He had spent some time listening to Hec’s unusual story, and the
end of the launch window was now approaching. If it was discovered he hadn’t
turned the Rialto into the local authorities at the first mention of the
illegal, human analog overlay, he could be considered an accessory under the
Act’s restrictive laws.

At a minimum, his PI license would be suspended. At a
maximum, in addition to the suspension, he could be required to serve a short
stint in jail. Of course, these infractions were comparatively minor in
relation to what Hec would suffer, both versions of him. Hec had made a
conscious decision to break the law. The majority of the consequences were therefore
on his head. The AI’s matrix would immediately be wiped clean. The human
version, upon waking sometime in the future and receiving a cure, would then
face a lengthy prison term.  Hec would not soon take up space travel as he
had long dreamed, if at all.

Owens was not unsympathetic to Hec’s plight, but he
had to consider his own welfare as well. He needed to weigh the options. Owens
thought for a few more minutes and then made his decision.