Their voices were like echoes in Flattery's mind.
Bickeclass="underline" "Think of a threshold to be overcome. Several kinds of pressure will overcome that threshold. They're the pressures involved in entropy - or the pressures of proliferating variability: call that one life. Entropy on one side, life on the other. Each drives past the threshold at a certain pressure level. When one gets through, that turns on the Consciousness Factor."
Prudence: "Which is it, homeostat or filter?"
Bickeclass="underline" "Both."
Flattery thought then of the total ship, the great machine whose continued life required a certain optimum organization - an ordering process. That involved entropy, certainly, because the system of a total ship tended to settle into a uniform distribution of its energies.
As far as the ship is concerned, order is more natural than chaos, Flattery thought. But we're playing the ship as though all its parts were an orchestra and Bickel the director. Bickel alone has the score to achieve the music we want.
Consciousness.
Bickeclass="underline" "I tell you, Prue, consciousness has to be something that flows against the current of time. Time in which it's embedded."
Prudence: "I don't know. When a cell block fires, that sets up an impulse. The impulse divides and forms a multi-branched structure with a single stem - in the nerve-nets, the embedding space. The stem contains that original firing, of course, and you have transmission shooting out through four-dimensional space - it includes time."
Bickeclass="underline" "And consciousness is like a boat breasting that flow."
Prudence: "Against the flow? You have to include time in the diagram, certainly, but the firing and branching are like a complex solid pushed into time, like the veins in a four-dimensional leaf."
Bickeclass="underline" "Think of the ship's AAT system. What's that? The thing takes hundreds of duplicates on a single message - all the duplicates having been transmitted in a single, compressed burst... a single firing - and it slows them down, compares them, breaks off the error stems and passes along to you the translated corrected message."
Prudence: "But consciousness doesn't enter the picture until the message reaches its human receiver."
Bickeclass="underline" "Negative feedback, Prue. Input adjusted to the output. If the system malfunctions, the human operator repairs it, like repairing a dam in a stream so you catch a significant amount of the flow."
Prudence (looking up from a length of neuron fiber she was feeding into a micro-manipulator): "Consciousness...ind of negative feedback?"
Bickeclass="underline" "You ever think, Prue, that negative feedback is the most terrifying perfectionist in the universe? It won't permit failure. It's designed to keep the system running between certain limits no matter what the disturbance."
Prudence: "But... these Ox circuits... you've deliberately introduced errors that aren't -"
Bickeclass="underline" "Why not? All our conventional ideas about feedback imply a certain uniformity of environment. But we live in a nonuniform universe. That place out there isn't completely predictable. We've got to keep it off balance out there... by changing the rules ourselves at random."
Order opposed to chaos, Flattery thought glancing at the overhead screen. Lord! How that block-upon-block extrusion was spreading out from the computer wall! It had proliferated into two major growths with a jungle of vinelike pseudoneuron sheafs between them and around them and over them.
Bickel lay on his back working beneath the structure. Loops of the main bus connections hung down just above his knees.
We are not awake, Flattery thought.
Oh, God! How easy it'd be to give up right now! He was here in the driver's seat, wasn't he? One of the triggers was at hand. Who'd ever know? The ship would die... the problem end. Let the bastards at UMB try again... with somebody else.
But that was the real problem: they'd try again, all right, but not with somebody else.
The same miserable charade - over and over and over!
Look at Prue down there, he thought. She's stopped her anti-S injections. She's experimenting with her body chemistry. She'll be posturing and twisting in front of Bickel pretty soon. And the only way he sees her is as an expert with the micro-manipulator. She does good work!
We are not awake.
Consciousness itself created variety, developed offshoot probabilities. And variety thrived on variety. The very act of playing their own special music produced the unpredictable - produced errors.
Where does communication break down?
Bickel (grunting as he squirmed out from beneath the Ox): "The generalized body and the specialized brain, Prue - put 'em together and what've you got? Illusion. That's the buffer, illusion. It's the protective layer that lets virtually incompatible systems get in bed together. Consciousness is a producer of illusions."
Prudence: "Where'd you store the R4DBd neuron reel?"
Bickeclass="underline" "Second rack, left end of the bench. Now, you take the illusion of central position."
Prudence: "That's the natural result of a baby's helpless dependence on its environment. A baby is the center of the universe. We never lose that memory."
Bickeclass="underline" "Well, individual sense impressions are something like pebbles dropped in a four-dimensional pond. Consciousness locks onto the waves created by those pebbles, and gives them a spatial and temporal integration so they can be interpreted. Consciousness has to make sense out of things. But its major tool is illusion."
Spatio-temporal integration, Flattery thought.
The identity that was the ship - their Tin Egg - it lacked a certain integrating ability at the moment. Instead of an efficient self-regulating force, the ship was making do with the inadequate feedback system represented by four humans loosely connected to its "nervous system."
That was one way of looking at it.
But there was a point in the ship's future where damage passed beyond their ability to recover. The humans were failing.
Flattery felt then a deep bitterness toward the society that had sent this frail cargo into nowhere. He knew the reasons but reasons had never prevented bitterness.
"Think of society as a human construction, a very sophisticated defense mechanism," Hempstead and his cohorts had said. "Society's restrictions get bred into the cells themselves by a process of selection. And these restrictions become part of the self-regulating feedback in society's governing systems. There's a serious question whether humans actually can break out of their self-regulated pattern. It takes audacious methods indeed to explore beyond that pattern.
The law was stated, Flattery knew, thusly: "Individual human experience is not the overriding control factor in human behavior. The cellular social pattern dominates."
Flattery deliberately rapped his knuckles against the edge of his action couch to shock himself out of this reverie. He focused on the console, saw he had the usual temperature adjustments to make. The automatics could never quite hold the line.
Bickeclass="underline" "Watch those lengths in the time-delay circuits. You'll confuse the Ox's psychological present."
Prudence: "Its what?"
Bickeclass="underline" "Its psychological present - its 'specious present' - what you experience in any given instant: that short interval you call now. Prof. Ferrel - remember old Prof. Ferrel-barrel?"
Prudence: "Who could forget Hempstead's son-in-law?"
Bickeclass="underline" "Yeah, but he wasn't stupid. We were on the satellite tracker once - him on his side of the sterile wall and me on ours. And he said: 'Look at that thing move!' It was a shuttle ship coming in from earth. And he said: 'You know for a fact it's changing position fast as hell. But you seem to see all those position changes right now - in the present. No sharp edges; just a flow. That's the "specious present," boy. Don't you ever forget it.' And I never did."