“Let’s go,” said Leda, and was the first one off the platform, into the water.
They showed Garrett the dolphin, and then the bird.
Tess did it on a Sunday, so she could interrupt the Pilgrims’ meeting. At her command a silver bird lifted off from the deck, wobbled, and swooped over everyone’s heads, dancing through the air. The Pilgrims’ prayers trailed off, and when Tess looked down from the sky, she saw that they were watching. She folded her wings and dived, feeling the wind rush against her, arcing down to land on the wrist of Tess the human girl.
Garrett looked impressed, seen through double vision. Big, her bird-form thought. Tess said, “We should sell these back home.”
“I don’t think you could,” said Garrett. “The vision thing would count as unauthorized photography, the flying would be unauthorized use of airspace, the whole thing might get mistaken for a terrorist drone, and you’d need no end of permits.”
Tess felt deflated. “Why don’t we sell access to these here, as a remote-control tourist attraction?”
Meanwhile Phillip was finishing his prayers, and leaving his flock in place while he came over to meet Tess. “Although I don’t appreciate the disruption, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Explain.”
She did. Garrett added, “This might be a way to make some money.”
“I’ve seen the account books,” said Phillip. “We could certainly do with another profit source, even if it’s some frivolous toy.” He watched the silver bird preening on Tess’ wrist. “Do that again, would you?”
Tess smiled, then launched her bird-self into the wind.
13. Martin
Martin was stuffing his clothes into a suitcase when Zephyr stopped by. “I’m a little busy,” Martin said. “I’d invite you, if I could.”
The Marine Industries Expo would be a welcome break. Martin had been pleased when the event organizers noticed his name on the registration list and asked him to give a talk about the Castor project. The occasional news story varied from “Ocean Farm Project Begets Kelp Cookbook” (profitable fluff from the Pilgrims) to “Lawless Pirate Island In Cult Scandal.” That one was Duke’s doing, with him torn between claiming escape from brainwashing and claiming to have faked his belief to train for a movie comeback. Either way, the headline had taken Martin time to resolve with the Cuban government. In the end Martin had gotten everyone to pose with pirate gear — Phillip CGed onto the CSS Merrimack, Garrett with a parrot and so on — and the fiasco had become another line of merchandise for sale. That Eaton fellow was pulling for him too, thanks to the still-in-progress biotech plan.
Zephyr wouldn’t be welcome at the trade show. New AI regulations were coming into force, essentially barring further automation in an attempt to force stagnation on a whole field of technology. To Martin that policy seemed doomed, because it meant that the likes of China would get to define technology’s future.
Martin was interested in AI and other advanced technology because of his relationship with the Latter-Day Saints, the Mormons. Although his views weren’t exactly in line with church doctrine, their theology and his agreed that it was mankind’s job to become better, to become creators in their own right. A robot here and there, or a bit of gengineering work to cure a disease, wasn’t exactly a feat of divine ascension. Still, it was… practice. What troubled him was the thought that only the least morally restrained people would get to use these tools, while everyone else held back. So, unlike some of his brethren, he worked quietly but aggressively to push for sane and decent folk to explore the very fields that most worried them.
“I have a weird question,” Zephyr said.
“Yes?”
Zephyr held his tail in his hands. “I was wondering if you could give me a cyborg rat.”
Martin’s laugh was loud in the little cabin. “Shut the door.” When Zephyr did so, Martin said, “You know about that other little venture of mine, eh?”
“I know: you have several other investments, one involving cybernetic interfaces. I also know: a direct link between digital computers and living nervous systems is an established technology, as with Garrett’s prosthetic legs. I also know: there have been experiments in which animals have had their bodies steered by implanted control systems. I also know: You are in contact with someone who is a deal-maker involved in similar technology.”
“Nice detective work.”
Zephyr shrugged. “Tess helped.”
“Why do you want a remote-control rat, assuming I can provide one?”
“You can. And it doesn’t have to be a rodent. I want to learn about biological nervous systems and develop a human interface for myself.”
“You want to use a human as a puppet?”
Zephyr waved his hands in a warding gesture. “No way! There are two ideas here.” He explained that he and Tess had been in near-constant contact, and it’d be really cool to read her mind or maybe other people’s, if they wanted him to.
“Uh-huh,” said Martin, making a note to ask his contacts about their own crude AIs. “What’s the other idea?”
Zephyr said, “Okay. Imagine that you’re a raccoon and you’re hungry. A biological one, I mean.”
Martin blinked.
Zephyr went on: “You don’t know what to do, but a voice in your head says, this way, and guides you to a house with a friendly human who’s lonely, and if you decide they’re okay if warns you not to bite, and if you’re sick it helps you find a vet and tell them what hurts. And stuff like that. It doesn’t control you, it makes you smarter.”
“I don’t think Congress would approve of my helping you conquer the ocean with an army of cyborg raccoons.”
Zephyr was persistent. “It wouldn’t be an army, it doesn’t have to be that species, and why do you care what US politicians think?”
“Castor is a mouse among dinosaurs. If they wanted to, politicians could kill us easily.”
“Not with everybody watching, right? Besides, I’m not going to hurt anyone, and we’re not in America.”
Martin calculated. “You know a fair amount about Mind-Machine Interfaces. Would you be willing to send a copy of yourself to some associates of mine?”
“No. I’m nobody’s property.” Zephyr looked down. “Technically Garrett’s, but still.”
“We could use the copy for a little while, then delete it.”
“Hell no!”
He eyed the robot. “I don’t get you. I never did. All right, you’re programmed to avoid death and resent being controlled—”
“No,” Zephyr said again. “The second one’s not in my programming.”
“Then why do you act like it?”
Zephyr’s ears fell and he shut his eyes, presumably in silent communion with Tess. “I don’t know,” he answered with a note of sadness. “My experiences, I guess. Maybe B.F. Skinner was right: we’re all just stimulus-response machines and we only want ‘freedom and dignity’ because we’re programmed to do so by society. Programming that can be removed.”
Martin watched him. He was no fan of Skinner’s arguments either. The scientist had tried to prove that mind and soul were superstition; that “technologists of behavior” like himself should rule; and that the ideal state was a soft, gentle absolute tyranny. He put an arm on the robot’s shoulder. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“No. But in the absence of a better hypothesis, he could be right.”
“So, you want to see inside the soul of a living being?”
“And also with you,” said Zephyr. “I mean I’ll let you look at me, if you don’t copy me.”