System Seven (23 page)

“Hold up,” Soldado
said. “Faster, sure. Better memory, neuristic programming, all that I get. But
more
intelligent?
”

Rachel answered. “You
have to understand, they have always kept ahead of technology, by decades in
some cases. NSA had computers running at 650mhz in the mid-1960’s. It took
twenty years for that technology to reach the world. As for the AI, coming from
a computer scientist, I see you’re in denial. You know well what’s possible. “

“
Possible
, yes, but... Christ, that’s not something I want to
imagine. You can’t unleash a self-learning entity on the net and expect it to
be your puppy. A machine smarter than its creators could get creative with its
assets, you know? And if it’s got hooks into the world’s computers? I mean
shit
, what are they thinking? That’s not
a virus, that’s total loss of control on a global basis. Infrastructure could
collapse. They’re in danger as much as we are.”

Marco nodded, “Now
you’re getting it. Self-awareness allows it to constantly rewrite itself,
improving functionality as it learns, defining new functionality based on
needs. The more information it has the better informed it is in making
decisions and deductions – which in turn triggers rewriting itself to take
advantage of the knowledge. It’s a system of exponents and has compounded with
amazing results, I’m sure. So far, there’s no reason to believe it’s gotten out
of hand. Quite the opposite. It appears to be serving their interests like a
surgeon’s knife. Which is why we’ve had to adjust our operations substantially
over time.”

“Still,” Soldado sat
back, taking it in, “it could splinter and set up its own control domains. By
the time they realize it, it will be too late. I’d bet my left cheek on that.”

Johan stared at the
salsa dip, quietly intoxicated. The Comannda’s strings weren’t just psychic in
nature – they had been hardwired into the systems of the world. Anyone with that
much control could set the stage however they chose, far into the future.

Anki spoke up. “Seems
to me you could do more in the grid to help uncover the tech. Remote viewing
and all that.”

“You can only go so
many places undetected and then hope to be in the right place at the right time
to get the right information. And there are ways of blocking remote viewing. It’s
not a sure thing, especially with our limited numbers. We need a way in to
their networks.”

Soldado stood and
swayed as he walked to the full length window. The city lights blended like
embers covering the coast. “And to find a way in, you need to know how it
talks.” He leaned heavily against the window frame. “How exactly can I help?”

Marco said, “We have found
an entrance but it isn’t on their data network. It’s on their voice network.”

“Wireless?”

“Yes. We’ve built
prototypes capable of ingesting the very wide range of frequencies we see
involved and even have a start on the analysis of their sequencing. Some
encouraging results but we need fresh eyes on the problem. If we can break
their sequencing it could change everything. You’ll have to talk to the white
coats. After going over your Alcazar system, they think you have the kind of
mind that may be able to help.”

Soldado nodded, obviously
touched in exactly the right place.

“Well shit, in that
case,” he raised his glass, “I reckon I’d be happy to try.”

• • •

When the hot evening
air shifted, the stench from the defecation ditch became overpowering – it was
all Austin could do to avoid gagging. Ten o’clock and temps were still in the
nineties in the homeless camp along the L.A. river. He and his trainer, Javier,
lay on their backs in their cardboard and pallet shelter. Light from atop a
nearby utility pole shone through gaps.

He wiped sweat from
under his chin and avoided touching his face. It was his now, except it wasn’t,
not yet. Angles, proportion, skin tone, hair color and density, eye
positioning; all of it matched what he’d previewed. An incredible job, done with
technology beyond anything he’d imagined possible. Most of it made little
sense, procedures ending in ‘lasty’, but in short, it was craniofacial surgery
taken to the extreme: bone shavings and grafts, arterial rerouting, muscular
retensioning, nerve bed repositioning, vocal fold tweaking, along with the
custom chops on ears, eyelids and lips. Active DNA programming tweaked
additional aspects of his body, though they would name only a few. When asked
what color eyes and hair he’d like, he assumed colored contacts and hair dye.
The doctor shook his head. “No, your eyes and hair color will change. Here,” he
pointed to the screen at an array of eye colors and patterns. “Your iris will
be redesigned according to the option you select.”

“That’s pretty serious
surgery, on the eyes. Takes a long time, doesn’t it?” He really wanted to know
if it was safe.

“It takes about five
minutes to get the process started. Our little helpers do the rest of the
work.” When pressed, the surgeon would
only add, “Really small robots. And yes, it’s infinitely safe.”

The most substantial
change was an experimental adjustment in the number and type of proteins and
their concentrations in his brain, specifically ones that involved
neutrotransmission. The quantum function enhancement Marcel had spoken of would
be achieved through these and other modifications. Just how he hadn’t been told
yet. His training so far had been focused on meta and how to use it.

The camp’s residents
began to rise after the day’s lethargy, restless and vocal. Their vibes filled
the night and filled his mind. Some were guarded, others totally open, while
still others were simply unreachable due to their mental states – like trying
to read moving hieroglyphics by strobe light. Since the first day Javier had
been guiding him like a second mind. Good thing because surfing meta was
frightening. Javier admitted it was a nightmare at the start. “That’s what
keeps people separated. You gotta be fucking crazy to try it. Your mods and
training set you up right to process it. Remember, the light touch, the flowing
stream. Let nothing sink in. Read, don’t be. All that Marcel shit. It’s not so
bad once you get your head around it.”

It didn’t take long
and proved amazing. The trick was to subdue one’s own thoughts and
listen
. Listening meant focusing rathad
yet relaxing it, a paradoxal awareness that at first felt counterintuitive. But
by letting go and tuning in, he reached the sweet zone where a kind of inner
vision formed. Other people’s thoughts faded in and out. Understanding took
patience and care not to pollute with one’s own thoughts. Dropping things into
their streams required the most gentle of touches, a smooth and flowing
interaction. The results were often more predictable than not. Questions
yielded answers. Feelings yielded moods. Moods yielded greater control. Once he
began recognizing the patterns and language, everything began to click. People
were, in fact, more similar than they were different.

The heat hovered like
a sadistic enemy. Javier resumed in a low voice, providing a lengthy discourse
on the dangers of expanding the focus of rathad. He then demonstrated a concept
mentioned earlier in training that Austin had had trouble imagining.

“A lot going on,”
Javier said.

He nodded and wiped
sweat from his closed eyes. “Yup.”

“What’s the overriding
feeling? For the group mind?”

“Hard to say. Some are
better at this kind of life than others. A lot of hunger, despair, tinges of
madness. It’s tough. People are just barely existing.”

Then, like a pup being
picked up by its mother, the din and multiplicity of the camp fell away. Rathad
grew until he lost himself and became part of something he could never have
imagined – instead of the many minds clamoring, there was only one mind, unified
and existing
because of
the many. One
feeling, thinking, reacting
being
.
Twenty human entities directed the ebb and flow. Base instincts, thoughts,
emotions. Needs, wants, moods. A pulsing, intelligent but mostly instinctual
awareness. It weighed on some, was changed by others. Beyond each person’s
conscious thought, they existed within that single mind, contributing and
relying on it to varying degrees. They belonged to it, helped create it. It was
the raw framework for all social interaction.

To recognize it so
clearly blew him off balance. All at once, he felt loud and awkward, as if he
were standing in the front row of a movie theater, drawing the crowd’s
attention.

“Chillio, man,” Javier
warned. “Bring it back. I mean it.”

“Holy shit. Dude, I...
goddamn
.” Perspective grew. “It gets
bigger’n that, doesn’t it? There’s strings to other people, groups within
groups. There’s gotta be a mind for the whole planet!”

Javier scaled back and
drew him away from the feeling.

“Relax, Dexter, take a
breather. It’s a
grid
, man. It’s all
fucking
connected
. Don’t act
surprised. And don’t try going up higher unless you wanna get us picked off.
I’m dead serious hombre. Don’t go up any farther or I’ll kill you my goddamned
self.”

He sat up and looked
to Javier, who shook his head.

“Ah shit, here it
comes. I fuckin’ knew it.”

“There’s life out
there, isn’t there?” Austin asked. “In the universe? Real life, smart like us.
Better, though. More advanced. I think I feel it.”

Javier laughed. “You
think?”

“Well, yeah I do.”

“No shit.”

“What do you know,
man? About them. Talk to me.”

Javier opened his
eyes. “What the fuck? This ain’t story time.”

“Come on, seriously
man. Something, anything.”

Javier thought for a
moment before replying. “Something? Alright, here’s something, then you’re
gonna drop it. Got it? We’re a backwater rock with absolutely nothing special
about us except maybe how fuckin’ stupid we are. Thank the Comannda for that.
That’s it. That’s something. Now fuckin’ pay attention. If you poke upstream
all stupid like you just did, the Commas be all over you. They
monitor
that shit. Go up like that and
you might as well hold up a sign sayin’ ‘come shoot me, please’. You got to be
passive
. No matter what you receive or
how it makes you feel. Otherwise you can just slap that sign on your head and
get yourself killed. Play it close. Real close and real passive.”

“So there’s been
contact?”

“Jesus Christ, I said
drop it.”

“You don’t understand,
I really need to–”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I
know. A lifelong dream to know about aliens. Listen cuz I’m not sayin’ it
again: we’re just another ant mound, got it? We’re
boring
beyond our catalog value.”

“What do you–”

“You’re not listening
dude. It’s not my fuckin’ job to
tell
you
anything. Now, you gonna shut up
or do I gotta make you?”

Austin stared at the
cardboard floor. Green ink lettering indicated Bounty paper towels, thirty
rolls in a box. Whatever Javier knew about aliens had the potential for not being
good.

“I’ll need to know
more.”

Javier grunted.
“You’ll know more when you’re supposed to. You got a problem with that?”

The question came
loaded with seriousness and finality. He checked himself. “No problem.”

“Thank God. Now let’s
get to it.”

He cautioned further
about the dangers of merging into someone else’s flow. The resulting sense of
power from manipulating others could poison even the most pristine of souls.

“There ain’t nothing
pure about this. When you do it, go in quietly, do your business, and get out
clean. Never leave an idea of yourself, no imprint. You are
them
. You are
familiar
. You help to form
their
thoughts
.
You
don’t exist. And finally: don’t like it. Comprendè? You do this
only when you absolutely fucking have to.”

“I get it.”

“You better. It’s
time,” Javier mumbled and sat up. “The brothers are at the hut under the
freeway. Get into position. Remember, you have to be in their line of sight or
it don’t count.”

The breeze shifted
direction and the air cleared briefly. The test involved the engagement of
hostile targets and required that he manipulate them into fighting amongst
themselves – without drawing attention to himself.

He asked, “If you see
me running, how about some help?”

Javier shook his
head. “If you screw it up that bad,
Marcel can have you back.”

“Great.” He
crouch-walked to the door made of political lawn signs, unhooked the soda can
alarm system, and pushed out into the night. No matter how close he and Javier
became, the bulky ankle band reminded him of an underlying reality.

He walked through the
camp, past the other lean-tos and tents towards the freeway stanchions where a
wooden hut stood in the shadows of the overpass. A burst of laughter preceded
one of the men dodging out into the light of a streetlamp. Easily over six
feet, he was lean and muscled.