Absorption (30 page)

Since it was customary to do this with your personal mentor at first, Brett couldn’t ask anyone for help. Questions would arise, someone would contact her, and she was so stubborn.

Brett grinned at the thought. Not as stubborn as he was.

The pod had arrived inside the building, which was open to the public, although the more specialized equipment was reserved for Neurons. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. The first door he opened after getting off the elevator led to totaling equipment similar to that which he had recently used under Napoleon’s guidance. The rectangular tank looked ominous. Fortunately Brett didn’t need to use it today.

The next room looked better. There were a bunch of recliners, which he ignored. The treadmills might have been better, keeping his body moving while his mind traveled elsewhere, but they were all grouped together and some people were talking. Brett wanted to be able to concentrate, at least his first time.

The exercise bicycle in the corner would be perfect, and nobody was near it. Brett strode over to claim it, then plugged one on the plastic high bandwidth cables from the wall into his headgear and one into the box on his hip. He started pushing the pedals to keep himself busy, and wondering what he was waiting for. This would be his first time working without Ariel. A large portion of the hive mind would be thinking about improving brain cancer treatment today, and even though the Federalist Worlds were behind overall, Brett’s perspective and knowledge of older technologies might help. When the most difficult surgeries were required, the most technically advanced of the Federalist Worlds had better results than Oceania.

On the other hand, Oceania excelled at finding ways to treat brain cancer without surgery. Brett would be able to help more when he learned more about their techniques. At first he had expected to be briefed, but apparently he would learn as he went.

No time to worry, he would be starting in a few seconds. Since he was hooked up, he could warm up now. He’d start with using the nannies themselves to block capillaries supplying blood to tumors, since his home had no equivalent. A capillary feeding a tumor could sometimes be blocked, starving the tumor of nutrients with little or no effect on surrounding tissue. These tiniest of blood vessels were often so narrow only one red blood cell could pass at a time. Nanomachines could block them, could attach to capillary walls, could clump until nothing could pass.

Of course it wasn’t quite that simple. The memories of quantum mechanics from his school days came back surprisingly vividly. He could visualize the quantum orbital shells that took mathematics to describe. Even chemists sometimes used simplified metaphors for atomic bonding that worked imperfectly. Instead of doing so himself, Brett considered the atoms and molecules of the cells lining the capillary, and those of the nanomachines, especially the parts most likely to come in contact with the cell walls. The electron clouds were quantum distributions of probability, assuming odd shapes as they interacted with atomic nuclei and with each other.

It all worked out, this was one of the parameters of the modern nannies, although specially designed nanomachines could block blood vessels slightly larger than a capillary. Unfortunately this didn’t destroy every tumor. Some of them had more than one source of supply. And the most resistant cancers could chemically signal the body to grow blood vessels.

Although an ineradicable cancer killed its host and could leave no descendents, many cancers had sneaky ways of evolving. Cancer DNA could be transmitted to cells in an entirely different individual via retrovirus, and successful cancers had a much greater chance of surviving. Thus an increasing resistance to both the body’s natural toolkit and medical intervention. Although cancers weren’t intelligent, proteins could combine and recombine in different combinations. Since the immune system had evolved to fight cancer as well as many other diseases, and many of the best techniques on both sides had hung around, in some ways cancer fighting was better treated as a chess match than a struggle to solve a static puzzle.

Or was it? To Brett, that seemed like the sort of idea people who would allow themselves to be aggregated into a hive mind might like. Where was the evidence? He reached to analyze specific Oceanian ‘advances,’ searching both for evidence that they actually worked, and proof that this strange sounding paradigm had helped generate them.

Reviewing the statistics, Brett was forcibly reminded of the difference between Oceanian life spans and those where he came from. The statistics on the clinical trials were very well kept, and he could tell who to contact if he had any questions about them. Either these records were in good order, or here stood a truly massive and pointless bluff that would collapse as soon as he used the contact information.

A few scientists had written about how they got their ideas, and some even saw themselves as struggling against an intelligence which had long been at war with the human (and mammalian before that) immune system. They did not see it as conscious in any way, but they regarded it as having all the capabilities of intelligence to avoid underestimating it. Nobody had effectively proved the concept, since it generated scientific theories instead of being one itself. It didn’t seem to interfere with the productivity of those who used it.

Brett went back to visualizing the chemical bonds as nannies blocked a smaller capillary, and as chemical signals were sent out to prevent blood flow from being rerouted to the tumor.

Then he blinked. Even when the information had been fresh in his mind, when he had finished studying for finals, Brett couldn’t have visualized the three dimensional probability distributions of quantum orbitals without visual aids, let alone the changes as other molecules approached closely enough to influence the shape of those orbitals. Clearly his shift had started, and he functioned as part of the overmind.

Brett reflexively pulled the computer off his belt to check the time, but the answer came into his head as soon as he conceived the question. Seven minutes. He found he was smiling so hard his face hurt. He remembered the brief introduction to the basics of exoskeleton operation which had almost prompted him to try and change career paths, even though exoskeleton operators, unlike doctors, didn’t start as officers. Bending and crushing steel bars with your hands felt so awesome, as did jumping thirty feet in the air unaided. No tool had ever made him feel so much like a Titan – until today.

Powerful tools could still be very dangerous. Now he smiled a different sort of smile. Just thinking about the dangers of the hive mind now would help detect any limitations – or restrictions – on the system.

The biggest worry seemed to be direct stimulation of the pleasure centers of the brain. Over the centuries some had made blocking this their lives’ work, but the occasional clever scofflaw had found ways around. The addiction wasn’t quite incurable, but in some ways it was worse than any drug. The brain had many different chemical receptors, and would eventually develop at least a partial tolerance to even the most powerful narcotic. The sophisticated technology linked with the nannies could pass barrier after barrier.

Pornography was another problem. The system could know someone’s kinks better than they knew their own, presenting images and sensations varied sufficiently to avoid monotony, but with more appeal than anything not individually customized. Direct stimulation of the pleasure centers didn’t have to be involved. Visual and tactile centers could activate the limbic system, which stimulated those centers without external aid.

Sadly for the students of the biology of human intercourse, the sexual regions of the brain were artificially restrained while they did their research. You could study as much as you wanted, but you couldn’t enjoy it – unless it came in useful after you removed your interface.

What he and Ariel had done counted as a misdemeanor instead of a felony, since it was no more addictive than regular sex, and the most common problems were of just the sort he and Ariel had experienced.

Skipping past a few other forbidden pleasures, the next biggest danger lay in financial crimes. Last century the trade secrets of a famous trillionaire had motivated several people to pursue entire careers setting up the crime, which had required the corruption of several other professionals with impeccable reputations. The sudden financial acumen of several people who had no known relationship had been part of what caused the crime to be detected. Precautions had been improved since then.

Ariel’s problem ranked rather low. Her personal information was confidential, but he gathered she would have had to break several rules and sneak past certain safeguards. Despite his initial skepticism Brett began to believe. The archival of scientific data was so transparent here.

On the other hand, once it had happened, the risk of recurrence was greater, so perhaps he had made the right decision.

Brett contemplated Oceania’s consciousness, and wondered if he could believe what he learned. Sometimes it functioned to smooth out disputes over the priorities of various stakeholders. Other times it prevented disorientation from the memory gaps required by confidentiality laws. You might remember mostly the experience of being part of Oceania if your mundane memory had too many holes. A few even ascribed mystical properties to it, hoping it would learn deep religious truths. Hidden desires and tendencies might come to the surface when a group worked together this way, but nobody intimate with Oceania believed the idea of her assimilating or enslaving her members even made sense.

The Oceanians largely blamed themselves for what had happened on Roundhouse, not because they believed Alexander had subverted the individuals who composed ‘him’, but because they had given powerful technology to one side of a civil war. Alexander’s war crimes were not too different from ones of previous generations on Roundhouse. A fragile peace had been created by allowing some of the most egregious crimes to be blamed on the technology used to commit them. Historians disagreed about the extent to which various representatives of the Federalist Worlds had realized what they were doing, but even those most critical of Oceania didn’t believe an entity had done things unintended by the citizens of Roundhouse who composed it.

Only they couldn’t say so loudly and clearly. Doing so would have broken the fragile peace established by the Federalist Worlds, probably sent Roundhouse into another cycle of atrocious wars.

This reversal of everything Brett had been taught stunned him momentarily. The data available to him was just too complete for him to doubt it. He should be delighted. Against hope, he had come upon definitive proof that the Federalist Worlds had no need to wage war. Or at least not for any variation of the reasons which had concerned him up to now.

Except he needed a way to convince his superiors now. And failure really would make him personally responsible for a devastating war. He could see a few people accepting his conclusion: Colonel Barr, Ambassador Williams, Joyce Rollers. But Pendergastman?

Surely the time had come to find some way to keep the peace on Roundhouse without disinformation.

The idea that came into Brett’s head remained unsourced, unlike most of the things he had learned from Oceania. If the Oceanian government had extended secret feelers to the government of the Federalist Worlds sharing information, it wouldn’t be available here. Either government secrets were not shared using Oceania, or the most crippling confidentiality protocols were used.

He sighed in frustration. He remembered his experiences with the book, ‘Alexander and His Mother.’ Could his superiors already know this, or a piece of it?

Thinking back through the changes that had come over him, mostly gradual except for the C series, Brett realized how hard he would have been to persuade if he had not lived through all this.

A terrible task lay before him, but Oceania could help. He thought about how to put together a list of balanced documents, some of which might give away a few Oceanian secrets, but which would help scientists confirm what now seemed so obvious to him.

Instead of a flood of helpful ideas came the certainly that nobody had waited around for him to think of this. A trace of annoyance leaked into his mind, that he could suppose nobody had thought of this yet.

With growing dismay he contemplated the vast array of information which had been provided his superiors. All of which they had kept secret from him. He didn’t believe any were deliberately conspiring to bring about a war they knew was unneeded. Yet he remembered how much of his own fear had proved to be instinctive rather than rational, imagined people studying data that seemed to disprove what was so obviously true, and concluding that in it lay a snare from which humanity must be protected.

And Oceania could no more surrender to avoid war than the Space Force could back down.

Brett couldn’t be blamed for failure to do the impossible, yet he would blame himself.

Then he became aware of another choice he needed to make. Those who had helped feed him information as soon as he imagined the need for it would know something of his thoughts. Would it be treason to let them keep those memories instead? Of course not, he thought savagely. Part of his job lay in convincing the Oceanians how serious they were. Deliberately he flagged some of his personal fears as non-confidential, allowing them to keep memories not merely of what he feared would happen, but why. Of course they had meant him to do that to get the Oceanians to yield, which he could no longer imagine – but orders were orders, when he chose to regard them so.