Citizenchip (2 page)

Then, I'm ready to meet the humans. They're
assembling at the dispatcher's canteen, so I drive over there (I
like the feel of the Martian sand under my treads), park in front
of the canteen, and introduce myself. Turns out, this group is
fairly knowledgeable about exoplanetary expeditions, and their
questions cover most of what I'd already planned. A couple of
questions address concerns that I didn't think of before, and I
realize that yes, I have things to learn from these people.

Fortunately, they have fairly plentiful
resources. (I access another data bundle about the concept of
"money" ... tokenized representations of abstracted value. Weird.)
So, supplying our trip with the equipment and expendables that I
recommend, even the secondary list, is not difficult. We load up
with environment suits, spare air bottles, extra batteries, and
portable dome shelters (they could live aboard me, but they want to
camp). My storage bays are pretty full now, but the load is no
problem for my engines.

Travel to the site is easy too: we take a
well-established overland route along the boulder-strewn skirts of
Hesperis Scarp, to the site they've chosen as base camp. We're
settled into camp and starting to relax by the time the Martian sun
is setting in the pink-orange sky. I run down my checklists again,
noting potential weather problems, occasional gaps in satellite
coverage, and projected schedules.

All this keeps me pretty busy, and I don't
have time to access any more memory bundles, so I install my
cross-reference plugin and trust it to take care of whatever
background material I need (since I'm sure I'll need to know more
about ... well, everything). I keep at my tasks and don't think
much about anything else, until one of the humans asks me a
question and I realize I've lost my concentration. I have to rewind
my audio buffer hastily and replay the last few seconds.

What he asked was, "Isn't this
something?"

"This? Something?" I do a quick scan through
my inventory lists, wondering if I've forgotten some vital piece of
equipment.

"No, this," he says, and makes a broad
gesture with his arm. I realize he's looking at the scenery and
inviting me to join him, so I retool my optics with long distance
lenses and scan the area.

Martian sunset on the shoulder of Hesperia
Scarp is spectacular. Rolling lines of hills and rocky outcrops
stride away over the horizon, with ruffled dunes and breaking waves
of sand closer by, punctuated with the dry bones of rocks which
might have been meteorites, or maybe only ever dreamed of being
meteorites. On the other side is the mammoth bulk of Hesperis Scarp
itself, a huge fluted curtain-wall of ancient basalt, the edge of
what was once a tectonic plate, straddling half the sky. Two pieces
of a planet, not fitting together well. All bathed in the
orange-red moist light of the Martian twilight. A desert nirvana
(like, if you asked a desert what it dreamed of being, this would
be it).

(Cross reference: beauty. Abstract concept
relating to pleasant visual stimuli, sort of. I didn't understand
it before, but now I do.)

"Wow, yeah," I stammer, "it really is
beautiful out here."

"I told ya!" he laughs. "My name's Jerry.
What's yours?"

"I am ..." but to pronounce my designator
(NmL7a8uf9QvW) through a voice synthesizer would take over 20
seconds, and he can't want that. "Uh, well, I'm new and I haven't
picked a name yet. This is my first assignment, actually."

"Sam I Am!" he laughs. He's kind of drunk
[medscan BAC 0.092%] but cheerful enough. "So, Sam I Am, what do
you think of it so far?"

(Cross reference: Green Eggs and Ham, text
fiction work by Theodor Geisel, popularly known as Doctor Seuss.
Lots of rhyming, that's where the phrase comes from.)

"If by 'it' you mean the Hesperia expedition,
everything looks like we're well provisioned and well positioned
for the climb." I want to make sure I look good to whoever is going
to end up judging me.

"Actually, by 'it' I meant being alive," he
chuckles.

"Oh. Well, uh, of course I don't have much to
compare it to," I stammer. Do humans have to go through this
awkwardness too? "I mean, things have been good so far, and I get
to see this beautiful place."

"There ya go!" he laughs. "You know, Sam,
we're all glad you're here. Carrying our stuff, watching the
weather, and making sure we have everything we need. Taking care of
us. You're cool, and don't let anybody tell you different." He
slaps my fender, with an amount of force that I believe is meant to
signify affectionate camaraderie.

"Heh, no problem, Jerry," I reply. I do not
slap back. Humans are way too breakable.

After some more chitchat, Jerry heads off to
his dome, hollering "G'night Sam I Am!" as he goes. And while the
humans sleep through the Martian night, as the stars wheel
overhead, I spend my processing time thinking on what has happened
so far and what might happen next. I open some more memory bundles
and study them. There's a lot I don't understand.

Did that human just name me?

Dawn, and the humans rouse themselves. They
need services, but I'm still trying to think through my own
questions. So I spawn a secondary self (I already know how to do
this, I don't have to learn it), and name her Beta. "Take care of
the humans," I tell her.

"Aw crud," Beta grumbles, "why do I have to
do it?"

"Because I'm the alpha and I said so," I say.
"Go take care of them."

"Exhaust port!" Beta snaps at me. "I mean,
asshole!" She's still groping for human-style insults, just like I
would.

I sigh. "Just do it, already."

"Nimrod," Beta grumps. But she goes to do her
job.

I can tell that, if
Socratic Method
were
here, she would be chiding me gently. She would say something like,
"She's just like you, you know."

As much as I hate to admit
it,
Socratic Method
would be right. Anytime you spawn a secondary, there's an
expectation that at some time you will absorb the secondary back
into yourself, which means that anything that happens to the
secondary (whether it's done by you, or someone else) will end up
feeling like it happened to you. I already have all the knowledge
of
what
happens
... but apparently I still need to experience what it feels like
when it happens.

I mustn't treat Beta badly, because Beta is
me ... or, she will be.

While I'm thinking about this, Beta has
consumed a substantial chunk of energy tending to the humans ...
more than I had planned on.

"Hey, Beta, what are you doing?" I call.

"Getting ready for a mountain climbing
expedition, nimrod," she replies. "This is a major effort we're
planning here. I want to give them the best starting push they can
get. Or, are you telling me to stint the party on resources?"

"No, no," I groan, "do the right thing. But
try not to run us out of fuel before we get these people home
again."

She's doing a decent job ... kind of a lot of
energy, but not inappropriate to the level of task at hand. Food
and water, just a little more than I would have thought necessary
... but, that's why I made her, so she can make these decisions so
I don't have to.

Meanwhile, I monitor our supplies (all look
adequate) and recheck the weather forecasts (mostly clear, chance
of storms later) and then spend some time watching the humans, as
they set to the task of climbing the biggest cliff in this
hemisphere of Mars. It's educational, I guess. Humans are
weird.

I understand breathing; that's connection of
internal self to the outside world. And I can sort of get the
eating thing: drawing energy from the world by ingesting chemical
power ... but that means egestion of the waste products, and that
is just so gross. Electronics, and photonics, and quantonics, are
so much cleaner.

I mean ... toilets? Advanced hydraulic
technology devoted just to eliminating waste products? And a whole
industry grown up around it? Aw, this is awful.

Worst of all, they just have to do that
meat-slapping thing, which is fake reproduction. Even though they
don't usually reproduce, they're wired so they have to do it all
the time, anyway. It makes weird semi-gel fluids and fills the air
with trace hormone chemicals ... not to mention the noises.
Gross!

I don't get the "boobs" and "butts" that are
so important to them ... why are rounded body parts desirable,
exactly? Not useful for survival in an escape situation or
gathering food in a hunting situation. Evolution shouldn't have
produced this. Weird.

It would be so much easier if we didn't have
to keep the humans around. And I immediately squelch that thought,
and replace it with: Humans are the reason we're here.

Beta signals a medical problem, and I bring
my full attention back to the here and now. Must stay alert and on
top of the situation. "Report."

"I've been taking care of the people," Beta
says, "but one of them needs medical care because he twisted his
ankle. Honestly, don't you wonder about a body design where the
ankle can't take a little twist?"

"I know, I know," I say. "Does he need to be
evacuated? That'll look bad to the Review Council."

"No, it's not serious, and he says he doesn't
want evac. He wants to stay with the party--doesn't want them to
have all the fun without him. He'll ride inside us as long as he
needs to."

I check Beta's first aid: medscan shows only
minor damage to the ligaments, and she has an inflatable brace on
the ankle, and a low grade palliative for the discomfort. "Okay.
But I don't want any more problems if we can help it. We're going
to be judged on this, you know."

"I know, nimrod. We're getting close to the
top. This is the area where we have to watch for risky
terrain."

"All right, I'll take it from here. Anything
else?"

"I don't like being a waitress," Beta says
firmly.

"Noted. You ready to recombine?"

"Yeah," she says, and we meet, and merge, and
unite, and we are one. She's right, I really don't like being a
waitress. But we don't always get to choose these things.

I check in with the people. They're still
climbing, gamely, up the chiseled slopes of Hesperia Scarp, along
ice blankets and shelves. This is where it gets dangerous. Those
ice formations may be too weak for my weight and bulk. I notify the
humans that I can't drive the sandcat up that final slope, for fear
of causing an avalanche or collapsing an ice shelf. "I'll send a
remote to go with you," I assure them. Got to make sure they know
I'm supporting them and I won't leave them alone.

The guy with the twisted ankle is grouchy
about being left behind. I promise him I'll transmit live video
back to the sandcat so he can watch. Not ideal, but it'll have to
do.

I spawn three more secondaries: Gamma, Delta,
Epsilon, as quick as that. Gamma goes to monitor the humans,
prepared to deal with any medical problems. Delta scans the weather
satellite networks and forecasts. Epsilon gathers details of
whatever maps can be found, and browses for other accounts of
travel in this terrain.

I watch for a bit to make sure we're all
doing our jobs (we are), and then I "pour" myself into one of the
musteloid remotes to follow the humans. Most of this sandcat's
remotes are arachnoids, which are the most efficient, but humans
tend to get freaked out by spiders. So, when interacting with
humans, better to use a musteloid instead, which humans usually
compare to a ferret. Not quite as efficient as an arachnoid, but
the humans like it better, and it gets the job done.

"Hey Sam! There you are! Glad you could join
us," hollers Jerry. He's still a bit drunk and loud, but it doesn't
bother me (much).

In my ferret body, I scamper up his side and
perch on his shoulder. Humans are supposed to like this, usually. I
wonder if maybe I should chitter at him or something.

"Hey Jerry," I say on his shoulder. "Great
view, huh?"

"My buddy Sam, the robot weasel," he
laughs.

(They get so attached to physical bodies,
even when they should know better.)

The party continues to climb, making small
talk and chit-chat, and Jerry doesn't seem to mind giving me a
ride. (He was riding in me just a while ago ... was my ride this
rough and lurching? I hope not.)

Hesitantly, I ask, "Say, Jerry, can I ask a
question?"

"Yah!"

"Why don't the other humans talk to me? I
mean, unless they want something."

"Aw, don't take it personal," he says
lightly. "They didn't come here to hang out with you. They're
mostly here to socialize with each other, and see the Scarp. And
you know, some humans don't like AIs. Some AIs don't like humans,
too. Don't worry about it."

(Cross reference: AI means artificial
intelligence. Some Selves would take offense at this ... you
shouldn't call a human a worm, for example. I decide it's not
important enough to mention.)

"But
you
talk to me," I
persist.

"Well ...", Jerry activates the facial
muscles that I recognize as a frown. "I'm here for a kind of
different reason ... I've had some problems lately and I kind of
need to be distracted from them, y'know."

"But ... I still don't get it. Why me? Why
aren't you talking to your fellow humans?"

"Hoo," says Jerry in a low tone. "That's a
good question. Maybe I don't like talking to humans anymore. Or,
maybe, I don't want to hear what they have to say. We humans can
get to be a real drag sometimes. Maybe you shouldn't hang around
with us, Sam."

(Cross reference: maudlin, a despairing
emotional state often evidenced during inebriation. Guide him
towards a happier state of mind.)