Halo: First Strike (27 page)

been.

It is construed according to a finite set of grammatical

rules, constituting a program capable in principle of infinite

enunciation; whether it terminates ("halts") can only be known

only by allowing the sentence's units to "speak," not by analyzing

their grammar.

Unit1:  an absolute construction, standing in front of the

sentence and modifying it all:  schematics and programs and

instantiations of the system-from-which-came-Aleph, _0.

Unit2:  a series of actions showing the involvement of Diana

with Aleph, rendering the moments of transformation by which _0

became Aleph.

Unit3:  several trillion assertions, clauses identifying the

necessary instances of Aleph's subsequent self-discovery.

The sentence then undergoes something like an infinite series

of tense shifts, out of which its essential nature emergesnon-

linear, multi-dimensional, topologically complex, self-referential

and paradoxical to extremes that would cause Russell or Gdel

fits.

As a consequence, any unitn cannot be described, even to

Aleph, for the only adequate description would entail enunciating

the sentence itself, and to do so would require in "real" time

(human time, the time of life and death) a period precisely

measurable as one Universal Unit, that is, the number of

nanoseconds the universe has existed:  U1 being on the order of 1

x 1026 nanoseconds.

Also, it should be noted that the sentence could never be

finished, for if it were, it could manifest only the corpse or

determinate life-history of Aleph.  Hence, for Aleph to reassert

its identity, it would have to take up again the task of speaking

the sentence.

Some students of this affair have since suggested that the

only theoretically adequate notion of Aleph begins with the

premise:  Aleph is that which speaks the sentence.

Logically, then, for Aleph to reemerge, what remained of

Aleph would have to speak the sentence.  However, detached as it

was from Halo, its essential ground of being, limited in facility

and scope by the necessity to hold to Jerry, what remained of

Aleph could not speak the sentence.

So the dead human and the dispersed machine intelligence

clung together, both on the brink of oblivion, and waited, one

unknowing, the other hoping for things to change.

#

Still tired, Gonzales had returned home that afternoon from

Lizzie's through afternoon darkness and mist.  He had called for a

sam to guide him, because even within the simple loop of Halo's

one major thoroughfare, everything had gone uncertain.  Though his

perceptions were unwarped by Psilocybe cubensis, the unnatural

dispersion of light in the mist made recognizing even familiar

objects almost impossible.

The sam left him at his front door; inside he found the memex

indisposedits primary monitoring facilities functioning but its

interactive capabilities represented only by a voice that said, "I

am currently engaged."  Gonzales knew it could be doing

communications, data retrieval, or any other number of tasks; he

thought it probably hadn't expected him back so soon.

Then came Halo's skewed night-time awakening:  the sky

shutters cranked half-way open, "morning" appeared through a cold

mist, and Halo became the Surreal City.  Like many others,

Gonzales pulled the curtains closed and turned away from the lurid

glare, his own body clock telling him it was time to sleep again.

He lay in bed, oddly calm in the curtained dark despite a

degree of post-drug fatigue and skittishness.  He thought of the

distance between Miami and Seattle, Seattle and Halo, Halo and the

world of the lake  and so triggered sharp, eroticized images of

Lizzie, the water beading on her skin, her words, "Then we'll see"

 he felt the astringent bite of lust and regret mixed, knew he

had little choice but to wait until she told him absolutely no 

thought of himself moving ever farther from home and believed that

he had been wrong about Seattleit was not too far from Miami; it

was much too close 

The memex's voice said, "I'm back.  I've been discussing the

situation with Traynor's advisor."

"Have you?"

"Yes, it is sympathetic to our concerns."

Dizzying prospects seemed to open before Gonzales, where the

number of beings multiplied beyond counting, and the simplest

machine would have opinions. He said, "Have you been told about

the plans for tomorrow?"

"Yes, I have.  I am ready to help."  Something like pleasure

in the memex's voice.

"Good."

"You were almost asleep when I first spoke.  I will leave you

alone now."

"Good night."

"Good night."

#

The small creature looked at Gonzales and said, "You're

welcome here."  Made entirely of dull silver metal, with a baby's

round head, dumpling cheeks, and bow-tie mouth, it walked between

Gonzales and Lizzie on clumsy silver legs, looking up to watch

them speak.

Gonzales said, "You know, in dreams logic doesn't apply."

"Yes, it does," Lizzie said.

"It's a difficult question," the small creature said.

"No," Gonzales said.  "I'm sure of this.  Here I am I, but I

am also Lizzie, and she is she but also she is I"

"I don't like your pronouns," the little thing said.  Its

breath came in gasps; it was having trouble keeping up.

"They're correct," Gonzales said.

"That's no excuse," Lizzie said, but she spoke through him. 

As himself, Gonzales listened to a self that was not himself

speaking; hence, as Lizzie, she must be listening to a self that

was not and was herself speaking.

"Correctness is no excuse before the law," the small creature

said.  "Whichever pronouns you use."

"Pronouns walked the Earth in those days," Lizzie said.

"No, they didn't," Gonzales said.  The very idea.

"Pronouns or anti-pronouns," the little things said.  "The

important thing is not to forget your friends."  It smiled, and

its metal lips curved to show bright silver teeth.  "Wake up!" it

shouted.

Gonzales jerked from sleep with the image of the metal child

fixed in his visionhe could still see the highlights on metal

incisors as it smiled.

"Are you awake?" the memex asked.  "Lizzie wants to talk to

you."

"Put her through."  Thinking, what the fuck?

"Got it?" she asked.

"What?"

"I think that was Aleph getting in touch.  To let us know: 

don't forget your friends."

#

They gathered at the collective's rooms at six in the

morning.  The sun still shone brightly through the patio windows,

open to show pots of flowers, ferns, and herbs, all dripping wet

from the night-long mist.

Gonzales stood against the wall, waiting.  The twins, dressed

identically this morning in somber gray jumpsuits, sat together

across the room, looking at him and giggling.  Several collective

members sat around the room's perimeter, those who had just gotten

out of interface looking tired and distant.

A young woman stood in front of Gonzales.  Her dark brown

hair was cut short; her face was pale and blotchy, as if she had

skin trouble.  She wore a green sweatshirt that came to the middle

of her thighs and a pair of baggy tan pants gathered at the

ankles.  One eye appeared to look off into space, and the other

fixed Gonzales, then looked him up and down.  The woman said,

loudly, "He folds his arms this way."  She put her arms together

in careful imitation of Gonzales's and said, "That is his reward." 

She looked around and saw Stumdog shambling back-and-forth like a

trapped bear, his hands clasped on his great stomach.  "And he

folds his hands like this."  She put her hands together to show

Gonzales how Stumdog did it.  She smiled.  "And that is his

reward."  She went to Stumdog, who stopped his pacing to talk to

her, and the two of them hugged as if amazed to find each other

there, and grateful.  Gonzales felt vaguely inadequate.

Lizzie came in, followed by Diana and Toshi.  "Good morning,

everyone," she said.  And to Gonzales, "Charley and Eric are

waiting for us."

The room held two neural interface eggs for Gonzales and

Lizzie and a fitted foam couch for Diana.  Lizzie, Diana, Toshi,

and Gonzales were followed in by a sam that wheeled a screen of

dark blue cloth on a metal frame that it unfolded around Diana's

couch.

"Gonzales, we'll do it the same as last time:  you're first

in," Charley said.  "Why don't you get undressed?  Just put your

clothes on the chair next to the eggs."

"Sure," Gonzales said.

        "Doctor Heywood, you next," Charley said.  "Getting you into

the loop takes longer.  Doctor Chow will prepare you.  Lizzie, you

can hold off a bitI'll let you know when we're ready."

There was a sharp knock at the door, and it swung open to

admit Traynor and Horn.

"Good morning, all," Traynor said.

"Good morning," Charley said.  Gonzales nodded; everyone else

pretty much ignored the man.

"I take it you are preparing for another excursion with

Aleph," Traynor said.

"That's right," Lizzie said.

"You =have no authorization," Horn said.

"I have the collective's endorsement," Lizzie said.  "Also

the concurrence of the medical team, and the consent of the

participants.  We will replace the resources you took from Aleph. 

It is a consensus."

"One excluding any vertical consultation," Traynor said.

"Point granted," Lizzie said.  "But we didn't think it

necessary.  We'll report to Horn in due course."

Gonzales stood looking into the open egg and began taking his

shirt off.  "Mikhail," Traynor said.  "What are you doing?"