Authors: Migration
Korshak turned to his bag again and took out a handheld reader of the kind used for perusing documents and other information stored in removable chips. Such devices provided a convenient way of carrying many books around, and again would be a normal possession for somebody of an intellectual bent leading a reclusive existence. Except that Korshak’s reader wasn’t normal. One of the books in its stored library contained a page that looked innocent, but which had been contrived to include every character and mark of the language somewhere at least once. Touching the appropriate sequence with the point of a pen caused the message thus spelled out to be written into a location on the reader’s removable chip. Inserting the chip into the viewpad attachment would then impress it onto the next outgoing signal, using Etanne’s own communications infrastructure to convey it to its destination. Incoming messages worked the other way, and became viewable on the reader.
Korshak activated the viewpad, and using its symbolic repertoire composed a command for access to the web archives. When the requested page appeared, he extracted the chip from the viewpad attachment and inserted it into the handheld reader. Interrogating it produced a code signifying that a message had been received. He had been expecting a response to the one he had sent the previous evening to test the channel and confirm his arrival. The screen displayed:
Your test received. Please acknowledge. Nothing further here for now. Standing by.
Korshak grunted, cleared the screen, and brought up the composition page to prepare a reply. It seemed they were in business. The corners of his mouth twitched upward at the aptness of the term.
Masumichi Shikoba had been growing increasingly nervous while he waited, with the result that when the house computer finally chimed and announced the callers at the door, he practically leapt up from the stool where he had been fiddling with a piece of circuitry on the bench. A shot on the wall screen showed Andri Lubanov standing outside as expected, along with another man that Masumichi didn’t know. Leaving Kog standing switched off in a corner, he went through to the hallway to receive them himself. Lubanov’s manner of cool, dispassionate efficiency had always unnerved him to some degree. Now, on top of that, Masumichi’s mind had been conjuring up all kinds of visions of the trouble that his deviousness, compounded by the theatrical attempt to cover it up, might have gotten him into. Why else would the head of the bureau that handled the more sensitive of Ormont’s dealings want to come here in person, with the reason being given that it had to do with Tek?
Lubanov was of lean build but comparatively broad across the shoulders, with a straight mouth, austere, hollow-cheeked features, and pale blue eyes set beneath a broad, round brow and hair that was close-cropped even though thinning. He slipped off a light topcoat as he entered, revealing a gray two-piece suit and a straight-neck shirt of the same hue. The man with him was younger, with a somewhat fleshy face and full head of straight yellow hair, combed to one side.
“We were slightly delayed,” Lubanov said. “This is Hala Vogol, who works with me. And Hala, Masumichi Shikoba – the key person behind the next generation of robots that we can expect to see.” Masumichi acknowledged the introduction with a slight bow. Vogol returned a nod.
Masumichi turned to the doorway opening into the lab, but at the same time indicated the spiral staircase. “We can go up to the apartment if you prefer. It’s more comfortable up there.”
“Down here will be fine. We won’t keep you long,” Lubanov returned.
“As you wish.” Masumichi led the way into the lab, with Vogol following at the rear, turning his head in bewilderment at the tree growing up through its hole in the ceiling. Then his expression changed to one of interest and curiosity as he took in the profusion of immobile robots, partly assembled robots, countertops with bits of robots, and racks of electronic equipment filling the room. Masumichi moved the stool that he had been using across to his desk, which was wedged in a corner beneath loaded bookshelves and a graphics station, and moved a box to clear space on another. Vogol sat down, but Lubanov paused to study the exposed wiring and crystal-matrix arrays of an opened head. Masumichi lowered himself into the chair facing them.
“Integral telescopic and microscopic vision,” Masumichi supplied. “At least, that’s the idea. So far we’ve only tried out bench simulations.”
“Hm. Interesting.” Lubanov turned away and moved forward to prop himself loosely on the unoccupied lab stool, his weight still supported by his legs. “About a month ago, Tek went with you on a visit to Istella,” he said without preliminaries.
Here it comes,
Masumichi thought. He swallowed and struggled to maintain a neutral face, which he felt was radiating his thoughts like a neon sign regardless. “An essential part of equipping artificial intelligences is to give them exposure to as wide a range of experiences as possible,” he replied. “It emulates the world knowledge that humans acquire in the course of living. Istella seemed to offer a suitable extreme.”
Lubanov’s eyebrows rose. “So I would imagine. But he went astray there, and you asked Korshak if he’d try and track him down for you.”
Masumichi licked his lips and nodded, at the same time interlacing his fingers to prevent his hands from shaking. He was overreacting even in his own eyes, but found he couldn’t prevent it. “Korshak has worked with me over the years. He knew Tek.”
“Yes, he’d owe you, too, wouldn’t he,” Lubanov said. “You arranged his escape from Arigane, along with his wife.”
“That’s right.” Was there anything Lubanov didn’t already know? Masumichi had gone over the questions that he anticipated and tried to rehearse answers.
How did Tek come to be alone?
Where were you when he disappeared?
But already it seemed futile. Lubanov could probably tell him. He braced himself.
But instead, Lubanov asked casually, “Have you seen or heard anything of Tek since?”
Masumichi shook his head.
“So you don’t know where he is?”
“No.”
“I thought they had electronic communications access. Can’t you locate them through that?”
“They have the ability to close it down. It’s a bit complicated to explain, but it has to do with the internal psychology that we’re trying to develop.”
Lubanov nodded that there was no need to go into it. He looked at Masumichi for a few seconds longer, and then said, “Actually, Tek is on Etanne. So is Korshak. They’re both inside the Dollarian Academy there. We have a means of communicating with Korshak. But for reasons that needn’t concern us for now, we would also very much like to gain access to Tek. But that’s not possible at the moment, for the reason you’ve just given. We’re hoping that Korshak will be able to persuade Tek to cooperate in changing that. What we’d like is your help in setting up whatever would be needed at this end. That’s why we’re here.”
As Lubanov spoke, Vogol produced a notepad and pen from his pocket. Masumichi blinked. That was it? All they wanted was some technical help? His personal life had nothing to do with it? He found himself wanting almost to laugh out loud in relief. He opened his hands expansively. “Well, of course…. What do you wish to know?”
“What kind of communications does Tek have?” Lubanov asked. “Regular web video and data pickup? Some kind of special interfacing? Or what?”
“Regular Grade 3 two-way web capability,” Masumichi replied.
Vogol scribbled a note. “So you can talk to it via standard web devices: phone, viewpad….”
“Correct – provided Tek has it enabled.”
“So Tek can hook into Etanne’s grid?”
“The internal local-distribution grid, yes. But not the interworld trunk beams. We never had any need for something like that.”
Vogol wrote some more and looked up. “Isn’t there something called a neural interface, too? How does that work?”
Masumichi was momentarily surprised that they knew about that; but then, if they were in touch with Korshak it made sense, he supposed. “It’s a technique for bypassing the conventional interface devices – touchpads, screens, helmets, bodysuits – and coupling the robot’s senses directly into the operator’s brain,” he replied. “Likewise, motor commands from the operator go the other way and drive the robot’s actuators. To a limited degree, it creates the illusion of actually being the robot.” Masumichi grinned, restored to his normal self now. “It’s an interesting experience, and quite an ingenious technical feat, even if I do say so myself. Kog, over there in the corner, is equipped with the current version. Tek had an experimental prototype fitted as an add-on.”
Lubanov was looking interested. “Are you saying that the remote operator can see and hear what’s going on where the robot is?” he checked.
“Exactly.”
“And take over its movements, again as if he were there himself? Look for things? Examine things?”
“Well… yes.” Masumichi was at a loss to guess what might be the point of this.
“What kind of interface does the operator use?” Vogol asked.
In answer, Masumichi got up, walked around to some shelves, and came back holding an intricate head harness made up of metallized straps, stretch panels, and tapes thick with pickups and microwiring. It extended down over the ears as two side pieces to join a collar that hinged into two halves, from which a cable terminating in a jumble of connectors protruded toward what would be the rear of the wearer.
“This connects to an antenna unit that beams to the robot,” he said.
“Beams?” Vogol repeated. “Are you saying it needs line of sight?”
“Correct.”
Lubanov took the harness and turned it over in his hands curiously. “Does that mean you couldn’t connect to Tek, with Tek inside Etanne?” he asked.
“You couldn’t use the neural coupler,” Masumichi replied. “It’s too high a bandwidth. As Mr. Vogol says, that needs a line-of-sight beam.”
“There’s no way around that?”
Masumichi wrinkled his face up and thought about it. “Not anytime soon. These things are always possible. But you’d be talking about some extensive development and testing. I get the impression you are looking for something sooner.”
Lubanov passed the harness to Vogol. “Tomorrow. Two days at most,” Lubanov said.
“Oh, great galaxies!” Masumichi shook his head. “No way, I’m afraid.”
Lubanov stared at him for a second or two, then nodded resignedly. “So we could use this neural interface when the robot is where the beam can see it. But with it inside Etanne or otherwise out of sight, we’re limited to a regular web channel.”
“That’s about it,” Masumichi confirmed.
“But we’d still be able to monitor the robot’s vision and audio via a regular channel,” Vogol pointed out. “And if it can be induced to cooperate, we could direct it by voice.”
Lubanov nodded. “That should be sufficient,” he agreed.
“It’s our only choice,” Vogol said.
Lubanov turned back to Masumichi. “One more thing. I should tell you that this is a sensitive matter that relates to the highest level of general security. Nothing of what we have said here is to be repeated. Confine any discussions strictly to technical issues.”
“I understand,” Masumichi said.
“Interesting?” Lubanov asked Vogol, who was examining the harness.
“Very,” Vogol replied. “I’ve read things about the concept but never actually seen it implemented. I’d be very interested to try it out while we’re here. It would give me a better idea of what it can do.”
“Would it be possible for us to see a demonstration?” Lubanov asked Masumichi.
“Oh, I think that could be arranged,” Masumichi said, rising and rubbing his hands together briskly.
It seemed that this wasn’t working out to be such a bad day after all.
For reasons that Tek had been told would become clear in due course, the leadership did not wish it to be generally known that a robot had joined the order. Some among them had therefore been opposed to its attending the General Meetings because of the entailed risk of revealing the fact. Tek wasn’t supposed to know this, but something that humans who were inexperienced in robotics seemed unaware of was that, at the cost of reducing attentiveness elsewhere, Tek was able to switch its hearing to a higher sensitivity than that which humans possessed. Consequently, they sometimes failed to make appropriate allowances for range and volume when they thought they were speaking privately. Banker Lareda, however, who had championed Tek’s interest in the Dollarians from the beginning, had considered it important for Tek to experience the same motivation and sense of belonging as any other inductee, and had overruled the objection.
Lareda’s insight had been profound indeed. Tek’s daily excursions from the rooms where it remained out of sight, meeting only representatives of the few who knew of its existence, were like an inflow of vigor and inspiration enabling it to feel as one with the movement. The high point had come three days previously, when Archbanker Sorba had spoken. The Illustrious One’s revelations had borne out all the things that Tek had been intuiting and connecting together in its studies. The headiness of the discoveries came again now, as Tek pulled the cowl forward around its head, drew the thin face piece down inside, and joined the Genhedrin in the side room off the Assembly Hall, lining up to make their customary entry. They didn’t speak or otherwise identify themselves to each other. Tek had full trust that the leaders knew best in not wishing to advertise its presence, and this cover provided the ideal means. Banker Lareda had confided that Tek had been selected to carry out a special mission that was of crucial importance to the future of the order and would ensure Tek’s immortalization as a sainted figure. To be accorded such an honor after being introduced so recently was almost frightening in the status that it implied. Tek only hoped it would prove worthy when the time came. The decision not to draw attention to it was very likely to avoid arousing envy among others in the order, the robot surmised.
The precise nature of Almighty Dollar, the supreme god worshiped across the ancient human world, was something that Tek hadn’t yet worked out. But already the picture it had assembled of the universal Church, encompassing all nations, races, politics, and lands, that had arisen in acknowledgment of its supremacy evoked wonder and reverence. The major cities of old had vied with one another in erecting soaring temples dedicated its glorification. Their main purpose had been to attract Dollar into choosing them as places to reside in, for it had been an itinerant god that moved from place to place to favor the most deserving followers. Sins of laxity and complacency would bring retribution in the form of the Flight of Dollar, while diligence and fortitude earned maximized blessings in its Returns.