Manhattan in Reverse (28 page)

‘Where to now? Other side of the Commonwealth again?’

‘The Caribbean, actually.’

*

The nearest city on the trans-Earth loop was New York. When she arrived at the Newark station, Paula took a cab over to JFK and flew a Directorate hypersonic parallel to the east coast then on south to Grenada. The Human Structure Foundation campus occupied a broad stretch of rugged land behind a series of curving beaches whose pale sand was just visible in the low moonlight. A circular white-glass tower formed the centre, silhouetted by liquid bifluron tubes embedded in the structure. The long sodium-orange web of streets radiating out from the base revealed the surrounding village of elaborate bungalows. Foundation members didn’t reside in any of the island’s ordinary towns; in the last century few ventured out beyond the heavily guarded perimeter strip. It was a micro-nation of genetic ideologues, despised by just about everyone, yet continuing to operate under Senate-imposed research restrictions. Restrictions which had grown ever stronger since the establishment of Huxley’s Haven.

Paula was familiar enough with the set-up, though she’d never actually visited before. The notion of walking round the place which conceived her – intellectually and physically – was an experience she simply didn’t want.

Her plane landed on a circular pad by the tower. Long plyplastic petals unrolled from the edges to form a protective shell over her little craft. An astonishingly attractive woman called Ophelia escorted her up to Dr Friland’s office on the top floor of the tower. On the way through the atrium lobby, people stopped and stared at Paula. It was three o’clock in the morning local time; the tower should have been deserted. She was used to attention, but this was akin to religious respect. Some looked like they wanted to bow as she walked past. The effect was unnerving – and she wasn’t used to that feeling at all.

‘You’re the living proof that the concepts for which we stand have been successful,’ Ophelia murmured as they walked into the lift. ‘There have been many sacrifices down the decades, so please excuse their wonder.’

Paula sucked in her cheeks, unable to meet any of the ardent stares as the lift doors slid shut.

According to his file, Justin Friland was born towards the end of the twentieth century. Meeting him in the flesh, Paula couldn’t tell, and she normally prided herself in spotting the tell-tale mannerisms of the truly old. He didn’t have any. His effusive good-nature matched his handsome adolescent appearance perfectly. Like the Foundation members down in the lobby, he gave Paula an incredulous smile as she came into his office.

‘Director, I appreciate you seeing me,’ Paula said. ‘Especially at this time of night.’

‘Not at all, this is an absolute honour,’ he said, shaking her hand too vigorously, and beaming a wide smile.

‘Thank you,’ Paula said gently, and removed her hand from his grip.

‘I spent twenty-five years on Huxley’s Haven helping to establish the birthing centres,’ Justin Friland said. ‘And seeing you here is . . .’ He spread his arms out. ‘Astonishing. We never thought one of you could adapt to life offworld.’

‘One of
me
?’ Paula arched an eyebrow.

‘Sorry, sorry! It’s just – we took so much shit over the Haven. Even fifty years ago the perimeter here was surrounded by protestors. However, the days of the ten-thousand-strong mob have long gone. We still do have a hard core camped to the side of our main entrance. They’re not . . .
pleasant
people. My thoughts are still in war-mode. My fault.’

‘I see.’

‘Please, sit down.’ He hurried over to a wide couch. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need information.’

‘Whatever I can provide.’ He was nodding enthusiastically as Paula sat beside him.

‘There is a rumour that the Foundation financed Merioneth’s Isolation.’

‘Not us,’ Friland said emphatically. He brushed some floppy chestnut hair from his forehead. ‘However, the Foundation has undergone considerable schism during the last quarter-century. I now lead what you’d probably call a conservative faction.’

‘What of the other factions?’

He sighed. ‘The person you want to talk to is Svein Moalem.’

Paula gave Friland a surprised look. ‘He’s a Foundation member?’

‘An ex-colleague, yes. Now the leader of the New Immortals.’

‘We didn’t know that. We don’t have access to Merioneth files now.’

‘Wouldn’t have done you any good. The New Immortals have coveted their own planet for some time. They did a lot more than simply finance the Isolation revolution on Merioneth. They infiltrated its civil service quite some time ago. Any records you did access through the unisphere merely say what they want them to say.’

‘And you didn’t feel obliged to tell us this?’

‘Us?’ Justin Friland smiled faintly.

‘The Intersolar Senate. The Serious Crimes Directorate.’

‘Ah. Your government? No. Pardon me, Paula. I wasn’t about to come running to the organization which officially condemned my projects as the work of the devil. Besides, up until they started killing Dynasty members, our Immortal brethren didn’t actually do anything illegal. Political shenanigans are perfectly permissible under our oh-so-liberal Intersolar constitution. Manipulating public data for ideological ends is common practice. I assume you have better statistics than I do on the subject.’

Paula thought about arguing, but decided against. The information might be useful later, if the Directorate decided to press complicity charges against Friland. ‘The New Immortals?’ she asked. ‘I assume it’s a relevant name. What method have they adopted? And why does it need an Isolated world?’

Julian Friland looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘It’s a modified version of today’s re-life memory succession, which eliminates the requirement to rejuvenate a body.’

‘Thank you. You’ve just told me nothing.’

‘If you suffer bodyloss today, your insurance company grows a clone and downloads your secure memory store into it. Many people regard that as death. It’s a question of continuity, you see. In rejuvenation, your body simply floats in a tank while its DNA is reset. The you which comes out is still the you which went in a year before, so there’s no doubt about originality and identity. What Moalem and his group proposed was operating continuous bodies. A mental relay, if you like, with a personality twinned between an old and young version of the same person.’

‘So when the old physical body dies, the young one carries on.’

‘With continuity intact,’ Friland emphasized. ‘I acknowledge the concept is an elegant one.’

‘Not entirely original,’ Paula said, thinking about the emissions she’d detected coming from Moalem. She frowned, trying to follow the idea through to its conclusion. ‘Surely the two bodies would have to be close together. If they started to diverge, see and react to different things, then the personality would also start to fraction.’

‘Good point. The New Immortals claimed that was actually a desirable outcome. Moalem decided that a singular personality input-point was a primitive notion. The human mind should be able to expand to encompass many bodyforms, all inputting their experiences to the unifying mind.’

‘That has to be unstable. Bipolar disorder and multiple personalities are notoriously erratic.’

‘I’ve been through these arguments so many times with Svein. He maintains that inherent mental illness is completely avoidable in these circumstances; that the human mind can evolve in conjunction with its physical environment. The host personality has to be willing and receptive to change, to want to learn how to be different. He’s probably right.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow. You say the Foundation split because of this? I thought you were all about exploring new forms of human existence.’

‘We are. I set up the Foundation to advance humanity through genetic modification. But change in isolation is not a desirable thing. Hence Huxley’s Haven. Not only are its citizens perfectly adjusted to their jobs, the entire society is designed to be stable so that only the professions and abilities we have allowed for are needed. There are human clerks who make electronics, especially computers, redundant. Engineering is constitutionally fixed to equal early twentieth-century development, so mechanics are capable of performing all repairs, rather than writing software for maintenance bots. It’s a level which was specifically chosen to give everyone a decent quality of life without dependence on cybernetics. Which is what makes Huxley’s Haven a perfectly integrated society. It doesn’t change because there is no requirement for change. That is what Commonwealth citizens found so disturbing, it’s also why it works. Within the Foundation we had a very large debate as to whether we should Isolate it once it was established.’

‘Why didn’t you? A society like that can only be challenged by an outside force, so why risk continued exposure? There are plenty of idealists even today who would like it stopped.’

‘I don’t believe we had the right. Maybe in a few hundred years’ time, the Haven will choose to isolate itself from what the Intersolar Commonwealth will become. Who knows?’

‘And if it starts to fail, you can fix it,’ Paula guessed. He had that kind of egotism.

‘That’s what the freethinkers are for,’ Friland said. ‘And, to a lesser degree, the police such as yourself. All societies should include a mechanism for self-correction.’

‘You’re distracting me,’ Paula said. ‘Why the split with the New Immortals?’

‘Very well,’ Friland said. ‘I owe you of all people that explanation, if nothing else.’

‘How ironic for you, having to explain yourself to your creation.’

‘I’m not a Frankenstein, Investigator.’

‘Of course not. The split?’

‘Firstly, the prospect of a hive mind is one I resist. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t regard it as a human goal. Yet there is that danger. Svein knows that you need more than two bodies to guarantee life-continuity. The more you have, the higher the personality’s survival probability. There is no theoretical limit. He can possess hundreds, thousands of bodies. More still. Exponential growth rates are a favourite politician’s scare image, and I don’t like to use it, but something close to exponential expansion is a very real threat in this case. What happens to individual, normal, humans, if a New Immortal expands its nest of selves? An Immortal by his or her nature becomes focused on survival. That will trigger competition for resources, possibly as bad as it was in the twenty-first century before Ozzie and Nigel developed wormhole technology. Would the singulars survive? Would they be allowed to survive? And what about other nest Immortals? One route is merger. The universal monomind. Again, something I instinctively shy away from. Svein was not complimentary about what he perceives as my outdated reactionary thinking.’

‘That must have been painful for you.’

‘Quite. The other problem I have is the method which the New Immortals have chosen. It is not pure genetic evolution, which is our creed.’

‘Now you’ve really lost me.’

‘If you have children, Investigator, they will remain true to your nature. They will inherit the genetic and psychoneural profiling that make you the perfect law enforcement officer. We fixed the traits which make you what you are, they are dominant. Even if all our fabulous society should fall, if the wormholes are closed, the factories break down, electricity cease to flow; if the human race enters into a new age of barbarism – what the Foundation created will remain. Our heritage is written in our genes. When we define an advancement, we incorporate it in our DNA. It can never be lost. An equal science can remove it, but our advances would endure a dark age. Svein’s system will not. He shares his thoughts and memories with his other bodies via the unisphere. He needs OCtattoos and inserts to transmit and receive. He needs clone vats to grow new bodies. His is a cybernetic, technological, future. It is a very short step from what he wishes to become, and simply downloading your thoughts into a machine like today’s uniheads do with the SI. After all, a machine can be made far stronger than human flesh. This is not the route I wish the Foundation to go down. At the far end, it is not a human outcome which awaits.’

‘Surely that’s all contrary to the stasis of Huxley’s Haven?’

‘The Haven provides us with a proof of concept. We know we can match our genetic and societal requirements synergistically. That sets the stage for our next advances.’

‘Which are?’ she asked sharply.

‘Development along all fronts. Extreme longevity – ultimately self-rejuvenation. Increased intelligence. Huge disease resistance.’

‘Bigger. Stronger. Better,’ she murmured.

‘Yes. These advances are slowly seeping into the human genome. Parents have baseline procedures carried out on their embryos to give their offspring healthier physiques. Reprofiling is commonplace in rejuvenation tanks, at least for those who can afford it. We are a slow revolution, Paula. People find our long-term aims uncomfortable, but they continue to incorporate our immediate successes into their very selves. Given such development, society will inevitably adapt and evolve. Which is why I reject the obsessional goal of the New Immortals. I will happily continue my rejuvenation treatments every thirty years because they will ultimately be temporary. In four or five hundred years’ time, I will be beginning my senior lifespan, which will be measured in millennia. Can you imagine what kind of culture that will play host to?’