Press Start to Play (43 page)

He nods, acknowledging her feedback. “This is my first time telling a story in this way. Maybe I’ve added too much.”

“You came up with it yourself?”

“In a manner of speaking. You’re right that it’s not completely original.”

“I’d like to play more of it,” she says, surprising even herself.

“Go ahead, and keep on telling me what works and what doesn’t work.”

> enter King’s bedroom

THE KING’S BEDROOM

The King’s bedroom is large, cavernous even. The Grand Hall is for banquets and stately receptions, but here’s where he conducts real business and gives the orders that will change the course of history. (Insofar as issuing an edict announcing a new tax credit for woodcarvers and novel spell-casting research can be deemed to be changing history.)

In the middle of the room is a large bed—well, might as well call it king-sized. Around the room are many cabinets filled with many more drawers, all unlabeled, all alike. There’s also a writing desk next to the window. The window is very wide and very open, contrary to proper secure Palace design principles. But as a result, the room is flooded with light.

Usually this room is filled with people: ministers, guards, generals just back from the front seeking an audience with the King. You’ve never been here alone before.

Spring clangs in after you.

“We’re going to look for the Augustine Module,” you say. “That ought to cheer you up, right?”

Spring says nothing.

> examine cabinets

They all look the same. The rows of drawers lining them look, if possible, even more alike. You’re not sure which one to start with.

> pick one at random

I only understand you want to pick something.

> open drawer

Which drawer do you mean?

> open all drawers

There are too many drawers to pick from.

“Ryder, I used to play a lot of old games like this. Your puzzles really need some work.”

“You want a hint?”

“Of course not. What would be the point? Might as well have you tell me the story yourself.”

“All right.”

Alex looks at Ryder.
This is a boy who probably doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. He would be used to the many servants and droids back in his father’s house. Like a princess.

> go to nearest drawer and open it

If you’re thinking of opening every drawer one by one, the King will be back before you’re done.

> Damn it, this is terrible programming!

Spring shifts from one foot to the other behind you.

“Did you say something about programming?”

> ask Spring about programming

“Since I’m a non-Cartesian automaton, you can control my behavior with programs.” Spring’s voice is dreary and grinds on your ears.

You step up to Spring and open up his front panel, revealing the spinning gears and rocking levers within, as well as reams of densely punched instructional tape.

(As a shortcut, you may engage in programming in pseudocode and we’ll pretend that they’re translated into the right patterns of holes on tape—otherwise we’d be here forever.)

> TELL Spring the following:

>> WHILE (any drawer is not open)

>> PICK a closed drawer at random

>> OPEN the drawer

>> TAKE OUT everything

>> END WHILE

>> END TELL

Spring springs to life and rushes around the room, opening random drawers and dumping the contents on the ground. The floor shakes as his bulk thumps back and forth. Eventually he finishes opening every drawer in the room and stops.

“Your father is not going to be happy about this,” he says.

> examine room

There are too many things scattered all over the floor to list them one by one. In fact, you can’t even see the floor.

> TELL Spring to sort objects in room by type

Spring whips around the room, sorting objects into neat piles: there’s a pile of books, a pile of jewels, a pile of secret files, a pile of parchments, a pile of clothes, a pile of shoes, a pile of nuts (why not? They make good snacks).

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem,” Spring says. “Automata are good for this kind of thing.”

> TELL Spring to look for Augustine Module

“See, now you’re just being lazy,” Spring says. “I have no idea what an Augustine Module looks like.”

“Very clever,” Alex says.

“Which part?” Ryder looks pleased.

“Your game lures the player into relying on doing everything by ordering a non-player character around. I suppose this is supposed to get the player to feel a sense of participation in the plight of the oppressed automata in your world? Inducing empathy and guilt is the hardest thing to get right in a game.”

Ryder laughs. “Thanks. Maybe you’re giving me too much credit. I was just trying to make the time pass somehow. Sometimes the inevitable end doesn’t seem so scary if you can keep the silence at bay with a story.”

“Like that girl with the stories and the Sultan,” she says. She almost adds
and death
but catches herself.

Ryder nods. “I told you. It’s not a very original idea.”

“This isn’t some political commentary on your father’s opposition to strong AI, is it? You’re one of those free-droiders.” She’s used to her prey telling her stories to try to get her to be on their side, to let them go. Using a game to do it is at least a new tactic.

Ryder looks away. “My father and I didn’t discuss politics much.”

When he speaks again, his tone is upbeat, and Alex gets the impression he’s trying to change the subject. “I’m surprised you caught on so quick. The text-based user interface is primitive, but it’s the best I can do given what I have to work with.”

“When I was little, my mother allowed only text-based streams on the time-sharing entertainment clusters because she didn’t want us to see and covet all the fancy things we couldn’t afford to buy.” Alex pauses. It’s not like her to reveal a lot of private history to one of her prey. Ryder’s game has unsettled her for some reason. What’s more, Ryder is the son of the most powerful man on Pele, and she resents the possibility that he might pity her childhood in the slums. She hurries on, trying to disguise her discomfort. “Sometimes the best visuals and sims can’t touch plain text. How did you learn to write one?”

“It’s not as if you allow me access to any advanced systems on your ship,” he says, spreading his hands innocently. “Anyway, I always preferred old toys as a kid: wooden blocks, paper craft, programming antique computers. I guess I just like old-fashioned things.”

“I’m old-fashioned myself,” she says.

“I noticed. You don’t have any androids to help you out on the ship. Even the flight systems are barely automated.”

“I find droids creepy,” she says. “The skin and flesh feel real, warm, and inviting. But then you get to the glowing electronics underneath, the composite skeleton, the thudding pump that simulates a heartbeat as it circulates the nutrient fluid that functions like blood.”

“Sounds like you had a bad experience with them.”

“Let’s just say that there was one time I had to kill a lot of androids used as decoys to get to the real deal.”

His face takes on an intense look. “You said ‘kill’ instead of ‘deactivate’ or something like that. You think they’re alive?”

The turn in the conversation is unexpected, and she wonders if he’s manipulating her somehow. But she can’t see what the angle is. “It’s just the word that came to mind. They look alive; they act alive; they feel alive.”

“But they’re not really alive,” he says. “As long as their neural nets do not surpass the PKD-threshold, androids aren’t self-aware and can’t be deemed conscious.”

“Good thing making supra-PKD androids is illegal,” she says. “Otherwise people like you would be accusing me of murder.”

“How do you know you’ve never killed one? Just because they’re illegal doesn’t mean they aren’t made.”

She considers this for a moment. Then shrugs. “If I can’t tell the difference, it doesn’t matter. No jury on Pele would convict me anyway for killing an android, supra-PKD or not.”

“You sound like my father, all this talk of laws and appearances. Don’t you ever think deeper than that?”

Can this be the secret that divided father from son? Youthful contempt for the lack of idealism in the old?
“I don’t need a lecture from you, and I’m certainly not interested in philosophy. I don’t care for androids much; I’m just glad I can get rid of them when I need to. A lot of my targets these days pay for android decoys to throw me off—I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“That’s disgusting,” Ryder says. The vehemence in his voice surprises her. It’s the most emotional she’s ever seen him, even more than when she had caught him hiding in the slums on the dark side of Ranginui—it hadn’t been that hard to find him; when the senior senator from Pele wanted someone found, there were resources not otherwise available. When Alex had called out his real name in the crowded hostel, Ryder had looked surprised for a moment, but then quickly appeared resigned, the light in his eyes dimming.

“To make them die for you,” he continues, his voice breaking, “to…
use
them that way.”

“In your case,” Alex says dispassionately, “decoys would have helped you out and made my life harder, but I suppose you didn’t get to take much money when you ran away from home. You need to spend a lot to get them custom made to look like you. Bad game plan on your part.”

“Is your job just a game to you? A thrilling hunt?”

Alex doesn’t lose her cool. She’s used to histrionics from her prey. “I don’t usually defend myself, but I don’t usually talk this much with one of my prey either. I live by the bounty hunter’s code: whether something feels right or wrong changes depending on who’s telling the story, but what doesn’t change is that we have a role to play in someone else’s story—bringer of justice, villain, minor functionary. We’re never the stars of the stories we’re in, so it’s our job to play that role as well as we can.

“The people I’m paid to catch
are
the stars of their own stories. And they’ve all chosen to do something that would make my clients want to pay to have them found. They made a decision, and they must live with the consequences. That is all I need to know. They run, and I pursue. It’s as fair a fight as life can give you.”

When Ryder speaks again, his voice is calm and cool, as if the outburst never happened. “We don’t have to talk about this. Let me work on the game some more. Maybe you’ll like what happens next better.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. Then Alex shrugs and leaves the room.

> examine pile of books

There are treatises on the History of Chrysanthemum, the Geography of the World, the Habits of Sheep (Including Diseases and Treatment Thereof), and the Practice of Building Clockwork Automata…

> read History of Chrysanthemum

You flip the thin book open to a random page and begin to read:

Thereafter Chrysanthemum became the Hegemon of the Pan-Flores League, holding sway over all the cities of the peninsula. The Electors from all the cities choose a head of the league from the prominent citizens of Chrysanthemum. Though elected, the league head continued to hold the title of King. The election campaigns often kept those who would be King far from home as they curried favor with the Electors in each member city.

> read Sheep book

From behind you, Spring says, “Why are you reading about sheep instead of figuring out how to help me?”

> read Clockwork Automata

You flip open the heavy book, and the creased spine leads naturally to a page, one apparently often examined.

St. Augustine wrote, “It is one thing to be ignorant, and another thing to be unwilling to know. For the will is at fault in the case of the man of whom it is said, ‘He is not inclined to understand, so as to do good.’ ”The Augustine Module is a small jewel that when inserted into an automaton endows the automaton with free will. A pulsing, shimmering, rainbow-hued crystal about the size of a walnut, it is found only in the depths of the richest diamond mines. The laws of the realm forbid the production of such automata, for it is only the place of God, not Man, to endow creatures with free will.

Miners believe that the presence of the Augustine Module may be detected by the use of the HCROT. By the principle of sympathetic vibration, a HCROT is equipped with a crystal that when heated will vibrate near the presence of any Augustine Module. The closer the module is to the HCROT, the stronger the vibrations.

> ask Spring about HCROT

Spring shakes his head. “Never heard of it.”

> examine pile of jewels

There are rubies, sapphires, pearls, corals, opals, emeralds. Their beauty is dazzling.

Spring speaks up, “I don’t think your father would store an Augustine Module here.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Every year, he issues ever more severe edicts against the use of the Augustine Module in the construction of automata. Why would he store any here, where his ministers and generals might find them?”

“You really don’t like your father’s politics, do you?” asks Alex.

“I told you: we didn’t talk about politics much.”

“You haven’t answered my question. I think it really bugs you that your father advocates against sentience for androids. But you know that Pele is a conservative world. He has to say certain things to get elected.” A thought occurs to her. “Maybe your secret is that you know something about him that will destroy his political career, and he doesn’t want you to be used by his enemies. What is it? Does he have a droid lover? Maybe one that’s supra-PKD?” Now she
is
mildly curious.

Ryder laughs bitterly.

“No, that’s too obvious,” Alex muses. “It’s all in your game. Was there really a toy soldier? A childhood companion you wanted to make fully alive but your father wouldn’t budge on? Is that what this is all about?” As she speaks, Alex can feel anger rise in herself. The whole thing seems frivolous, utterly absurd. Ryder was a spoiled, rich little kid whose daddy issues amounted to not getting his way about some toy.