Authors: Cathy Perkins,Taylor Lee,J Thorn,Nolan Radke,Richter Watkins,Thomas Morrissey,David F. Weisman
Oh yes, one more thing. Before he destroyed his career and got himself branded as potentially disloyal, he wondered if anything at all about Oceanian technology could reasonably be considered dangerous to those who did not become a part of it.
Then a door opened in his brain. He remembered his long ago discussion with Ambassador Nocker, wondering what the overmind thought about God. Now he stood at the bottom of a metaphorical staircase, spiraling either to heaven or the void. Some had indeed used the tools and protocols of Oceania to consider the question. Humanity had not yet definitively resolved the question because social utility, genuine curiosity and emotional need were all tied up together. Unlike all but the most technical issues he had pondered as part of Oceania, he did not understand the answer immediately. Yet the beginning of the road lay at his feet, seeing what some considered obvious when you chose your premises clearly. He could follow the path, but not all at once. Some religious insights had very personal components, so he would not be able to bring away total understanding, because the people who had come before were entitled to confidentiality. As well, some half truths were dangerous to the human psych. Brett smiled wryly at the thought he might be required to agree to keep some of his own memories confidential even from himself when not functioning as a part of Oceania.
Even as he contemplated this, he experienced a sudden dizzying switch of perspective. Oceania was an expensive tool, maintained for scientific and technical and medical purposes. The corporations and governments (local governments as well as the planetary one chipped in) which paid for it weren’t paying for religious speculation. Even the most primitive computers had been used by people for games and socializing and even pornography. He already knew the limits on the third, and confidentiality requirements got in the way of the second. So they had to ease up on the first. Yes, many people participated occasionally, even some of the people in charge. This was partly because Oceanian protocols involved participating in other people’s projects as well as recruiting them for your own. As well, some of the best technical people had studied hard for many years because they loved the idea of Oceania, and to some degree they were indulged.
Whoa there! The two explanations provided by Oceania didn’t quite contradict each other, but neither could be sourced because they were both in the minds of other Neurons. Soon he would have to get to know them, and make his judgement.
He wondered if there were anything else about Oceania that the Federalist Worlds might be more concerned about if they knew it better. Not now maybe, the Oceanians had already decided to forbid using the system to try and analyze politics. Oceania’s previous decision to help humanity by sharing her nanotechnology hadn’t worked out so well. Still there were some who felt that humans and the galaxy would only find peace when a thorough, consistent, and unemotional examination of history was performed.
Brett imagined Oceania studying how to create and manipulate societies. At least she had realized the effect that idea would have on others, and that it could not be kept secret forever once begun.
A decision taken could be changed and Brett faced a difficult quandary. The danger he had been sent to report on did not exist. He understood the process so well he couldn’t imagine how someone could be assimilated against their will. It was hard enough when you worked at it. He also felt the Federalist Worlds and even the Space Force were acting on innate fears they had not openly contemplated, and knowledge of real dangers would be put at the service of fighting imaginary ones. Yet surely his duty as an officer was to report what he had learned.
He would worry about that later. Some of his information was still unsourced. He needed to get to know the people who had brought it to him.
Brett ‘looked up’. The man helping him most closely was nicknamed ‘quantum Joe.’ His mind was neatly tagged, and Brett could see many of his specialties. His original training specialized in quantum chemistry, but he was also one of the people who coordinated investigations into brain cancer. Brett even saw a picture of what the man looked like in person: overweight, which was rare among Oceanians.
They hadn’t met, but Brett’s curiosity had brought them into a sort of shared virtual space. How could he make small talk with a man who was reading his mind, but would lose all memory of it as soon as he turned to something else? What the heck, the man knew his question.
When Joe spoke, it wasn’t quite like telepathy, or thoughtmail either. It was faster than physical speech, and some of the thoughts behind it were clear: those Joe intended to send. Brett could do the same, though Ariel said he still needed to fine tune his settings and his technique.
“It’s disconcerting if you answer questions they haven’t formulated verbally. It’s not part of the Triple Oath, but it’s customary, except when you experience answers as part of your own knowledge.”
Following up citations had indeed felt like remembering something he already knew.
Brett asked, “So which side are you on?”
Joe hesitated, then said, “You know, uhm, you can’t ask about my personal mental state under Oceania’s protocols?”
Brett nodded agreeably. “Right. Your professional oath doesn’t apply. Lie to me as best you can.”
“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth!”
Brett replied gravely, “My apologies for being flippant. Do you believe the overmind has a unique ability to analyze the human condition?”
“That’s hard to say. There are so many different opinions.”
That had to be a yes. A straightforward ‘no’ would have been simpler, and offer no reason to equivocate.
Then Joe said, “Since Ariel is your mentor, maybe you could ask her about this.”
Certain information was available on Brett’s tags to anyone who reached for it, presumably including the fact that Brett was still an apprentice. Without intending it, he remembered how he had misled Ariel and why.
Joe asked dubiously, “Did you mean me to know all that?”
Brett hastily tuned his defaults. Perhaps he really wasn’t ready to do this without Ariel, but he still didn’t regret his decision.
Joe volunteered, “My hippocampus won’t be allowed to create a long term memory, so I’ll forget as soon as I start thinking of something else. Meanwhile, good for you. I know Ariel.”
“So you won’t tell her?”
Joe replied cheerfully, “Couldn’t if I wanted to. Confidentiality. Same reason you can’t write something down before you forget it, or tell someone not part of the overmind. Anything you won’t be able to remember, you can’t record or communicate either.”
Brett suddenly became aware of his physical body. He didn’t feel controlled, but it felt odd to know there were certain things he wouldn’t be able to say or write if he tried.
How far would that confidentiality stretch? He had no secret knowledge that the Federalist Worlds were unwilling to sacrifice, and the safest assumption remained that Oceanians would find a way to break or bend their own rules with their planet at stake. Then he remembered what his own people had done, and felt shame at the thought.
Oh yeah. He pulled his computer off his belt, suddenly realizing how tired his legs were growing. If nobody resisted, it would be so easy to make Pendergastman happy, at least for now. He remembered Ariel’s evaluation of the technical information the Space Force wanted him to get from Oceania as crap. Maybe this wouldn’t cause him a problem then.
As he read the technical language of each question from the pad, understanding of the questions and answers flowed into his brain. He entered data into his belt computer, and wondered about the next phase of his training. He had been here less than one hour of his allotted four.
As soon as he thought of the question he knew the answer. Now he began his training, began learning to feed others information, and link people together. A taste of the final potential had been an introduction. He would have much to report.
Chapter 26
The chess set lay again on Williams’ desk, this time with the onyx pieces facing Brett. The jade king’s pawn occupied a center square already. Brett ignored it and told Williams, “I’m shuttling back up to the Firestorm tomorrow. Lieutenant General Pendergastman advised me to expect an extensive face to face debriefing over the next few days.”
Some part of Brett was still shocked over the things he had learned in his first full session as part of Oceania. His own bosses were covering up a great deal of information which would have made his job much easier. Now he knew for a fact that Oceania couldn’t and didn’t absorb unwilling people, and that his bosses had the same evidence, but somehow he couldn’t believe it. They shared the same innate fear with which he had begun his adventure. Yet not all innate fears were baseless. He wondered what a religion and philosophy developed with the aid of Oceanian technology would be like, and if people would still be human after absorbing it.
Williams frowned, then shook his head unhappily and said, “Watch out for him. He specializes in certain interrogation techniques that require authorization on a case by case basis.”
Williams was still thinking about Pendergastman, and he could be right, but Brett had bigger problems.
He replied, “I’ve heard stories about him too.”
Alas, the space force didn’t let you choose your superiors.
Before Williams could answer, Brett went on, “I just wanted to bring you up to date before I report back to the Firestorm.”
The other man smiled. “Thank you Brett.”
“Although I’ve only been functioning as part of the overmind for a short time, I’ve learned a lot.”
Williams started slightly at the reminder that Brett was now part of what they both had feared in different ways. For a melancholy moment, Brett wondered if the man would now flinch from a handshake.
Brett continued, “Most of what I do is routine, although a bit hard to describe. The supermind designs a lot of the technology Oceania uses and exports. I’m not an engineer, but problems are broken down into sub problems. These are parceled out to computer programmers, individual brains, or small groups. Usually you know just what rules apply, so it’s more like doing a puzzle than engineering.”
Williams’ eyes widened. “Is there any danger you’ll contribute to weapons which can be used against us?”
Brett paused. “I’ve discussed it with my new General, the brass figure not, especially given the lead time for developing, building, and deploying new weapons. Anyway, he feels we’re learning more than they are.”
Williams asked, “Is it all like that? You’re a tiny cog in a huge machine?”
“There are a few things I know something about, like medicine and the brain. Not enough to create anything, but sometimes enough to see big problems with something before a lot of time gets wasted. I’ve always been the kind of wise guy who likes poking holes in groupthink.”
“You can still do that?”
“Yeah. It’s not quite so much like being assimilated by a huge amoeba as I thought.”
Williams leaned back in his chair, and thought a moment before speaking. “That may not be exactly what Pendergastman wants to hear.”
Brett nodded. “The thought crossed my mind. When I first came down to Oceania, this mission made me very proud. We would avoid war if possible, but dismantling the overmind made sense at any cost.”
Williams met his eyes. “And now?”
“Well, things changed. I’ve learned enough about the civil war on Roundhouse, superminds, and what our own intelligence agencies haven’t been telling me that I no longer think attacking Oceania is worthwhile. I’ll say so to anyone who asks me, but I don’t expect anyone will.”
Brett waited for the obvious question, but instead Williams asked, “So you don’t find anything creepy at all?”
Brett hadn’t said that. He had merely become convinced the overmind had no interest or capability of absorbing the rest of humanity by force, and did not constitute a military threat. But he still wanted to get another question off the table. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I don’t tell everyone that since there’s no sinister monster trying to assimilate humanity, this war is an abomination and must be stopped immediately, whether they want to hear it or not?”
Williams shrugged. “Nobody’s going to listen to you just because you suddenly start making demands. If you give them the straight facts there’s a chance they’ll draw the right conclusion by themselves. An officer is sworn to disobey illegal orders, but not to commit mutiny or insubordination because he disagrees with legal ones, even a war he feels is wrong.”
Brett lifted his head a little. So the Ambassador did understand.
Williams said again, “The way you tell it makes it sound as if there’s nothing scary at all, but we’ve heard Oceanians talk about the overmind. It has consciousness. It’s not just another term for a bunch of people working together. Right?”
Brett sighed. “Right. Apparently there are conflicts over priorities. There are ethnic conflicts, regional rivalries, conflicts between different companies, political conflicts. The same system that enables people to join a project and instantly know all they need to know about it could be used to manipulate other people into joining your pet project. Even people who don’t believe in the overmind experience certain priorities as being set by it, and generally abide.
“Also, you never know what knowledge will be important, and some experience is personal. There are a lot of memories you can’t take away with you, which can make the experience … disjointed … in retrospect. A few memories of being part of a supermind can smooth things out a lot.”
Williams squinted. “So they don’t believe in it, but they still know what it wants?”
Brett chuckled. “That’s a good way to put it.”
“So people are added to projects, made to do stuff?”
Brett shook his head. “Not exactly. The part of the brain that focuses attention is different from the part that makes decisions. You can choose not to help with something, but you usually don’t. If you’re ‘there’ you usually have relevant knowledge and interests.”
“Sounds like a system crying out to be abused.”
Brett nodded. “It is. They know it too, and they even know it happens. Being a wiseass myself, I have to say the system to harness critics to puncture groupthink and find the holes in the system works pretty well – or seems to.”
Williams blinked. “You sound almost as if you like it.”
“I confess. I love it. It really does feel like being part of a supermind, a mind without limit. It feels so good you want to stretch it, do everything you can with it. Then you suddenly realize how far you’ve gone.”
Brett waited for a question, but Williams was listening silently and intently.
He continued. “Not all Oceanians believe what I’m about to tell you, not even most of them. Or maybe they believe it a bit when they’re in the mood – like not so devout people do with religion. You’ll see lots of religions from the rest of the galaxy here, so this can’t be as big as some people might make it sound.
“Remember what Ambassador Nocker said a long time ago? I don’t know where to start. I can only remember fragments now. I understood almost completely when I was part of Oceania. I could stare God in the face, reach out and touch the stars.”
Williams stared. “Brett, are you all right? I mean, you never seemed that religious before.”
Brett grinned. “Think I’m getting a bit carried away here?”