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forty-nine

Professor Ulkanov sat at a console in one of the rooms across the corridor from the main laboratory area, contemplating the image on the large screen in front of him. It showed in symbolic form the dynamic relationships within an associative set of schematized neural constructs. Several auxiliary screens to one side presented command summaries and algorithmic syntaxes of the specially developed group-manipulation calculus that Ashling had brought from Earth, including the extensions that Nordens had added to it.

Even after more than a week of devoting himself to absorbing these new representations and techniques with a born-again fervor that had wrought havoc with his schedule of other commitments and appointments, reducing his secretary to the verge of distraction from having to dream up excuses for him, he was still only discovering the full power of this. Ashling had taken a big chance when he buried himself underneath Samurai's persona and trusted to Ulkanov to reactivate him after he got to Luna. For a start the equipment here, though adequate, still left a lot to be desired compared to what Ashling had enjoyed at Pearse—there were some immediate modifications that he could use, Ulkanov could see. But more to the point, some of the procedures that Ashling stipulated in his encrypted communication via Pipeline were completely different from anything that Ulkanov had employed before, and at the time had meant nothing. Fortunately, however, being always the meticulous professional, Ashling had given very precise -instructions.

Ulkanov could see, captured within the equations, the changes taking place when new sensory information, processed and correlated in different parts of the brain, merged with and modified the conceptual structures to which it related. By entering a line of command code he could create the new associative net connecting all the modifications effected by that same data input as a higher-level mapping. One level higher still, and he could tag entire blocks of experience as variables that could be combined into symbolic functions and processed analytically. He could build a mind on the computer screen.

"Global," he murmured aloud.

"Z mode?" the system vocalized from a grille below the auxiliary screens.

"Five five."

"Function required?"

"Correlation nexuses with sigma above point three for the last five runs. Overlay at new level, sub VT."

"Section scan running. . . . Integrated and complete. . . . Cross-links complete. Index mods complete. Functions available."

"Transform AG through BT to mode five. Combine, and reintegrate with all delta. Show result in green three as level-four conformal."

"Processing."

"And put a message through to Gunther to send in some coffee."

"Done."

Ulkanov was impressed.

Yet at the same time, his face was troubled. He shifted his gaze to another screen, showing the "hardware" activation dynamics as a superposition of neural arbors, each depicted in its own color as a network of branching pathways in a skein of multiply connected, interwoven filaments. What, only two days ago, had been uniformly dense, intri-cately extended networks were separating into island groupings. Entire highways of associative cross-linkings, rich in interconnections essential to preserving coherence and functional integrity, were disappearing. The mind that he was looking into was beginning to come apart.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door, and Kay came in, looking her old self again. A week of rest after her spell on Earth and the journey back, with four days at Tycho with her husband and children, had made a big difference.

"Still at it, I see," Kay said. "Barbara did warn me. She thinks they're going to have to hire somebody else to run the department."

Ulkanov grunted. "You have to see more of this, Kay," he replied. "Then you'll understand. God only knows what we'd have been doing by now if Conrad had been here years ago."

Kay closed the door and came over to lean on the console while she contemplated the screen. "What is it that makes people like Nordens get twisted?" she sighed. "I've never understood this obsession with having to direct other people's lives."

Ulkanov leaned back in the chair, stretched, and yawned wearily. "I don't know, Kay. Some people are just like that, I suppose, and others are not. They'll never understand each other. . . . Anyway, did you have a good time back at Tycho? You look much the better for it."

"Wonderful."

"The family are all well, I trust?"

"Fine. Joao's going out for six months on a spaceborne experimental plant that Skypower's building. Max will be staying on at college, but the girls are coming here to Copernicus, so I'll be able to see more of them, which will be nice."

"Very good. . . . Skypower. That's the antimatter recombination thing they've been talking about, isn't it?"

"Right. They say that within twenty years they'll be sending primary power around the Solar System as gamma-ray beams."

"Hmmm." Ulkanov thought for a moment. "Which is the one who wants to follow you into AI? It was one of the girls, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Maria. The twelve-year-old."

"I suppose we'll be seeing quite a lot of her, then," Ulkanov said. "No doubt you'll be dreaming up all kinds of reasons for bringing her along here."

Kay smiled. "You do read minds. Would it be okay?"

"Oh, certainly. I'm surprised you ask. This place seems to be alive with children most of the time, anyway. Half of them belong to the students."

"I just don't like being presumptuous about things."

Ulkanov turned in his chair. "My mind-reading powers also tell me that you didn't come here to talk about things like that."

As if she had been waiting for a cue, Kay's expression at once became more serious. "No," she said. "I didn't. I wanted to talk about Ashling."

Ulkanov's face remained neutral. "What about him?"

Kay straightened up from the console and moved to the other side of the room, where she stood facing the other way for a few seconds. Clearly, whatever she had to say wasn't something that came easily. Ulkanov waited. Finally she turned.

"When I was down on Earth, the time that we were with Scipio and the others in the house near Chicago, when he was still Richard Jarrow . . . I got to talking quite a lot with Rita."

"Yes?"

This wasn't coming out the way Kay had intended. She tried changing to a different tack. "Look, Jarrow lived out his life and died naturally. The whole business about him reactivating again in Demiro was a freak accident. And Samurai was an artificial creation from the beginning. He was never what you'd call a . . . a real person."

"Go on."

Kay spread her hands for a moment, hesitating. "But that still leaves two others. There's Ashling; and there's Tony Demiro, who still exists and is alive inside somewhere, underneath all the mess that's been going on. And physically, the person walking around up here is Demiro. You see what I'm saying, Andre. . . . I guess I'm still seeing the look in Rita's eyes, hearing the way she talked. They had their lives, their hopes—hopes to come to Luna one day, and start their own family, without all the restrictions down there. Going home to Tycho brought it home to me. I looked at my kids, and I couldn't help thinking about those other kids who should have had the chance to exist, but didn't have. See what I mean? It just doesn't feel . . . right."

Ulkanov stared at her, but whatever he was thinking remained unfathomable. "What do you want me to do?"

Kay closed her eyes and sighed. She moved over to a stool by the hard-copy unit and propped herself against it. "I don't know, Andre. Maybe I just needed somebody to dump it on. . . ."

Ulkanov waited, guessing that she couldn't leave it at that.

And he was right. She bit her lip for a moment and went on, "Ashling's purpose when he copied himself into Samurai was to prevent his knowledge and his work from being lost—and he's accomplished that now. It wasn't to extend his life. His life was over. He died that night." Kay took a long breath, and then finally got it off her chest. "He didn't do it to buy himself a new lease on life at the -expense of a young soldier who was just an innocent victim of the situation, and who had his own life ahead. That's what I'm trying to say. That's what isn't right."

There was a silence. At last, Ulkanov nodded. "I know what you are saying, of course. And I understand how you feel. But again, what would you have me—" A tone sounded from the viewphone on a shelf beside the console. "Excuse me." He touched the accept pad. It was Barbara. "Yes?"

Barbara was uncharacteristically brusque. "Professor, there's some kind of problem with Conrad. We're in the machine section. Do you think you could come here, please?"

"At once." Ulkanov cut the connection and tilted his head at Kay as he rose. There was a strange, distant look on his face. "You'd better come too," he told her.

* * *

Ashling was sitting on the edge of the vinyl-padded couch in the workroom next to the machine installation. Barbara was standing by him, looking concerned. The nurse from the department's medical dispensary, whom Barbara had also called as a precaution, hovered a short distance behind.

Ashling frowned at Ulkanov when he entered, as if he were having difficulty recognizing him. Suddenly his face broke into a smile of self-congratulations. "Ah yes, the professor. Hi."

Ulkanov nodded an acknowledgment. "What's happened?" he asked Barbara.

"He started acting strange while we were going over the machine. He didn't seem to know who he was for a while. It seems to have cleared a little now, though." She brushed a curl of hair from her eyes. "It had me really worried. Maybe it's delayed stress from everything that went on down there, or something. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

"No. You did absolutely the right thing." Ulkanov turned to the nurse. "How does he seem to you?"

"He's perspiring, and his pulse is fast. There's nothing obvious to worry about that I can see. But he should have a full check."

"Of course." Ulkanov looked at Ashling. "How do you feel now?"

"I feel . . . You're the professor, right?"

"Yes, I am the professor. I'm told that you weren't sure who you are? Do you know now?"

"I . . ."

"He's doing it again," Barbara muttered.

"Ashling, Conrad Ashling," Ashling pronounced. He thrust his chin out challengingly. "You thought I didn't know, didn't you?"

"Where are you from, Conrad?" Ulkanov asked.

"From? . . ." Ashling seemed about to answer, but then sat back and looked puzzled. "From different places. Different places, all at once. I don't understand it."

"Tell us about the places," Ulkanov said. Kay looked at him oddly. It was almost as if he had known what to -expect.

Ashling's expression was distant. "One had lakes and a river. There was a city there, by the river. . . ." His face cleared, and he focused on Ulkanov suddenly, as if a different person were speaking. "I used to kill people. I liked killing people. They wouldn't let me be like them. . . . Next I'm going to kill Larry. He wouldn't believe who I was. And Shafer, Nimmo, that Lauer bitch, all of them. None of them believed me. . . . But not Vera." He looked confused again and peered around. "Why isn't Vera here?"

The nurse looked to Ulkanov with a worried expression. "He needs to rest," Ulkanov murmured gravely. "We'll take him to the dispensary. Do you have something you can give him?" The nurse nodded. Ulkanov put a hand on Ashling's shoulder. "Come on, old friend," he said gently. "There's a warm bed waiting for you downstairs. You've had a hard time. You need to sleep."

* * *

"You know," Kay said to Ulkanov as they left the dispensary and began walking back along the corridor toward the front elevators. "I could tell, watching you. It didn't come as a complete surprise to you, did it? You know what it is."

Ulkanov nodded heavily. "I was looking at it when you came into the computer room just before. What they were doing at Pearse was too rushed, maybe because of the political pressures. I don't know. . . . But the groundwork on basics wasn't covered thoroughly enough. The overlay group linkages have inherent instabilities in them. They're starting to break down. The same thing would have happened to Samurai. Maybe it did."

Kay stared at him as they came to the doors. The car was already there. "Break down? . . . What are you saying, exactly?"

Ulkanov replied without looking at her as they stepped inside. "I think your problem might be solving itself. Think of it as analogous to a tissue rejection with a transplant. In subtle ways that we don't yet comprehend, the mind, like the body, recognizes and protects its own. Maybe one day we'll know how to prevent it. But that time isn't yet."

The door closed. They were halfway down to the main laboratory level by the time Kay had fully digested the meaning of his words. "There's nothing that can be done?" The fervor that she had spoken with earlier was gone, and her voice was suddenly very quiet and sober.

Ulkanov shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Probably it's better this way."

They came out into a foyer with offices behind glass partitions, and corridors leading off in several directions. Ulkanov seemed to have been weighing something in his mind. "Kay, would you do something for me?" he said.

"What?"

"Get on to the Pipeline people. I'd like them to contact Josef again, if they can."

She nodded. "Sure."

"Let me know what they say. I'll be in the computer room again."

"I'll call you there as soon as I've talked to them." Kay went away in the direction of her own office.

Ulkanov walked slowly back to the room that he had been in earlier and closed the door. He sat down and stared again at the images still showing on the screens. What he had seen before was even clearer now.

The story he had given Kay was true in a way, but oversimplified. Yes, the overlays were unstable, and the linkages were breaking down.

But there was a director function in there, linked to another self-activating time-out sequence, which showed all the marks of having been constructed artificially. What was instigating the breakdown process wasn't something that had evolved naturally. Why should it be? Nature had never encountered anything like this for which a natural defense would be required. It had been put there to do the job.

Ashling hadn't wanted to steal Demiro's body, just to borrow it for a while. But he'd known that once he experienced the change, he might feel tempted to change his mind.

And therefore he had arranged things this way.

 

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