lifelong denizen of the virtual deep, Aleister did just about everything telepresently. If Lev hadn’t met him in person, hadn’t seen his bald head and graying beard and fleshly bulk, he would have doubted there was really a person to meet.
“Something ate a chunk of my code,” Lev said, having pulled down the relevant code-object for examination, “and shat out a bunch of garbage. A virus—a damn virus!”
“Temper, Lev dear, temper!” Aleister said with a chuckle. “Self-replicating software, if you please—‘virus’ is a pejorative term. Shoot me the garbage and I’ll run it through an interpreter and see if anything pops out.”
Lev shot the chunk of junk code to Aleister. Waiting, Lev felt the urge to twiddle his thumbs but, remembering he was wearing force feedback gloves, thought better of it.
“Got something here,” Aleister said at last.
“Let me see.”
Aleister dutifully shot a 3-D thing like a spiral staircase to Lev’s virtual overlays. Where it should have had stairs, though, it had keywords instead. TETRAGRAMMATON, Lev read. MEDUSA BLUE. WORLDGATE. APOTHEOSIS. UTEROTONIC. ENTHEOGEN. TRIMESTER. RATS. SEDONA. SKY HOLE. SCHIZOS. BALANCE. COMBINATION. ANGELS.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lev asked, but at that moment the foreign construct fell apart—leaving behind what Lev suspected might be a reinstatement of the original code.
“Not to mean,” Aleister said, laughing, “but to be, or not to be. It does, and then it was. A self-consuming artifact, like your—”
“Performance robots,” Lev said, getting but not appreciating the joke. “Who do you think our little jokester is? I mean, the source code was all object-driven stuff taken from the net coordinator, the Vajra. That’s always clean. It was sent as quantized information packets, and quips can’t be virused like that.”
“Ask Lakshmi,” Aleister said with a shrug. “She’s the Vajra goddess. If you find any more of these self-replicating software forms, though, send them to me. I haven’t run across this species before.”
“If I’m unlucky enough to be plagued with them again,” Lev said, “I’ll be happy to let you play epidemiologist to your heart’s content.”
Aleister disappeared, leaving Lev to hope that Lakshmi would see fit to stop by soon and work this through with him.
Chapter Four
Jhana thought her host family’s house was one of the most comfortable-looking places she’d ever seen. Computer- redesigned for more efficient use of space, the Spanish villa-cum-courtyard overlooked levels of gardens punctuated by pocket meadows, small streams and copses of trees.
As she jangled the antique front door bell, Jhana heard the sounds of twelve tone classical music, Tibetan overtone singing, and many voices in spirited conversation. Sarah and Arthur answered the door together, a couple perhaps twenty years older than herself, smiling a bit uncomprehendingly at her. Once Jhana had identified herself, her hosts led her toward a sunny atrium living room, plaguing her with enquiries about and sympathy for her trip up the gravity well, while she complimented them profusely on the beauty of their home.
“Thanks,” said Arthur Fukuda with an ‘Aw shucks tweren’t nothin’ shrug. “It’s all just mooncrete, you know—luna cotta tiles on the roof, the ‘stucco’ on the walls, the slabmix beneath this Corsican mint—everything.”
Jhana looked down. She’d thought she smelled mint. She was standing on it.
“What an interesting idea,” she exclaimed. “A living rug!”
“Yep,” Arthur said proudly. “Photosynthetic floorcover, gene-engineered for resistance to foot traffic, and for thriving on lower light and water levels. It was my friend Seiji’s idea. He’s the local garden wizard.”
“The only thing the house really lacks,” said Sarah as they walked down steps into the main living area, “is wood. The trees we have here are a bit too young and valuable yet to be turned
“Something ate a chunk of my code,” Lev said, having pulled down the relevant code-object for examination, “and shat out a bunch of garbage. A virus—a damn virus!”
“Temper, Lev dear, temper!” Aleister said with a chuckle. “Self-replicating software, if you please—‘virus’ is a pejorative term. Shoot me the garbage and I’ll run it through an interpreter and see if anything pops out.”
Lev shot the chunk of junk code to Aleister. Waiting, Lev felt the urge to twiddle his thumbs but, remembering he was wearing force feedback gloves, thought better of it.
“Got something here,” Aleister said at last.
“Let me see.”
Aleister dutifully shot a 3-D thing like a spiral staircase to Lev’s virtual overlays. Where it should have had stairs, though, it had keywords instead. TETRAGRAMMATON, Lev read. MEDUSA BLUE. WORLDGATE. APOTHEOSIS. UTEROTONIC. ENTHEOGEN. TRIMESTER. RATS. SEDONA. SKY HOLE. SCHIZOS. BALANCE. COMBINATION. ANGELS.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lev asked, but at that moment the foreign construct fell apart—leaving behind what Lev suspected might be a reinstatement of the original code.
“Not to mean,” Aleister said, laughing, “but to be, or not to be. It does, and then it was. A self-consuming artifact, like your—”
“Performance robots,” Lev said, getting but not appreciating the joke. “Who do you think our little jokester is? I mean, the source code was all object-driven stuff taken from the net coordinator, the Vajra. That’s always clean. It was sent as quantized information packets, and quips can’t be virused like that.”
“Ask Lakshmi,” Aleister said with a shrug. “She’s the Vajra goddess. If you find any more of these self-replicating software forms, though, send them to me. I haven’t run across this species before.”
“If I’m unlucky enough to be plagued with them again,” Lev said, “I’ll be happy to let you play epidemiologist to your heart’s content.”
Aleister disappeared, leaving Lev to hope that Lakshmi would see fit to stop by soon and work this through with him.
Chapter Four
Jhana thought her host family’s house was one of the most comfortable-looking places she’d ever seen. Computer- redesigned for more efficient use of space, the Spanish villa-cum-courtyard overlooked levels of gardens punctuated by pocket meadows, small streams and copses of trees.
As she jangled the antique front door bell, Jhana heard the sounds of twelve tone classical music, Tibetan overtone singing, and many voices in spirited conversation. Sarah and Arthur answered the door together, a couple perhaps twenty years older than herself, smiling a bit uncomprehendingly at her. Once Jhana had identified herself, her hosts led her toward a sunny atrium living room, plaguing her with enquiries about and sympathy for her trip up the gravity well, while she complimented them profusely on the beauty of their home.
“Thanks,” said Arthur Fukuda with an ‘Aw shucks tweren’t nothin’ shrug. “It’s all just mooncrete, you know—luna cotta tiles on the roof, the ‘stucco’ on the walls, the slabmix beneath this Corsican mint—everything.”
Jhana looked down. She’d thought she smelled mint. She was standing on it.
“What an interesting idea,” she exclaimed. “A living rug!”
“Yep,” Arthur said proudly. “Photosynthetic floorcover, gene-engineered for resistance to foot traffic, and for thriving on lower light and water levels. It was my friend Seiji’s idea. He’s the local garden wizard.”
“The only thing the house really lacks,” said Sarah as they walked down steps into the main living area, “is wood. The trees we have here are a bit too young and valuable yet to be turned
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