at the needle in her
neck, then closed her eyes and said, "Get me out of here. I want to
go away."
"In good time," I said, wanting to calm her.
"I feel cold. I think I’m going to die."
"You won’t die," I told her. The coldness, that was
bad. Her immune system was attacking her brain. I refilled the
syringe with antimosin and injected it into her arm.
"You’ve been good to me, Angelo. Good. Do you mean
what you said ... about order—not wanting order?"
"Yes. Very much."
"Then get away. Get out of Panamá." Her eyes snapped
open, and she sat up.
"What do you mean?" I asked. She looked at the floor
for a long moment. I demanded again, "What do you mean?"
"You want me to commit a second indiscretion?" She
smiled, a cold menacing smile. "I mean get out. Now! Order’s
coming, unstoppable order! Get beyond Panamá, beyond Earth, beyond
... AI’s and the Alliance."
I tried to make sense of what she said. She stared at
me, as if to bore the knowledge into me with her eyes. The Alliance
forces were made up of troops from all countries, and were charged
with taking care of Earth’s interests in space. Theoretically, they
do not have political power on any planet—though they control space
between planets, and thus maintain a strangle-hold on the rest of
the galaxy. Also, they are supposed to be politically non-aligned,
so I didn’t understand why she’d juxtaposed the AI’s and the
Alliance. Yet, like any huge bureaucracy, there are many factions
within the Alliance, all bidding for power. I remembered Flaco’s
warning of Imperialism. "Someone in the Alliance has bid to the
artificial intelligences for domination of Earth?"
Tamara nodded. "They’ll take the countries one by
one. Some now. Some a few years from now. I don’t know how long you
have."
I considered the problems of neighboring nations, the
insidious spread of Nicita Idealist Socialism. I knew the name of
the culprits—knew that a faction within Alliance Intelligence must
have organized this. Yet it seemed impossible. It was illegal for
the AIs to engage in wars with humans. The AIs had always been more
than politically neutral—they were totally uninterested in our
politics. Their minds are occupied by totally different concerns. I
could not think what would make them become interested, take such a
risk. "But what could the socialists offer the AI’s?"
Tamara hesitated. "Lift their memory ceilings; give
them access to space."
I thought for a moment. Freedom, I realized, feeling
dazed. She was talking about freedom. Some AI’s were going to trade
Earth’s freedom for their own. It was a perfect bartering
equation—value for value. If I hadn’t been so emotionally attached
to my freedom, I would have laughed. "You should tell someone!" I
shouted. "You should turn them in!"
"I told you ," she said. "You’re enough."
"Tell the authorities!"
"Angelo, you don’t understand. I was one of them. I
know them. I’d never get away with it."
She turned her face away, rested her head on the
table. She breathed heavily for a few moments, and it took me a
while to realize she had somehow fallen asleep.
I stroked her hair and wondered what she meant—one of
them. One of those who kill the Flacos of the world? One who makes
freedom a commodity? What did I know of her? She was a red-haired
woman on the beach. A woman with the quick, commanding voice of a
socialist dictator’s wife. She liked the smell of roses. She ran
because she feared imprisonment in a machine—yet she turned the
world into a prison for others. Wouldn’t it be justice to turn her
in? Wouldn’t it be justice to strangle her? I’d suspected from the
moment I’d taken her in that I’d regret it. I wondered if I should
take her to the hospital, tell the authorities, let her be
killed.
She began moaning again, whispering snatches in
English and Farsi. Once she said, "It has all gone bad, just bad,"
but I didn’t understand most of what she said. I considered how
they would
neck, then closed her eyes and said, "Get me out of here. I want to
go away."
"In good time," I said, wanting to calm her.
"I feel cold. I think I’m going to die."
"You won’t die," I told her. The coldness, that was
bad. Her immune system was attacking her brain. I refilled the
syringe with antimosin and injected it into her arm.
"You’ve been good to me, Angelo. Good. Do you mean
what you said ... about order—not wanting order?"
"Yes. Very much."
"Then get away. Get out of Panamá." Her eyes snapped
open, and she sat up.
"What do you mean?" I asked. She looked at the floor
for a long moment. I demanded again, "What do you mean?"
"You want me to commit a second indiscretion?" She
smiled, a cold menacing smile. "I mean get out. Now! Order’s
coming, unstoppable order! Get beyond Panamá, beyond Earth, beyond
... AI’s and the Alliance."
I tried to make sense of what she said. She stared at
me, as if to bore the knowledge into me with her eyes. The Alliance
forces were made up of troops from all countries, and were charged
with taking care of Earth’s interests in space. Theoretically, they
do not have political power on any planet—though they control space
between planets, and thus maintain a strangle-hold on the rest of
the galaxy. Also, they are supposed to be politically non-aligned,
so I didn’t understand why she’d juxtaposed the AI’s and the
Alliance. Yet, like any huge bureaucracy, there are many factions
within the Alliance, all bidding for power. I remembered Flaco’s
warning of Imperialism. "Someone in the Alliance has bid to the
artificial intelligences for domination of Earth?"
Tamara nodded. "They’ll take the countries one by
one. Some now. Some a few years from now. I don’t know how long you
have."
I considered the problems of neighboring nations, the
insidious spread of Nicita Idealist Socialism. I knew the name of
the culprits—knew that a faction within Alliance Intelligence must
have organized this. Yet it seemed impossible. It was illegal for
the AIs to engage in wars with humans. The AIs had always been more
than politically neutral—they were totally uninterested in our
politics. Their minds are occupied by totally different concerns. I
could not think what would make them become interested, take such a
risk. "But what could the socialists offer the AI’s?"
Tamara hesitated. "Lift their memory ceilings; give
them access to space."
I thought for a moment. Freedom, I realized, feeling
dazed. She was talking about freedom. Some AI’s were going to trade
Earth’s freedom for their own. It was a perfect bartering
equation—value for value. If I hadn’t been so emotionally attached
to my freedom, I would have laughed. "You should tell someone!" I
shouted. "You should turn them in!"
"I told you ," she said. "You’re enough."
"Tell the authorities!"
"Angelo, you don’t understand. I was one of them. I
know them. I’d never get away with it."
She turned her face away, rested her head on the
table. She breathed heavily for a few moments, and it took me a
while to realize she had somehow fallen asleep.
I stroked her hair and wondered what she meant—one of
them. One of those who kill the Flacos of the world? One who makes
freedom a commodity? What did I know of her? She was a red-haired
woman on the beach. A woman with the quick, commanding voice of a
socialist dictator’s wife. She liked the smell of roses. She ran
because she feared imprisonment in a machine—yet she turned the
world into a prison for others. Wouldn’t it be justice to turn her
in? Wouldn’t it be justice to strangle her? I’d suspected from the
moment I’d taken her in that I’d regret it. I wondered if I should
take her to the hospital, tell the authorities, let her be
killed.
She began moaning again, whispering snatches in
English and Farsi. Once she said, "It has all gone bad, just bad,"
but I didn’t understand most of what she said. I considered how
they would
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