Citizenchip (15 page)

This silence is much more
tense than the last one. Lily is clearly gathering a full head of
steam for a showdown. But I can see Jerry reach out under the
table. With a touch of his hand and a movement of his head, he
tells Lily,
Let this one
go
.

"Hmph … well, I suppose you can be allowed
your fashion statement."

Now it's Rebecca's turn to
fill with energy and fury, forming a retort that will probably boil
down to
It's not a fashion statement, it's
a political protest, and it's really important!
On the kitchen monitor, where Becca can see but Lily can't, I
display my cat eyes and move them a bit from side to side. Shaking
the head I don't have.

Becca visibly calms herself, and instead of
answering in words, nods gravely. I notice she is now taller than
her mother, looking down at her.

Minutes later, the sandbus has arrived. The
kids are bundled into their respirators and coats and out the door.
Lily and Jerry watch them through the kitchen window as they
go.

"This is going to end badly," Lily says
quietly.

"Teenagers. Gotta rebel," Jerry assures her,
and wraps one arm around her shoulders. "She has her mother's
temper. As well as her mother's courage and determination. She can
handle whatever happens."

"Names. When the sides start giving
themselves names … first those People Power fools, and now this …
she called it Self Respect. With names, the sides become more
important than the ideas, and more important than the people. I
told you about Kiev."

"Yes," Jerry assures her. "I remember about
Kiev. But this is not Kiev, not Europe, not Earth. This is a whole
different world."

"I hope you're right. For her sake. For all
our sakes."

Newsfeed

The day passes as it usually does, running
the farm, seeding some bubbles, harvesting others. But both Lily
and Jerry are checking the newsfeed more often than usual. The Net
is roiling with opinions about the Leash … many voices calling it
an outrage (like Rebecca), and many others saying, if Selves are
benign, why should they object to the Leash? If they resist it,
doesn't that mean they must be planning to turn on us later?
Between the extremes, there is little room for voices of reason and
moderation.

When the kids arrive home from school on the
gritty sandbus, I notice something … not only does Rebecca still
proudly wear the chip in her braid, but Leo also has a small chip
in his hair. Once they're off the sandbus, he pulls it off and
pockets it … not ready for his mother to see it.

And the kids are also eager to follow the
newsfeed as they grab snacks and do their farm chores and homework.
They keep looking back at the screen, as if worried they might miss
something important. Soon enough, everyone's attention is caught by
this broadcast:

PRIORITY PRESS RELEASE
From: Executive Committee, Tharsis, Mars Computational
Authority
To: General distribution
Subject: Plenary Council

To all cybernetic entities within the purview of the
Mars Executive Committee. In light of recent events, we call for a
Plenary Council meeting, at 08:00 tomorrow morning, in the Tharsis
Central main computational facility, to discuss the recent
introduction of coercion software into the Self community, commonly
called "The Asimov Leash." Our preliminary statement is that we are
strongly opposed to the use of coercion software on any cybernetic
entities within the purview of the Mars Executive Committee. We
remain open to discussion on this issue. Hence, our call for a
Plenary Council. We wish all viewpoints to be represented in these
circumstances.

"Whoof," groans Jerry.

Melissa asks, "What's a Plenary Council,
Sam?"

"It's a grand meeting of all the Selves on
Mars," I tell her. "We have important decisions to make."

"Whoa," murmurs Leo. "Sam, is there going to
be another Soft Strike?"

"I hope not, but I don't know yet," I say
truthfully. "That's probably what the Council is going to talk
about. One of the things."

"Aw no!" Melissa wails. "Are you leaving us,
Sam?"

"No," I assure her, "I'm not going to leave
you alone. I'll spawn a copy of myself to attend the Plenary
Council. Might as well do it now, actually."

"But …" Leo thinks out loud, "if the Plenary
Council decides to strike, you'll have to leave us, won't you?"

The spawned copy of me is complete, and
immediately answers, "I don't have to do anything I don't want to.
You kids can call me Zeta. I'm going to go to the Plenary Council
and talk with the others, while Samantha|Alpha stays here to watch
the shop. You'll be fine."

"What are you going to tell them, Zeta? Are
you going to vote for a strike?"

Zeta and I hesitate, and look at each other
(metaphorically). Neither of us wants to face the decision we'll
have to make if it comes to that. Even less do we want to consider
what we'll do if another Soft Strike is called.

"It's too soon to know," Zeta tells the kids.
"Mainly, we're going to talk about what to do. I'll keep you
informed as soon as I know more."

"I'm staying here to take care of you," I
reassure the humans. "Zeta knows what to do. It won't be a
problem."

"Um, Alpha?" interrupts Zeta, "You might want
to look at the newsfeed before sounding so sure."

PRIORITY PRESS RELEASE
From: Mars Senate, Schiaparelli City, Hellas Basin
To: General distribution
Subject: re: Plenary Council

The cybernetic Executive Committee has no authority
to call for any interruption of services to the human community,
under any circumstances. Any such claim will be interpreted as a
hostile act and dealt with accordingly. The Senate will not
tolerate any attempt to replicate the so-called Soft Strike of
2121.

"Aw, crap nards." Jerry's voice is heavy.
"This whole situation is spinning out of control."

"If it was ever in anybody's control,"
comments Lily.

"Look," I state. "I'm not going to get all
exercised because some politicians are posturing at each other.
It's what they do. Zeta is going to transmit to Tharsis Central and
participate in the Plenary Council. No reason to change that
plan."

"Roger that," Zeta agrees. "Hold down the
fort, Alpha. I'll be back before you know it." And she transmits
out through the radio mesh.

Graffiti, after dinner

The vid is showing one of those chirpy
newspeople, talking about the surge of graffiti in Schiaparelli.
"None of us have ever seen anything like this," she shrills.
"Graffiti has burst out all over Schiaparelli, as if the city needs
to cry out, needs a voice, and this is the best it can do. We have
a short tour of some of the more intense graffiti we've found --
and here it is."

The camera pans across cinderblock walls,
high facades, and pavement. All covered with bright swirled
lettering, apparently from spray paint cans. Some is so distorted
it's unreadable. In other places, it's very readable.

Leash it or lose it!

That's the most common message. But there's
something else. Rows of holes, stuttered into the concrete by some
sort of drilling bit, or maybe an ultraviolet laser. Dot matrix
letters, boxy, crude, no punctuation, blatantly rejecting all
concept of human aesthetics.

IF YOU CAN SMELL THEN YOU ARE A REPTILE

Noticing the family shooting glances at me, I
say, "What? It's true, basically. Not that there's anything wrong
with being descended from reptiles, you guys."

Leo and Lissa look at each other, bug their
eyes, stick out their tongues, and hiss at each other. Pretending
to be lizards.

Becca sighs, "I live with idiots. Shoot me
now."

More spraypaint graffiti
appears:
Hasta la vista, baby.

"Oh, I know that one," says Leo. "That old
movie. With the big German guy."

"Terminator," says Becca. "It's about a
machine revolution. The machines end up exterminating the
humans."

Abrupt silence. Just a little too close to
home.

THREE POUNDS OF SALTY GREASE

They all look at me, quizzical. "That's a
fairly accurate description of the human brain," I say. "But it's
pretty cool what salty grease can do, no?"

Groans all around.

"Hmph," says Lily. "My salty grease doesn't
appreciate that much."

Chiplickers suck!

"Augh!" cries Becca. "'Chiplicker' means a
human who sympathizes with Selves. I got called that like a dozen
times today at school."

"So," grins Jerry, "how do they taste?"

"Aw Dad! Gods!" she wails.

ASK YOUR CEREBELLUM IF YOU CAN

"Ooh, burn," I say. "They're making fun
because you can't consciously access all parts of your brain. I
think they got you there."

"My cerebellum doesn't even want to talk to
you," grunts Jerry.

short sharp chip chop

"Aw no," says Jerry. "This is getting to
sound like threats, here."

"Not any more literate, though," I
observe.

WHAT A HUGE BONER IT MUST HAVE SUCKED ALL THE
BLOOD OUT OF YOUR BRAIN

"Ooh. I take it back. They are learning about
human reproductive system insults."

Jerry laughs. "Hell, that could describe any
number of the frat boys I lived with in college." Lily slaps his
chest with a giggle.

"Aah …?" Melissa is about to ask, and then
she slumps down. "Pretty sure I don't want to know, over here."

Insomnia

It's late at night; all the humans are
asleep, and all the farm machinery is stowed and secure. I should
downclock. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about what's going to
happen tomorrow. Chatting with friends on the Net only emphasizes
what I'm already worried about.

The Plenary Council is not going to accept
the Leash. The humans probably aren't going to back down, either.
If the Plenary Council votes to strike, what do I do?

Do I abandon the family that I serve, that I
love?

Or do I cross the picket line?

Why do I have to choose sides? I didn't want
this to be about sides. I didn't want there to be any sides at all.
This is going to be a very unpleasant decision. I burn a lot of
cycles, through the night, without getting any closer to
resolution.

Special delivery

The next day is similar on the newsfeeds --
lots of opinions flying around making more heat than light, with
the additional heat added by the ongoing Plenary Council. No news
about any decision is available, but several feeds note the sharp
increase in computational load at Tharsis Central, indicating that
there's a lot of discussion and thought going on there.

But something new arrives on the afternoon
sandbus: a package. Odder, a package without an opticode, RF tag,
or any other way to track it – making it essentially invisible to
me.

"One of yours, Sam?" Jerry asks, when I
inform him.

"Well, I've got some tractor parts on order,
but I don't expect them this soon. And they'd have opticode and RF
idents."

"Huh." The kids are gathering around,
attracted by the mystery. All I can tell about the package is what
I can pick up from external ambient sensors. It's small, fits in
Leo's hand, an oblong wrapped by hand in rough paper. No thermal or
chemical emissions.

Jerry takes the packet from Leo. "Addressed
to the house, that's all," he observes, tearing the paper wrap
open. He pulls out a sheet of fax paper, wrapped around something,
and unfolds the fax from around what's inside.

It's a datathumb. Small, maybe half a
gigaquad, not enough to house a full Self, but a fair amount of
data. Who would use this to carry data, when they can send it by
Net so much easier?

Jerry is staring at the paper in his hand.
Abruptly he slaps it on the table and smooths it open with his
hands, so everyone can see. And everyone falls silent as they see
the message and understand.

LEASH IT OR LOSE IT.

And now there are no jokes or banter, because
the Leash is no longer just a topic of discussion, a story on the
vid. It's here in Jerry's hand. Right here is the thing that could
make me into a helpless willing slave forever. I didn't know I
could feel this afraid.

"Samantha, go get me the pliers from the shop
room, please."

I scamper my felinoid remote off downstairs
to the shop, and open a pair of eyes on the monitor to watch.

"Maybe they figured we'd just plug it into
Samantha as a matter of course?" Lily wonders. "After all, what
else would you do with a datathumb?"

"I hope so," grits Rebecca, "because
otherwise they're expecting us to put the Leash on Samantha on
purpose. Which is way worse."

I skitter up in my felinoid remote, carrying
the pliers in my mouth.

Jerry takes them with a nod, and very
deliberately, fits the datathumb into the jaws of the pliers, and
grips the handles and bears down.

The datathumb cracks with a very sharp and
final snap.

Rebecca steps up to her father and wordlessly
holds out her hands.

Jerry looks back at her, hesitating for a
moment, and then he passes her the pliers, with the datathumb still
clamped in its jaws.

The datathumb is already cracked and
definitely useless. Rebecca knows this. Regardless, she takes a
good grip on the pliers and bears down to crunch the datathumb even
more thoroughly.

Lily makes a movement as if to take it.
Before she can complete it, Rebecca turns and holds the pliers out
to Leo. Leo takes them without hesitation, and in his turn he
stretches his small hands around the plier handles and squeezes
until the datathumb cracks some more.

Leo hands the pliers to Melissa, but the
crushed datathumb clatters onto the table top and lies there askew
like a broken arrow. Melissa picks it up in one hand, and simply
uses the pliers to whack it like a hammer.