Now, he was still getting used to the souped-up gear. One corner of his specs lit up in a yellow, high-pri shade, indicating that a virt was coming in, from a person of substance with top credibility scores. From someone in the Advisory Panel … eighty or so experts who were permitted to watch the commission deliberate in real time, and offer suggestions.
Gerald first saw it gist-distilled down to a single phrase-“many may be one, and vice-versa.” But, in less than a second the glimmer expanded, filling out the meaning and acquiring a vaice, especially as first Akana, then Genady, clicked approval.
“The distinction between ‘one’ and ‘many’ can be ambiguous. The best models of a human mind portray it as a mélange of interests and subpersonalities, sometimes in conflict, often merging, overlapping, or recomposing with agile adaptability.
“Sanity is viewed as a matter of getting these fluid portions of the self to play well together, without letting them become rigid or too well defined. In human beings, this is best achieved through interaction with other minds-other people-beyond the self. Without the push-back of external beings-outside communities and objective events-the subjective self can get lost in solipsism or fractured delusion.
“We know from experience that solitude or sensory deprivation can be especially devastating. Prisoners who are kept in sequestered confinement often wind up dividing their minds into explicit personas-rigid characters that grow firm and permanent, with consistent voices all their own. Perhaps they do this in order to have someone to talk to.
“Now extrapolate this. Picture a ‘person’ who has lived alone, as isolated as any castaway, for untold centuries. Even eons. All of it endured without any external beings to converse with. Just floating in space, lacking actual events to help mark time or to denote real from imagined.
“Is it possible that you or I, after such extended loneliness, might envision, then believe in, separate personalities? Characters who started out as imaginary figments, but gradually became as varied and interesting and diverse as you might find in a whole world-or in a community of worlds? Interacting with each other in ways that reflect the disorder and pain of a long, harsh state of isolation?”
Emily gasped. “I hadn’t thought of that. But the implication… you’re saying the Artifact may not be making up these characters in order to fool us.
“Instead, it might be doing so because it is insane!”
“I did not use that term. In fact, there is another word that comes to mind. More optimistic and less judgmental, it could also explain the ‘Rabble Effect’-the chaotic jumble of personalities and images.
“Instead of malignant intent, or insanity, the sheer diversity of alien types that we see may reflect simple wishfulness, on the part of a lonesome mind. One that was originally designed as an emissary. One built to yearn for contact.”
Gerald saw it coming. He spoke aloud, before the advisory voice could state the obvious.
“You think the Artifact is asleep. That it may be dreaming.
“In which case, can we-or should we-try to wake it up?”
Tiger sifted all the different theories into a multidimensional matrix, performed some optimization simulations, and came up with a suggestion.
“I propose that we try operant conditioning.”
The phrase sounded familiar to Gerald. His wetbrain memory tickled-possibly something he had learned in freshman biology class. But why bother reaching for it neuronally? Definitions scrolled under the quasi-feline face, sparking associations. Ah, yes. B. F. Skinner and his famous pigeons. Using reward and punishment to reinforce some behaviors while eliminating others. Anyone who ever trained a dog knew the basics.
“We should stop providing information, and even very much in the way of illumination to power the Artifact, except when the creatures within decide to settle down, behave less manically competitive, and start talking with us in a cogent manner.”
“Forcing them to get organized and stop behaving like unsupervised kindergartners.” Akana nodded with approval. It seemed that the idea of teaching aliens discipline appealed to her.
“And what of those other possibilities?” Emily asked, pointing at the plausibility matrix. “One theory suggests that the Rabble Effect may be a pretense. The appearance of an unruly mob may be feigned, as if by actors, playing roles. All this wild diversity could be made-up by a single mind. One that’s nefarious, or crazy… or perhaps dreaming?”
“Well,” answered the feline-female visage in the threevee tank. “This plan would seem best, in any event. It would show that we mean business. That it is time to rouse and get focused. To stop any pretense.”
Gerald stared. All the experts insisted that ersatz personae like Tiger weren’t truly self-aware or sapient-only programmed to seem that way. But when did the distinction become absurd, even foolish?
Ramesh shook his head. “They… it… the Artifact already knows a lot about us. If we try such a ploy, it may simply call our bluff, betting that we can’t hold out for long. Not with several billion people watching and the potential of rich treasures to be gained from contact. Demands from the public-and our political masters-will put a time limit on any such experiment. And this thing has plenty of experience with patience.
“Still,” he shrugged, “it does seem to be the best idea on the table.”
When it came to a vote, Gerald raised his hand in assent. Still, he kept one thought to himself-
– that operant conditioning can work both ways. Sometimes, the one who thinks he’s doing the training… may be the one being trained.
Okay, it’s me Slawek again. Promoted from tour guide to reclam leader. Yeah, I’m just a kid. So? If you don’t like taking directions from a fourteen-year-old deepee, just go to the Duty Desk and ask Dariga Sadybekova to assign you to another team. Or tell Dr. Betsby your troubles, if he’ll listen. Oh yes… he’s out of town!
Look, I don’t care if you just arrived from Outer Slobovia, or if your biofeedback guru wants you to buzz-meditate twelve hours a day, or if you still have the Awfulday Twitches. Everybody works. That’s a rule if you want to keep living here under the Silverdome.
In fact, some of the work parties are dorma-fun. Hunting pheasant and picking wild grapes in the wild suburbs, or sledge-demoling abandoned houses and stripping their last traces of metal. Pounding down the walls in search of hidden treasures.
Sorry, we’re not doing that today.
We’ll be sewer-diving under one of the Detroit reclamation neighborhoods we Silverdomers were granted, as a homestead domain by the state of Michigan. That is, if we can improve it.
Yeah, okay. Sewer work. So? Why blink? Almost nobody lives there, so there won’t be much flushing going on. And we all get micropore masks. So it shouldn’t stink. Much.