We slowed as we neared the edge of the forest and the kelp stalks became sparser. I was sitting on my dad’s knee, and he held me tightly against him with both arms, his warm hands on the flesh of my thighs, steering the boat with his phantom hands.
Unlike Mother, as soon as they’d arrived on Atopia my dad had worked hard at stretching his neural plasticity. Early on, he learned the trick of phantom limbs, something my mother never really figured out.
That day, we were fishing with the dolphins, which my dad knew was my favorite. My smile spread as we sped across the kelp, the wind and sun in my face, free as a bird. We didn’t really fish, but mostly directed the dolphins using pssi control, and they did the fish tending. At that early stage in the project, we still needed their help to herd the fish, and for me this was the best part of fishing—speaking with the dolphins.
“There they are.” My dad cut the engine.
Our boat settled into the water, gliding to a stop. The open ocean was gentle, but my dad held me tight. Gulls wheeled high in the air behind us, waiting for signs of any fish we might throw their way.
Off to the side of the boat, fast-moving shapes sped toward us from the depths. With a terrific splash, about a dozen heads broke the surface and the air filled with the sound of dolphins squeaking.
The pssi system instantly translated for us. Wild dolphins had fairly weak skills at what we would call communication, and the system often had to guess what they meant. These, however, were uplifted Terra Novan dolphins and had a good vocabulary.
And they were saying hello.
I smiled and waved. “Hey, Billy! Hi, Samantha!”
They squeaked their hellos back. Dad let go of me, and I rushed to the side and put my hand in the water to pet their snouts. They were like the best dog you ever had, but huge and wet and much, much smarter.
The Terra Novan dolphins weren’t exactly working for us. It was more like they worked with us. They liked the excitement of Atopia and enjoyed privileged access to multiverse worlds only possible here.
My dad laughed. “That’s a lot of love. Come on, we have a lot of work to do.”
The dolphins shifted their attention toward him.
“Today we’re harvesting sardines, so we need you guys to go and corral a few schools into the tanker over there,” he explained, pointing to a ship floating a few hundred feet away. “Could someone go get me a sample?”
Samantha, my favorite, squawked and dove down into the depths.
“All right,” my dad continued, clapping his hands, “let’s get this show on the road!”
The dolphins chattered their good-byes and shot off, except for Samantha, who popped back up with a sardine in her mouth.
“Thank you, Sam.” My dad nodded to her, bending over to take the sardine, and then turned back to his workstation, knife in hand, to begin the examination.
Samantha and I waited, staring at him. He stopped and smiled, shaking his head. “Okay, you two!” he laughed. “Go on and have some fun!”
I detached from my body and snapped into Samantha’s, instantly rocketing off into the ocean, feeling her powerful muscles forcing us through the frigid waters, chasing her brothers and sisters into the depths.
2
Identity: Patricia Killiam
Showing up in person for the press was a mistake.
My God, how my body ached, even with its pain receptors tuned all the way down. I hadn’t spent more than a few dozen hours in my own skin in the past year, but who would want to? Under siege by a frightening list of diseases barely held back by the magic of modern medicine, my body was as shrunken as an old pea left out overnight. Nearly 140 years old, but I still wasn’t ready to give up the ghost.
Sighing inwardly, I nodded at Olympia, our media rep in New York, indicating it was time to start up the promo-world for the reporters. The event was being held on Atopia, but the reports were from New York, so we had Olympia running the show. She was attending remotely, and I’d expected to see a static-image display of her avatar in my display-space, but instead, she appeared as a perfectly rendered pssi-projection.
I didn’t know Olympia had our pssi installed in her nervous system. When did that happen?
The promo-world expanded to engulf our senses, and an attractive young woman appeared, walking along a beautiful stretch of Atopian beachfront near the Eastern Inlet. “Imagine,” she said, “have you ever thought of hiking the Himalayas in the morning and finishing off the day on a beach in the Bahamas?”
I’d watched this advertisement a million times. While it played, I disengaged and opened a private communications channel with Antonia, the senior partner at Olympia’s company and an old, dear friend.
“Thank you so much for this new contract,” Antonia said the moment I opened the channel.
“You don’t need to thank me, your firm is simply the best qualified.” I paused. “How is your father?”
“He’s well. He was asking about you last night.” She smiled warmly. “And how are you feeling? Is the new gene therapy working?”
“I’m feeling great,” I lied and left it at that.
Antonia looked at me and seemed about to say something, but then stopped herself.
“Did your father decide whether he’s coming?” I’d invited him to attend the big launch. He’d helped me in founding the pssi program but had left after disagreements with Kesselring.
She looked away and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but… I’ll try talking to him.”
“Please do.”
Antonia looked back at me. “I will, I promise.”
The ad finished playing, and with a nod I closed the communications channel to Antonia and returned my attention to the reporters.
“So how exactly is pssionics going to make the world a better place?” asked a stick-thin blond, Ginny, from the front row.
I carefully rolled my eyes. I’d never liked the term “pssionics”—the baggage it carried created a constant battle to separate fact from fiction when talking to reporters.
Then again, when has that ever mattered?
“Well, Ginny, I prefer to use the term ‘polysynthetic sensory interface,’ or just pssi.” I detached and floated upward out of my body to get their attention, but nobody batted an eye, so I left my proxxi, Marie, to finish the presentation for me.
The proxxi program represented my life’s work in creating the basis for synthetic intelligence. Where previous research had tried to create artificial intelligence in a kind of vacuum by itself, my contribution had been to understand that a body and mind didn’t exist separately, but could only exist together.
We’d started by creating synthetic learning systems attached to virtual bodies in virtual worlds that gradually became intelligent by feeling their way through their environments. The proxxi program had taken this one step further when we’d integrated them intimately into people’s lives, to share in their day-to-day experiences. They were still artificial intelligences, but now they shared our physical reality to seamlessly bridge the gap between the worlds of humans and machines.
Marie kept talking with the reporters, and I’d retreated to watch from the back of the room when the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The slingshot test must be about to start. I had to wrap this up, so I transitioned back into control of my body.
“Everyone!” I announced, reaching out to encircle the group of reporters with my phantoms. “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to take whoever is coming up to watch the test firing of the slingshot.”
We’d ensured almost everyone had signed up for a front row seat to the demonstration. We needed to show we weren’t just serious about cyber, but also had a committed kinetic program.