Part 15 (1/2)

With a sigh, Danlo turned and crossed back into the meditation hall behind him. He stepped past the gyres and kevalin sets and the rack of wooden flutes. When he came to the gla.s.s jar encasing the blue rose that he had noticed earlier, he smiled at the sacrilege that he was about to commit. After damping his palms on the cold gla.s.s, he lifted off this dome-like container and set it carefully on the floor. Then he reached out and grasped the rose's stem. It was narrow and hard, with an almost woody feel to it. He wanted to examine the rose in the light of flame globes, and so, at arm's length, directly in front of his eyes, he held up this symbol of the impossible. Its petals were light blue and as lovely as those of a snow dahlia. He looked at the flower for a long time. Then he returned to the grand doorway of the facing room, where the devotionary projecting the hologram of Nikolos Daru Ede sat waiting on its little stand. Ede was waiting, too. He was floating in the air, watching with intense suspicion as Danlo presented the sacred rose to him.

'Do you see this pretty flower?' Danlo asked.

'Of course I see it. I see many things.'

'Here,' Danlo said, holding out the rose. 'Take it.'

The hologram of Ede extended one of his diminutive hands, but because his body was not made of flesh, he could not take it. However, the interference of the holo- gram's coherent light with the flower's blue petals highlighted the rose and caused it to glow brightly.

'I can't hold the flower, of course,' Ede said. 'I can't touch it.'

'No,' Danlo said. With a sad smile, he reached out his finger and stroked the flower's many petals. They were as cool as silk and felt as fine as gossamer. 'I am sorry.'

'Why?'

'Because it will be so hard for you to truly know whether or not this flower is real.'

'It looks real,' Ede said.

Danlo looked at the striations, veins, and the pattern of tiny filaments lining the rose. He said, 'Yes, it does.'

'But I would deduce that it's artificial. It would have been too difficult to have kept a real flower alive in my temple, even in a clary cold chamber, even in krydda sus- pension.'

Again, Danlo touched the rose. He let the whorls of his fingertip linger over the petals' lacy surface. The cells of his skin slowly slid over the smoothness of gossilk, and instantly he knew that the rose was not real.'In truth, it is artificial,' he said.

'You see we both knew this.'

'No,' Danlo said. 'I knew that the rose was not real, but you only deduced it.'

'I don't see the difference.'

'There is ... all the difference in the universe.'

At this, Ede's face froze into an unreadable mask, and for the first time he fell into silence.

'Talking to a computer's imago is like looking at an artificial flower,' Danlo said.

'You seem real, only ...'

'Go on.'

'Only, I cannot touch you. Your consciousness. Your ... soul.'

Ede waited a moment before saying, 'But I am as real as you.'

'No, you are only an ai program that causes electrons inside your brain circuits to move.'

'I am as conscious as you are,' Ede said.

'But ... how can that be?'

'I am as aware as any man.'

Pain is the awareness of life, Danlo remembered. He stood there staring at the many-hued lights of Ede's little face as he brooded over this saying so close to his heart. He realized, then, that this was his own private Turing test of consciousness: the ability to feel pain.

He told this to Ede, who said, 'There are many kinds of pain.'

'Yes,' Danlo agreed as he held his hand over his eye, over the familiar pain shooting through his head. 'But pain is always just pain. Pain always ... hurts.'

'Once, I was a man much as you,' Ede said in his high, whiny voice. 'And I had pains of the body much as any man. When I carked my mind into my computer and left my body behind, I'd thought to escape pain forever. But the pain of the mind is greater than any body pain. Infinitely greater.'

'Others ... have said that to me before.'

'Do you think it didn't hurt to cast off my body and become vastened in the light storms of my computer?'

'How ... could I know?'

'Do you think I haven't suffered for three thousand years at the fear that some essential part of my humanity of myself was lost in this vastening?'

'I do not know.'

'And in my battle with the Silicon G.o.d, as I pruned my programs smaller and smaller do you suppose this diminishment of myself wasn't pure agony?'

'Perhaps,' Danlo said. 'Or perhaps you are only programmed to call it agony.'

'Can you imagine what it's like to be a G.o.d?'

'No.'

'It was like this,' Ede said. 'In less than a millionth of a second, if I wished, I could have thought all the thoughts that were ever recorded in all the libraries of man.'

'I ... am sorry,' Danlo said.

Ede's face fell into an expression of grief. 'I've lost almost everything. Even the great simulation with which the Silicon G.o.d destroyed me. Especially that. I can't tell you how perfect this simulation really was. The vision. The beauty. The detail. It was a surreality of all surrealities: I saw the galaxy remade, almost down to the configuration of every molecule. I saw myself transformed, ever vaster. I saw how I would be folded, connected, and how I would build ecologies of information that had never before existed in this universe. I knew what it would be like, someday, really to know. To know almost everything. And now I've forgotten it all. Only the faintest memory of a memory remains.'

As Danlo stood there twirling the stem of the blue rose between his fingers, Ede told him about other things that had been lost. Once, Ede said, he had reconstructed the history of the Milky Way galaxy, from the firing of the first stars to the rise of the rainbow star systems and alien races such as the Shakeh and the Elsu and the divine Ieldra. All that was now forgotten, as was the secret of destroying the Silicon G.o.d, which he had apparently learned only toward the end of their battle. Forgotten, too, were the words to a poem that he had been composing for a thousand years. All he could remember was his reason for creating this great poem: it was his fancy to woo a G.o.ddess in the centre of the cl.u.s.ter of Valda Galaxies some fifty million light-years out toward Yarmilla Cl.u.s.ter. All the words were gone from his memory. This, he said, was not surprising, since each of the poem's sixty-six trillion 'words' was really a complex of information compressed as beautiful fractal images. A word might be a theory of the universe or the condensation of all the acc.u.mulated knowledge of a hundred alien civilizations over a hundred thousand years. Some words were symbols for G.o.dly philosophies, or symbols for whole arrays of symbols, down through thousands of layers of abstraction. Ede thought that many of the words he had once written were metaphors for beautiful mathematical constructions existing only in the manifold; he was almost sure that one of the poem's most poignant words repeated again and again through the many cantos encoded the pattern of supernovae across a billion galaxies over the last three billion years.

'To lose pieces of oneself is a great agony,' Ede told Danlo. 'But it is not the worst of it.'

'What is, then?'

'Not knowing is the worst pain there is.'

'Not knowing ... what?'

'Not knowing if I am really I. Not knowing who I really am.'

'I am sorry,' Danlo said again. He studied the convincing grimace formed by Ede's facial programs. He thought that Ede certainly looked as if he were suffering a great deal of pain.

'The Silicon G.o.d was killing me,' Ede said. 'I had only nanoseconds to write the final program of myself. The program that is myself, that must be I, if anything really is.'