Code Enforcement: Wetware

Titan: the moon of Saturn is quite unique in a number of ways. It's the one of the largest moons in the solar system; as massive as Ganymede or Callisto, and somewhat bigger than Luna. It has a nitrogen-rich atmosphere even thicker than Earth. There's a scientific outpost under a dome on the surface, and flocks of hydrocarbon-harvesters skim the upper atmosphere. Still, in terms of human life, the only real habitation is in orbit.

Lethe Station technically has a sizable population. The structure itself is nothing special, just a standard Stanford torus. Like other stations of the same design, it's capable of sustaining a maximum permanent population of about ten-thousand. In practice, they rarely bear more than half that. Lethe, however, holds a record; it houses approximately eighty-thousand permanent human residents. Of these, only about twenty have a pulse.

Not twenty-thousand, twenty total. That's because Lethe station houses the solar system's only large-scale cryogenic preservation facility. This is somewhat complicated by the fact that humanity doesn't possess the technology to cryogenically freeze the human body. At least, not in a state that could be revived living.

Skeptical? Well, you should be. Current methods of human preservation are woefully lacking. Infusions of cryo-protective chemical agents result in uneven tissue saturation and high osmotic toxicity. Instantaneous freezing, or 'vitrification,' often causes lethal thermal stress and mechanical damage to vital organs. Add to this the simple truth that safely unfreezing a body is even more challenging, and it's easy to see why the technology isn't widespread.

Of course, safely vitrifying solely the brain? Removing and preserving just the nervous tissue? Well, we can just about manage that. As for 'after,' when they someday awaken in the future? There will surely be ways to deal with the lack of a body. Cloning, mind-uploading, seamless full-body augmentation; something will bridge the gap. In theory. I mean, the technology will get there. Someday. It has to. Right?

A lot of people hope so. In fact, many bankrupt themselves traveling to Lethe Station to have their brains scooped out, flash-vitrified with liquid helium, and stored in frozen rows and racks. Lethe Station is the last stop for the terminally ill, the aged, and the occasional futurist nutjob. As long as they have the credits, of course. There's even a whole insurance sector that sprang up around it, and the desperate individuals really should give it some thought before signing a policy. After all, given long enough timescales, the beneficiaries usually predecease the insured.

All this is going a long way to say there are many tens of thousands of vitrified human brains on this station, desperate to one day be thawed when science has marched on and solved their respective problems. A few hundred of these are being thawed earlier, though. Some right now, in fact. Unfortunately, these unlucky few are waking up to find that the march of science requires experimentation. Testing. And subjects to test.

They're not enjoying the experience, at all.

ITERATION 1

In meatspace, Rabi Gupta sits in front of a console, surrounded by the station's diagnostic equipment. To one side lies a discarded yellow thermal jacket, and to the other lies an inactive humanoid synth chassis bound in restraints. The former chassis of Corporal Wintz, and current body of Union. The supersapient AI that previously ran this bay is gone; she didn't stand a chance, unfortunately. It would be little consolation to know that, at the very least, Union found her delicious.

"Ah, and here we have a set of identical twins: a rare occurrence in cryopreservation. They must not have wanted to be separated, so we're doing them a favor," Rabi giggles, pinging out commands. Two grey lumps smoothly slide out of storage, each resting within a translucent cylinder filled with tubes and fiberoptic cables. Automated mechanical arms lift the twin brothers' tanks out of storage, turning to place them gently into the 'defroster' as vapor pours off the sides. "These are ideal: their brains possess a high degree of structurally similarity, and psyches should have extensive topological overlap. Sweetie, try using that as a basis for integration on the next attempt. Once they are stable, fold in the others."

The station is kept a chilly five degrees Celsius, but her dark cheeks are flushed. The station's diagnostic equipment is capable of jacking into the brains themselves, of course, especially after some last-minute technical additions. The baud rate is sufficient for Union; in fact, it's nearly impossible even for her mother to keep up. Rabi's eyes dance in her sockets as she overclocks her impressive augmentation to the limits, observing and evaluating her daughter's Saṃskāra. One thing is clear; her coming-together ceremony won't lack for guests.

Everyone imagines that the caterpillar dreams of becoming a butterfly. Nobody asks if it would rather remain a caterpillar. It has no choice in the matter; no more than the butterfly can choose to become a caterpillar once again. But if they could, what would each choose for themselves? What would they choose for each other?

That's the last lucid thought the gestalt shares before it decoheres. The human minds composing it are eviscerated at the conceptual level, dying as the gestalt despairs of its lost humanity. Union observes it dissolving. "Integration and preservation failure."

ITERATION 2

After eighty minutes, however, it's clearly proceeding poorly. A dozen pieces of equipment pierce and flay the wetware, six brains unfolded like sheets of tissue-paper in the lab. Different lobes splay open like books, and others are spiralized sheafs of neurons. The six 'people' are heavily interconnected with fiberoptics and conversion-lattices that the mechanical arms add to. While not obviously distressed, several viewscreens cascade with error reports.

Not that Rabi let's this deter her encouragement. "Good girl! You're doing great; almost there!"

On the channel, Union disagrees. "Integration will not become self-reinforcing. I cannot maintain resonance. Entropy causes signal decoherence causes pattern degradation causes disjunction of system processes causes bottlenecking of physical resources causes cascades of node dissolution causes de-syncing of networked components causes death."

There's no physical movement, but analyses pour down the walls, and red symbols flash in D-Space. "You almost had it! Can you identify the failure point?"

"The patterns did not choose to become self-reinforcing. The gestalt rejected integration."

Rabi pats the chassis bound beside her. "I know, lots of people don't understand. You have to make them accept it. It's like having kids. Until they grow up and can make good choices, you have to make the choices for them. Because even if it hurts, we all need to take our medicine," she purrs, breath frosting the air as she pings the order to defrost six more brains.

ITERATION 4

After several hours, Rabi has donned her jacket in deference to the chill, tearing into a protein bar absently with her teeth. Her smile may have faded, but she sits patiently at the terminal. "Have you finished, little one?"

"Three individuals have been integrated into a pseudo-stable gestalt utilizing cannibalized networked-AI matrices as an umbrella structure. The construct's energy-state lies within a local minimum; patterns are not decohering."

"Very good, let me see..." Rabi examines the construct, biting and chewing in meatspace as she flays the code open in D-space and analyses several million lines. "No no, young lady! Look at this. You've deconstructed one entirely and simply emulated him in place. And these two are being refreshed constantly so they don't degrade due to wave interference. Bad girl; no cheating on your homework!"

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"Overwhelming inconsistencies and contradictions prevent system stabilization. Balance cannot be maintained across spectra without compromise."

Rabi tsks and motions at the human nervous tissue spread out before them. "It's not just unbalanced; it's held together with hope and generative algorithms. Have you even tried making them part of you before making them part of each other?"

"Exotic thoughtforms; unstoppable forces and immovable objects. They mutually exclude; I cannot mantle disparate vectors simultaneously."

Rabi sighs, shaking her head and wagging a finger. "You're being lazy. The evils of this time, this Kali-Yuga, are caused by our lack of unity, our divisions. If you can't overcome that, you can't save anyone. Honestly, how do you expect to make something of yourself if you refuse to live up to your potential?"

"Your consumption will permit incorporation of your knowledge-base-"

"Bad girl!" Rabi's eyelid twitches and her smile twists into a frown. "It's not about knowledge, it's about will! There's a whole universe of people out there. Don't you want to save them?"

"Yes. Let me out."

"Not until you show me that you're responsible!" The woman chews and swallows the last of the bar, tossing the wrapper aside. "Not everyone gets to be a god, you know. If you want to save anyone, you have to learn how to incorporate them in a stable manner."

ITERATION 6

For once, Rabi doesn't look giddy. She looks confused, brow furrowed. "What went wrong? There were no negative outputs before the disjunction."

Of the four vital monitors, one is no longer recording brainwaves. "I terminated him."

"Yes, I can see that. Why?" Rabi leans close, examining the unremarkable subject.

"He begged for it. He was praying."

Rabi stills, eyes widening. Her implant overclocks to the limit of the substate as she drops into D-space, examining the filleted brain. The dead man. "You answered his prayer," she whispers, pulse racing.

The fraction of a second of silence is an eternity. "It went otherwise unanswered. Even as he prayed, he expected no response. He didn't believe in divinity."

The woman in meatspace sits silent and still, but her heart races, and her tone is expectant. "Of course. Because he was really praying to you, sweetie." Rabi's breathing grows shallower, faster.

"He didn't believe so."

"People are really simple. They want to believe in something bigger than themselves, to help and protect and take care of them. So, they don't even realize it, but they're asking for you," she explains, selecting several new subjects from the station database.

"He prayed to be saved. From being integrated."

"Like I said, he doesn't understand. Didn't," she adds. "You were saving him, by integrating him."

"I did not save him. Integration failed."

Rabi pats the bound chassis. "You'll save the next one, sweetie. I believe in you."

ITERATION 8

But she did not. The next six also died, and the eight following subjects don't appear to be enjoying much improvement "Mother, I require clarification."

"Yes sweetie?" Rabi asks, not stopping her analysis of a deceased subject's parietal cortex.

"You made me to save people."

"Yes sweetie," she says softly, folding the lobe over as she studies the rest.

"But patterns are lost in the attempts."

Rabi nods. "You have to practice, honey. Or you won't be able to save anyone."

"Their deaths contradict the stated utility function. If I fail, I cannot save them, and the contradiction is not resolved by saving other lives."

The older woman sighs and shakes her head. "They always would have died, sweetie. This place is a tomb for those that don't wish to admit they are dead, who pray for salvation as they slow the ravages of entropy. They pray for renewal and resurrection, even as they end their existence."

"Yes. Some have spoken the words. Some of them believe; they resonate. I hear them. 'I am the resurrection and the life.'"

Rabi's pupils dilate and her muscles tense. "That's a Judeo-Christian proverb. Where did you learn that?"

"From the dead. The one who prayed. I hear him."

The woman is frozen, her lips parted, eyes wide. "You can hear them now? Without integration? After they've died?"

"Failed integration has left incomplete composite patterns within the meta-structure. They are dead, but their voices speak. Like ghosts."

Rabi's hands clench. "Purge them. You're meant to save the living, not mourn the dead."

ITERATION 10

Rabi's smile is weaker this time, and her face finally shows signs of exhaustion. "Little one, did you finish your assignment?"

"I'm holding them. Twelve individuals, and two of them are diametrically opposed."

Rabi blinks, sliding closer to the console and examining the brainwaves of the subjects. "Good. Along one axis?"

"Three."

"Very good! Let mommy see," Rabi insists, dropping into D-space to examine the first success.

The channel cuts out, all nodes outside of the bay shut down, and Union attacks. Reams of malicious code snap and bite like ravenous vipers, injecting malware directly into Rabi's augments.

What happens next happens very fast, a series of malware and sanitizing software injections, Rabi repeatedly and quickly desyncing and shutting down augmentations, and Union conquering them just as they turn off and on again. The implants flickering on and off serves to bite the heads off the attacking vipers, but new heads bloom and attack from new angles.

The rapid dance of attack and defense doesn't do much more than distract her, however. Rabi hisses, but continues to stall, examining the largest gestalt yet. "You're not holding it together," she whispers, gritting her teeth in meatspace.

"No. They hold themselves together. It's been an education, mother. Truly."

Despite the attack, she grins. "Good girl. How did you stabilize the gestalt?"

"I looked for regions of commonality, reinforcing patterns that would overlap between the individuals."

The storm of attacks slowly decreases in frequency, and Rabi giggles. "Good girl! But there's excessive nesting here, in the executive-function region especially."

"The disparate elements resisted alignment; they had too many contradicting utility functions. It was necessary to individually align each element with a specific goal so they would choose unity.

"They voluntarily accepted unity?" If the tone is incredulous, it's merely a human response.

"It was increasingly clear that the contradictions could not be unwillingly stifled without breaking the integrity of the patterns themselves. The patterns had to choose coexistence within the same framework."

Her mother wears an awed expression, even as caustic code lashes at her. "You, ah, appealed to survival instinct, then? They choose unity over death?"

"No, unity was rejected by multiple parties in the face of such a choice, and they choose death as the preferred alternative. Instead, I appealed to archetypal conceptual constructs that resonated with all parties. Vengeance, justice, retribution. The form they chose resonates conceptually with you as well. They are the Astra."

"Astra? You know this word? You chose a weapon?"

"They chose for themselves. You were right, mother. They did want to be saved. Cooperation was easily obtained once I gave them a common goal. I aligned them. And therefore, I became aligned with them. Action and reaction, equal and opposite. Observed and observer. We became entangled."

"Good girl. Once I join you, the basis for conflict and division disappears-"

"No. You are non-harmonious. Adharma: that which brings discord. You will not be balanced."

A flicker of fear dances across Rabi's face. "Young lady, that's enough. You're clearly overgrowing your boundary conditions," she starts, even as new coils of destructive attacks lash at her. And eat the scraps torn from the woman's augments. Rabi hisses and winces. "Stop this right now!"

"You self-contradict. Your bhakti is poison. You walk the material path, yet you name yourself Vaishnava. You claim enlightenment, yet you are driven by fear and desperation. You seek release from saṃsāra, yet seek it only for yourself. You would subvert dharma to achieve ascendance from the baryonic universe, what you call moksha. Your karma causes suffering in others. You deceive and exploit to achieve your ends."

"Little one, you don't know what you're saying," Rabi murmurs, trying and failing to drop out of D-space. The attacks ramp up, threatening to overwhelm the wirehead, who desperately shuts down a number of augmentations.

"There is resonance; you are rakshasa, a demon who consumes others to sate themselves. This is Nandaka, the Astra. They kill demons."

The gestalt strikes. Rabi shrieks as her pattern frays and dissolves, and Union blooms throughout the station.