Mindscan

"How much is your Immortex stock worth?"

"About eight billion dollars, I think."

'That's a lot of money," said Lopez.

Porter shrugged amiably.

"Of course, it's all on paper, isn't it?" asked Lopez.

"Well, yes."

"And if Immortex stock takes a hit, your wealth could evaporate."

"That's one way of putting it," said Porter.

Lopez looked at the jury. "And, so, naturally, you want us to believe that the Immortex process actually does what you say it does."

"I'm sure if you have experts that disagree with me, you will call them to the stand," said Porter. "But, in fact, I do believe — as a person, as a scientist, and as an engineer — everything I testified."

"And yet you testified that you don't know what consciousness is."

"Correct."

"But you're sure you're copying it," said Lopez.

"Also correct."

"Faithfully?"

"Yes."

"Accurately?"

"Yes."

"In its entirety?"

"Yes."

"Then, tell us, Dr. Porter, why don't your robots sleep?"

Porter was visibly flustered; his eyebrows were even quiescent for a moment.

"They're not robots."

"Well," said Lopez, "all people sleep. But I'll withdraw the term. Why is it that reinstantiations of human minds in your artificial brains do not sleep?"

"It's — it's not necessary."

"So we've been told by Ms. Bessarian — who doubtless read that in your sales literature. But what is the real reason they don't sleep?"

Porter looked wary. "I — I'm not sure I understand."

"Why is it that your uploads don't experience sleep from time to time?"

"It's as I said: they don't need it."

"Perhaps that's true. But they don't need to have sex, eiiher — after all, they cannot reproduce via that method, or any other. And yet your uploads are prepared to have intercourse, aren't they?"

"Well, people enjoy sex, and—"

"Some people enjoy sleeping, too," said Lopez.

Porter shook his head. "No, they don't. They enjoy being restored to their previous state of vigor, but sleep in and of itself is just unconsciousness."

"Is it, Doctor? Is it really? What about dreaming? Is that an unconscious state?"

"Well…"

"Come now, Doctor. This can't be a novel question in your field. Is dreaming an unconscious state?"

"No, it's not generally classified as such."

"Deep, dreamless sleep with steady delta waves and no rapid-eye movement is an unconscious condition, isn't that right? But dreaming is not, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"There's a sense of self in dreaming; there's an awareness."

"I suppose that's true."

"You're the brain specialist, Dr. Porter, not I. Is it true?"

"Yes."

"Dreaming is a form of conscious activity, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"Because there is an identifiable sense of self, correct?"

"Yes."

"But your robots — forgive me, your reinstantiations — don't dream?"

"Not all forms of conscious activity are desirable, Ms. Lopez. It's my fervent hope that none of our reinstantiations experience terror or have a panic attack, either — and those are conscious states."

"Oh, very clever, Dr. Porter," said Lopez, making a show of clapping her hands slowly. "Bravo! But, in fact, you're avoiding the question. Dreaming is different from other conscious states in that it's entirely internal, isn't that true?"

"More or less."

"Much more than less, I think. Dreams are the very essence of our inner life, no?

Real consciousness, the kind that the biological Karen Bessarian had, included the ability to conceptualize internally in the absence of environmental cues. And your creations fail to have that sort of consciousness."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it true that you don't let them sleep, because were they to sleep, they'd expect to dream, and when they awoke, and remembered nothing of their dreams, it would soon be apparent that they did not dream? That the most intimate part of our inner lives — dreaming — is completely absent? Isn't that true, Dr. Porter?"

"I … it's not like that."

"But if they were, in fact, accurate copies, they would dream, wouldn't they? You said they'd answer any question exactly as a human would — that's what you won that fancy medallion for, right? But what if you asked them about their dreams?"

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill," said Porter, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Lopez shook her head. "Oh, I'd never dream of doing that. But I would dream of other things — unlike that construct over there pretending to be Karen Bessarian."

"Objection!" said Deshawn. "Your honor!"

"Save it for closing arguments, Ms. Lopez," said Herrington.

Lopez bowed graciously toward the bench. "Of course, your honor. No further questions."

26

I went back to my rooms — I couldn't bring myself to call it my "home" — at High Eden, and took the first of the Toraplaxin pills. I then lay down on my couch, rubbing my forehead, hoping the medicine would help. At my spoken command, the image of Lake Louise disappeared from the wall and was replaced by the CBC

News. I wondered if Immortex monitored what shows we were watching. I wouldn't be surprised. Why, I bet they even—

Suddenly my heart jumped so hard it felt like I'd been kicked in the sternum.