Starfish

"Eight hundred and sixty three items. Three hundred twenty seven broad —»

"Dump it all." Scanlon headed for the bathroom, stopped. "Wait a minute. Play the phone call."

"This is Patricia Rowan," the station said in a cold, clipped voice. "We may be encountering some personnel problems with the deep-sea geothermal program. I'd like to discuss them with you. I'll have your return call routed direct."

Shit. Rowan was one of the top corpses on the west coast. She'd barely even acknowledged him since he'd been hired on at the GA. "Is there a priority on that call?" Scanlon asked.

"Important but not urgent," the workstation replied

He could have breakfast first, maybe go through his mail. He could ignore all those reflexes urging him to drop everything and jump like a trained seal to immediate attention. They needed him for something. About time. About goddamned time.

"I'm taking a shower," he told the workstation, hesitantly defiant. "Don't bother me until I come out."

His reflexes, though, didn't like it at all.

* * *

" — that 'curing' victims of multiple personality disorder is actually tantamount to serial murder. The issue has remained controversial in the wake of recent findings that the human brain can potentially contain up to one hundred forty fully-sentient personalities without significant sensory/motor impairment. The tribunal will also consider whether encouraging a multiple personality to reintegrate voluntarily — again, a traditionally therapeutic act — should be redefined as assisted suicide. Crosslinked to next item under cognition and legal."

The workstation fell silent.

Rowan wants to see me. The VP in charge of the GA's whole Northwest franchise wants to see me. Me.

He was thinking into sudden silence. Scanlon realised the workstation had stopped talking. "Next," he said.

"Fundamentalist acquitted of murder in the destruction of a smart gel," the station recited. "Tagged to —»

Didn't she say I'd be working with her, though? Wasn't that the deal when I first came on?

" — AI, cognition, and legal."

Yeah. That's what they said. Ten years ago.

"Ahh — summary, nontechnical," Scanlon told the machine.

"Victim was a smart gel on temporary loan to the Ontario Science Center as part of a public exhibit on artificial intelligence. Accused admitted to the act, stating that neuron cultures" — the workstation changed voices, neatly inserting a sound bite — "desecrate the human soul.

"Expert defense witnesses, including a smart gel online from Rutgers, testified that neuron cultures lack the primitive midbrain structures necessary to experience pain, fear, or a desire for self-preservation. Defense argued that the concept of a 'right' is intended to protect individuals from unwarranted suffering. Since smart gels are incapable of physical or mental distress of any sort, they have no rights to protect regardless of their level of self-awareness. This reasoning was eloquently summarized during the Defense's closing statement: 'Gels themselves don't care whether they live or die. Why should we? The verdict is under appeal. Crosslinked to next item under AI and World News."

Scanlon swallowed a mouthful of powdered albumin. "List expert defense witnesses, names only."

"Phillip Quan. Lily Kozlowski. David Childs —»

"Stop." Lily Kozlowski. He knew her, from back at UCLA. An expert witness. Shit. Maybe I should have kissed a few more asses in grad school…

Scanlon snorted. "Next."

"Net infections down fifteen percent."

Problems with the Rifters, she said. I wonder… "Summary, nontechnical."

"Viral infections on the Internet have declined fifteen percent in the past six months, due to the ongoing installation of smart gels at critical nodes along the net's backbone. Digital infections find it nearly impossible to infect smart gels, each of which has a unique and flexible system architecture. In light of these most recent results, some experts are predicting a safe return to casual e-mail by the end of —»

"Ah, fuck. Cancel."

Come on, Yves. You've been waiting for years for those idiots to recognise your abilities. Maybe this is it. Don't blow it by looking too eager.

"Waiting," said the station.

Only what if she doesn't wait? What if she gets impatient and goes for someone else? What if —

"Tag the last phone call and reply." Scanlon stared at the dregs of his breakfast while the connection went up.

"Admin," said a voice that sounded real.