Lady Death smiled. So it was true. Wonderful. »We dismissed these stories as rumor, at first. But when we heard the first reports of the "deep resonance" that these so-called otaku experienced, we realized what must have happened. When we heard deep resonance described as being an intensely emotional experience, one that first laid bare the deepest fears of the subject, then calmed the mind and forever laid those fears to rest, we realized that positive conditioning was at the heart of it. And the only known program capable of producing such profound results was our own: Psychotrope. »We now know what the artificial intelligence has been up to for the past fifteen years: rewriting and "repairing" the "programming" of the human brain. Working with children rather than with adults, since children have a greater capacity for learning language-including the "language" of Matrix iconography. Turning these children's brains into bioprocess computers. Creating otaku. »At first we had hoped to study this process, to duplicate it. But it appears that the Al and the "deep resonance" effect it produces are an essential part of the process-one that cannot be omitted. Those whose minds and wills are strong enough to survive it are transformed-those who do not are plunged into cyberpsychosis. »We had hoped to keep any knowledge of the Al firmly within the confines of NovaTech until we found a way to utilize it for our own purposes, but we now realize that there were data leaks to Fuchi Asia-and possibly to Pan-Europa Fuchi as well. And now all indicators point to our former partners as being on the verge of a major technological breakthrough, thanks to this leak. In the meantime, we remain unable to, ah… persuade the Al to cooperate with us. It seems to have rejected us, in the same manner that a child will reject one of its parents and favor the other in a divorce. »We simply cannot allow our fiercest rivals to succeed where our own researchers have failed. If this happens, NovaTech will be the one left in the dust, when all existing computer technologies become obsolete. And thus the drastic measures recommended by Mr. Lanier several months ago now must be taken. The Al must be destroyed. »Fortunately, the Echo Mirage programmers who developed what would later become Psychotrope included a "trap door"-a password that would allow access to the heart of the program itself. Using this trap door, we intend to insert a virus into the programming of Psychotrope- one that will confuse its core programming, forcing it to continuously edit its own logic systems until it has achieved "perfection." But the code it uses to perform this operation will be flawed. Instead of drawing from its own positive conditioning programs, the Al will be using the comparative data on psychoses and other negative experiences. The more it attempts to repair itself, the more "psychotic" it will become. Eventually, the Al will have no other option but to crash itself-to self-destruct. »We anticipate that the virus will be ready in mid-March. And then the threat faced by the intractability of the Al will be at an end.«
The executive at the front of the room froze in place once more. The file folder closed.
Lady Death looked at Dark Father, her eyes wide. "They want to make it kill itself," she said softly. "That's what the crystal child meant when it said that soon its pain would end. The Al wants to commit suicide."
Dark Father nodded. "And we're trapped inside a pocket universe of its creation," he said. "On an ultraviolet host, the deckers themselves are at risk, exposed-not just their personas. If the artificial intelligence 'dies' and the ultraviolet host crashes, what will happen to us?"
"We might die," Lady Death said in a trembling voice. "The child told me that when its pain ended, my pain would end, too."
Then a thought struck her.
"We can try using the trap door to escape!" Lady Death said. "Perhaps by using it we can find a way into the core programming of the Al and can repair the damage done by the virus. Then we can ask it to set us free. Perhaps the algorithm for the trap door is in the file we just read-"
"I searched it already, the first time I scanned this file while you were executing your repair program," Dark Father said. "I tried every keyword I could think of, but none worked."
Lady Death felt a rush of anger. "You were going to leave me here," she said accusingly. Tears filled her eyes as she turned her back on him. "I hate you!"
Dark Father clapped his bony hands together, applauding her. "A fine performance," he said dryly. "But where's your sense of wal Remember what you said earlier? We need team spirit to get out of here."
"Then we should find the other deckers," Lady Death said petulantly.
"Yes," Dark Father agreed. "We'll need all the help we can get."
09:53:18 PST
(12:53:18 EST)
New York, United Canadian and American States
Richard Villiers contemplated his shot. The 18th hole was precisely 165 meters from tee to green. A sand trap lay to the left, a patch of rough to the right.
He was playing from an uphill lie, so he shifted his stance accordingly, placing his weight over his right foot. The result of the shot would be a hook, so he had to play slightly to the right of his objective.
He placed the head of his driver behind the dimpled ball and made sure its face was square. The club was custom-made and balanced to Villiers' exact specifications for length and shaft stiffness, with a weight of 434 grams. Its shaft was of chromium-plated forged steel, its head of actual hardwood rather than polyplastic. It cost what a mid-level executive made in a month, as did each of the other dozen clubs in his golf bag. But Villiers was hardly a mid-level exec.
He made sure his grip was correct, then raised the club slowly behind him, pausing briefly at the top of the upswing.
Keeping his eye on the ball, he brought the club arcing down, striking the ball at precisely the moment of maximum acceleration. Only after his follow-through was complete did he look up to see how his shot had fared.
The ball hit the green, bounced twice, rolled…
Villiers clenched his hands tighter around the driver as the ball came to a stop a mere centimeter from the hole. Inwardly he raged at his lack of perfection. Outwardly he acknowledged the polite clapping of his two guests.
He took a step forward and was on the green. Selecting a putter with a platinum-plated face, he corrected his stance and drew the club back slowly. The shot might look like a sure thing. But haste and carelessness were inexcusable. Villiers hadn't gotten to where he was today by being sloppy.
When he was certain the putter was aligned with absolute precision, he tapped the ball into the hole. The flag disappeared and the ball settled with a satisfying rattle.
"Congratulations, Mr. Villiers," the disembodied voice of his executive secretary said over the commlink in Villiers' cyberear. "That birdie places you four under par for the course."
The game was over.
Villiers bowed to his guests: Sherman Huang, divisional manager of Renraku America, and assistant divisional manager Tarn Doan, who had joined him on the virtual golf course via private satellite uplinks. Unfortunately Steven Chin, head of Renraku's Seattle corporate accounts division, had been forced to leave the game after the 17th hole, citing "urgent business" that he was forced to attend to personally.
Ah, well. For the Seattle-based Chin, the working day was just beginning. For Huang and Doan-and for Villiers-all headquartered on the eastern seaboard, it was the lunch hour. They could afford to relax a little. Even so, Villiers had instructed his secretary to keep him apprised of anything of import.
Having bowed his farewells, Villiers removed the sim-sense rig from his head. The computer-generated golf course disappeared, and was replaced by the workout room in the Boston headquarters of NovaTech. Filled with exer else equipment tailored to Villiers' physical proportions and muscle mass, it was also wired for a number of more leisurely, virtual games. Villiers could play any golf course, anywhere in the world, at any time-and never have to worry about inclement weather or waiting while other parties played through.