Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata Read Free Book Online Page B

alien philosophy on the street, where dualism lived on—the ancient idea that mind and matter were independent elements, separated from one another by a spark of the immortal. Dualism had died decades ago in the minds of most neurobiologists, but on the street it was still easy to strike offense with the proposition that the mind could be explained purely by the organization and symbol processing within the brain, with no need to call upon the magic forces of some hypothetical soul.
    Virgil did not talk much about these things. Who did? But he believed in a strictly natural world, and that was enough to set him off in an isolated psychological space, to make him alien. Most of the time he could hide his alienness from those who did not want to see it. Not always.
    His father was a corporate executive with secular leanings, but after the divorce he had married a devout Christian, who was quite sure Virgil was a damned soul. Virgil thought of her as sweetly disillusioned. His mother understood him better, but even she squirmed at the idea that the brain was a machine running a program that generated the Self.
    Panwar understood these things. They were alike in that, as in so many ways.
    So why had they not talked to each other since Kanaha left?
    Virgil rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Then he forced himself up. When he looked into the hallway he was surprised to see the cindies lined up against the wall, three smooth insect carapaces each twice the size of a football. Apparently they were under quarantine too.
    The scent of coffee was a blessing on the air. It led him past the open door of Panwar’s office. Panwar was there, his feet up on the desk, his L ov s glittering above his dark eyes. “Have you seen the news yet?” he asked, nodding at a small flowscreen built into the wall. “It’s all public now. The first round from the op-eds is a call for our heads.”
    “I’ll take responsibility for it,” Virgil said. “Don’t worry about that. It was my project.”
    Panwar slipped his feet off the desk. “Shut the fuck up, okay? As soon as I can talk to my dad, he’ll get us a lawyer. Don’t give up, Virg. It doesn’t end here.”
    Virgil nodded. He did not come in. “Gabrielle was engaged in a two-way visual link with the colony.”
    Panwar scowled, glancing meaningfully at the aerostat floating in the corner of his office. Everything they said and did could be used as evidence against them. Aloud he said: “That’s no secret. I gave Kanaha a copy of the log before he left.”
    “We need to talk about why.”
    “No. We don’t.”
    “I do.”
    Early in their work, Virgil had proposed the idea of a cognitive circle: Why not let our L ov s interact while we brainstorm a problem? Enhanced brain chemistry spawned fiery ideas. In a cognitive circle that effect was amplified as L ov spoke to L ov , communicating emotional energy across the circle in microsecond flashes of light. It was a powerful feedback loop that drove their brainstorming sessions forward with furious energy. Whenever Virgil had sat with Panwar and Gabrielle in a cognitive circle, he had felt like his mind was on fire, a sacred instrument designed to receive signals from some holy mental space.
    They had talked about interacting with one of the L ov colonies in the same way, but they had not done it. Not before this weekend. “She was involved in a cognitive circle with E-3,” Virgil said. “There’s no other explanation.”
    The door to the suite clicked open. Virgil turned to look down the hall. Had Detective Kanaha found a cell to put them in? He could hear one of the police officers talking outside the door: “. . . under observation at all times. If there’s any trouble we’ll be inside within seconds.”
    A woman’s low voice answered, sounding mildly amused. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    Then she stepped past the door: a slender woman of moderate height in a calf-length brown dress and matching jacket trimmed in green. Her