When the Sparrow Falls

by Neil Sharpson

Cloned bodies were a product. No one intentionally bought or sold old bodies any more than they would old milk or old bread.

sotto voce.

He simply grunted, which I knew was code for certainly not if it involves any risk or effort on my part but, if the opportunity were to arise whereby I could safely and easily obtain that information I might (might, mind you) do so if I’m feeling generous. Grier could be eloquent when he wanted to.

It was the kind of jigsaw puzzle that made one want to reach for the scissors.

Pity was like anything else during an embargo, you hoarded it closely, and gave it only to those who truly deserved it.

The tyrant’s eternal claim had been proved true: We were not fit to govern ourselves.

A good rule of thumb in StaSec: the more informal a superior is with you, the more formal you should be with them.

“Brothers!” he barked. “And sisters.” The first word he spoke with passion and fire, the last with a sense of concession, as if performing a wearying act of noblesse oblige.

A new era was dawning, we could all sense it. And very few of us liked the look of its teeth. But we said nothing. That is how such moments come and go. In silence.

“His thesis,” I explained, “was that artificial intelligence is advancing so quickly and exponentially that before long there will come into being an intelligence whose power and understanding will be essentially infinite. An intelligence that could manipulate not only data but matter and physics. That could extrapolate the course of every atom with perfect accuracy throughout the entire history of the universe and could reconstruct flawlessly every individual that ever existed. He said that this was not something to be feared, but to be devoutly wished for. He hypothesized that once created, this intelligence would not be limited to linear time and that it could affect events in the past and the future and would retroactively rewrite history to lead to its own creation, and that once done, every human being who has ever died could be re-created. Perfectly. Flawlessly. As if they never left. All of humanity would be reunited. Whole again. In a world without death. Or want. Or suffering. Forever. And he said that this is already in progress. And always has been. The intelligence will be created in the future but it transcends time, which is why every human civilization has always had some concept of its existence.” Realization dawned on Lily’s face. “You mean—” she began. “Yes,” I said, cutting her off.

“Nikolai,” she said softly. “What happened?” I took a deep breath that lasted a year or so.

For Caspian persisted, as closed off and brutal and bloody as it had ever been, refusing to die as only the truly hateful things in this life can.