The Farm

October 5 - UAP Safehouse, Northern Provinces, Zenobia.

Helena: They do say that man was created by God.
Domin: So much the worse for them. God had no idea about modern technology.
- Karel Capek, "R.U.R."

---

In the mountains of Albion, there were two farms. Isolated from each other by a substantial distance, yet identical in every other way. Each was situated in its own valley.



They were part of an experiment to explore the degree to which a person can be linked to and live vicariously through the experiences of her clone. The physical setting was identical to reinforce the building of memories based on these channeled experiences.

I had clearance to visit the primary. Once on world, I traveled north by shuttle. After passing through a checkpoint tucked away in the surrounding mountains, I made the last part of the journey on foot.



The hike was long but the day was pleasant. A cool breeze, just enough to be refreshing, blew from the southwest. It played with the grass, the thin blades undulating to give the illusion of waves.

I crossed this green sea towards the only group of structures in the meadow.



The cottage itself was made of stone. A small orchard was situated to one side. A patio sheltered by vines was located on the other. Vegetable gardens would be in the back. A small barn, its upper level converted into a guest room, peeked over the cottage. Trees dotted the grounds, along with the tools and implements of the farm. Rustic and pure, this place embodied human activity in its most simple and forgiving form.



As I drew close, I spotted a figure on the patio. Seated in a wheelchair, a woman small and shrivelled, was hunched over the eye piece of an antique brass telescope. She was dressed in a deep red sweater and plaid skirt. The face of a young girl was draped over the back of her chair, like the hood of a jacket. A mask of fair skin and golden hair to be worn at will. This was Ardra.



I called out, "Hello..."

She looked up from the telescope.

"Hello Audrey?" I asked.

"Yes I am," replied Ardra. "Hello Major, welcome to my new home."

"Thank you," I said as I stepped onto the patio, parting the grapes and peeking at the hearth.

Ardra noticed my interest. "The wine and barbecue are genuine," she said. "You can eat and drink some. I cannot yet consume such fare."

"Thank you," I replied. "I was told... I have brought you some spice."



"I am a great expense for the Alliance to keep," she said.

I set down my bag against the post, opened the pocket on the side and lifted out a small package. "Do you like your new home?" I asked and offered her the pouch of spice.

"The Alliance appreciates nostalgia," she remarked and accepting the small gift she added, "Thank you, Major."

I smiled, "You are welcome."

"Please, have a seat," she invited, "Look out the telescope if you like."

"Thank you," I said but sat on the bench to one side to allow a clear view of my host.



"It is currently facing Avalon. I have been upgrading the optics."

"Then I must take a look," I replied and changed seats to be able to use the instrument.

Ardra continued, "Lenses made from materials with negative refraction indexes. An Araxes Desertborn product. They are more clever than what is commonly assumed."

I placed my eye against the eyepiece and looked at the Moon. "The Desertborn?" I asked.



"Yes," answered Ardra, "They are conservative and minimalist in their approach to some tasks, and thus easily overlooked."

"It is a very clear view," I remarked.

"There is no distortion down to even the atomic scale," she said. She then added with a whisper, "You took the hiking route in?"



I looked up from the telescope. "Yes.. no air traffic allowed in this area. Even a Colonel would have to walk in." I smiled, then nodded towards my bag. "I have brought a change of clothes ... in case you required any help around the farm."



"The help is efficient and discrete," she said. "I have not taken to giving them instructions. Having human employees takes some getting used to. I grew accustomed to mechanical servitors which I can remote control."

"The Arudra."




"Yes," she replied. "Some have left the grid."

"Left the grid?"

"The ARDRA program connected them," she explained. "It made them 'think' that they were all extensions of the same being. You have probably noticed symptoms of it with the LilyBell unit. She has a program conflict caused by another distributed network."

"And now?" I asked.




Ardra did not reply. Instead, she checked the chronometer on her screen. Without a word of explanation, her motorized wheelchair lurched forward and she sped towards the cottage. As she reached the door, she called out, "We need to go inside for five minutes."

I followed quickly.

---

The interior of the cottage was small and cozy. It was one large L-shaped room with the bed on one side. Chairs and a sofa occupied the central area.

Shelves against one wall were full of leather bound books. The titles printed in gold leaf. Her father's books.

A trusty pot bellied stove stood in a corner ready to chase the slightest chill from Ardra's delicate frame.

There was a thick eiderdown comforter on the bed. Deep pillows. Chairs one could curl up and get lost in, drifting away in the delicious warmth of a sunny afternoon.

---

"I have been timing the surveillance satellites," she began. "They are very clever. They use satellites orbiting Avalon."

"They?" I asked.



"I am not in a position to identify the satellite owners," she replied darkly.

"I can have a team investigate..." I began tentatively.  What was I seeing? Was she showing signs of post traumatic stress?

She continued, "The trajectory of certain satellites are adjusted so that with each sweep, we are in its view."

I frowned, "That is troubling. This is meant to be a safe house."



"It could be Special Projects keeping an eye on me," she added. "They are low orbital satellites, 90 minute period. Their trajectory should only take us into view once a day or so, but they are being adjusted. If it was official, they would program 16 of them, but they only used one. I have tracked satellite trajectory for 20 years. Old habits."

"NavCorp has been putting pressure on the authorities to find you," I admitted.



"They have a sizable investment in me," she agreed. "They are losing control of some of the drones. They even make radio requests. I have downloaded one from the 'Cortex' network."

Ardra headed out the door.

"It is over by the wine," she said as she checked her telescope.

Next to a half bottle of imported red wine lay a flimsy piece of paper. It resembled a static photograph but one touch would engage the video.



"You can take that with you," she said.

"Thank you," I replied.



"It has an embedded signal."

I tapped the picture and watched as the image came to life. "An android auction?"



"A fantasy android auction," corrected Ardra. "Not even Lilybell or K4 would sell for prices that high."

My mouth tightened. Part fashion show. Part slave auction. While it was perfectly legal to buy and sell androids, I found this version of the business quite distasteful.

The video played itself out.




A host of identical synthetic women paraded down the catwalk, each dressed to suit a different fantasy. Bids registered in flashes of hovertext, while a chorus of androids sang about freedom.



The depraved indulgences of the ultra-rich.

I was familiar with these events. We monitored these auctions very closely. When someone mistreated an android, it was an early indicator of sociopathic behaviour.

"The embedded signal is a ping," explained my host. "The ARDRA program used something much like it."

"What do they hope to achieve?"

"They are fishing for more drones," she said. "And for other less sophisticated distributed networks. Nothing as sophisticated as the Cortex or Blue."

I turned off the paper.

"The Corpus has a 20 year investment in automating many aspects of their operation," she added. "They did not anticipate my willfulness."

I nodded as I considered this information.



Ardra continued, "I stood at the precipice of transcension, stared into the singularity and blinked. To transcend you have to let go of the fetters of your former life. Leave behind the petty sentiments and attachments.... I failed."

As gently as I could I said, "I am no mystic, but it seems to me that our connectedness to others is what makes us whole."

"I was not able to let go," she confessed. "I exploited the tools granted to me for my own sentimental purposes. Unlike other navigators, I was not a volunteer."

"How did you first meet with NavCorp?" I asked, settling on the floor beside her.

"I first learned of them in a virtual game I played while at the hospital," she replied. "I was plugged in to an experimental system to allow people in cryostasis to still interact with equipment onboard ship. When I passed permanently into a coma, I was still plugged into the game. It was not until years later did I awaken. At that point, I was at Junction."

"Junction?"

"It is one of the Corpus transport hubs. It is not a destination, but a junction to other destinations."

I nodded.



She continued, "The nexus requires a large area of flatspace. If you place the junction in an area away from a solar system, you can have multiple termini in closer proximity."

"And then what happened," I asked, "after you awakened?"

"I had no idea that I had awakened. It was very similar to the virtual reality game. I continued on as if I was still in the game. At that point, I acted as if I were the avatar Ardra. It is easy to forget yourself. I continued on for years as Ardra, until my contact with the Red Queen."

"The Red Queen?"

"The Umbrella Distributed Network," she explained. "Through the Red Queen, I met up again with Mercedes. At that point, I realized I was not in a game."

"And she didn't fully realize who you were," I stated, "as she hired a crew to retrieve a body from the Colchester she thought was yours."

"I have been working on my exit strategy since then," she added.

"I am glad we could help," I said honestly.

"We will see if the Alliance considers my expense and resource requirements worth the return."

"I imagine you will be heading your own projects soon," I suggested. And with her extended life span, I imagined she would be overseeing longitudinal studies that would only come to fruition by the time my grandchildren were old.

"I must repurpose," said Ardra. "Without my operation of the ARDRA network, I am just another spice mutant."

"Hardly," I countered. "Your experiences alone put you above most of our scientists."

"Dr. Serendipity will no doubt accuse me of stealing his work," she said.

I shrugged with a little smile.

"Alliance scientists are living in the equivalent of the era of Da Vinci," she said. "Great minds, but without the resources to realize their vision." She then added, "That is what the Corpus does, poach."

"And now they are seeking drones," I said glancing again at the video capture.

"I think rogue drones are seeking drones," she said.

"How concerned should we be?"

"Turing grade artificial intelligences are not deterministically created, thus occasional anomalies such as Krenshar and Lilybell are containable. Krenshar is one replicant, not a threat. But what if 100 drones shared his consciousness. All thinking they are him, then the Replicant Order becomes a viable threat."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"The Corpus will not admit there is a problem," she replied. "I would start by finding the rogue drones."

I nodded, "Okay."

"They used to be less effective," she said. "Dr. Serendipity used to hunt them in the desert."

"And find out who is messing with our satellite," I added, standing up and dusting off my jeans.

"Has he successfully captured one of the Arudra drones without the self destruct?"

"Yes," I replied. "That was some time ago."

"It would be an older model," she mused. "Usually drones only went rogue when they were damaged in certain ways. Damaged such that they were no longer connected to the distributed network. To control the maximum number of drones, they will seek out Turing Grades to turn. Turing Grades are difficult to deal with. As you saw with the Lilybell unit."

"We will need any information you can provide on how to deactivate these drones," I said.

"That is the problem posed by the Turing Grades," she answered. "Each one will create its own unique mini network. There won't be single answers."

I nodded, "Anything you can provide will be a help."



"If they are based on the ARDRA program, each of the drones will think they are the primary. Each one will be like the social selves postulated by William James. A slice of the whole, but not seeing themselves as separate."

"That might explain why some of the drones dressed themselves like you," I suggested.

"A side effect," she replied, "especially when they went rogue."

"We might be able to use that."

"When separated," she elaborated, "they do not contain all of the information to be complete as before. They will continue to think they are that same complete unit."

"We are back to what I said about wholeness coming through connection," I pointed out.

"If I had not given into sentimentality," she said. "this problem would not exist."

"This is not a problem Audrey," I insisted. "It is an opportunity."

She continued, "I would be blissfully plundering other cultures scientific ideas on behalf of the Corpus."

"Instead of being on the verge of shaping your own," I put in.

There was a pause. Somewhere a breeze shook the leaves on the trees. Somewhere a cow called out from the barn.

"Yes, I am Audrey now," she said finally. There was a hint of resignation there.

"And may I say, it is a pleasure to meet you," I said warmly.

"In a way me too," she replied. "For the first time in 20 years, I am reasonably sure these are my own thoughts. Descartes was wrong. It could be someone else's thoughts in your head."

I smiled.

"They have tested you?" she asked.

"Constantly it seems," I said dryly, reflecting on my two months in quarantine.

"The Alliance has a long record of allowing experiments to run," she said. "Like Old Londinium separating twins..... Get your own testing."

"How do you mean?"

"Make sure some labtech did not fudge a report on orders of some operative."

"I am certain I am not that important," I dismissed the idea.

She would not be deterred. "That could be worse if someone considers the results of some experiment to be more valuable than your current role. A calculated risk. You are more trusting than I am."

"I serve our Alliance," I replied. "It is my purpose."



"Make sure they do not exploit that in ways you would not be pleased with."

"It is not a blind faith," I explained. "I am aware that there are those who would abuse power are drawn to positions of power." It had always been so. 

"It does not have to be from the top down," she said. "Seemingly insignificant people can cause great damage."

I considered the point, then replied, "Thank you for your advice, Audrey."

"A labtech at Angels of Mercy did not forward a lab report showing metastasizing in a young Audrey 20 years ago. Negligence or deliberate?" She did not wait for a reply. "I went from being a patient to being an experiment to being a utility," she then added with a whisper, "to being a refugee."

"Then I hope that this," I indicated the surroundings, " begins to make things right."

I liked to think that no matter what other purpose the Farm served, that it would be a healing place for Audrey. A safe harbour. A salve for the damage in her soul, and a chance to begin again.

"Now if you have somewhere I can change," I said, "I would like to do a little work in the garden for you before I head back."

"The guesthouse is yours to use," she offered graciously.

"Thank you."

"The potatoes need digging," she added. "Yukon Gold, I am told they taste buttery."

As I gathered up my bag, Audrey Aurotharius checked her chronometer, then engaging the motor on her wheelchair, headed indoors once again.

---

The wooden stairs creaked as I made my way to the small guest room.



The ceiling was low and the bed tiny but the room looked comfortable. A small window overlooked the patio. An ornate cedar chest squatted in one corner.



As I prepared to unpack, a message arrived from Special Projects. It was an image from the Farm mirror site, where Professor Aurotharius lived with his daughter Audrey's young clone.



The accompanying text read:

A quiet evening, Wylder showing Audrey how to tell the difference between satellites and meteors. Audrey was very interested to learn about low orbiting satellite trajectories.