Asgard's Heart by Brian Stableford Page A

to
describe it, so the constitution of the software universe depends on certain
features of the language that allows you to operate there—but with a much
greater degree of freedom.
    "Humanoid languages are easily translated into
one another because the preconditions of the physical world exert such strong
constraint on the descriptions you construct. Software languages are much less
easy to translate one into another because the physical attributes of software
space are not so rigidly pre-defined. That will be to our advantage in two
ways. We desire to encode the copy of your personality in a language as
esoteric as possible—one which will superimpose upon the perception of software
space a way of 'seeing' radically different from that of the entities which
would try to destroy you. It will also enable us to equip your software persona with perceptions that will make some kind
of sense to you in terms of your present sensorium. Do you understand
that?"
    The easy answer to that question was a simple
"no." No doubt the Nine could have given me a much more elaborate and
painstaking explanation, given time, but I was sure that they were hurrying for
a reason, and I felt that I had to do the best I could.
    "What you mean," I said, carefully, "is
that software space hasn't much in the way of properties of its own. Its
properties are largely imposed by the programmes that operate in it, which can
define it more or less as they like. So, if you turn me into a computer
programme, the way I'll experience myself—and the world which I seem to inhabit—
will depend very heavily on what kind of programme I am. Whatever arcane
language I'm written in will determine the kind of being I seem to myself to
be, and the kinds of beings which other programmes will appear to be."
    She nodded enthusiastically, and smiled, having
slipped back into her silent-movie mode again. "That's correct," she
said.
    "Do I get a choice?" I asked. "Can I be
whatever I want to be?"
    "That's not possible," she replied, amiably.
"There are powerful constraints on what we can do. But we must produce a
copy which will be able to operate effectively; there is no need to fear that
your copy will perceive itself in fashion which is radically alien."
    "That's a relief," I muttered, not entirely
reassured. The word "radically" might conceal a multitude of complications.
I noticed that we were now operating on the assumption that I was going to go
ahead with the scheme.
    "Trust us, Mr. Rousseau," she said.
"Please."
    There was something about the way she said it which implied
that any trust I pledged was going to be severely tested in time to come. She
had already admitted that she was by no means certain that her conjectural
account of the situation was correct, and I had the feeling that there might
be more in her speculations than she had yet cared to reveal.
    I stared into her beautiful face, which seemed to have
softened slightly around the jawline. Her eyes were big and dark and pleading,
and she was putting on a more convincing show than Jacinthe Siani had. She was
doing her level best to present me with a sight to melt any human's heart. I'd
never had much to do with women, and the specimens with which I'd lately come
into contact were the kind that help one to build up a fair immunity to
feminine charms, but I am only human.
    At least, I was then.
    "But what happens to me?" I asked
stubbornly. "This flesh and blood thing with a sore back and a growing anxiety
about the dangers of going to sleep?"
    It is possible," she said, "that the
ultimate fate of your fleshly self might depend on the success of your copy in
making contact with the masters of the macroworld. But in any case, the plans
which you have made may proceed as you wish."
    I had already guessed that she was going to say something
like that. Think of it not as losing a body, but
gaining a soul.
    I felt a pressing need to stall her, and perhaps to be
on my own for a few minutes, to give the matter