Despite setbacks, senate inches closer to passage of reform legislation
The Sovereign Suns reports live from the Sovereign Spire
Sovereign Justice got a boost late Wednesday in their quest to pass far-reaching reform regulations, when a small senate majority rejected first a motion to postpone and then a motion to commit proposed by the Technocratic Radical minority.
The rejection came during an open session of the Senate during which a number of minor amendments and subsidiary motions were added to the bill, which itself aims to reduce the number of senators by eliminating direct representation of colonial worlds. According to Sovereign Justice, the measure provides for a streamlined democratic process in which important decisions can be made quickly “and with a minimum of needless dissent”.
Subsidiary motions to the reform bill were introduced by Senator Tanguy of Saint Vincennes, Senator Twennysex of Zedath-Kalesh, Senator DeStatos of Hochbaden, Senator Richards of Celeste, and Senator Zha'zhahed Shazbot of Tooramal. Subsidiary motions introduced by Technocratic Radical representatives Senator Renko of Eta Bootis, Senator Saxon of Savoie and Senator Ladislas of Augerau were rejected.
The Senate will vote on the 50-page bill on Friday. As it stands, Sovereign Justice has a large enough majority to send the legislation to President Sinclair. In the meantime violence on the fringe has subsided after the dispatch of several Marine Corps troopships to hotspots on Mejis and Cressia, and large scale police action by the colonial militia of Pharagon Majoris...
Cyberspace
Greater Solarian Datasphere
The datasphere had its roots in primitive electro-magnetic communications networks, but the quantum foam matrix was as far removed from the early system-spanning digital networks as those networks were from the ancient scribbles on some Sumerian clay tablet. Cyberspace was a synergistic virtual reality, a consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, on every planet in the Sovereignty, by hardcore deck-jockeys, by children being taught mathematical concepts… Everything, every scrap of data that existed on some level existed somewhere, on some level, within the multi-colored three-dimensional geometries of cyberspace, and was accessible at the speed of thought through the network of wormhole data-tunnels the Sovereignty had built for itself.
Cyberspace. Not a world or even a landscape, it was a graphic representation of data abstracted from the banks of every computer in hundreds of systems. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light ranged in the nonspace of the mind, clusters and constellations of data that existed for no other reason but to connect its related features into one recognizable category. Like city lights, receding. And suspended in the digital firmament, the juggernaut figures of Computational Intelligences, far-detached from the tangible human world. They are non-physical entities existing wholly within cyberspace, buried monoliths jutting Ozymandian against the figurative sky of the datasphere, encased in cold and lethal black ice firewalls.
One particular CompInt loomed larger than space should hold, an obsidian megalith within the neon lattices of cyberspace, imbued with a breathtaking weight that bent the datasphere for endless no-miles around it, the way a star—or a black hole—might influence the planets that orbit it. This was the Pan-Empyrean Positronics database core, a digital library that predated the Sovereignty itself, controlled by the oldest CI in the Sovereignty: Dionysus, a being taken the name of the Greek god of the epiphany, "the god that comes".
A line of golden light streaked toward that titan construct, striking one of the glowing data-stack towers at the speed of thought, the virtual representation of an outside contact pinging one of its System Access Nodes. The light dissolved into a gilded figure, the avatar of the decker who had placed the call. Lindsey Quick had a moment to survey the wildly colored data-scape before a tremor passed through colossal Construct and it reacted to the call she'd placed.
For a moment something perilously close to the the full awareness of the digital god was focused upon her.
The digital pressure of the CompInt's attention was like nothing Lindsey had ever felt before--a kind of intense scrutiny that struck like a physical blow, forcing the not-air from her lungs as the CI tagged and traced her cyberdeck. The presence of the CI was illimitable, too huge to be physical, a superhuman intellect that threw a digital shadow so large only a fool would not be instantly aware of how generally insignificant she was in the greater scheme of the universe. There was no malice to it, but there didn't need to be--the simple act of its
looking reminded her of its immensely powerful firewalls, its fullbright crawler hordes and H/K protector programs, of the astounding processing power this digital creature could bend to the task of destroying her.
Her avatar was clad in the most advanced Security Challenge Protocols and Intrusion Prevention Systems the Sovereignty had conceived of, not to mention the Phase Loop Recourser and all the other hardware built into her deck designed solely to keep her from flatlining on ice. But in that single moment, Lindsey wasn't at all certain any of that would save her if the CI meant her harm.
Then the moment was gone. The attention of the digital god vanished, and the sensation of immense pressure disappeared with it. Part of the black ice seamlessly parted, forming a data-gate for her avatar into the PE-P core. Lindsey clenched her jaw and stepped forward into the blue gateway.
In an instant, the familiar vista of Cyberspace vanished and was replaced by an expansive executive office. Suprematist paintings hung from smooth white walls. Holographic screens hung silently suspended in the air, and displayed a bewildering variety of information, whilst great, wall-to-floor windows granted a spectacular view over what appeared to be one of Solaris' central districts, where orange light filtered over endless kilometers of glass and steel. Lindsey found herself standing some few dozen meters away from an L-shaped executive desk. Sitting behind that expanse of smoothly polished wood was a distinguished, silver-haired man in an expensive suit, who looked suspiciously like the man who owned Pan-Empyrean Positronics--Sidney Hank--if, Lindsey realized, a sex- and ageless version of him. “Good afternoon,” not-quite-Sidney greeted her in a businesslike manner, and Lindsey realized he sounded like Hank too. “My name is Dionysus, and you have reached the Pan-Empyrean mainframe. How may I help you?”
“I'm Lindsey Quick, personal aide to President Sinclair,” Lindsey identified herself, and sent a databurst at the avatar to confirm her credentials. She looked around, catching a few glimpses of scrolling data-screens which referenced something called 'Gridworks' before quickly shutting off. She turned her attention back to the CI. “Am I to assume this is a-”
“Virtual construct, of course,” the avatar of the Computational Intelligence that controlled the database core finished for her. “I have found humans are more at ease communicating in a familiar setting, so I typically construct one for the purposes of conversations like this.” The CI made a gesture indicating the room. “This particular simulation is based on the CEO suite at the top of the Pan-Empyrean headquarters at the Runaway Towers.”
That meant the CI was sitting in the CEO's seat. Lindsey raised an eyebrow. “That's a little... presumptuous?”
The CI shrugged. “Not really.” It looked at her. “You are new to cyberspace, yes?”
Lindsey looked surprised. “I- yes.” She peered at the avatar. “Where I come from, neural interfaces are... not as common.”
The CI regarded her levelly. “You mean with your religiously inclined parents on Celeste.”
For a moment Lindsey's eyes widened. “How-” Then she remembered that she was not talking to a human being; irregardless of appearances, the figure opposite her was but a minute fragment of an immensely powerful computer intellect. There was no telling how far its awareness reached--for all she knew it could reach across the width of the datasphere in the time it took her to flutter her eyelashes She also now realized that the virtual construct served another, more devious purpose: to make her forget what she was talking to. Her expression hardened. “That is none of your business.”
Again the shrug. “Perhaps.” It repeated its earlier question. “How may I help you?”
“The President requests a meeting with Mr. Sidney Hank.”
A beat. “Mr. Hank is not available.”
Lindsey frowned. As personal aide to President Sinclair she spoke with the voice of the Office of the President of the Sovereignty. She didn't get to hear 'no' very often when speaking in that capacity. “I can issue a summons.”
The CI regarded her with a bored expression. “Yes, you can. And that will change nothing. Mr. Hank is not on Solaris and is not available until next week at the earliest.”
How convenient. That meant he was out of reach until after the vote. That was probably not a coincidence. “And you will be in contact with Mr. Hank in the meantime?”
The avatar of the CompInt nodded and smiled a little. “I am intimately involved in all of Mr. Hank's business dealings. So yes, I have to be.”
She planted her hands in her sides. “Then you can tell him we know about his deal with the Radicals. We know he's trying to sabotage important legislation to force us to back off the senate reforms. We also know he's got Saxon and her idealist brigade shooting motions at us in the hope that something will stick. It's not going to work, the bill is going to pass, and the President would prefer Mr. Hank stop making a fool out of himself.”
“Does she now?” Dionysus was studying its fingernails with a supremely bored expression. “Well. How thoughtful of her. I'll be sure to tell him the president's all-knowing gaze is directed at him.”
Lindsey frowned. One did not escape one's baseline existence on the colonial fringe to rise to a position of presidential aide (and who knew what else in the future) without some sense of ego, and the distinct impression she got that the CompInt wasn't taking her at all seriously grated on her sense of self-importance. “You don't seem to take this very seriously.”
Dionysus looked up, locking his eyes on Lindsey's for the first time. And virtual construct or not, there was something in those eyes, something cold and alien and incredibly ancient, that made her catch her breath. “Do you suppose I have to?”
To her credit Lindsey recovered her wits quickly. “I suppose not,” she tried for a nonchalant shrug and pulled it off halfheartedly. “It's your loss in the end.”
“Loss is a relative term,” the CI replied, and Lindsey had no idea what that meant. “Was there anything else the President would like me to know?”
She hesitated. “No. That was all.” She brought her avatar's hand to the icon on her golden suit that represented the cut-off switch. “I suppose we'll be seeing you.”
The CompInt smiled. The smile didn't reach its eyes. “I suppose you will.” It waved a little wave. “
Tah.”
It was only when the connection was already terminated and she stood up from the chair behind her cyberdeck in the Presidential Palace that Lindsey Quick wondered when – and indeed why – she'd begun to conflate the CI that ran his company with Mr. Hank himself?