“You’re welcome,” Sagan said. “But the computer comes with a price.”
“I know,” Cainen said. “I have read files you asked me to read.”
“And?” Sagan said.
“I must change to Ckann,” Cainen said. “My English does not have many words.”
“All right,” Sagan said.
“I’ve looked at the files concerning Private Dirac in depth,” Cainen said, in the harsh but rapid consonants of the Ckann language. “Charles Boutin was a genius for finding a way to preserve the consciousness wave outside of the brain. And you people are idiots for how you tried to stuff that consciousness back in.”
“Idiots,” Sagan said, and cracked the smallest of smiles, the translation of the word in Ckann coming from a small speaker attached to a lanyard around her neck. “Is that your professional assessment, or just an editorial comment?”
“It’s both,” Cainen said.
“Tell me why,” Sagan said. Cainen moved to send files from his PDA to her, but Sagan held up her hand. “I don’t need the technical details,” she said. “I just want to know if this Dirac is going to be a danger to my troops and my mission.”
“All right,” Cainen said, and paused for a moment. “The brain, even a human one, is like a computer. It’s not a perfect analogy, but it works for what I’m going to tell you. Computers have three components for their operation: There’s the hardware, there’s the software, and there’s the data file. The software runs on the hardware, and the file runs on the software. The hardware can’t open the file without the software. If you place a file on a computer that lacks the necessary software, all it can do is sit there. Do you understand me?”
“So far,” Sagan said.
“Good,” Cainen said. He reached over and tapped Sagan on the head; she suppressed an urge to snap off his finger. “Follow: The brain is the hardware. The consciousness is the file. But with your friend Dirac, you’re missing the software.”
“What’s the software?” Sagan asked.
“Memory,” Cainen said. “Experience. Sensory activity. When you put Boutin’s consciousness into his brain, that brain lacked the experience to make any sense of it. If that consciousness is still in Dirac’s brain—if—it’s isolated and there’s no way to access it.”
“Newborn Special Forces soldiers are conscious from the moment they are woken up,” Sagan said. “But we also lack experience and memory.”
“That’s not consciousness they’re experiencing,” Cainen said, and Sagan could sense the disgust in his voice. “Your damned BrainPal forces open sensory channels artificially and offers the illusion of consciousness, and your brain knows it.” Cainen pointed to his PDA again. “Your people gave me a rather wide range of access to brain and BrainPal research. Did you know this?”
“I did,” Sagan said. “I asked them to let you look at any file you needed to help me.”
“Because you knew that I would be a prisoner for the rest of my life, and that even if I could escape I would soon be dead of the disease you gave me. So it couldn’t hurt to give me access,” Cainen said.
Sagan shrugged.
“Hmmmp,” Cainen said, and continued. “Do you know that there’s no explainable reason why a Special Forces soldier’s brain absorbs information so much more quickly than a regular CDF? They’re both unaltered human brains; they’re both the same BrainPal computer. Special Forces brains are preconditioned in a different way from the regular soldiers’ brains, but not in a way that should noticeably speed up the rate at which the brains process information. And yet the Special Forces brain sucks down information and processes it at an incredible rate. Do you know why? It’s defending itself, Lieutenant. Your average CDF soldier already has a consciousness, and the experience to use it. You Special Forces soldiers have nothing. Your brain senses the artificial consciousness your BrainPal is pressing on it and rushes to build its own as quickly as it can, before that artificial consciousness permanently deforms it. Or kills it.”
“No Special Forces soldiers have died because of their BrainPal,” Jane said.
“Oh, no, not now,” Cainen said. “But I wonder what you would find if you went back far enough.”
“What do you know?” Sagan asked.
“I know nothing,” Cainen said, mildly. “It’s merely idle speculation. But the point here is that you can’t compare Special Forces waking up with ‘consciousness’ with what you were trying to do with Private Dirac. It’s not the same thing. It’s not even close.”