Free Transhuman by T. K. F. Weisskopf Mark L. Van Name Page B

she scans her console. "Once we've got a little more success on our side we can make a public announcement and get you some communication."
    I nod, which tilts the lab cameras up and down. I've mentioned this before. I began this experiment in a digital recreation of a human body, and to me it seemed as though I had my limbs and my five senses, strangely isolated from the real world. As we have progressed, Gennifer has steadily extended my capabilities. The ability to see through cameras as though they were my eyes, the ability to read databases and network documents directly, the ability to route my inputs through filters, like the camera's face recognizers or the software lip reader, all these are new. As more and more processors have been added to my network, my thought processes have speeded up. The ability to listen to radio transmissions wouldn't be hard to add. I began the experiment feeling less than human, but I now have capabilities that no mere flesh and blood mortal could imagine. Does that make me more than human? I go back to the flow of images, alternating them with snapshots from the lab camera in case she has more to say when she's done reading.
    Finally she looks up. "I've got a new data stream for you, while we get approval for police channels." I pause the flow of images, and give her my full attention.
    "We have a new project coming in, from the federal government this time." Gennifer was smiling, she'd obviously just gotten the message. "If we can make this work, it will be a major funding stream."
    "That's good news." One of the realities of being an experiment is that my existence is dependent on academic funding. Mark Astale is legally dead, and the university is under no obligation to keep his ghost alive. The university administration insisted on that legal technicality; they had no wish to be saddled with supporting me in perpetuity should the experiment fail but my mind live on in their systems. If I fail to earn my keep, if there is a problem, if Gennifer's program is canceled, the expensive network will be switched off, the processors distributed for other tasks, the lab itself converted to a new use—and Mark Astale will die his final death.
    "What's the project?" My voice sounds like me. It took Gennifer a long time to tweak the acoustic models to a point where I'm comfortable hearing myself speak.
    "You're going to be given real-time satellite access. The birds have two-centimeter resolution. You'll be able to identify individuals from space, anywhere in the world."
    "That sounds like a fairly broad expansion of my area of responsibility." I chose the words carefully.
    "For now you'll still be looking for fugitives in Chicago. I'm sure the funding agency has a wider purpose in mind."
    "Who is the funding agency, just out of interest?"
    Gennifer pursed her lips, looking pensive. "It's classified." I nodded my cameras. It wasn't surprising. There are thousands of satellites looking down on earth: crop watchers, wave scanners, ship trackers. Their eyes are configured in hundreds of different ways, covering dozens of wavelengths. Only a handful have two centimeter resolution, all military surveillance satellites. Uncle Sam wanted me. Specifically, he wanted me to keep an eye on his enemies.
    "When do I start?"
    "I have the hooks for the data stream here. As fancy as they are, they're still just cameras. You shouldn't have any trouble seeing through them. The controls are a little more exotic than you're used to; I'll build the interface today."
    "I'm sure it will be interesting." I was going to start making the transition from cop to spy. There are moral and ethical questions attached to that, but I have no interest in them. To continue to live I have to be useful, and I very much want to continue to live.
    While Gennifer worked on the interface modules I spent the rest of the day fruitlessly following up on hot flags from various overeager cameras. As the number of real fugitives inexorably