Free TRUE NAMES by Vernor Vinge Page A

were depending on city directories and orbit-fed street maps, and he had been keeping them going in circles for some time now. It was a nuisance, and sooner or later he would have to decide on a more permanent solution.

    But what was a simple nuisance in his present state would be near-instant death if he returned to his normal self. He looked at Erythrina. Was there any way around DON’s arguments?
    Her eyes were almost shut, and the frown had deepened. He sensed that more and more of her resources were involved in some pattern analysis. He wondered if she had even heard what DON.MAC said. But after a moment her eyes came open, and she looked at the two of them. There was triumph in that look. “You know, Slip, I don’t think I have ever been fooled by a personality simulator, at least not for more than a few minutes.”
    Mr. Slippery nodded, puzzled by this sudden change in topic. “Sure. If you talk to a simulator long enough, you eventually begin to notice little inflexibilities. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to write a program that could pass the Turing test.”
    “Yes, little inflexibilities, a certain lack of imagination. It always seems to be the tipoff. Of course DON here has always pretended to be a program, so it was hard to tell. But I was sure that for the last few months there has been no living being behind his mask…
    “…
and furthermore, I don’t think there is anybody there even now
.” Mr. Slippery’s attention snapped back to DON.MAC. The other smirked at the accusation. Somehow it was not the right reaction. Mr. Slippery remembered the strange, artificial flavor of DON’s combat style. In this short an encounter, there could be no really hard evidence for her theory. She was using her intuition and whatever deep analysis she had been doing these last few seconds. “But that means we still haven’t found the Mailman.” “Right. This is just his best tool. I’ll bet the Mailman simply used the pattern he stole from the murdered DON.MAC as the basis for this automatic defense system we’ve been fighting. The Mailman’s time lag is a very real thing, not a red herring at all. Somehow it is the whole secret of who he really is.
    “In any case, it makes our present situation a lot easier.” She smiled at DON.MAC as though he were a real person. Usually it was easier to behave that way toward simulators; in this case, there was a good deal of triumph in her smile. “You almost won for your master, DON. You almost had us convinced. But now that we know what we are dealing with, it will be easy to —”
    Her image flicked out of existence, and Mr. Slippery felt DON grab for the resources Ery controlled. All through near-Earth space, they fought for the weapon systems she had held till an instant before.
    And alone, Mr. Slippery could not win. Slowly, slowly, he felt himself bending before the other’s force, like some wrestler whose bones were breaking one by one under a murderous opponent. It was all he could do to prevent the DON construct from blast-hag his home; and to do that, he had to give up progressively more computing power.
    Erythrina was gone, gone as though she had never been. Or was she? He gave a sliver of his attention to a search, a sliver that was still many times more powerful than any mere warlock. That tiny piece of consciousness quickly noticed a power failure in southern Rhode Island. Many power failures had developed during the last few minutes, consequent to the data failure. But this one was strange. In addition to power, comm lines were down and even his intervention could not bring them to life. It was about as thoroughly blacked out as a place could be. This could scarcely be an accident.
    … and there was a voice, barely telephone quality and almost lost in the mass of other data he was processing.
Erythrina!
She had, via some incredibly tortuous detour, retained a communication path to the outside.
    His gaze swept the blacked-out Providence