Free Limit of Vision by Linda Nagata

day-to-day moment. Being less dependent on our machines.”
    “Machines are a crutch,” Panwar said. “They let us increase our intellectual speed, our competence, but at the cost of moving our intelligence off-site, where it’s vulnerable to damage, or corruption, or some fundamentalist revolution. Machines will never be part of us, but the L ov s already are.” He tapped his forehead. “They are us. The whole world is getting faster, smarter. Without your L ov s, Summer, how will we ever keep up?”
    She considered this for several seconds. Then she stood. “I want to thank you both for being honest with me.”
    Virgil saw through to her true feelings. “You think we’re crazy.”
    She didn’t argue. “Before I go, I’m supposed to let you know . . . your status as biohazards makes you difficult prisoners to handle. So you’ll continue to be held here”—she gestured at the suite—”while arrangements are made with a neurosurgeon to remove your L ov s. That could take time. No one has been trained in the procedure of course, so guidelines will have to be—”
    Panwar was the first to find his voice. “ No . They can’t take our L ov s.” He slammed his chair back and stood, touching his brow where the illicit grains glittered. “Haven’t you heard anything we’ve been saying? Our L ov s are part of us! You can’t carve up our minds.”
    Virgil envisioned the laser, hunting among his cerebral cells, resculpting his personality, leaving . . . what? Even if no mistakes were made, it wouldn’t be him anymore. Not without the L ov s. “They can’t do this,” he said. “They can’t force it on us. Not without some specific legal authority. And we haven’t been before a judge yet. We haven’t seen a lawyer.”
    “I’m sorry,” Summer said. “But no one has any choice in this. No one. It’s an artificial life-form. The guidelines are clear.”

chapter
    6
    Ela sat cross - legged on Phuong’s platform, watching one of her peeper balls float past. No bigger than her fingertip, the little sphere was held aloft by micropumps in its shell that kept its internal air pressure low. Reflections slid with oily grace across its smooth surface: the last gray glimmer of twilight, chased away by the bright orange spark of a cooking fire exploding to life on a neighboring platform.
    Joanie Liu had called to announce the surrender of both the Coastal Society and Ky Xuan Nguyen. “The propagandists have been paid off, while Mr. Nguyen will be sponsoring your next project. He would like you to prepare a historical document describing this village, though there is one unusual clause in the agreement. The document is not for publication. Therefore, it cannot be resold. Because of this, I have negotiated for you a slightly higher fee.”
    Ela had frowned over the restriction, wondering aloud why Nguyen would pay for an article and then bury it. If he truly was concerned for these people, wouldn’t he want their plight advertised as widely as possible?
    Joanie did not respond well to her musings. “You may investigate that question if you like, Ela Suvanatat, but only after you finish the project, after you are paid, and after you find a new job broker.”
    “Undo, Joanie. I was only wondering.”
    So now she was working for Nguyen, creating a profile of village life that would never be accessed by anyone. It was a stupid project, but at least she would not have to start selling her equipment just to buy her next meal.
    Under Kathang’s remote guidance, the peeping ball drifted away, off to eavesdrop on some unsuspecting villager. Ela smiled to herself. Unsuspecting? Who was kidding who? These people knew exactly what the peeping balls were for. Whenever the kids spotted one they would run after it, telling dirty jokes or love secrets to embarrass their friends. Kathang had been schooled to compensate for that behavior by lofting the balls until they vanished into the sky, then letting them descend somewhere