Perennial Exodus
Operant Conditioning Chamber
The two dimensional words projected in three dimensional space made for a hyper simple finale to the presentation. The presenting researcher summarized with a review of the detailed analysis presented. "An operant conditioning chamber, more colloquially known a Skinner box, has been an integral test of sentience for... well, ever." The presenter was the type of scientist who wore their lab coat as casual attire. There was an implication there that the audience picked up on. That either he felt comfortable in it, after so many years of being required to wear it, or that it was a form of armor designed to create the illusion of intelligence. In either event those present reserved their judgement as he swiped right and a recreation of Skinner's famous experiment with a new specimen: an infested rat.
The ability or determination to resist the environment had become a standard for demonstrating 'an above animal level of intelligence' and sufficient time had been given to study all manner of variations of what had been come to be called 'The Perennial Infestation'.
The scientist swiped right again and displayed a holographic recording of an interview explaining the state of a Perennial Infested human. "The specimen is very convincing," Dr. Xaith Calhound explained, "The infected's memories are leveraged in the same manner as the switch, or a button, in an operant conditioning chamber. However, in this case the chamber isn't a physical box, but rather it is the target's perspective and worldview."
The interviewer nodded with a bit of a befuddled expression, "Can you elaborate?"
"Certainly. Imagine if you will that there was an electronic database that contained every possible action a person could take, and the associated probabilities of the responses said actions would elicit." He waited a moment for a nod from the interviewer he continued that conveyed more understanding than just a simple acknowledgement before continuing. "The ability to elicit an emotional response would not be all that difficult for a sufficiently sophisticated computer that can make the required calculations."
"Wait," the interviewer interrupted, "Are you saying that these things are sufficiently sophisticated to do that? Wouldn't that make them intelligent? I thought you said they weren't."
Humanity's foremost expert on simulated intelligence shook his head. "No, you misunderstand. The human brain is that computer. To these parasites it is just a big red button that gives them food. In many ways society itself is an Operant Conditioning Chamber."
The presentation before congress ended with the call for the cited expert to speak directly on the topic that has proven somewhat derisive for many. After being sworn in Dr. Calhound got bluntly to the point. "Are they intelligent? That is the question on everyone's mind." The good doctor paused literally for no other reason than for dramatic effect. A pause that went on so long as to actually emphasize its own emphasis. "The answer is no." The good doctor had no qualms in the slightest in speaking to the nature of the imitation people. "They're a close facsimile, to be sure, and even inhabit people, but they are not people."
It was a definitive black-and-white answer to a question that plagued the frontier worlds since the their listening post in the Tortuga system went dark. The simplicity of the conclusion caused something of an uproar in the attending politicians. Among colonists, miners, and other simple folk who gravitated to the frontier worlds a naturalist movement was growing. To put a face on that movement, and provide the voice of the opposition was the Grand Priestess Aria Summers.
"You seem to favor bluntness so I'll respond in kind," Aria said in the sweetest tone she could muster while cutting to the heart of the matter, "At what point does something indistinguishable from a human being stop be considered a human being?"
A grimace crossed Dr. Calhound's face as he made a conscious and concerted effort to remain civil. "If you taught a sunflower to speak a few words would you insist on calling it a parrot?"
Luckily no one chose to quibble over what constitutes the number of "a few". Instead, Aria took an almost perverse pleasure in her response, as if she possessed the moral high ground. "A few choice words... Such as what, for example?" Aria dismissively flipped her hand and a digital document from her table was brought to life o the projector. She hemmed and hawed for only an instant while it loaded, but rather than a vocalization of indecisiveness, they were intentional passive-aggressive discrediting of Dr. Calhound's assertions.
Once loaded, she intentionally held the playback on its opening frame to underscore the human element of the tragedy. The opening frame was one of a heavily infected woman, and the recorder had tightly focused on her face to reveal the discoloration, lacerations, and growths on her body. The suffering of a human being was graphically emphasized before the holoprojection played out. She was running to a civilian police authority screaming "Please! Help me! They're going to kill me!". As it played out, the police warned to keep her distance numerous times before the woman's frantic, and aggressively escalating flailing resulted in her being shot to death. For the last two weeks scenes like these played out in isolation all over the empire and it always played out exactly the same way.
"That's enough Ms. Summers," the council chair interrupted, "You've already given your opportunity to present evidence. We'll be taking a recess to discuss what's been said here. That'll be all."
Hesitant to rise and step down, Dr. Calhound addressed the council one final time for the evening: "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, with your indulgence I would like to address that final point raised before we recess." After a thoughtful deep breath he turned directly to Matron Summers. "It's unfortunate that the pop culture icon of the Zombie did not prepare you, and others, for the possibility that they might actually be harder to distinguish from real people." The more he spoke, the angrier he got, and the harder it became to keep calm in the face of such willful anti-intellectualism. "The facade that the media has been presenting for hundreds of years is an incredibly dangerous one with real consequences."
***
A rear admiral sat impatiently waiting the outcome of civilian bureaucracy while the doctor stood by the window to survey the scene on the promenade. Through thick plumes of cigar smoke he conferred with his expert. "I don't like this. If it were a military installation, and personnel, we could have ended this before it started." He shook his head in disgust, "It's these damnable civilian courts. Everyone knows how this is going to play out, but these bureaucrats have to make a big show about dragging it out, just to show that they're still in charge."
Confused, the doctor adjusted his glasses and cocked his head, "And how is it going to play out sir?"
The burnt stub of a cigar was snuffed out in an ashtray as the admiral looked up to his guest. "The way it always plays out."
***
It was a quiet rebellion.
Information warfare against the humans? Nonsense. The human's network is eminent and their dominion is absolute. Their infrastructure for communicating and disseminating information is immense and no lesser race could even compare.
That is, unless every one is in agreement. The Perennials were in agreement. When everyone is in agreement there is no need for words. The rebellion was a quiet one. Or at least, it was until it was time to speak, and speak they did.
Colonists, scientists, mercenaries, and pirates they all had one thing in common and that was they had something to go back home to. That, and "home" was a different place for all of them. The Great Web had captured many avatars of flesh and distributed them naturally through the human population. Now they called out to any who would listen. Any who would hear them. It was a strategic maneuver that was derived from the human words: "broadcasting" and "obfuscation".
These shooting were not random. Their locations were carefully chosen and deliberately staged in places where the police were stationed to suppress the people, rather than protect and serve them. It was a message to any of those who would resist the humans, but could not do so openly. That they could find allies willing to fight and die to escape the human's rule.
These sacrifices were a regrettable and fairly recent part of a campaign of misinformation and confusion that had been going on for years. The Great Web had bread a special spore to confound the human scientists, and a subtle propaganda war to cripple the efforts of the humans from exterminating the Perennial species before they could flee their world. Now that the Great Web had amassed several ships, and had converted them to be Perennials themselves, it was time to leave. But their departure would not go unnoticed which is why the Great Web orchestrated such an elaborate event to serve both as a smoke screen for their exodus and, with luck, first contact with potential allies.
As their fleet—grown and bread from one lone abandoned ship—launched from the planet's surface. Due to the severity of the response it would not be long before humans once again returned to Tortuga. As Perennial ships broke from the planet's gravitational field, Gretchen Gravage sat among yet apart from the the swarm of all that made up the Great Web. She was a single member of the whole trying to think of itself as the whole while the whole tried to think of itself as an individual. It was an increasingly important, nuanced, and difficult thing for the Great Web to truly understand yet its survival depended on making contact with just such individuals.
Edit: Fixed some grammar and auto-correct errors that were driving me insane.
