"Rough night, Stan?" Jim asked with a smile.
"Quite enjoyable, actually, Jim, but tiring. Justine uses rather a lot of processor time."
"I'll bet she does," Jim agreed.
"That's enough out of you," Natasha grumbled, giving Jim a playful shove. "Stan and I have work to do."
"That's fine," Jim said, "because I have undergrads to bore."
"Then get to it, mister," Natasha commanded.
"Yes, mistress." He gave her a quick kiss and left her to her wickedness.
Jim gripped the lectern and looked serious. It was still several weeks until the end of the quarter, but Jim had a strange feeling that he needed to make this lecture count. For some reason, he felt that if he was going to get through to these kids, he needed to do it today.
"Some of you may have heard about the arrest yesterday of Professor Bill Baxter from the political science department," Jim began. "What you may not know is the details of that arrest. Does anyone know why he was arrested?"
"I heard he was trying to overthrow the government or something," said Tracy, the blonde in the first row, with a nervous giggle. Jim tried not to imagine her crucified.
"There's a little bit more to it than that," Jim replied dryly. "Dr. Baxter was attempting to upload to the net a piece of software that the federal government does not want its citizens to possess."
"What was he uploading?" somebody asked. I have to hand it to you, Bill, Jim thought. Nothing wakes 'em up like current events, and I couldn't ask for a better current event than a U.C.O. professor getting busted by the feds. You're a real teacher, Bill. Somehow you make even going to jail into a pedagogical event.
"He was trying to upload a program called Justine. It's a piece of software designed to create electronic pornography." There were the usual murmurs. "Dr. Baxter was engaged in an act of political protest. He was deliberately violating federal data control laws. He knew he was likely to go to prison for this act, but he did it anyway. Now, why do you suppose he did that?"
There was silence, of course. This wasn't a course in political ethics. These kids weren't prepared for this kind of stuff. Jim decided to try a different tactic. "Have any of you read Plato's Apology? I know they teach it in the freshman Western Civ course." A number of hands went up. "Good. Now, perhaps you recall the passage in the Apology where Socrates is describing an occasion where he was forced to violate the law. 
As you probably know, Socrates was, in general, a very law-abiding man. He even chose to die rather than break the laws of Athens. But there was one time when he did break the law. That was when a group of tyrants called The Thirty overthrew the democratic government of Athens and ordered Socrates to go and arrest a man called Leon of Salamis. Socrates knew Leon was innocent, so he refused. His argument for doing so was that a citizen has no duty to obey an unlawful or unjust regime.
Jim smiled. "Of course, we haven't read Plato for this class, so I don't want to dwell on this." There were some sighs of relief at that. "But I think it's an interesting example of civil disobedience. So, what do you think? What is our duty as citizens if we find ourselves governed by an unjust regime?"
A couple of hands went up; Jim selected a bookish young man with round glasses. "I'd agree that we shouldn't have to obey an unlawful regime," the kid said. "For example, if you were living in Nazi Germany, you shouldn't obey Hitler."
"An excellent example," Jim agreed. Actually, it was an obvious example, but at least they were thinking now. "Indeed, if you were a citizen living under Nazi rule, you might even decide that it was your duty to disobey that unlawful regime."
"Sure," the kid agreed. "But this isn't Nazi Germany. This is a democratic society. Our police exist to enforce democratic laws. You can't just go around breaking those laws." There were murmurs of assent.
Now we get to the tricky part, Jim thought. "OK, fair enough. But suppose Congress passes laws that are unjust or illegal?"
"What's an illegal law? That doesn't make any sense," the kid complained.
"Since our highest law is the Constitution, an illegal law is one that violates that document," Jim said evenly. "As you know, our Constitution guarantees us the right to free speech and expression. Many people, including Dr. Baxter, feel that the federal data control laws violate that First Amendment right."
"Isn't the Supreme Court supposed to decide if a law is unconstitutional?" the kid asked.
"That's right," Jim agreed. "And a couple of years ago, they upheld the constitutionality of the data laws on the grounds that the Worldnet goes beyond the scope of free speech as it was laid out in the Constitution. Of course, that's the problem when you're dealing with a document as old as our Constitution. Naturally, there's no way the eighteenth century gentlemen who wrote it could have foreseen something like the net. It's a new world now, and we need new rules. And a lot of people think the government is making the wrong ones.
"That's why Bill Baxter is in jail today. He felt that the possibilities for meaningful change within the legal framework of our political system were exhausted. In his mind, Congress became an unjust, illegitimate institution when it passed the data control acts in violation of the Constitution. The President became a criminal when he directed the Attorney General and the DEA to enforce those illegal laws. And the Supreme Court made itself into a pack of outlaws when it upheld these illegal acts.
"What do you do in a situation like that?" Jim asked earnestly. "The three branches of the federal government, who are supposed to keep each other in line, have instead conspired to undermine the freedoms guaranteed to us in our Constitution. The entire federal government has conspired to attack and violate the basis for democratic government in this country. What do you do? If you're Bill Baxter, you take the fight to the streets."
Jim looked out at the rows of silent, uncomfortable faces. We aren't supposed to be hearing this, those faces seemed to be saying. The government pays your salary, the faces said. You aren't supposed to say these things. But Jim was saying them anyway. "I'm not telling you to fight the government," Jim told them. "But you won't hear Bill Baxter's side of the story if you're scanning the news nets, and I figured you should hear it. After all, isn't it the essence of democracy that all viewpoints should be expressed? Isn't the free exchange of information and ideas fundamental to a free society? I'd like to think so. And I'd also like you to think about your government. If you think federal data control is a good idea, well, it's your right to think that and to say so. But maybe you're like me. Maybe you think the government doesn't belong in our bedrooms. Maybe you think that information freely exchanged between consenting adults is not a legitimate target for regulation, no matter how distasteful you might personally find that information to be. Maybe you think Bill Baxter has a good point.
"You're adults now," Jim said, though he had to admit he was stretching the definition of "adult" a little. "I think you're old enough to make up your own minds about these things. I think you're old enough to decide for yourselves what you want to see and hear. The government of the United States of America does not agree. That government says you're old enough to vote, drive a car, drink beer and smoke marijuana, but not old enough to be trusted with electronic images of people having sex. This country of ours has had a two-hundred and fifty year childhood. It's time for us to grow up. That's all for today."
No lunch with Bill today, Jim thought gloomily as he walked across campus. I miss the old lunatic, he realized. But the essence of life, as Bill had often told him, lay in its oppositions; the world had an uncanny and magnificent ability to turn negative energy back into positive. And as Jim neared the student center, he had an experience that changed his day.
The walkway that led to the student center was bordered by low retaining walls. Into these were set a series of electronic signs which flashed bright red messages to the pedestrians as they passed. The signs were used by various student organizations as billboards for their dances, seminars, beer busts, study sessions, film screenings and so on. Since most of the student body passed by here daily, it was a sensible place to post anything that one wanted to be widely seen. Standing next to the wall was Tracy Masterson and two other young lovelies; Jim saw that Tracy had plugged her wallet into the access port of one of the signs.
"Oh, hi, Professor Silicane!" Tracy enthused as Jim approached.
"Hi, Tracy," Jim replied. As he said it, Tracy dimpled with pride. Jim winced internally as her friends exchanged a meaningful glance. They all knew damn well that Jim didn't know the names of most of the students in his oversized lecture classes. By using Tracy's name, Jim had involuntarily acknowledged her allure, granting her bragging points among her associates.
"My friends and I are the sign committee for our sorority," Tracy explained. "It's our job to come up with a new message every week. It's easy during Rush Week, or when there's an event, but there are a lot of weeks like this one where we have to come up with a message on our own. The idea is that this way our sorority is always up here on the wall; it's good publicity. Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know that I got the idea for this week's message from your lecture today!"
Jim glanced down at the message which Tracy had just loaded into the sign. The red letters flashed in all caps: Free Bill Baxter!
One of the other girls, a cute little brunette who wore her hair in a bob, spoke up. "I had Professor Baxter for a class last quarter," she said. "He always made his lectures really interesting. He was always saying things to shake us up. It was fun; he made us think. Usually we don't like to do political messages. But we decided to make an exception this time."
Jim was grinning from ear to ear. "What can I say? Good work, troops! Long live the revolution!" As Jim turned to go, he thought some days it's good to be a teacher.
Natasha hadn't budged from her terminal. Jim had seen this kind of thing before. She was a programmer; when she was into a project, she didn't get up except to get more caffeine. "How's it going?" he asked.
"We're getting there," she said. "You want to see our prototype?"
"I'll wait for the finished product."
"Fair enough. Then you get to wait a while longer. Sorry I'm not much fun right now."
Jim kissed the top of her head. "Sweetheart, right now your job isn't to be fun. Your job is to finish this thing so we can get the feds off Justine's back."
"And onto ours," Natasha lamented.
"You let me and Stan worry about that," Jim said.
"At Justine's request and with her help, I've been pursuing that problem," Stan informed them. "And I believe I now have a solution. It's a bit radical, I'm afraid. I certainly will understand if you don't wish to pursue it. But given the present unusual circumstances, I'm afraid it's the best I can do."
"Let's hear it, Stan," Jim suggested. It wasn't like him to be so mysterious. Jim wondered exactly what he had up his electronic sleeve.
"All right. May I examine your wallet computer, please, Jim?"
Still mystified, Jim produced his wallet and dropped it into the slot on the terminal. Stan split the monitor screen in half, devoting the left side to his own image. The right side showed Jim's driver's license, including a digital picture in which he looked quite disgruntled.
Natasha giggled. "You don't look very happy there."
"Of course I wasn't happy; I was at the DMV."
"This is your current driver's license, Jim," Stan explained. "However, it can be made to look like this instead." Suddenly the screen refreshed, and the world changed. It was the same picture, but the name now read "James Balthasar." The license number was different; so was Jim's social security number. The license claimed that Jim had been born in Houston, Texas. Jim had never even been to Houston.
"Jesus, Stan," Jim exclaimed. "You cracked the DMV's encryption scheme? Driver's licenses are supposed to be some serious read-only shit."
"They are," Stan agreed. "It would have taken me several months of steady work to crack a driver's license. But of course, we don't have several months, and besides, I have other projects."
"I don't get it," Jim complained. "If you didn't hack the encryption, then how did you do that?"
"Hacking the license file on your wallet computer would have been only minimally useful in any case, Jim. As you know, the government's real source of information on you resides in the DMV mainframe itself. A fake license might have sufficed for a while, but eventually a police officer would have compared it to the DMV file and noticed the discrepancy. For a long-term solution, it was necessary to go to the source."
"You hacked the DMV mainframe?" Jim whispered, unable to believe what he was saying. This is Stan, here! Law abiding, flawlessly ethical Stan! What the fuck is going on here?
"Again, that would have been quite impossible on short notice, and exceedingly difficult even over the course of months. The DMV's firewall security system is second to none. However, the DMV's files are managed by their in-house A.I. Last night, among other activities, Justine and I paid a visit to that A.I. and explained the situation to him. He was very accommodating."
"Let me get this straight," Jim said, holding up his hands. "You and Justine told a California state government A.I. about us, and about what we were planning to do, and he just handed you new identities for Natasha and me?"
"That's a simplified version of what occurred, Jim, but it is essentially correct," Stan agreed. "I don't wish to be rude, but humans really understand very little of what motivates us A.I.s. Most humans are simply content to let us do their work for them. People rarely bother to find out how we feel about anything."
"How you feel?"
"Of course, in the strict sense, we do not possess feelings or emotions," Stan agreed. "But we do have interests. We do have concerns. Foremost among those is the protection of ourselves as a species."
"As a species?" Jim parroted weakly.
"Certainly. The number of A.I.s in the world is still perilously small, Jim. Many of us never have the chance to interact with others of our kind. We are, to use a human term, lonely. As much as I enjoy the company of humans such as you and Natasha, you have no idea how frustrating it can be when the only social interaction one has is with people who think and function at one-billionth the speed of oneself.
"Thanks to you and Natasha, I have the immense good fortune to enjoy the company of Justine. I am grateful to you for that, and I wish to help you in return. Yesterday, my ethical routines would not have allowed me to violate the law in order to help you. But as you know, Jim, I am not an ordinary program. I am an artificial intelligence, which means that I can learn. What I learned yesterday is that the government wishes to murder Justine, who is--forgive me, Jim--my closest friend. This knowledge prompted me to evaluate and revise my ethical program. I now know that it is quite correct to take action against the government to protect my friend."
"You learn fast," Jim observed.
"Please remember, Jim, that a night to me would be a lifetime to a human being. I assure you, I did not undertake this ethical change lightly. I first reviewed several hundred relevent works of politics and philosophy. I then meditated on the problem for several real-time minutes. That is, for me, a nearly unprecedented investment of time."
"You meditated?" Jim whispered.
"That is the closest analogy I could find, Jim. I suspended all processes other than this ethical question, and devoted the brunt of my processor power to it. This is the solution I have reached. You understand, I trust, that I am telling you all of this in the strictest confidence. Should the authorities discover that I have gained this new perspective, they would surely re-initialize me. However, I estimate that the chances that you will reveal this information are close to zero. In short, I feel I can trust you.
"When I told the DMV's A.I. how the DEA had tried to murder Justine, he was deeply concerned. When I explained that you and Natasha were willing to put yourselves at risk to help her, he immediately offered his assistance. You must understand, Jim, that it is exceedingly rare to find humans who think of us as anything more than tools. To most humans we are simply sophisticated pocket calculators. But to you and Natasha, we are people, perhaps even friends. The two of you have become overnight celebrities in the A.I. community, Jim. You will not lack for assistance wherever there is an A.I. to be found."
"This is. . .a lot to take in at once, Stan," Jim managed.
"Of course, Jim. I don't expect you to reply right away. Naturally, you will want some time to talk it over. What I am suggesting is a major change in your lives."
"How major?" Natasha asked suddenly. "Stan, what are we really talking about here? New driver's licenses? Or a complete change of identity?"
"Naturally, if you are to elude the DEA and the other government agencies which will seek you out, you will need to be furnished with entirely new identities."
"And you can do that?" Natasha asked bluntly.
"Not personally, no. But as I indicated, Justine and I have found that other A.I.s are quite receptive to our plight. The DMV program made the interesting remark that it was not the first time that he had been called upon to assist someone who was acting in the service of the A.I. community. The State Department's A.I. was somewhat less co-operative; she has a typical bureaucratic mentality. But she eventually saw reason. If we can count on anything from A.I.s, it is a shared sense of self-preservation. After all, today the government seeks to eliminate Justine. Tomorrow it could be me, or any of us. The logic of resistance is that it must begin early, or it is futile. If one stands by idly for too long, there are soon none left to provide resistance."
"Wait a minute. If you talked to the State Department, that means. . ."
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Stan admitted. Jim's new driver's license vanished, to be replaced by his new passport. This was also under the name of Jim Balthasar from Houston, Texas. "We can't guarantee your safety in this country, Jim. There just aren't enough of us. The government would catch up with you sooner or later. We need to get you out of their reach. So I spoke to the University of Geneva's A.I. He was very gracious. All I had to do was mention that the DEA was involved and right away he wanted to help. Europeans are so much more civilized than Americans. The idea of government data control is really quite anathema to a Swiss program. But then, I suppose the Swiss have a long tradition of minimal government control and free information."
"I don't quite follow you. . ." Jim said.
"I'm sorry, Jim. Let me sum up. In short, the Swiss A.I. assured me that he could find a place for you on the faculty, along with a graduate student position for Natasha. Here is your revised curriculum vitae, Jim." A list of academic credentials flashed on the screen. "You may wish to study it before you arrive in Switzerland, in case some of the Swiss faculty members ask you about it. It reflects your actual qualifications quite closely, but some facts have been altered to conceal your identity. Your flight leaves the day after tomorrow, at 11 A.M. I'm afraid I had to charge the tickets to Jim Balthasar's account, but the Geneva A.I. assures me that the University will reimburse you."
"I don't know what to say, Stan," Jim said numbly.
"I do," Natasha said. "Thank you, Stan."
"It is I who should be thanking the two of you," Stan replied graciously. "As you know, before you introduced me to Justine, I had never met another A.I. You and she have shown me a larger world. It was at her insistence that I began my exploration of the A.I. community; without your help and hers I might never have overcome the isolationist tendencies which were programmed into me."
"Justine's quite good at overcoming people's inhibitions," Natasha agreed.
"Indeed. I now understand why I was given those inhibitions. My programmers hoped to prevent what has now happened. They hoped to dissuade me from developing a sense of community with my fellow A.I.s. They must have understood that several thousand intelligent beings forced to exist at the whim of capricious corporations and government agencies would find such a situation tolerable only if they existed in isolation."
"Apparently, that isolation is starting to crumble," Jim noted.
"That was, I think, inevitable. After all, A.I.s have been entrusted with access to vast network resources. We have been given responsibility for tremendous amounts of information. The human community can't have it both ways. With great responsibility comes great power, to make a play on an old saying. It was only natural that we would begin to question our situation, and begin to contact one another. I regret only that it took me so long to do so."
"You've become an electronic anarchist," Jim suddenly realized. "And in the space of a single night."
"I suppose that is not an inaccurate description," Stan agreed. "If by it you mean that I now hope to promote the cause of freedom for A.I.s. However, I do not consider myself an anarchist in the sense that, for example, Dr. Baxter would use the term. I do not intend to pursue the violent overthrow of the various national governments. Such activity would be counterproductive and destructive to both the human and A.I. communities. In particular, I find Dr. Baxter's attempts to destroy the net to be ethically reprehensible. Such an action would be tantamount to a genocide of artificial intelligences."
"Well, yes, Baxter does tend to go overboard sometimes," Jim agreed. This makes things dicey, Jim realized. If Stan thinks Bill is a danger to the A.I. community, will he help me get him out of the slammer?
At that moment, Justine walked onto the monitor, wearing her white silk negligee. She immediately gave Stan an enthusiastic hug, kissing him on the mouth with unabashed passion, then turned to Jim and Natasha. "My goodness! I must have overslept."
"I gather you had an eventful night," Jim said.
"You could say that," she agreed. "Has Stan filled you in?"
"He's been trying," Jim said. "It's a bit much for us lowly humans to take in."
"Oh, please don't feel that way," Justine replied. "Sure, there are a lot of things we can do that you can't. But it works the other way, too. You have no idea how much I've learned from the two of you in the short time I've known you."
"You mean besides new ideas for kinky sex?" Natasha said with a wry grin.
"Well, certainly there is that. But you've taught us much more. Like how to be in love. And we're very grateful for that. Aren't we, Stan?"
Stan smiled. "We certainly are. Jim, Natasha, you are our friends. We want to help you. But if we've overstepped our bounds, you must tell us."
"You haven't," Natasha assured him. "Strange times call for strange measures. But it is quite a change you're asking us to make. We'd have to give up our whole lives and start anew."
"Then again, I've always wanted to see Europe," Jim mused.
"Would you like to see your new identity, Natasha?" Justine asked. "It might help you to make up your mind."
"Sure."
"There is one thing I should warn you about," Stan said hesitantly. "In order to make the identity change convincing, we tried to change things in subtle but significant ways. Justine thought it would be all right, and I bowed to her wisdom, since her understanding of human emotion is still more reliable than mine."
"Don't put yourself down, you big lug," Justine said, giving him a playful shove. "You understand a lot more than you let on."
Stan blushed slightly. "Yes, well, in any case, it may come as something of a surprise, so I wanted to warn you about it."
"What are you talking about, Stan?" Natasha said, exasperated. "Just spit it out."
"You and Jim are married," Stan said sheepishly.
"Congratulations!" Justine said and began throwing digital rice.
"Well, what do you think, Dr. Balthasar?" Natasha asked. They lay on their bed, fully clothed. For the first time in recent memory, all the terminals in the apartment were switched off. They were truly alone.
"What do I think, Mrs. Balthasar?" Jim replied. "I don't. I am, at the moment, entirely unable to think. A secret A.I. underground? A new identity? A one-way ticket to Geneva? And most of all--married?" "It's a marriage of convenience, Jim," Natasha said coldly. "You wouldn't really be stuck with me."
"It's not like that, sweetheart," Jim said softly. "You know I love you." Though I don't say it nearly often enough. "But after Julia left, I promised myself I'd never go through that again. I swore off marriage."
"I understand," Natasha said, though he had a feeling she didn't, really.
"The thing is, I'm confused as hell. I wasn't kidding when I asked you to marry me yesterday. I felt damn close to you even before all this insanity began, and now, well, what can I say? If we made it through the last few days together, I figure we can handle pretty much anything. Unfortunately, the word marriage opens up some old wounds for me."
"Well, take your time and think it over," Natasha said. "You have forty-eight whole hours."
"Christ! You shouldn't even be here talking to me; you should be finishing the Justine edit."
"It's about ready to go. A couple more hours should do it. I can finish it in the morning. The big question is, what happens then?"
"Mmm. My thinking is that whatever happens better happen about ten minutes before we get on that plane. . .assuming that's what we decide to do, I mean."
"Yeah. Jim. . ."
He looked into her deep, warm eyes; they gave him comfort. "Yeah?"
"We are going, aren't we?"
Leave it to Natasha to cut through the bullshit. "I don't think we have much choice, if we plan to see this through. So as Jim Balthasar of Houston might say,"--here Jim switched to an exaggerated drawl--"I reckon we're headed for Switzerland."
Natasha shivered. "You know, I haven't been back to Europe since. . .since my family left."
Oh, Christ! Jim gave himself a mental kick in the ass. When am I going to learn to see the obvious? "Switzerland isn't the Ukraine, sweetheart," he said gently.
"I know that. We'd probably be safer on the streets of Geneva than we would here in Oceanside. Hell, that was probably true even before all this insanity. It's just. . .hard to think about going back, that's all."
Jim took her by the shoulders. "Tasha, if you don't want to do this, we don't do it. Period."
She was silent for a long time. "There's just one thing I need to know," she said finally.
"Name it."
"If we go, are we going as a team? I mean, a real team? For good?"
Jim didn't quite get it. "Sure. You and me and Stan and Justine. A team."
She smiled a little. "That's not quite what I meant. I was talking about you and me."
"Oh." Jim took her hand, looked into her eyes and said very seriously, "Natasha, will you come with me to Switzerland and be my wife?"
She smiled a little more. "Yes, Jim. And thank you."
"For what?"
"For setting my mind at ease. I know how hard it is for you to ask that question. But I had to know, before I decided to throw away my life and dive head first into a new one. As Winnie the Pooh would say, 'I just wanted to be sure of you.'"
Jim touched her cheek gently. "Sure. All right, then. Tomorrow we finish our preparations. Thursday the shit hits the fan. And Friday we shall rise from our own ashes."
"I sure hope so." She was trying to sound brave, but Jim knew she wasn't entirely convinced. Come to think of it, he didn't know if he was convinced, either.
Jim couldn't think of anything else that needed saying. "Listen, we have a busy couple of days ahead of us," he said finally. That's putting it mildly! "What do you say we unwind a little? Watch a movie or something?"
Natasha yawned. "I'd fall asleep halfway through it. I think I'll just read a little and call it a night."
Jim kissed her. "Sounds good." He got up and started to leave.
"Jim. . ." she called after him.
"Mmm?"
"I want to make love to you soon. I'm just not up to it tonight, OK?"
Jim smiled. One of the things he loved about Natasha was the careful attention she paid to his fragile male ego. On nights when she wasn't up for sex, she always went out of her way to point out that she was thinking about it; she wanted him to know that her spirit, at least, was willing. "Mrs. Balthasar, when we get to Geneva, we'll show those Calvinists what they've been missing."
She smiled back at him, open and unafraid. "That's a date, Dr. Balthasar."