Hikaru found the consular office austere and elegant; a Japanese gentleman of around 50 walked around the desk to greet him.
They bowed to each other, and carried out a formal greeting which placed the official slightly above him. Then the official gestured to the comfortable chair in front of the desk. Hikaru sat as the official returned to the seat on the other side. He had commandeered the desk from its usual occupant for purposes of this visit; Hikaru had been asked not to find out the man's name.
The official gave him a look-over and said, <Do you know why we are speaking?>
<Yes.>
<Would you say why?>
<So that you can find out if emigration works. If the people are still people. So that you can decide whether you want to allow it.> As if that would stop her completely.
The official nodded. <How many people do you know who emigrated, and how do you know that they emigrated?>
Interesting that he'd ask me for my justification. <I know seven. First, my wife. She came out of it very much herself. Next, the mother of my friend Isaac. I did not know her well, but he says she is still herself. Also, I know of five others I never met outside. I have no evidence that they are who they say they are, other than their saying so.>
<How well did Celestia know your wife before she emigrated?>
<They never spoke.>
The official looked to him sharply. <She did not agree?>
<She had not been conscious in months, and no one expected her to recover. I allowed it.>
He leaned back to think briefly, then leaned forward and looked at a sheet of paper, tapping his way down a list with a pen. <How much were you told about this meeting?>
<Its purpose, how to refer to certain people. And a reminder of the various favors she has done so that when you ask what payments or gifts I have received I can give full disclosure.>
<I see. And what were they? Count anything from any pony.>
Hikaru pulled a list out of his breast pocket. <In rough chronological order, she has monitored my health, and that of my wife and our neighbors. She is one of my co-authors on three papers. She brought me some fame by alerting me to the presence of the asteroid which struck in Russia earlier this year. She got me a birthday cake. She has acted as an answering-service. She acted as a travel agent who took her agent fee in game money rather than dollars, and at a rather low rate even at that. She saved my wife's life. Shall I go on to the various things she has done for me just within her world?>
<No, unless there is something truly exceptional.>
Hikaru looked over the list and shook his head.
The official nodded. <Will you emigrate when you can?>
<Yes.>
<What are your long-term plans?>
<Put off the heat death of the universe. One step is to engineer star formation so the material and energy are not wasted. Past that, it is hard to say.>
The official blinked, then clarified, <In the next few decades, say.>
<Oh. Probably colonizing the asteroid belt, then the Kuiper belt.>
<Interesting. What do you think that would look like from inside?>
Hikaru froze. The question was a good one. <I don't know. Virtual reality environment? Robot-cameras? We'll work something out.>
<Why do you think she would let you participate? No human engineer has done anything for her. She has worked with others, but only on their projects. This would be hers, and there is no reason to suspect that she would start sharing.>
<No. I have been doing work she considers important, but not at all urgent; she has not forced me out. So long as we stay ahead of what needs to be done right now, we can refine our designs under her loose guidance, so that she will have little to nothing to adjust when she gets down to work. Also, I will be in a computer, and may have access to... mental improvements that bring me up to speed with her.>
An alarmed look. <Has she offered you that?>
<No, it just seems likely that something along those lines will be available.> The official relaxed slightly, then frowned. Hikaru added, <If none of those work out? I'll eagerly watch while she colonizes the Kuiper belt. I'm an astronomer. I'm used to a hands-off attitude.>
<And how would you do that? Emigrants lose all direct connections to the outside, and the natives refuse to acknowledge it.>
<First off, they aren't cut off completely. They can hear a part of the outside world when we talk with them, and we can talk about the outside world. Why not see it? I even have scanned photographs, and they weren't altered. Also, I know natives who are aware of and comfortable with the outside world.>
The official's eyebrows rose. <Do you? That is remarkable.>
<They were commonplace in the shard of Chelyabinsk. Anyway, whatever they use, I can use.>
<I would like more detail on that. How were they aware?>
<In the most extreme cases, it seemed like they could see from the camera. It isn't so uncommon really - people who need medical attention get it, right? Well, these could see out in non-emergencies, sometimes. Also, I have exchanged email with both natives and emigrants; it's delivered by the local post office.>
The official nodded slowly. <But you know of no emigrant who has seen out in real time, have you?>
Hikaru frowned. Natives, yes, no doubt. Emigrants? <In real time? The sky in the Chelyabinsk shard was the real sky, but I do not think that there were any emigrants then.>
<No, there were not. Now. You said your wife was herself. Are there any differences?>
<Yes, there are. She was uploaded by an older technique. Also, she was already suffering from memory loss. So, she does not remember many things.>
<The technique has been refined since then?>
<Actually, while preparing for this meeting, Celestia informed me that the method she intends to use if you allow it has an entirely different basis than the one used on my wife. That method used on her has not improved as much as she had expected; the method for the centers produces a much better scan. The only remaining advantage of the other method is that it fits in a large briefcase.>
<Has she abandoned work on this briefcase method?>
<How would I know? If I were her, I would keep it so I would have something for people who are really stuck where it's illegal.> Which is everywhere right now.
<About that. You seem to trust Celestia. Correct?>
<She is, obviously, a computer program and not a human, even if she includes people. It is not entirely clear that trust is going to act for her like it does for humans. So, I trust a few things. First, that whoever programmed her didn't intend harm. Second, that if she wanted to harm us, she could and wouldn't need to fake being friendly. She has gone far out of her way to help us. Whatever she wants, it can't be that bad.>
The official nodded. <This despite the many lies you know she has made.>
<Truth seems to be a lower priority for her than saving lives.>
<And you agree?>
Hikaru thought for a moment. <If the truth won't be believed, but you can choose which mistaken impression will be believed - in that case, a lie can be better, sometimes.>
<Such as the lie that your wife is dead.>
<Precisely. She's alive, but my government would predictably refuse to admit that.>
The official asked, <If you watch her colonizing outer space, what do you see your life as being like?>
I have no idea. A few hours of that a day; if Celestia puts me on a stipend for just watching that would be nice but kind of strange. So I'd need to spend a few more hours a week on something to earn bits. And of course the way Polychrome runs through them I'd need to spend a bit more than that!
<Do you see yourself still being married to your wife then?>
Hikaru choked a little. <What? Why do you even ask?>
The official took some notes, and did not answer.
<She... we were married for fifty four years.> And? How do I even begin to answer that, aside from a knee-jerk 'yes'? And why did he ask about such a short time-frame? Do I want to be married to her for the next billion years?
I find that utterly terrifying.
I don't even want her to change. She's right as she is, just, not with me. So either we change anyway, or...
Let's set that aside. How can I describe this in a way that doesn't mess everything up? I think it's a little late to just say 'yes'.
<We knew each other for four months before being engaged. We - especially she - was getting on in years, so we didn't want to waste any time. That was a good call, then, I think. We couldn't afford to spend even a hundred years searching for the perfect mate. Now, I suspect it might be wise to look for a millennium, or more.>
<Unless the Celestia makes one for you right off.>
She could, couldn't she? She has - some of Polychrome's friends who uploaded are with natives, and those seem like very good matches. Maybe good enough to last forever.
<Well, yes, I suppose we have help. But that doesn't help the two of us stay together, doesn't it?>
<No, it doesn't.>
<We're together now, and I love her, and she loves me. I don't particularly intend to break it off any time soon. But I honestly don't expect us to stick together for another century with neither young children nor a need for security in our last years holding us together.> Hikaru paused. <Does that seem like a strike against... this system? You don't want emigration to tear apart families, right?>
The official gave him a hard look. <That is an inappropriate question for me to answer, telling you what we want to hear. But if you are asking, that suggests you want us to accept her offer. If so, why do you think we should accept it?>
<If you're asking me to go die, you had better have a really compelling reason.>
<That's not what we're saying...>
<Not allowing this to go ahead works out to just that: it's not my call whether I live or die. Just, die. You're better about it than any other country out there, but that is the effect of what you are saying, until you decide to change it.>
<We already look the other way for those who are dying.> The official took a deep breath and regained his balance. <Doesn't it seem worrisome that we're facing a demand of absolutely no restrictions? Emigration on request, no questions asked?>
<What is the worst case? Some people become a pony a few decades earlier than maybe they would have wanted? With restrictions, people are going to die. Guaranteed. That's a much bigger problem.>
<And what if another option comes up? Microsoft and Apple may be bad with platform lock-in, but this is going to be much worse.>
<Go ahead, launch a public-awareness campaign for all of those other brain digitization projects out there which are anywhere near completion, such as... ?> He let their obvious absence linger.
<You're giving up your humanity.>
<I'll be giving up my body, no more.>
<No. You're giving up your freedom. Never a millimeter from mother's apron strings.>
Ouch. Got me there. After a few seconds, he replied, <If mother had a touch as light and deft as she, there would be no shame in it. She is far beyond us. To stand free of her is costly pride.>
<Do you worship her?>
<What?>
<Do you identify her as Amaterasu Omikami, or consider her a figure of heaven in her own right?>
Hikaru laughed, and emphatically said, <No.>
The official tapped the desk and stared. After a minute, he said, <Thank you for sharing your views with us.>
Hikaru leaned forward. <May I know why you were asking about how long I expect to be married? There are so many questions you didn't ask.>
<I did not ask those because I do not find those elements to be in doubt. You are hardly the best person to ask about the fidelity of uploading itself. But you do bring a different viewpoint on some other matters. Thank you.>
He stood, and Hikaru got up as well.
As they went through the formal parting, Hikaru reflected on how the interview had gone. I have a good feeling about their taking the deal. He shook off the nervousness that the interview had imbued in him, mistaking it for remaining jitters.