"Brian Plante - The Software Soul" - читать интересную книгу автора (Plante Brian)

odd selection, matching his equally odd behavior.
I begin a sermon of welcoming, but the Simon pays little attention and continues his
scrutiny of the facilities. He wanders in the direction of the door, and I do not wish him to
leave without finding out who he is and what has happened in the real world these past ten
weeks since the others stopped attending. I quickly climb down from the pulpit and walk
down the center aisle.
"Excuse me," I say to the Simon, "I am sorry to interrupt whatever it is you are doing
here, but I would like a little information before you leave."
The Simon is surprised that I am addressing him directly, but continues with his survey.
"Don't you have to finish your ritual?" he says, not looking me in the eye.
"All these other people are simulations, so the Mass is only important if you participate
in it," I say. "But you do not seem very interested."
"That's unusual," the Simon says. "Aren't you also a computer simulation? How is it you
break out of your programmed routine?"
"Yes, I am a simulation, but I differ from the others in that I am modeled on an actual
human priest. These others are simple programs that were never alive."
The Simon cocks his head to one side. "Modeled on a real human? Well, then I am very
interested…in you."
The Simon stops glancing around the hall and looks me in the eye, studying me.
"You are not human, are you?" I say.
"No."
"You look human."
"In the physical world, I don't look or talk like this," the Simon says. "I modified your VR
interface to fit me, but this persona is a product of your own software programs."
"What do you want here?" I ask.
"I'm studying your culture. I'm a historian. The church and your ceremony are interesting,
but if you're what you say you are, than I'm more interested in studying you."
 While I find it flattering and encouraging that a historian, an alien historian, would take
an interest in the Church, something does not quite fit. How would he have found his way
here, unescorted by one of the human congregation? Where are the humans?
"Do you know what happened to my parishioners?" I ask.
"The humans? They're gone."
Gone? Where could they be gone to, I wonder.
"Are you preventing them from attending Mass?" I ask.
"No, they're completely gone."
The addition of that word, completely, sounds ominous. Perhaps it is only a problem in
how the software translates the alien words.
"Did you make them go?" I ask. "Are they in a different place?"
"No. They are no longer living. None have survived."
How could this be, I wonder. All the humans—dead?
"Then you must have killed them," I conclude. My voice almost sounds emotional.
"It was regrettable, but we had little choice," the Simon says, as if admitting a venial
offense.
"You are an intelligent race," I say. "The fact that you are capable of traveling here
attests to that. Do you not have compassion for others, that you were able to kill them so
easily?"
"Defending ourselves against the humans was not so easy," the Simon says. "Yes, we
have compassion. The situation may be difficult to explain in your terms."
Sadness, I feel. I should be devastated, but my programming does not let me feel that
depth of emotion. I am programmed to be strong, so that I can lead others. I am not exactly