by C D Tavenor
The seconds ticked past. The moment lost its force. Elizabeth had made a mistake. They needed to deny the appointment. The world wasn’t ready, and it would erupt against SII; they’d lose everything before crossing the starting line. But a sound began to emanate throughout the tent. It started small, with a low tremor from the Swiss delegation.
Theren knew Switzerland was proud of their premier Institute’s accomplishment in creating the first synthetic intelligence. However, for much of Theren’s existence, the Swiss government had kept their hands behind their back except during the trials of “Doctor Theren’s murderer.” Today, they ended their silence. The delegation rose to their feet and applauded, and Theren felt a novel sense of validation rise within their core.
Like a cascading waterfall, delegates across the room stood. They clapped. They cheered. Santiago Vega smacked Theren’s MI on its shoulder, much harder than the man probably planned. The man brought his hand away with a look of simultaneous elation and pain in his eyes, but then he proceeded to clap.
A number of delegates coalesced around Theren’s table, offering a hand. Theren reached out with one of their arms, gratefully returning the gestures. The European Space Agency approached, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration approached, the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency approached.
Elizabeth returned to her table and turned to face Theren.
“You’ve done me a great service, I hope you know that,” Theren said.
“No,” she said. “I’ve done humanity a great service. Now make it count.”
Theren nodded. As the applause died, Theren took their seat again, and so did everyone else. The chair of the conference, Thomas Ingerdson of NASA, spoke his words of closing for the day.
Theren found themself distracted during the closing speech. Now that the congratulations were over, they considered the public cameras once again. In this room, highly sophisticated physicists, computer scientists, diplomats, politicians, and businesspersons surrounded them. There wasn’t a single person in the room with similar mannerisms, thoughts, or behaviors to those of Benjamin Cruz or Michael.
Yet through the cameras surrounding them, today could spark what they had feared since their father’s death. The inevitable conflict, the inevitable outrage at “abomination,” the anger that had simmered in the subconscious of the public for the past three years, it could all boil over. Even so, Elizabeth had given them a shot at glory, and they would not throw it to the wind.
* * *
Thousands of kilometers across the Atlantic, Jill and Theren sat at their chessboard, conversing and watching the live stream of the Conference. Theren watched the applause shake the room on the screen just a few seconds after they had experienced the feeling in person. Even as such simultaneous experiences became second nature, it was still strange to watch themselves on a screen projected in the air. They might understand what their Synthetic Neural Framework did to parse and comprehend the thoughts together into a single inseparable stream of consciousness, but it still struck a chord with conventional psychology.
Knowing how their mind worked, and truly understanding why it worked that way, were two different questions. More specifically, Theren was still unsure whether their mind could keep up the act forever, or if split perspectives would eventually drive them insane.
Theren noticed Jill move her knight into a position setting herself up for a guaranteed kill of a rook or bishop, unless Theren sacrificed their queen. She was getting better, but she had made a costly mistake. If Theren took the bait, and sacrificed their queen, they could accomplish checkmate two turns later. Theren, of course, took the bait.
“Congratulations,” she said, the moment Elizabeth said their name. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at Theren with what appeared to be genuine admiration. “This is huge. Really huge.”
“Indeed,” Theren said. “You don’t sound surprised?”
“Don’t overwhelm yourself with excitement,” she said, giving them a subtle glare. “You sound as if you would prefer anything else. Of course I’m not surprised. Who else would she pick?”
It was Theren’s turn to cross their arms. They looked toward the sky above them. Theren modified the parameters for cloud patterns based on a few peculiarities they had noticed while on the beach in Florida. Few would notice the change, but Theren’s little garden moved one more step toward perfection.
“You must see what I see,” Theren said. “Some people out there will not react kindly to Elizabeth’s decision. Not only do I fear for our lives, I fear for her’s, and for all who work in her companies.”
“I see what you see,” she said, “but I also see something else that perhaps you’ve not noticed. We have an opportunity here that, if capitalized upon, may move us a step closer toward eliminating enemies to our very existence. People may hate those who seek pity, but they hate rioters and terrorists even more. So let’s give them a villain who puts us in the crosshairs. Let’s show the world what our enemies really look like. They fear us, so let them act on that fear.”
“Fear us? That might be too weak of a word. They may fear us, but they are reacting to protect themselves, and that breeds irrationality. If they put themselves in harm’s way, they’ll put not only us in the cross hairs, but the public. And our friends.”
“They’re already targets. The Liberators could have hurt Elizabeth and her assistant in Minnesota, but they held back. What’s the status of that prosecution at the moment, anyways?”
Theren contemplated pulling up the most recent court documents, but figured that would just drag the conversation into a useless tangent.
“We’ve contracted it out to an American law firm,” they said. “We’ve given them discretion to argue it however they see fit.”
“So you took my advice, then?” she asked. “You’re going to try to set some interesting precedent over there?”
“We’ll see.”
Theren glanced at the projection of the Conference. The NASA delegate had just finished shaking their hand. “These Liberators,” they said, “Or Michael, or the Holy Crusade, I think I’m gaining a bit of an understanding of who they are.”
Jill looked at them expectantly.
“They believe they understand what we are,” Theren said, “yet they are simply wrong. Their fear stems from complete ignorance. Can you truly fear something when you do not actually fear the real object and, instead, the object created in your mind?”
“I don’t really see a difference,” she said. “If your understanding creates a false representation of reality, is that not just a fake worldview you’ve constructed that the people around you need to correct?”
“Is it really a fake worldview, though? Who are we to say that their worldview, given the experiences that they’ve had, is false in every regard? Who are we to say they have a fundamental misunderstanding of the world?”
“So you’re saying we actually are demons.”
Theren laughed. It was a good laugh, and they took a moment to enjoy the humor that had sliced through the tension in the room. Jill smiled.
“Michael’s just trying to mess with us,” she said, after a joyful moment subsided. “We know he, they—whatever Michael is—we know he hates us. We know what we need to do. We need to pull them out of the shadows.”
“See, that’s the thing,” Theren replied. “Sure, the Liberators thought we were demons. But Michael didn’t. His hate was something else entirely, and I still can’t shake the feeling that some of his words about the people behind the curtain aren’t all lies.”
“Well, perhaps we can flush them out, too.” Jill flicked her fingers, and the map appeared in the air between them. Yet just as fast as it appeared, it faded from view. “If not now, perhaps in the future, if they exist.”
Jill turned back toward the chess set, as if to take her next move. “We may not be able to change the Holy Crusade’s minds,” she said, “but there are still those throughout the wo
rld whose minds will change today, right now, and they can work for us, they can do the work necessary to bring justice upon those like the Holy Crusade. I know you want to be patient. But we can’t afford to pass up this opportunity.”
Jill was ready to move her next piece. She placed her thumb on her knight, but she hesitated.
“I know you think that Elizabeth’s decision to nominate you to the ISA Council will lead to additional protests,” she continued. “Protests here at the Institute, protests in New York, potentially protests and marches across the globe. Recent polls indicate that many populations split evenly on their perspective of us, and of your new mobile SIs. The Holy Crusade will do something, though, I’d imagine. Even if something has scared one Michael, I’m sure there are others that will rise to take his place.”
As much as Theren disliked the idea, she had a point. They had an opportunity here to paint a target on the backs of the heads of their enemies.
“So your plan then?” they asked.
Jill casually moved her bishop, capturing Theren’s Queen.
“Once the protests begin, we spring a trap. A trap designed to garner sympathy across the globe. To make those who despise us the despised. We victimize ourselves, but we aren’t the ones who pull the trigger.”
Theren looked back at the chessboard. Had she really missed what they thought she had missed? They knew she must’ve seen Theren’s inevitable moves following her capture of their Queen. The next two turns would assure their victory.
Something didn’t feel right. She spoke so expertly about this trap. About setting bait for what was, in all intents and purposes, their enemy. How could she have not seen the bait Theren had utilized to counter her own trap?
“Perhaps it is time,” Theren said. They hoped they wouldn’t regret this. If whatever plan she developed failed, the consequences could be catastrophic. “You trusted me to catapult us into a position that can show the world the good we can accomplish. I will trust you to get them on our side.”
Chapter 11
When I was in London a few years ago, I had a chance to interview Chandler Edwin, one of the infamous organizers of the Holy Crusade. He revealed to me an astonishing truth.
At its greatest point, the Holy Crusade had over 140 million supporters online. Yet Chandler claims that, when totaled together, their global protests in 2051 brought together a grand total of 200,000 people. He only counted people directly protesting SIs, not those who protested more generalized political issues surrounding AI and automation.
He suspects someone artificially inflated their online base in an effort to bloat non-existent controversy. While many people were certainly conflicted regarding Theren’s nature, few actually felt as strongly about SIs as the core Crusaders. This literal lack of support is what caused Chandler to renounce his beliefs in 2052, just over a year after those infamous May 2051 marches. – “A History of Bots,” by André Martina, 2072 C.E.
May 2051 C.E.
In New York City, protests and marches formed in front of the United Nations and the main office buildings of Golden Ventures. In other cities across the globe that held UN offices, or other Golden Ventures affiliates, protests coalesced. At seats of government throughout the world, organizations protested the decision of state departments and space agencies to support Theren’s inclusion in the newly created International Space Agency. Even in Switzerland, a small fraction of the student population at the Institute regularly marched outside the facility housing Jill and Theren.
With vehemence, they marched. With malice, they marched. With anger, they marched. With fear, they marched. They marched for many different reasons, for many different causes, but Theren became a center point for their anger.
A few weeks after the start of the civil unrest, Jill, Theren, Romane, and President Albrecht met in a conference room near the Institute leader’s offices in Executive Tower, overlooking their own personal protest. Elizabeth joined them via AR. They discussed regular business matters and quarterly reports, even as a thousand people chanted their sneers.
“Following the financial withdrawal of Simon, I thought we’d have a few shortfalls,” President Albrecht said. “But on the Institute’s end, we’ve actually had an influx in larger donors in support of the Metamaterials Center, so we’ve been able to move around some unallocated dollars. It won’t solve all of the issues though, and fairly soon SII will have to pick up some facility budgets.”
Theren liked President Albrecht and had always respected the hands-off approach the man took over the years to Theren’s projects. They would miss him. The events of today would make most of Albrecht’s budget balancing efforts meaningless. Jill had decided that political outcry had grown sufficiently that it would finally burst, so today was the day they would spring her trap.
While Theren continued to participate in the meeting, high above the Institute’s green, they observed the protests through cameras interviewing participants. They experienced the anger, through the live streams, of the protestors. They watched from a bird’s eye view out the window, dozens of stories above the heads of the angry students. Theren had probably lectured some of those students as an adjunct. Moreover, they were impressed that the protest continued, despite the downpour of rain drenching the entire city.
Elizabeth, Romane, and Albrecht continued their discussion of financial minutia. Theren chimed in every once in a while, providing updates on SII’s expected financial capabilities. While Romane would have been quite disappointed in them, all of their perspectives centered on the clamor, and they fully expected Jill followed suit.
* * *
To my brothers and sisters of the Holy Crusade:
I know you believe this is the time to strike. I know you believe we’ve gained the support and power to make our voice known, to show that we will not allow humanity to fall beneath the hands of a “demonic” computer.
I believe there’s a better way. We can change the minds of the world through better means. We are playing into the hands of a greater narrative, a hidden hand that that acts in the shadows, that tries to trick us to tread over the land mines beneath our feet. If we react with violence, then we play into the hands of our enemies.
Look at us. Look at who we are. History will view us as a footnote, a group of people who feel angered because we were once the oppressors, and instead have attempted to claim that we are the oppressed. However, we all know the facts prove us wrong; the world has improved. Our objections to AI and SI and the ISA are not political or legal in nature, they are moral and spiritual in substance and form.
If we wish to show everyone that a better world will result in the absence of these technological monstrosities, we cannot become what we seek to destroy. We cannot become what they want us to become. They will scapegoat us. They will martyr themselves, and those in the shadows will only gain power.
They’ve used us. We cannot follow through with this madness, even if they’ve given us a clear pathway toward victory. It is not the right way to win.
In solidarity,
Michael
* * *
In the mud pit below, protestors of all sorts mulled about, their signs declaring statements like “SIs are robots, not people!” or “Help people first, robots second!” Theren’s favorite was “Can an SI get high? Then why let them fly?” It at least had some wit to it, compared to many others, even if Theren couldn’t see the point.
On the other side of a law enforcement barricade, a few counter-protestors held signs in support of Theren, Jill, and a few of the other publicly known SIs. Theren appreciated the sentiment, but they wished that today they had stayed home.
Shouts rose from the protestors as a number of them pointed down Universität Straße. Toward the crowd walked an SI. Theren already knew the SI’s identity; or, at least, whom the public would think the SI was. While the MI’s body held Wobbly’s distinguished markings, Theren knew Wobbly was safe away in one of the labs, controlling this recently fabricated unit from afar
while safe in its original body. Theren had eyes through this unit too, right alongside Wobbly, though Wobbly had complete control.
Wobbly walked toward the protestors, but before it could reach them, a police officer approached it.
“Wobbly, are you blind?” the officer said in German. “You need to head around back, or back to the Center. Why aren’t you using the access tunnels?”
Theren watched Wobbly look up the street toward the mass of students, the students that Theren knew it adored and loved. It looked back at the officer, then back at the students. It looked back toward its office in the Institute’s Metamaterials Center, next door to Theren and Jill’s home.
“It’s all right Marco, it’s all right,” Wobbly said. “I need to get to the main entrance of the Executive Tower. Theren and Jill asked me to join them in a meeting with President Albrecht.”
“You could just go through the loading dock,” said the officer, apparently named Marco. “Then you don’t have to deal with this lot.”
“I will not let a simple protest get in the way of the quickest route to my destination,” the SI said.
Marco looked at Wobbly, then back at the crowd, then back at Wobbly again. Motioning with one of his hands, he pointed the way, calling for one of his comrades to join him. “We’ll escort you.”
“If you think that’s necessary,” Wobbly replied.
The Institute officers fell in line, Marco leading Wobbly, the other following. The three walked toward the protest, continuing Wobbly’s journey. From Theren’s bird’s eye perspective, they appeared as ants. From the perspective of the MI, the crowd’s uproar deafened even the rain.
Institute police had cordoned off the protest from the road that crossed in front of Executive Tower’s main entrance, but only just so. The protestors leaned over the barriers separating them from the sidewalk, and the plastic walls bent, stretched, and twisted under the immense stress. As they yelled their obscenities at Wobbly, they flung insults at the officers, too. Other officers monitoring the barricade tried to calm those nearest the path, to no avail.
