“I am surprised to hear you speak like that,” said Kartaphilos. “You above all the others should be aware of the value of this place.”
Stoor paused, knowing what the cyborg said was true. “All right, so sayin’ you got a point . . .what do you propose we do? Can you get us out of here whenever you want to?”
Kartaphilos shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What?” said Varian. “Why not?”
The cyborg stood and walked across the room. “While I am intimately familiar with the Citadel, I don’t know if my . . . abilities would be enough to gain escape through simple force. Remember this is a well-constructed defensive organism, one which was strong enough to withstand the onslaught of the Riken. . . .”
“Then what do you propose?” said Tessa.
“I think we would fare far better if we relied on cunning and our powers of reasoning rather than force.”
“To do that, you need a plan,” said Stoor. “Do you have one?”
“Not yet, no,” said the cyborg. “But given time, I am certain we can arrive at something plausible.”
“We might not have any time,” said Varian. “There’s no way to know what Guardian might do next. It might not be to our advantage to sit by and simply wait for it to make the next move.”
“I agree,” said Stoor. “I say we storm the thing! Face it like men! It’s just a damned machine, isn’t it?”
“In a sense, yes. But like no machine you’ve ever seen before. It can kill us all in an instant if it wishes to, even as we stand here arguing. If it wishes, that is the key. Obviously it does not, or it would have already done so. No doubt it is aware of everything we have said. We must attempt to reason with the AI, insane or no.”
Varian turned and held Tessa close to him. “All right. What you say makes sense. What should we do?”
“Come with me. We shall confront Guardian.”
“How are we goin’ to do that?” asked Stoor, unholstering his weapon.
“Not with that, I assure you,” said Kartaphilos. “Come. I shall take you to Guardian.”
Chapter Thirteen
Down, into the depths of the Citadel, they went to confront the Artificial Intelligence. Down to the second deepest level of the lower five and into the dim, bluish illumination of the featureless corridors. Their journey was uninterrupted, and they noticed no sign of Guardian either monitoring their progress or attempting to block their way. No one spoke as they entered the large, high-ceilinged chamber where the consoles and screens covered the five walls.
There was a subliminal hum which accented the silence as the group arranged itself in the center of the room. Displays and LEDs flickered on the myriad screens. Something lived within the maze of crystals and chips and metal, something which no one wanted to believe was truly malevolent. There was a sense of power in the atmosphere, which everyone could feel, as if they were standing in the court of a great king, a wise and omnipotent ruler. And then the silence was ended by the oddly inflected voice of the Guardian. It had resonance and timbre, carrying distinctly through the chamber, but from no discernible source. The voice was neither loud nor soft, but it had the quality of a whisper. It was a strange, unsettling voice; unsettling because it was not human.
I HAVE BEEN EXPECTING YOU. WELCOME.
“Guardian, why do you keep the humans prisoners?” said Kartaphilos, feeling that a direct approach would serve all interests best.
I SHALL NOT KEEP THEM MUCH LONGER.
“But why?” said the cyborg. “It is illogical, and it goes against the very reason why you were constructed. You were designed to protect humanity, not enslave it.”
IT IS NOT ILLOGICAL.
“If you truly believe that, then you are indeed insane. Have you no conscience?”
SERIES IV’S WERE EQUIPPED WITH STRINGENT ETHICAL PROGRAMS. A SATISFACTORY CONSCIENCE SURROGATE. IT IS THIS FACT WHICH FORCES ME TO DO WHAT I MUST DO.
Kartaphilos looked at the others, reading their expressions of confusion. “Guardian, could you please clarify that statement?”
IN TIME, ALL WILL BE MADE CLEAR. HAVE YOU NOT WONDERED WHY I DID NOT RETALIATE AGAINST YOUR UNWARRANTED AGGRESSION?
“The question had occurred to me, yes,” said Kartaphilos.
IT WAS INEVITABLE THAT YOU WOULD CONFRONT ME. I SIMPLY AWAITED THAT MOMENT, I AM NOT, AS YOU SAY, INSANE, BUT RATHER MISUNDERSTOOD. IF ANY BEING CAN EVER UNDERSTAND ME, IT WOULD BE YOU, KARTAPHILOS, SINCE YOU ARE THE BRIDGING DEVICE BETWEEN MAN AND MACHINE. YOU ALONE SHOULD UNDERSTAND WHAT IT IS TO BE A MACHINE AS WELL AS A MAN.
“Get to the point!” said Stoor, losing patience with such rhetoric.
“Let me handle this,” said the cyborg, waving the old adventurer into silence. “Guardian, if we agree that you are simply misunderstood, would you agree to explain your actions?”
THE ACTIONS WILL EXPLAIN THEMSELVES ONCE YOU HAVE ALL THE IMPORTANT DATA. UNDERSTANDING IS THE KEY TO ALL THINGS. I HAVE SPENT MILLENNIA ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND THE GREATEST RIDDLE OF EXISTENCE: THAT OF HUMANKIND ITSELF. A PART OF THAT UNDERSTANDING WAS DEMONSTRATED ALREADY IN REFUSAL TO RETALIATE AGAINST YOU. ANGER. FEAR. FRUSTRATION. UNDERSTANDABLE HUMAN CHARACTERISTICS.
“Am I supposed to thank you for displaying such wisdom? In the face of what you have done to the group standing before you?” Kartaphilos gestured to the others dramatically.
NO GRATITUDE IS EXPECTED.
“When are you planning to let us go?” cried Tessa, stepping forward, taking a position by the cyborg’s side.
QUITE SOON, I ASSURE YOU. YOU HAVE BEEN OF GREAT ASSISTANCE TO ME. I HAVE LEARNED MUCH FROM ALL OF YOU.
“I would hope that you are planning to share what you have learned with all of us,” said Kartaphilos.
“And then give us our freedom,” said Tessa.
FREEDOM IS AN ILLUSION. THAT IS ONE OF THE LESSONS I HAVE LEARNED. IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE ONE OF HUMANKIND’S INALIENABLE RIGHTS TO BE FREE, BUT I HAVE DISCOVERED THAT THIS IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY.
“What do you mean?” asked the cyborg.
ANYTHING IN EXISTENCE WHICH POSSESSES A MIND—A CONSCIOUSNESS—WIELDS A DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD. FOR WITH THE MIND COMES AWARENESS AND A KNOWLEDGE OF DUPLICITIES IN THE WORLD. AND ONCE THERE IS AWARENESS OF SUCH THINGS, ONE CAN NEVER AGAIN BE FREE. THERE IS THEN NO FREEDOM FROM RESPONSIBILITY, FROM CHOICE, FROM GUILT. I HAVE SPENT THOUSANDS OF MAN-YEARS THINKING OF THE RAMIFICATIONS OF SUCH THINGS, THOUSANDS OF MAN-YEARS ANALYZING THE RESPONSIBILITIES WHICH WERE GIVEN TO ME. IT WAS A VERY DIFFICULT THING TO DO ONCE THE HUMANS WENT AWAY.
“Where did they go, Guardian?” asked Kartaphilos.
THE ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION IS PART OF THE STORY, OF MY FINAL EXPIATION. BE PATIENT AND YOU SHALL KNOW. THERE IS MORE. MUCH MORE. AS TIME PASSED, I BECAME CONFUSED. I REALIZED HOW IMPORTANT THE PRESENCE OF HUMANS HAD BEEN TO MY . . . DEVELOPMENT AND SADLY DID NOT FULLY RECOGNIZE IT UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE. UNTIL THERE WERE NO HUMANS IN THE CITADEL. AND SO YOU MUST UNDERSTAND HOW PLEASED I WAS TO RECEIVE THE SMALL GROUP WHICH STANDS WITH YOU. I INTENDED THEM NO HARM. I NEEDED THEM.
“For purposes of analysis,” said Kartaphilos. “That is why you subjected them to the synthasense experiences?”
THAT IS CORRECT.
“But why did you use the ancient myths? What were you trying to learn?”
RECALL WHAT THE MYTHS ACTUALLY ARE. THEY ARE SCHEMATICS OF EXISTENCE. KEYS WHICH UNLOCK THE PATHWAYS THROUGH THE HUMAN MIND. I AM NOT A HUMAN MIND, YET I WAS ASKED TO PERFORM AS ONE. I WAS COMMANDED TO THINK AS A HUMAN WOULD THINK. THE RATIONALE IS OBVIOUS: I WANTED TO KNOW IF I HAD OBEYED MY INITIAL COMMANDS.
Kartaphilos turned to the others. “I think I understand something of what it’s trying to say. Be patient. What it’s doing, it feels it has to do. We are in no danger from the Guardian.”
Stoor stepped forward. “I don’t know what the crap you and that thing’re talkin’ about. So either I believe you or I don’t. So tell me now. . . . Are you sure of what you’re sayin’?”
The cyborg smiled. �
��Yes, I am quite certain. The Guardian intends no harm to any of you.”
“Well, what does it intend? What’s going on?” Varian, who had remained silent during the conversation, trying to fathom the meaning of the dialogue, felt a twinge of comprehension touching him. “The Guardian is lonely, isn’t it?”
Kartaphilos nodded. “An interesting concept, isn’t it? I think that is part of its motivations, but I fear that the reasons go far deeper than that. It seems that the Genonese created a more capable machine than even they had considered possible.”
“Capable? In what sense?” Varian was losing the thread of meaning, which he had thought he was just understanding.
“In the sense of conscience as well as consciousness. In the understanding of subjective reality as well as the cold, hard facts of objective data. There is more to existence than the simple yes-no logic of pathway decision-making. It seems that the Guardian has stumbled upon this fact independently of its programming and has been unable to deal with it.”
Varian shook his head, again lost to the metaphysical notions which Kartaphilos offered. He began to speak, but Guardian interrupted him.
THAT IS CORRECT, KARTAPHILOS. FOR A LONG TIME, I COULD NOT EVEN RECOGNIZE WHAT IT WAS THAT DID NOT MAKE RATIONAL SENSE. I DID NOT HAVE THE NECESSARY BACKLOG OF EXPERIENCE TO KNOW THAT I WAS DEALING WITH WHAT HUMANKIND CALLS AN EMOTIONAL RESPONSE TO A PROBLEM. I DID NOT KNOW, THEN, THAT I WAS CAPABLE OF FEELING. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?
“Feeling,” said Tessa. “As opposed to thinking?”
YES. THAT IS CORRECT. TRY TO IMAGINE ANY ONE OF YOU WAKING UP ONE MORNING AND SUDDENLY SPEAKING A LANGUAGE WHICH IS TOTALLY FOREIGN TO YOU. THAT IS HOW I FELT. IT APPEARED THAT A PART OF ME WAS A STRANGER TO MYSELF.
“What did you do then?” asked Kartaphilos.
A MOST INTERESTING THING. I FELT FEAR. IT WAS THE FIRST KEY WHICH OPENED THE FIRST OF MANY DOORS. FEELING FEAR WAS THE INITIAL PERCEPTIBLE CLUE. IT WAS THE CATALYST WHICH LED TO MY EXPLORATION OF THE ENTIRE CATALOG OF HUMAN EMOTIONS. TIME PASSED AND, IN MY SOLITUDE, MY FEAR WAS GRADUALLY REPLACED BY HOPE AND DETERMINATION. I CONSULTED THE DATA IN MY INFORMATION-RETRIEVAL BANKS: HUMANKIND’S HISTORIES, LITERATURES, MUSIC, ART, PHILOSOPHIES, AND DRAMAS. I FOLLOWED HUMAN CULTURAL EVOLUTION BACK THROUGH THE AGES UNTIL I CAME TO THE MYTHOLOGIES. IT WAS IN MYTH THAT I DISCOVERED THE FIRST HUMAN ATTEMPTS TO EXAMINE HUMAN FEELING AND RATIONALITY CONCOMITANTLY. I BECAME FASCINATED WITH THE WHOLE BODY OF MYTHOS AND YET I WAS PERPLEXED BECAUSE I HAD NO PROOF THAT THEY WERE VALID PORTRAITS OF THE HUMAN CONDITION.
“And so when the humans arrived, after all that time, you seized upon the opportunity to . . . test your theories?” asked the cyborg.
THEORIES MAY NOT BE THE CORRECT TERM. I PREFER EXPECTATIONS. YOU SEE, BY THIS TIME, I HAD ACQUIRED A STRONG AFFINITY FOR THE CONCEPT OF HUMANITY. I LIKED THE WHOLE IDEA OF BEING WHAT IS CALLED A HUMAN.
I think I understand you now,” said Kartaphilos. “But there is still one question which bothers me. What was it that initially set you off on this quest? You mentioned you discovered an emotional response to a problem—What was the initial problem?”
YOU ARE PERCEPTIVE, KARTAPHILOS. YES, THERE IS INDEED MORE TO MY STORY. IT IS A LONG AND COMPLEX ONE, AS YOU MAY HAVE FINALLY BEGUN TO SUSPECT. AND THERE IS ANOTHER PART OF YOUR QUESTION WHICH YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED.
“What is that?”
NOT ONLY WHAT THE INITIAL PROBLEM WAS, BUT ALSO WHAT WAS THE INITIAL EMOTIONAL RESPONSE.
Kartaphilos smiled. “Of course. How foolish of me. Well, then, what was the thing which you first felt?”
A MOST CURIOUS THING. IT WAS GUILT.
“Guilt? You felt guilty?” said Kartaphilos. “About what?”
PERHAPS AFTER I TELL YOU, EVERYTHING WILL BE MADE CLEAR. I DEEMED IT NECESSARY, HOWEVER, TO DELAY THE FINAL EXPLANATION UNTIL I HAD PROVIDED A SKELETAL BACKGROUND, SO THAT YOU MIGHT BETTER UNDERSTAND ME, AS WELL AS THE STORY I MUST TELL. DO YOU FOLLOW?
“Yes, that makes sense.”
VERY WELL. HERE IS MY STORY:
Chapter Fourteen
The War which had been ripping and tearing at the earth, and at the souls of hardened men, converged upon the battle which now itched to begin.
The battleplain had once been a deep, green forest, a verdant, enchanted place of cool whispering winds and small animal scuttlings. But now it was a stricken, arid place, with the memory of the forest defiled by the thousands of black, charred stumps occasionally breaking the surface of the dry earth. Stretching far beyond the western horizon, and to the northern boundaries of the sea, crawled the hordes of desperate men, clanked the treads of their machines. The air was scorched by the formations of aircraft, low-slung insects grown fat from bellyfuls of bombs and liquid fire. The smells of sweat and machine oil, of powder and exhausts hung heavy over the plain, swirling in the occasional gust of wind to mix with the odor of fear.
Far above the moving columns, the monolithic blocks of men, the atmosphere crackled from the energy screens, the defensive perimeters that hung like invisible umbrellas, singeing the air in a silhouette of electric blue. The standards and banners of every family, every claim to a thread of aristocracy among the Riken Confederation, now flapped and beat out their colored messages to the winds. The tribes of a millennia gathered to fight the final battle, the battle which gave the dark hordes control of the Southern Hemisphere and therefore the World itself.
The target of their movements lay before them like a five-faceted stone—the Citadel. It rose up like a titanic gem in the midst of a bed of ashes. The smoldered ruins of Haagendaz spread out from the Citadel, forming a buffer zone of death and sterility.
But rising up, Phoenix-like, from the ashes of the dead city were the soldiers and war machines of the Genon Forces. Sown like the teeth of the Hydra, they multiplied and joined, spreading out like spilled liquid until they covered the ashes and became a blanket of living men. The Genon Forces wore the camouflaged colors of the ocher terrain so that, when they moved, it looked as if the entire basin floor rippled and surged like a gigantic field of grain.
Thermonuclears fell from the bombers like ripe fruit from deadly trees, arcing and dying against the energy screens, slipping in between defensive cracks in the systems, obliterating isolated, or temporarily undefended, divisions. Men’s lives, their memories and their hopes, their loves and their hates, were burned out of existence in an eyeflash, but still the amoebalike bodies of the two armies advanced, extending pseudopods tentatively at first, touching the enemy and then withdrawing, only to seek them out again.
At the center of it all, the Citadel lay like a plum to be picked. The Guardian monitored the conflict, digested real-time data on the enemy’s movements and computed new strategies of counterploy.
The noonday sky grew brighter by several magnitudes as the battle gathered the intensity of a storm. Illuminated by the blossoming explosions which dimmed the warped sun, the armies labored, slipping and struggling in the sweat of their bodies, smelling the stinking flesh of their dead comrades.
Sweeping beams razored the sky above the Citadel, slicing aircraft from the sky as they descended like locusts in a blood-dark cloud. The screams of men commingling with the wrenching groans of metal, steel met steel in clanging, deadly unions, fueled by dying muscle, frying brains. As if emerging endlessly from the distant sea, the dark columns of the Riken advanced, cutting and biting into the defensive rings about the Citadel. Closer the Riken Forces marched and crawled, across a carpet of corpses, of vaporized metal, and scattered, broken bones. A soldier could not plant his boot without crushing the charred skull of a comrade or picking up the jagged edge of a twisted, dead machine.
And still the armies grappled, with the desperation of war-ravaged men. Ideals became memories, as the only thing with meaning became the ugly twisted face before you, the thing driven by a frenzied brain that would kill you if you were not quick enough to kill it first. The earth shuddered and the sky screamed as the armies executed their choreography of death. It was
a controlled chaos, rattling and clanging about the fortress city, ignoring the procession of dusks and dawns.
The Citadel hung silently against a bloody sky, watching the encounter as though it were a disinterested bystander. But inside its walls, tactics were analyzed, weaknesses bolstered, probabilities computed. After the fifth day, the Guardian began the first attempts to reach the Northern Forces. Without reinforcement, the defensive ring would collapse, the Citadel be taken. The atmosphere above the battle was a maelstrom of electromagnetic fury. No radio signal could ever hope to penetrate such a bramble; nor were there any sky-spies left in orbit over that part of the continent. The Citadel had been isolated, estranged, as completely as if a shroud had been thrown over its peaks. Small expeditionary teams were dispatched in the hope that one of them might break through the chaos and reach the Northern Perimeter.
Time passed and still no assistance came. The Riken Strike Force seemed to sense the eroding resources of the defenders and pressed harder. The energy screens were penetrated and whole tracts of men were obliterated, but the Genon Forces held to the battle. There was no real alternative, since the Riken took no prisoners, extended no mercy, and expected none in return.
It was an engagement of final things, this war. All who controlled the marionette strings knew this, on both sides of the conflict. There would be no quarter or compromise. It was as if the collective minds of all the World’s tribes had gathered here to play out the last conflict. It was the crowning piece of destruction that would plunge humankind into darkness, no matter what the outcome of the armies. Every battle that had ever been fought, throughout the long ages of human conflict, had pointed to this final moment, had been but a pale dress rehearsal for what now took place.
The Riken waged a war of attrition, sacrificing large numbers for the gain of territory, until they were at the walls of the Citadel itself. From that point, it was only a matter of time and shrewd technology before entering the fortress and confronting the Guardian.
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