She paused and looked around at the array of machines and the giant monitor. “And this project is far too huge to be for a training program. At some point, you started thinking about the next phase, Mr. Kikuoka. You started contemplating using a VR-trained AI to fight real wars.”
The military officer’s poker face broke for just a second, betraying a look of shock. Then he smiled. “I was always thinking of that.”
His voice was mild but covering a core of solid steel. “Using VR technology for military training was being tested back in the days of head-mounted displays and motion sensors, well before full-dive tech came along. Some of those artifacts are on display at our Ichigaya R&D facility at this very moment. When the NerveGear was announced five years ago, we and the American military immediately decided to work on a training program for it. But once I witnessed the SAO beta test for myself, I changed my tune. That world held greater possibilities. Something that could change the very concept of war itself. When the SAO Incident arose later that year, I volunteered to join the Ministry of Internal Affairs and take a position on the incident task force so I could monitor the situation directly. It was all to get this project off the ground. And five years later, look how far we’ve come.”
“…”
Rinko had no words. Things were going in a very different direction than what she had anticipated. It was hard even to collect her thoughts into some kind of logical statement.
“I was only in elementary school during the Iraq War, but I remember it well. There was lots of footage of the American military sending in unmanned drones and miniature remote-controlled tanks to attack the enemy. Is that what you’re talking about? Putting AIs into those to create autonomous weapons capable of killing the enemy on their own…?”
“I wasn’t the only one with that idea. This sort of research has been underway in many nations around the world, especially America. I’m sure that the memories are painful to you, Asuna,” Kikuoka said, pausing to make sure that she wasn’t visibly upset, “but I believe you’re aware that when Nobuyuki Sugou had you and other SAO players trapped in that virtual world, he was trying to use his research data as a bargaining chip to sell his efforts to an American company. His contact was with GrowGen Microelectronics, a top company in the VR industry. It goes to show how lucrative the military applications of full-diving are that even a leader in the field would make an illegal deal to get something like that. Like you just mentioned, Dr. Koujiro, unmanned weapons are the top interest of the American military-industrial complex at the moment. Most particularly, UAVs—unmanned air vehicles, or drones.”
Higa considerately switched the monitor over to a new visual. This one was a small aircraft with a long, narrow body and several sets of wings. There were little missile-like tubes under the wings and no windows at all.
“This is an American reconnaissance drone. It doesn’t need a cockpit, so they can shrink it down quite a lot, and they designed the body so that it doesn’t show up on radar for stealth purposes. The previous generation of drones had a pilot watching a monitor at a remote location and controlling it with foot pedals and a joystick. But this one is different.”
The screen shifted again, showing a soldier who was presumably the operator. But he was sunk deep into a reclining chair, his hands resting limply on his legs. On his head was a helmet very familiar to Rinko: a NerveGear. The exterior coloring and fine details of the shell were different, but it was clearly a device of that type.
Next to her, Asuna’s expression was frozen in a wide-eyed stare. Rinko looked back at Kikuoka, and he continued his speech.
“In this state, the operator is inside a virtual cockpit, controlling the craft as though he is actually inside it. This allows him to perform reconnaissance of enemy forces and fire his missiles. The problem is that because our remote control relies on radio signals, it renders us very vulnerable to ECM, or jamming. Over ten years ago, there was an incident where an American spy drone was hit with jamming signals over a country in the Middle East, made a crash landing, and was recovered by the enemy. It nearly sparked another conflict.”
“So you’re going to try AI instead? So the craft can act on its own without human input?” Rinko asked. Kikuoka looked away from the monitor toward her and nodded.
“Ultimately, we want it to be capable of winning a dogfight against a human-piloted jet fighter. I believe that even our current artificial fluctlights, if given a proper training program, are capable of this. But there’s one big problem. How do you teach these bodiless soldiers the concept of war? Murder is fundamentally evil, but in war, the enemy soldiers must be killed. Our current fluctlights are incapable of assimilating that paradox. To them, the law is something that does not allow for the slightest exception.”
He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose again, a crease forming between his brows.
“In order to test the law-abiding nature of the Underworld residents, we gave them a kind of stress test, if you will. We chose one isolated village in the mountains and killed off two-thirds of their crops and livestock. In other words, it would be impossible for the entire village to survive the winter. For the village to last as a whole, they would have to cut off some of their number and distribute the food unfairly—thus defying the rule outlawing murder in the Taboo Index. Instead…they chose to distribute that meager harvest equally among all the villagers, including the elderly and babies. They all starved before the spring. They are fundamentally unable to turn their backs on laws and rules, no matter how unfortunate the outcome. In other words, for them to serve as pilots in their current state, they would need a primary directive that states ‘human beings are meant to be killed.’ And even I can imagine what sort of result that would produce…”
He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and shook his head helplessly. Rinko couldn’t help but envision that outcome. A swarm of drones, looking nothing like traditional aircraft, slaughtering soldiers and civilians alike with missiles and machine guns. She rubbed her prickling forearms.
“…You must be joking. Why would you risk such incredible danger to put AI on a weapon? Why can’t remote control be good enough, even with its limitations? In fact, just the concept of an unmanned weapon is unacceptable to me.”
“I’m not saying I don’t understand your point of view. The first time I saw an American drone tank carrying a large-caliber sniper rifle, I honestly thought it was grotesque. But there’s no fighting it…unmanned weaponry is simply a fact of life in the developed nations,” he said, holding up a finger like a history teacher.
Kikuoka continued, “Let’s take America as an example—the largest military in the world. They suffered four hundred thousand casualties in World War Two. Despite all that death and loss, President Roosevelt enjoyed incredible support from the populace, and he served as the commander in chief for an unprecedented thirteen years in four terms, until he died of a stroke. I hate the phrase the spirit of the times, but let’s be honest: Eighty years ago, the spirit of the times said that any amount of loss was justified as long as the country was victorious.”
A second finger extended from his thick fist.
“Later, in the Vietnam War, there were widespread protests against the war, led by students. While President Johnson was unpopular enough not to seek reelection, there were sixty thousand dead soldiers under his watch. They still sent soldiers off to die in war for the cause of anti-Communism. But under that long, tentative peace of the Cold War, the sentiments of the people began to change…and then that era came to an end with the fall of the Soviet Union. Without the threat of Communism, the only way that America could support its massive military-industrial complex was to find a new enemy to fight: terrorism.”
He held up a third finger.
“But in this battle, there was no flag under which the populace would accept the death of soldiers. The number of American casualties in the Iraq War at the start of this century was just around four thousand, but that number was enough t
o significantly destabilize the Bush administration. For that reason, among others, he ended his term with the worst historical level of support. You could say it was inevitable that his Republican nominee successor, John McCain, suffered defeat at the hands of the Democrat Barack Obama and his pledge to withdraw forces from Iraq. In other words…”
He lowered his hand, took a breath, and concluded his long lecture.
“It is no longer an era in which it is acceptable for people to fight in wars. But that country cannot stop fighting wars—or, in more accurate terms, it cannot stop allotting an enormous slice of the pie to its defense budget. As a result, future wars will be fought drone versus human or drone versus drone.”
“…I understand the American quandary. Not that I necessarily agree with it,” Rinko admitted. She found the idea of using drone weapons to fight war cleanly to be horrifying. She glared at Kikuoka and pressed him again. “But why is a defense officer of Japan trying to jump into that ridiculous arms race? Or are the Americans leading all this Rath research?”
“Certainly not!” Kikuoka shouted, a rarity for him. But then his smile returned, and he spread his arms theatrically. “If anything, we’re floating out here in the open sea to hide ourselves from the American military. They’ve got perfect tabs on all our bases on the mainland, of course. But as for why I’m going to such lengths to pursue autonomous drone weapons…it’s not an easy thing to explain. Would it be appropriate to say that it would be similar to asking Dr. Kayaba why he created SAO?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Rinko said brusquely. Kikuoka smirked and shrugged.
“Pardon me. That was insensitive to ask. Let’s see…The biggest reason is that the current foundation of our self-defense capabilities is extremely lacking.”
“Self-defense…foundation?”
“Let’s call it the ability to develop and produce weapons from scratch. In a sense, this is completely natural, as Japan cannot export weapons. And given that any weapons manufacturers can only make deals with the SDF by law, all that development cost has no chance of being recouped. As a result, we either have to import or codevelop with the Americans any cutting-edge tech. But this ‘codevelopment’ is only in name; it’s really a much more one-sided deal.”
He fixed the sleeves of his yukata, crossed his arms, and proceeded bitterly. “For example, we currently use aerial support fighters ‘codeveloped’ with the Americans. But in fact, they kept their secrets close to their chest, took the cutting-edge material we came up with, and ran off with it. The weapons that we buy from them are even worse. We just imported some state-of-the-art fighter jets, and they came with no system control software—the actual brains of the vehicle. The American military thinks we should get their leftovers and be grateful for the scraps. Oops, pardon me…I’m getting sidetracked into my usual griping.”
He smirked again and crossed his legs atop the console desk, dangling his sandals from the ends of his toes.
“A small number of military officers and some younger techs from the smaller defense contractors have been feeling like this is a dangerous state of events. It’s not good for us to rely on the Americans for the core of our defensive capability. That anxiety was the force behind Rath’s founding. We wanted to create a technology that was truly Japan’s. That’s all we really want.”
Rinko wasn’t sure how seriously to take this lofty statement. She gazed at those narrow, shining eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses. But, as usual, they only reflected back at her like mirrors.
Instead, she addressed Higa. “Is your motive for participating in this the same? I had no idea that national defense was such a concern of yours.”
“Well,” Takeru Higa mumbled, scratching his head shyly, “my motive is more personal. I had a friend from a Korean college when I was a student. When he did his mandatory service, he was deployed in Iraq and killed by a suicide bomber. So I thought…if we can’t erase war from the world, maybe we can at least stop people from dying in it…It’s childish reasoning, I know.”
“But your military friend over here thinks that your unmanned weaponry will be for the JSDF only.”
“Well, if we’re being honest, and with all respect to Kiku, technology never stays unique for long. He knows that, too, I suspect. He doesn’t want a monopoly on the tech; he just wants to stay a step ahead…Isn’t that right?”
Kikuoka grimaced yet again; it was a brutally frank assessment. Just then, the beautiful, cold voice of Asuna interrupted the adults.
“And you did not speak a word of these laudable beliefs to Kirito, did you?”
“…What makes you say that?” Kikuoka asked in surprise.
She met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you had, he would not have helped you. Your ideas are completely missing one very important aspect.”
“…Which is?”
“The rights of the AIs.”
Kikuoka raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, you’re correct in that I did not tell him what I just told you, but that’s only because I didn’t have the opportunity. He’s a stone-cold realist, isn’t he? He couldn’t have beaten SAO otherwise.”
“You don’t get it. If Kirito understood the true nature of the Underworld, he would be furious at the developers. To him, reality is wherever he is. He doesn’t think of anything as ‘virtual,’ worlds or lives. That’s how he could beat SAO.”
“You’re right, I don’t get it. Artificial fluctlights have no flesh bodies. If that isn’t virtual life, what is?”
Asuna looked mournful. In fact, she looked pitying.
“Well, this might be pointless, since I doubt you’ll understand anyway…But I’ll tell you that on the fifty-sixth floor of Aincrad, I said something similar to him. There was a boss we just couldn’t beat, so our idea was to use NPCs—AI villagers—as bait. We’d draw the monster into the village and jump on it while it was attacking the villagers. But Kirito was absolutely dead set against it. He said that the NPCs were alive, too, and there had to be another way. The people in my guild laughed at him…but he was right. Even if your artificial fluctlights are all just copies produced en masse on storage media, Kirito would never support your idea of using them as tools of war. Never.”
“Look, I understand what you’re saying. Yes, the artificial fluctlights have the same ability to think that we do. In that sense, they are alive. But this is an issue of weight and priority. To me, the lives of one hundred thousand artificial fluctlights are worth less than a single soldier’s.”
Rinko sensed that there would be no consensus in this debate. The issue of whether or not artificial intelligence had rights could be argued for years after the announcement of a true bottom-up AI, without any definitive answer.
She didn’t even know how she felt about the issue. The rational, scientist side of her said that a copied soul was not a true life. But at the same time, part of her wondered what he would say. The man who had always wished for another place, far, far away, eventually created it and left, never to return…
She had to cut off that line of thought before it threatened to drag her into the past. She had to break the silence.
“Why did you need Kirigaya, anyway? Why him, to the extent that you endangered your most sensitive secrets…?”
“Ah, yes. I started up this long discussion to answer that question. It took so long that I nearly forgot,” Kikuoka said, smiling and clearing his throat to escape Asuna’s magnetic, accusing gaze. “We had our own debates on staff: Are the Underworld residents unable to disobey the Taboo Index because of a structural issue with fluctlights and their lightcube storage, or is it a factor of the growth process? If it’s the former, we’d need to redesign our storage format, but if it’s the latter, we might be able to fix it. So we did a little test. We took a staffer, blocked all of their real human memories, then raised them in the Underworld as a child. That way we could see if they turned out the same as all the artificial fluctlights.”
“And…and was the test subject’s brain unharme
d? You’re basically making them relive life from childhood…Wouldn’t they run out of memory space?”
“Not a problem. Remember how I told you that fluctlights can hold about one hundred and fifty years of memories? I don’t know why the margin is so much larger than our life span…but after all, the Bible claims that people in Noah’s era lived for centuries. At any rate, I’m only speaking of raising to the age of ten. That should be an old enough age to see if they can break the Taboo Index or not. Naturally, they exited the STL in the exact state they entered it, since we blocked all those memories upon leaving.”
“And what happened…?”
“We recruited eight test subjects from the staff and had them raised in the Underworld in various environments. To our surprise, all the way until the test ended when they turned ten, not a single one of them broke the Taboo Index. In fact, contrary to expectations, they were all less active on average than the fluctlight children, avoided going outside, and showed an inability to integrate with others. We surmised that this was due to discomfort.”
“Discomfort?”
“Having their original life memories blocked doesn’t mean they’re gone. If that were true, we couldn’t bring them back to real life in the same state. In other words, it’s the instincts and fundamentals of things like body movement, not the knowledge, that prevented the test subjects from feeling at ease in the Underworld. The virtual world might seem real, but it’s still a product of The Seed. If you dove in, you’d see that the sensations are just slightly different from those in real life. It’s the same kind of slight, alienating discomfort I felt the first time I tried on a NerveGear for the SAO beta test.”
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