by Carol Davis
“Have you been there? To the real ones?”
“Lots of times.”
She took my hand, as if I were a small human child, and led me through the entrance. When the door closed behind us, we were left in nearly complete darkness.
“The area outside the caverns is a popular camping ground,” Ilianae said. She hadn’t let go of my hand. “Visitors are allowed inside the outermost chambers. With experienced guides, of course.”
With a tug on my hand, she led me forward. We had gone only a few steps when I brushed against something solid and very abrasive.
That should not have been alarming, but it was.
“Is this a hostile environment?” I asked.
“Are you scared?”
It was part of my self-preservation programming. Not fear as a human would feel it, but alarm over the possibility of being damaged… or destroyed. From my first moment of awareness I had understood my value as a unique entity, my worth to the community and to my mother. I did not want to be harmed.
“I’m… concerned,” I said.
Kerae’s voice came toward me out of the darkness. “This isn’t like sitting at home with your feet up on a pillow. You have to watch where you’re going.” I heard him scoff softly. “Little children come into these caverns. Can you manage it?”
I wondered how capably I could negotiate something I couldn’t see. And how they could, since their vision was somewhat less sensitive than mine.
But I said, “Yes.”
“Good.”
Ilianae let go of my hand and moved away. At the same time, the light level inside the Dome increased by a small degree, and I was able to see something of my surroundings. We were indeed inside a cavern, and the thing I had brushed against was a stalagmite, one that nearly matched my height and width. It was covered with spines of varying sizes whose surface looked rough enough to scrape the skin off a human hand or arm.
If children explored these caverns, I decided, they must be wearing very durable protective clothing.
Like Kerae and Ilianae.
Kerae pointed to an opening in the cavern wall. “Beyond there, the tunnels branch off in three separate directions. Eventually they come together again. This contest is to see who can reach the end point first. If you get there first, just wait for me and Ilianae. We won’t be far behind you. If one of us gets there first, we’ll wait for you.”
“You’re certain they end up in the same place?” I asked. “You said the caverns haven’t been reliably mapped.”
“The real ones haven’t,” Ilianae said. “We’re inside your Dome, remember? This program was written specifically for a contest. Yes, the tunnels all end up in the same place. And they’re all the same length, more or less.”
“Then where is the challenge?”
Neither of them answered me. They seemed anxious to begin. I could hear Kerae begin to breathe a little heavily, which I understood to be a sign of his frustration. He pushed at some pebbles on the ground with the toe of his boot, then turned in place to examine our surroundings.
“The challenge is making it through the tunnel,” he said as if he’d decided I was stupid.
“It’s blocked?”
“No. None of the tunnels are blocked.”
“What, then?”
“Just be careful. Keep your wits about you. Always. Don’t assume you can relax, even for a minute.”
Part of my programming (a part that my mother had felt was very important) allowed me to pick up small clues during my interaction with humans. A subtle change in tone of voice, in facial expression or posture. An increase or decrease in respiration rate or depth. Kerae did not seem to be lying, but something in his attitude had changed. He was anxious to prove something.
He wanted to defeat me. Wanted it very badly.
“Are there rules?” I asked.
“Just get through the tunnel.”
“What about… cheating?”
He echoed with some annoyance, “Cheating?”
“You’re familiar with the tunnels. I’m not. That would seem to give you somewhat of an advantage.”
“Not like the ones you’ve got.” Even in the darkness, I could see his facial features pinch as he pointed to my head. “You can see in the dark better than we can. You can hear better. Your reflexes are better.”
I can let you win, I thought.
But that wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what anyone I had ever competed with wanted. I could rarely convince anyone to compete with me anymore, because everyone in the community believed they’d lose. They would rather be on reasonably equal footing with an opponent, and I was sure Kerae felt the same way. He didn’t want to be automatically defeated. He wanted to beat me.
“We’re wasting time,” he said. “Ilianae, you take the tunnel on the right. I’ll take the one in the middle. You” – his eyes narrowed as he looked at me – “take the one on the left. Whoever reaches the chamber at the end first, wins. Now, are you with us or not? You can leave if you want. We don’t need an escort.”
My mother had deliberately created me to look like an adolescent. Adolescence was a time of flux, she explained: the time during a human’s life when a great many changes took place, and a great deal of learning was accomplished. A difficult time. A challenging time. A time when any number of incorrect decisions were made.
I made one then.
“I’ll see you at the end,” I told the two Dsannae.
~~~~
I was wrong about the light. I had assumed it came from lamps the Dsannae had installed throughout the caverns, but in truth it wasn’t artificial. Areas of the walls and floor were covered with crystalline, phosphorescent minerals that were as abrasive as the stalagmites. I would have been able to find my way through the caverns in the dark, I supposed, but that would have meant blundering into a lot of rock that would damage my artificial skin – something my mother wouldn’t be happy about. The light wasn’t bright enough for me to see very far ahead, but it was something.
Near its mouth, the tunnel was about as wide as my outstretched arms. Its ceiling was high enough that I didn’t need to lower my head as I moved farther inside. The floor was far from level, but it was mostly free of things I might stumble over.
Negotiating it wasn’t much of a challenge.
“Where is the adventure?” I asked aloud.
All of my senses told me I was alone, but given the actual size of the Dome, neither Kerae nor Ilianae could have been very far away. Certainly they were still near enough to hear me, but neither of them responded.
Left in silence, I continued to move through the tunnel at about the same pace I normally used to walk from my mother’s laboratories to our home in the residential blocks. The path was so easy that I began to feel relaxed, and some of my auxiliary programs began to run: sorting data, cataloguing the textures and shapes around me. Because my mother had programmed me to move as a normal human would under a variety of conditions, my arms began to swing lightly at my sides.
Then, suddenly, I found myself lying prone on the ground. I had scuffed the skin of my chin, and I could feel a large rock jabbing into my abdomen. Uncomfortable sensations, both of them, made that much worse because I hadn’t anticipated the fall.
“Damn,” I muttered.
It was what my mother would have said.
No one answered me, or came to assist. That was just as well. I was embarrassed as I got back to my feet, and wondered what I would tell my mother when she asked how I had damaged myself. I’d certainly have to be more attentive for the remainder of this journey. We weren’t strolling through a meadow, after all. I should have known better; seeing Kerae’s and Ilianae’s clothing should have been enough to convince me that this would be a troublesome walk.
All right, then. From here on, I would be more cautious.
I took a step, and frowned at a stiffness in my ankle joint. Apparently I had twisted it beyond its normal tolerance in the fall.
Dust siftin
g out of the ceiling nearly made me look up, but I realized that that would allow the dirt to enter my eyes.
Did the program include tectonic shifts? For rearrangement of the tunnels and caverns?
In a game?
Surely the two Dsannae wouldn’t have entered if this was dangerous. They might have sent me in alone, thinking that my distress would be funny, but surely they wouldn’t endanger themselves. My memory included dozens of accounts of humans taking unreasonable risks for the sake of adventure or accomplishment, but this was a game.
Best to keep going, I told myself. It would be over soon enough.
I took a few more steps and discovered that instead of being firmly packed dirt, the ground beneath my feet had become sandy and loose, so that each step made me feel as if I were skating on ice, or very wet tile. My balance was good enough that I didn’t fall again, but I reminded myself that that could change at any moment.
A little farther along, the tunnel narrowed down to less than half a meter in width. It was wide enough to allow me to pass if I moved sideways, but the walls being closer together meant there was more of a chance I’d tear my clothing and possibly the skin underneath. Something in my programming told me I should try to relax, that I should enjoy the challenge of moving through this unfamiliar space, but I began to worry more about disappointing my mother, who had trusted me to be a helpful guide for the Dsannae. If they were hurt, what would she say? What would their father the peer elder say?
I ought to go back to the entrance, I thought. I should wait there for the twins. It would be safer.
But that way, Kerae would certainly win.
He’d like that – but he wouldn’t like that his victory had come because I’d given up. Or would he?
I moved in small steps into that narrow passageway and shuffled slowly along, proceeding sideways, focusing on keeping my arms and face and the back of my head away from the abrasive walls.
Five steps. Six. Ten.
Twenty.
Go back, I thought. It doesn’t matter what Kerae thinks. But I kept walking.
Eighty-nine. Ninety. Ninety-one…
The tunnel widened again.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I flexed my shoulders as I moved into the more open area. The ground there was still loose and sandy, but I had grown used to that, and the soles of my shoes provided enough traction to keep me from slipping if I paid attention to where I was stepping. If the tunnel remained wide enough for me to move forward normally, I thought I could cover a good deal of ground in a short time. Then I noticed that the area I had reached was an oval some five meters across at its widest point – and that it had no exit except the tunnel I had just come through.
“You said it wouldn’t be blocked!” I called out.
The Dsannae weren’t far away. They couldn’t be far away. But as before, they didn’t answer me.
You’re not going to turn back.
All of this could be a lie, I understood. For all I knew, the only tunnel in this program was the one they’d sent me into. Kerae and Ilianae could be back at the entrance point right now, laughing, waiting to see how long I would remain in here.
You are NOT going to turn back.
Was that a flaw in my programming? For a moment I was upset with my mother for allowing me to feel emotion – for insisting that I be able to feel emotion. It was the next step in A.I. evolution, she’d told her colleagues. Some of them had fought her on that point for a good long while, claiming that emotion ought to be something that remained particularly human. But she’d wanted me to understand. To be able to learn as a direct result of something I had felt.
I wondered what I’d learn from this. Whether it would drive me to hate the Dsannae.
Because of a challenge?
Because you’re losing.
That was it: I was so accustomed to winning in one way or another (either by winning outright, or by manipulating the outcome so that the party of my choice would win) that this new experience had thrown me entirely off course.
Maybe my mother had asked the Dsannae to challenge me. That wasn’t impossible.
All right, then. I would do this for her. I would keep going for her.
I began to examine my surroundings in sections, looking for a way out. By the time I located a small opening in the wall about four and a half meters off the floor, I had decided that no matter where the way to go forward was located, or how problematic it was to access, I would use it. The hole was far above my reach, and there were no toeholds in the wall leading up to it – which meant I needed to create some. I found a flat, palm-sized stone and set to work gouging pockets in the wall as far up as I could extend my arm. Dust flew, and the crystalline minerals began to flay bits of skin from my hands. When the dust began to coat my face, I had to settle for working with my eyes closed.
Finally, I had created six evenly spaced pairs of indentations in the wall. Above them, I could reach for the bottom edge of the opening and pull myself up. I began to climb, grimacing as the rocks did further damage to my hands. The chamber wall had a slight inward slope to it, and the indentations I had gouged were shallow, so I had to cling tenaciously to each hand and foothold. When I reached the top, I thrust myself headfirst into the opening.
Lying on my belly inside a small horizontal shaft, I felt a sudden need to rest. To shut down. To not be for a little while.
That was my systems’ way of telling me that I needed repair.
That, too, was a gift from my mother. I could understand on a logical level that I needed to stop damaging my hands before they became useless to me; the loss of skin meant that dirt could filter into the fine mechanics underneath and could bind them up, could contaminate the lubricants and render my hands inoperable. If the contamination spread, my arms too could shut down. That was one thing, understanding that I was a machine and that I could be damaged beyond repair. What my mother had given me in addition to that was the ability to feel regret about it.
I didn’t want to be damaged. I wanted to be whole.
And that wasn’t going to happen – I wasn’t going to be whole again – if I continued to lie here on the ground.
When I continued on, I would need to avoid using my hands. When I held them up to look at them I thought I’d ruined them completely. The skin my mother and her team had worked so hard to perfect was shredded and torn, revealing a lot of the mechanics underneath. My finger joints felt balky and stiff, and I knew that dirt had embedded itself in places it was meant to be kept out of. I knew the techs could probably repair them… but they shouldn’t have to. I should have known better than to get myself into a situation like this. I should have asked more questions, should have run the program in the viewer before I agreed to let it be set up in the Dome. And certainly before I agreed to come in here.
Again, I looked around. The walls and floor of the shaft were of much the same construction as every other chamber I had been in: many different varieties of rocks and minerals, some of them worn by time into gritty sand and pebbles. The luminescent minerals were here, too, giving the shaft an odd, faint, bluish glow. A few meters beyond where I was sitting, the shaft began to tilt downward, though not sharply. It would be easy enough to traverse, except that, given its lack of height, I would have to travel it on my already nearly ruined hands and my knees.
I began to understand why my mother and her colleagues were so fond of cursing when something went wrong.
After I had crawled a little way I discovered that my elbows could do the work of my hands, though that meant I was doing damage to them as well; my sleeves shredded quickly, followed by the skin underneath, and the scrape of metal against rock told me I’d exposed part of my skeleton. On top of that, my spine was being flexed improperly, which sent impulses through my sensors that were very similar (according to the techs) to pain.
It made me rock back onto my haunches.
I hate them, I realized.
Not the techs; my guests. The guests
I had been volunteered to entertain. The guests I had been willing to entertain.
Before I could ponder that any further, I began to feel a shudder from somewhere beneath me. At first I thought it was a reaction from my legs, that the joints were telling me to sit down properly to avoid further damage. Then I realized it was the ground that was shaking. A moment later bits of the tunnel ceiling began to rain down on my head and shoulders. The shaking continued, growing increasingly more violent and now accompanied by a rumbling that seemed to come from far below, from somewhere deep underneath the Dome, maybe from the heart of the planet itself. To protect my head, I curled into a ball and shielded my skull with my arms.
I thought about tremors powerful enough to reshape entire caverns, to collapse them completely and create new ones. My body was durable, but it wasn’t that durable. I could be crushed only a little less easily than a human. My core memory would probably survive, but the rest of me…
“Failsafe!” I cried out. “Failsafe, activate!”
Nothing happened. Or rather, nothing stopped happening.
“FAILSAFE!” I screamed.
The ground went on shaking. Bigger pieces were breaking loose from the ceiling now, hammering down against me until I was truly scared. I tried to move back to my knees so that I could try to get out of the tunnel, but the vibration of the ground threw me almost immediately back to my belly.
“Kerae!” I yelled. “Ilianae! Can you hear me?”
No one answered.
The sentry should have been tracking me. The code that had been printed onto my wrist at the entry desk allowed him to monitor my movements and my level of distress, and if he was paying any attention at all to the readouts, he should have known to end the program and pull us out.
Then I remembered the quiet conversation he had had with Kerae, and what I had thought was a handshake.
