Beatless: Volume 1

by Satoshi Hase

  Getting caught up in a fight between Lacia-class hIEs was suicidal for a human, but if he just asked Lacia to take care of everything while he watched from a safe distance, he felt like he could no longer call himself a man.

  “We can’t keep trusting in your instincts to guide you to the right choice,” Ryo said. “Who do you think will be responsible when humanity gets sold to the machines?”

  “So you’re saying all of humanity is in trouble because I’m so easy to fool?” Arato asked.

  Ryo let out a deep sigh. “Arato, every once in a while, you’re actually pretty good at summing things up,” he said.

  “Is that seriously what you’re trying to tell me?” Arato asked, rubbing a hand through his hair in chagrin. “Come on, man. I know you think I’m pretty dumb, but I’m not that out of it!”

  But Ryo didn’t budge. “You can’t take responsibility for the things that machine does. No one can. Put it back where you found it,” he said.

  “Wait, so you’re not even telling me to use her properly? You want me to throw away my only means of defense, right when things are getting dangerous?” Arato asked, slightly incredulous.

  He was even more surprised by how easy it had become for him to talk about ‘using’ Lacia. “I couldn’t face myself if I tried to pin the blame for this on Lacia,” he said. “This is my fault. I screwed up.”

  Ryo seemed to not have the strength to stand up from the bench. He was wearing a distorted, pained expression that seemed too old for his young face. It was a mix of anger, compassion, and pain so intense that he squeezed his eyes shut. Pressing both hands to his face, he took a deep breath as if to calm and compose himself. Then, he opened his eyes and stared at Arato.

  “In the end, whose side are you on? Humans? Or machines?” he asked.

  The vague anxiety his friend had been holding in his heart was finally solidified into a single question, but Arato just felt like the ground had suddenly fallen out from beneath him. He had always believed that he could bring Ryo around to his way of thinking, but at that moment, he had to come to terms with the gap between his hopes and reality.

  A raw, gritty uncertainty twisted up Arato’s spine. If things continued the way they were going, he would lose his best friend of over ten years.

  ***

  No one noticed when she came home.

  There was no one to see her black-suited form as she walked in.

  In the feeble light, she threw off her tuxedo suit and shirt. The body underneath was not covered by human skin, but that of a machine. She unhooked her skirt and dropped it to her feet with a thud.

  Methode had returned to the place she belonged of her own volition; it was the underground of the MemeFrame Tokyo Research Lab. The same place she had returned to after escaping on the night of the explosion.

  She wasn’t too far underground. There had been some cleanup of the rubble from the explosion where she was, but the equipment hadn’t yet been returned there.

  Methode was a Red Box. The reason machines like her — those created using technology beyond human comprehension — were known as ‘Red Boxes’ was due to a certain property of light. When it travels great distances from its source, a light’s waveform will be stretched, causing it to be perceived as being more red than it really is. This is known as the ‘red shift’ phenomenon. In other words, a ‘Red Box’ was the product of an AI far removed from human capabilities, just as the ‘red shift’ was the sign of a light far from its origin.

  If humans didn’t chase down that distant light with everything they had, the difference in speed between them and the origin of light would increase. As the distance stretched, the wavelength of the light would shift further until it passed out of human visual range and became indistinguishable from blackness. Someday the ‘Red Boxes’ would become ‘Black Boxes,’ completely beyond any human capacity to understand.

  Even if they could not hope to actually overtake the capabilities of the ultra high-performance AIs they had created, humanity could not stop chasing after them. A man with his white hair swept back was standing in the open space that Methode had returned to. It was Ginga Watarai.

  “I had to cut things off when the president’s son himself showed up,” Methode said.

  Watarai did not turn to look as she reported to him. “Considering the reason he decided to get close to us in the first place, it was an obvious development,” Watari said.

  “It’s impressive that these siblings have managed to warrant my personal attention,” Methode said. “But I wonder if they really understand how much things are about to change.” Her words had the inflection of someone acting in a drama. She was good at faking emotions, but there was no actual pity in her heartless chest.

  “I believe that, with everything that just happened, they’ve all started to realize what’s actually important in their lives,” Watarai said, seeming to compete with the machine for emotionlessness in his stiff stance.

  “I wonder how many things there are left in the human world that can truly be called ‘important’,” Methode mused coldly. Methode was the only one of the Lacia-class hIEs that was clearly more machine than human in form, and she folded her arms as if to proudly display her mechanical limbs.

  Watarai quirked one corner of his lips at Methode’s brash statement. “Once mankind saw everything as an adventure; a quest to solve all of life’s puzzles and challenge the unknown world around them. Now, human life has become an endless marathon as we run desperately so as not to be left in the dust by our own high-powered AIs,” he said. The very act of Watarai saying those words to Methode seemed to hammer home his point.

  “If that’s all it takes to stop us, then we might as well give up now,” he said. “But if we still seek success, even now, when machines can do anything better than we can, then there is still something we can live for.”

  Modern hIEs had elevated automation to a level of variability and quality that earlier eras couldn’t have dreamed of. At the same time, that sophistication had left owners who used these hIEs to satisfy their own goals and appetites with no excuses and nowhere to hide.

  “Is that why you destroyed this place?” There was a hint of testing in Methode’s accusation.

  “It’s too late to fear artificial intelligence,” he said. “It’s already been over fifty years since the singularity when the intelligence of computers finally surpassed our own.”

  All the innovations in those days were being created by ultra high-performance AIs and their Red Boxes. Thirty years ago, the smart cells and automatic charging systems that now supported the global power grid had been Red Boxes. The basic technology behind the hIE behavioral control program that was currently in use had been created by the AI Higgins. No longer were the basics of new technology discovered by humans; they were all hand-me-downs from the Red Boxes that humans eventually managed to utilize.

  In the epicenter of the explosion, Methode, a machine at the apex of the Red Boxes, quietly closed her eyes. “True,” she agreed. “And when you humans do stop running, the twilight years of your race will be over, and night will fall.”

  Phase6「My Whereabouts」

  To Shiori Kaidai, her home was a place full of light.

  In the home of the Kaidais — the family responsible for founding MemeFrame — she and her brother, Ryo, were raised with love by caring parents. Both of them had also been used to constantly being in the eyes of the public since their earliest memories. They had been told since they were very young that they would someday inherit the massive international corporation just as their father, Tsuyoshi Kaidai, had inherited it from their grandfather, Usui Kaidai.

  It was the company’s ultra high-performance AI, Higgins, that allowed it to be so. Higgins was the actual power behind the innovations of the company. No matter who sat as the president of MemeFrame, Higgins would continue to provide them with powerful products to dominate the market.

  Once, right after Shiori entered elementary school, her brother had said,
“I don’t want to work with something that doesn’t belong in our world.”

  At the time, she had found it impossible to understand. Shiori had always been putting in her best effort to keep up with her brother, who was always ahead of her no matter what she did. Yet, after that moment, he had given up, walking away from his effortless success.

  There were pictures all over the walls of Shiori’s massive room. They followed a timeline, showing Shiori’s entrances and graduations from elementary and middle school, her holding prizes and trophies from various concours and tournaments, and memories of the few family trips they had been on.

  In her younger pictures, Ryo was always there, holding a bigger trophy than hers. Piano, foreign languages, athletics or school tests, it didn’t matter the subject; even with only a single year between them, Shiori could never compete with her brother. In the pictures, her younger self, with longer black hair, was always shooting sour looks at her brother.

  Somewhere along the way, he vanished from the competition photos, leaving her alone holding the trophies. At the same time, a friendly-looking new boy started to show up in the family photos. It was Arato Endo, her brother’s best friend, who often came to play at the Kaidai house during those years.

  “It’s so mysterious, the way people’s lives can be connected,” she murmured to herself.

  When she focused her gaze on one of the pictures, it activated and played a video. It was from a piano concert when she was in middle school. Her family couldn’t make it, but Arato and his sister had come in their place. Standing beside him, Shiori had a natural smile. Yuka Endo had been frightened of the hIE taking the picture, and was hiding behind Arato’s back.

  It was strange to think about how much his fate had changed recently.

  Shiori’s terminal vibrated quietly. She threw a coat on over her dressing gown before ordering her home system to display the call on a screen.

  A 3D image of a man appeared near her door.

  〈Good evening, Ms. Shiori. Is now a good time?〉 the man asked. Despite being somewhere in his fifties, the man looked unkempt. His name was Shunji Suzuhara, and he was the general manager of the MemeFrame Strategic Planning Office.

  “It’s good to see you,” Shiori said, her tone polite. “How are you?”

  Shunji, a person of some standing in the company, wouldn’t normally be calling on a high schooler like Shiori directly. But she and her brother were both quite important figures for MemeFrame.

  〈We’re making good progress on the Original Body. We should be able to produce some real results soon,〉 Suzuhara said. While scratching at his sideburns with one hand, he flicked the finger of his free hand in the air. Whatever machine he was using understood the gesture, and began to transfer data to Shiori’s terminal.

  Shiori tore the top sheet from a bundle of authentication film that was connected to her terminal. The film confirmed her identity through DNA, fingerprint, and the impression of her bone structure, all of which were taken when she pressed upon the film. Once her identity had been confirmed, the film automatically unscrambled the encoded file.

  “I know this isn’t something I should be sticking my nose into, but thank you,” Shiori said, as small mechanical noises echoed in the late-night stillness of her room. Her terminal, which was reserved for classified transmissions, flicked its LEDs to let her know that she was receiving the file.

  〈You’ve got a kind heart, Ms. Shiori,〉 Suzuhara said, lowering his head humbly in his 3D image. 〈I know that you know we’re using you,〉 he said. 〈It’s hard to believe you’d go this far for us.〉

  “I would like to win what is meant to be given to me, with my own hands,” Shiori said. She was afraid of the gap she saw between the immature girl she was currently, and the immense power that would one day rest on her shoulders. In her heart, she knew that the course she was plotting was arrogant in a way that could only be forgiven because of her youth.

  〈If you put it like that, it makes me feel a bit pathetic, showing you just how disappointing us adults can be,〉 Suzuhara said, scratching his head with a look of chagrin.

  Shiori had no idea what it felt like to be his age, single and childless.

  “Ryo has been off doing something with Chief Watarai again,” Shiori said.

  〈The Computer Faction knows we’ve been in contact. Mr. Watarai wouldn’t miss a chance to shorten our leash,〉 Suzuhara explained.

  Two factions had developed within MemeFrame, divided by how they felt about their company being guided by the ultra high-performance AI Higgins. Members of the Computer Faction were fine leaving judgments of company policy to Higgins, trusting in its superhuman wisdom as they’d always done before. The other faction, the Human Faction, felt that humans should head human organizations. Shiori was currently lending her aid to the Human Faction, to which General Manager Suzuhara belonged.

  Their relationship had begun as one might imagine: Suzuhara had greeted her at a company party she attended. But, to Shiori, it felt like his invitation was a validation of all the strict training she had been through in her life. Besides, she empathized with their desire to respect humanity.

  “Has there been any movement from Higgins?” she asked.

  〈I’m afraid we’d have no way of knowing, even if there was,〉 Suzuhara said with a sigh. Even within MemeFrame itself, information regarding Higgins was top-secret.

  “I do understand that they want to prevent anyone from being able to misuse the ultra high-performance AIs,” Shiori mused. “But the security measures around Higgins are truly inconvenient.”

  〈Even if it’s an iron wall as far as attacks on its software goes, the actual hardware is pretty vulnerable if you can get close enough. Unfortunately, Watarai’s on the side that can get close to it, which makes things difficult for us.〉

  In the last century, when everyone wasn’t quite as used to operating ultra high-performance AIs, theft of one of the AIs had sparked off a war. Afterward, the Computer Faction had exploited strict information control policies, originally created as a wartime countermeasure, to their advantage in the struggle for dominance of MemeFrame.

  Since specifics about how exactly Higgins interacted with the company were kept secret, there were rumors that the AIs manipulation even extended into internal matters of company policy.

  “I hate how Mr. Watarai and his group do things,” Shiori vented. “They worship Higgins like it’s a god, and they act like whether or not you are allowed to approach it decides how much power you have in the company. It’s embarrassing that we, a company whose main product is information, are deliberately trying to consolidate the right to access information in a single place and preserve the ignorance of anyone left on the outside.”

  〈I completely understand your anger,〉 Suzuhara said. 〈But, right now, we need to keep our emotions in check. Things have been speeding up ever since the explosion. If we reveal what we know about the escaped Lacia-class hIEs, I can only imagine how dangerous things will get. Obviously we’ll be putting countermeasures in place, but for now, the most important thing is to lay low.〉 After saying his good-byes, he cut off the transmission.

  Once again, Shiori was alone, feeling small in her large room. She stood still in the middle of her room, still wearing her dressing gown, while the pictures in the frames all around her flickered to show other scenes.

  Even in this age of automation, nothing could stop the march of time. Her brother had given up on something, and Arato had picked up a Red Box hIE. The fact that the Kaidai household was empty didn’t change.

  “This whole thing is foolish,” she murmured to herself. “But we’re living in a world where machines would keep everything running, even if humans all gave up. If I quit fighting against the things that I absolutely cannot accept, would my life have any meaning at all?” To Shiori, it felt like, if humans stopped fighting for the things worth fighting for, they would no longer have a place in the world.

  Shiori’s home seemed to her to b
e a place full of light, since it was empty of anything else. When she was a small child, she had wondered why her family seemed incapable of staying still. She understood it now, though. If they didn’t work or do something with their time, they would begin to fear that there was no longer any meaning in their lives. Despite all the wealth she was born into, Shiori felt hunted by the inexorable march of progress.

  Calling Arato Endo turned out to be far more embarrassing than Shiori had thought it would be. She realized that she hadn’t adjusted the volume on her terminal and quickly fixed it in a panic, fearing there would be feedback.

  She invited Arato out to a cafe in Shinkiba, made entirely out of transparent materials. He arrived there with Lacia in tow.

  Shiori couldn’t help but notice he was wearing a stylish t-shirt and coordinated pants again. “Did Lacia pick your outfit for you again?” she asked.

  He chuckled without a hint of hesitation. “Well, she’s got a much better sense of style than I do,” he said. “I didn’t know hIEs could even take care of stuff like this.” He took the seat opposite Shiori, with Lacia sitting by his side.

  Lacia was in a muted pantsuit. She had probably picked it deliberately as something that wouldn’t draw attention away from Shiori’s clothes. Lacia had been wearing subdued clothing the last time Shiori saw Arato, too. The feeling that Lacia was taking special care on her behalf riled Shiori. It must have shown on her frozen expression, since Arato reacted to it.

  “If you’ve got something you need to talk about, just tell me,” he said. “You can trust me to keep it between us.” That was the kind of person Arato was; always reaching out a friendly hand to help those around him. Still, his words helped Shiori relax, and she felt an imaginary warmth spreading in her chest.

  “It’s not really something I’m worried about, just something I wanted to talk about with you,” Shiori explained. “This cafe is the only place I know where I can relax and talk openly.”

  One of the staff brought out her tea. It was brewed from a species of tea leaf only recently created to survive the changing environmental conditions in the old tea-growing climates.