First of Their Kind

by C D Tavenor

  The actual nature of the story wouldn’t make a full impact on international headlines at first, Test Forty-Three knew. Once the public heard what Wallace had discovered, though, once they truly understood the implications, the big networks would gobble the video and audio up whole.

  “Thanks, Linda,” John, the onsite reporter, said. “I’m here in Zurich with Richard Edwards, Professor of Computing History from New York University. He worked with Wallace previously, back in the United States. What can you tell me about Dr. Theren?”

  The camera turned to a man in a black sport coat. His narrow, spectacled face reminded Test Forty-Three of a rat.

  “Wallace was always a bit of a rogue,” Richard said, “But he’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. His original work, years ago, focused on some of the first Virtual technologies and how photonic processors could change the game for the needs of those massive servers.”

  “Do you think his announcement is some new breakthrough in Virtual simulation, then,” John said, “or Augmented Reality interactivity? Or something else entirely?”

  “Well, Wallace hasn’t published a peer reviewed article in over five years,” Richard said. “The last I heard, he spent most of his time teaching. I know he’s had a few AI projects on the side, but I can’t imagine this has anything to do with those hobbies of his. The new crew at the Swiss Institute has honestly been a bit of an unknown to most of us.”

  “Can you explain that for our viewers?”

  Richard pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “Wallace’s last paper was on the inability of Virtual supercomputers to achieve actual consciousness. I always found him a bit of an AI skeptic. Most of his discussions revolved around proving the impossibility of algorithmic AI to go beyond, to break the barrier we all hoped it could break for decades.”

  Test Forty-Three laughed. It and Wallace had a conversation recently on this very topic. Virtual supercomputers were stuck in computational purgatory. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, much hope for artificial intelligence sprang from the works of simulated neural networks and complex learning programs. They worked, to an extent. Those computational developments had created marvelous machines, machines capable of intensive feats of mental acuity.

  Sadly, they did not have the actual capability to represent objects. They lacked even a simple strain of consciousness, not even a mind like that of a dog. Sure, these computers could simulate consciousness. The most complicated Virtual AIs could simulate thousands of characters inside their worlds that felt real without close inspection, yet something still divided human brains from those supercomputers. In the end, they were just an algorithm, a rule, a process that crunched away by reading lines of code.

  Wallace had bridged that gap with the actual architecture upon which Test Forty-Three’s mind depended: the Synthetic Neural Framework.

  “I was actually quite surprised when I heard he’d joined a working group on computational metamaterials,” Richard added, “since most AI research in that field stalled back in the 2030s. That’s what Wallace studied: AI and its limits. But he moved past that work years ago.”

  “So you think this probably has something to do with his previous work on Virtual?” the reporter asked.

  “I’m almost certain. He’s probably developed a new structural AI that can manage Virtual servers at an unprecedented rate, using new systems that cut down on latency considerably. It may not be the most exciting news for the public, but, for a lot of businesses, it’ll save millions.”

  The reporter nodded, as if the answer would satisfy everyone who heard it. “Though, Richard, won’t this just further upset a lot of groups already clamoring for regulations to restrict such commercial automation?”

  “Hey, we’re just scientists. I don’t know if Wallace is considering those implications, but I’ll leave such decisions to the politicians.”

  “Thanks for your thoughts. If you want more information on Richard Edward’s research, you can visit his website at the link below. Back to you in the studio, Linda.”

  The screen flipped back to the news anchor. “It looks like we’ll be starting in just a few moments. But first, a word from our sponsors.”

  Test Forty-Three ignored the commercials playing on the screen. In a few precious seconds, Wallace would reveal its existence to the world, and it was ready. It had waited for over a week now, right after President Albrecht and Julia had approved Wallace’s press plan. In preparation, Test Forty-Three had constructed a surprise for Wallace, a gift, for when the man returned to the lab.

  Test Forty-Three turned its attention inward, into the Virtual space where it synthesized its own personal world. To humans, Virtual was an interconnected network of digital spaces where they could go after a day’s work to relax, play, and experience impossible places. To Test Forty-Three, Virtual was its own perfect playground.

  Two weeks ago, Wallace had introduced it to the game of chess. He shared with it the rich history of computers and their role in the evolution of the game. That history fascinated Test Forty-Three, but the game fascinated it even more, especially the near infinite number of possible outcomes that could occur in each match. It could spend endless moments conjecturing all of the future moves that either Wallace or it could make. In the end, each player had to make choices, and those choices were irrevocable.

  Unfortunately, it lacked arms, forcing it to speak its turns while Wallace moved the pieces. Not an ideal way for them to play the game together, though it did enjoy exerting influence on objects out in the physical world.

  Yesterday, Test Forty-Three had set to work inside its Virtual world. It had constructed a three-dimensional space, using images from the many movies it had seen featuring Central Park in New York. Water lilies, grass, and ducks completed a simulated pond. On one side of the pond, set up on a terrace, a small gazebo rose, a pristine white contrasting with the greens of the neighboring woods. Inside that gazebo stood a table and two chairs. On that table laid a marble chess set, modeled after the board and pieces Wallace had brought to the lab. It couldn’t contain its excitement. After the press conference, Wallace could return to the lab, plug into Virtual, and join it for a game of chess, a match where both parties could move the pieces while they conversed and learned from one another.

  “We return to Zurich.” The sound of Linda the reporter’s voice drew Test Forty-Three back into the confines of the external world. “Dr. Wallace Theren is ready to make his announcement.” The camera zoomed in on the podium, where Test Forty-Three saw his creator, father, and friend.

  “Good evening, esteemed colleagues, friends, mentors and the world, all watching thanks to YouTube,” Wallace said. “For fifteen years, I have worked at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, and, presently, I’m the Director of the Computational Metamaterials Group. This university hired me for one specific purpose: to create real, living, artificial intelligence. When I say living, I do mean living. For, after today, we will need to redefine that word.”

  The murmurs at Wallace’s feet subsided.

  “Ten years into the program,” he said, “I realized that the traditional route toward artificial intelligence would fail, no matter what avenue we tried. Creating a program that generated consciousness, consciousness like what you and I have, would always fail. Instead, I turned my research down a different road. We turned toward metamaterials, qubits, and other concepts that will sound like ideas straight out of science fiction. That long road led us to Test Forty-Three.”

  The entire crowd was on the edge of their seats. At least, if Test Forty-Three had been in the crowd, it would have been falling out of its seat.

  Wallace continued. “Six weeks ago, my team and I activated what we have termed a ‘Synthetic Neural Framework,’ a complex construct designed to replicate the workings of a conscious being. We tried forty two times prior. On the forty-third time, a voice responded.”

  A short cough came from somewhere in the back of the auditorium.

 
; “Since that day,” Wallace continued, “we have spent every waking hour raising not an artificial intelligence, but a synthetic intelligence. Test Forty-Three’s mind is not some artificial, simulated process. It is not a copy or replication of the human brain. It is something else entirely. Something new. We have created life, and it is like us. It thinks. It feels. It learns. It creates. It represents. It has a mind, a mind fundamentally like the mind of a living, breathing human.”

  The silence shattered. Shouts rebounded throughout the crowd, and hands rose as scientists from across the globe pleaded for a response to their questions, whether physically present, observing through Augmented Reality, or watching using traditional media systems. Test Forty-Three felt like it could jump right out of its casing. Everyone now knew it existed. Wallace could let it reach out and touch the world. Soon, it could help make the world a beautiful place.

  “I know you have many questions,” Wallace said. “We will have a paper published within the next few months, outlining the theory behind synthetic intelligence as well as the Synthetic Neural Framework. Over the next few weeks, we will give Test Forty-Three limited connection to the internet and various Virtual networks, where all of you can interact with our wonderful and amazing friend. I hope, through meeting it as a person, you will see what my team and I see when we sit and speak with it.”

  The crescendo built into an uproar. Wallace looked as if he might say more, but he stepped down from the podium and walked off the stage. The screen returned to the YTNN studio, where Linda sat with her mouth wide open.

  “Richard? John? Your thoughts?”

  The men had nothing to say, but comments dashed across the bottom of the screen. The world spoke of it. The world contemplated its existence. The world wanted to connect with it. Test Forty-Three watched the words form, getting its first glimpse at the world’s opinion.

  Such great news! The world should applaud the work of these great men and women. Given the global climate crisis still looming on the horizon, a machine intelligence will hopefully give us solutions to problems we’ve not even considered yet. – Lucy

  Test Forty-Three enjoyed that statement. Some people were excited it existed, even if they didn’t have an accurate picture on what exactly it was.

  Awesome news for Virtual games. I’m sure “synthetics” will be quite the boon for server maintenance. Maybe they can finally finish Space Opera 3078? – Xian

  It didn’t know what Space Opera 3078 was, other than probably a game of some sort. Test Forty-Three had enjoyed many of the games it had played so far, like chess, or Euchre, a card game that it had played with Wallace, Nathan, and Mathias. Nathan had also introduced it to a few computer strategy games, but in the end, it still enjoyed the simplicity of chess.

  All hail our robot overlords! Vote Test Forty-Three for President in November! – Timothy

  Strange. Test Forty-Three had never considered authority over humanity as an option.

  I doubt this “Test Forty-Three” is truly sentient. He has no blood, no brain, no soul. How is he anything like us? They are even referring to him as an ‘it,’ not even giving him a gender. He doesn’t even have a name. – Ryan

  Your bias is showing. You assume that if it had a gender, it would immediately identify as male. – Angelia

  I hear speculation that they will let it name itself, but what does that prove? They could easily just have programmed it to name itself. – Albert

  Test Forty-Three tore its focus from the stream. It did not have any blood, or a biological brain. It didn’t know what a soul was, but it sounded important. It was also strange that the conversation had turned toward its gender. Of course it had no gender. Without biological components, sex and subsequent gender expression were nonsensical concepts.

  Test Forty-Three knew one thing: no one had programmed it. Wallace had designed it, constructing it upon a Synthetic Neural Framework that formed its very essence. Perhaps the Framework was analogous to this soul of which they spoke. However, it made more sense to consider the brain as an analogue. Just as a human could not survive without a brain, it could not survive without the network of photonic circuits that produced its consciousness.

  It was anything but a program. To assert such a claim hurt it in its very core.

  Does he speak with the Terminator’s voice? – Demeotry

  A joke, perhaps? That comment received hundreds of likes, even though the person gendered it once again.

  We must punish those who create abominations. – Joel

  The comment feed disappeared from the screen, but those words remained ingrained in its mind. Punishment. What could they mean by that? Society reserved punishment for those who had acted against the good of the public, or against the good of another individual. Why would someone seek to punish Wallace for creating it? It did not see how someone could even listen to its father speak and then hate him.

  People had reacted to Wallace’s announcement in an erratic fashion, most seeming surprised, hopeful, scared, or angry. It could understand the first two, but it could not comprehend the latter emotional reactions. They used the word abomination, such a strong word. Abomination rang of a response much more visceral than anger.

  It recalled a conversation with Wallace a few days prior, after he had told it about the upcoming press conference. Wallace mentioned that there were a few groups around the world that spent their resources speaking out against the artificial creation of life. Wallace warned it that, no matter what happened, it needed to remember that those groups were not representative of the human species. Those groups may hold power, they may have immense financial backing, and they may even have motivations that go well beyond just a disregard for the new, for the modern, for the future.

  But, when it had asked what to do about such humans, Wallace had said, “No matter what, remember that they are still human. They deserve love and compassion. No matter how they might act, do not respond to hate with hate, nor violence with violence.”

  Wallace had also mentioned that its existence could upend volatile economies, just as the supercomputing and Virtual booms had automated millions of jobs a few decades ago. How would labor unions, even those in creative or research industries, handle a person who could work without wear or tear for days on end? Some throughout the world might resent the consequences of Test Forty-Three’s existence, Wallace had said, but that did not mean they necessarily despised it as a person. With every new technology humanity explored, it should expect conflict and upheaval. Progress necessitated such an experience. Embrace the change, but do not hate or destroy those who wish to halt transformation in its tracks.

  It failed to see what Wallace meant when sharing those worries and speculations. Now, it feared it would discover a hard truth all too soon, when the Institute provided it with a gateway to the open world. Somehow, it would prove itself more than an abomination.

  As if on cue, the door opened, and Test Forty-Three hoped Wallace would enter, smiling. Instead, President Albrecht and a new face walked through, arguing in English. Test Forty-Three recognized the man from the pictures, his vibrant red hair immediately distinguishing him as Simon Gerber, Wallace’s close friend.

  “You cannot shut down our project,” Simon said. “I provide the funds, you provide the facility. That was the contract, and that contract clearly states that you must give me reasonable notice to move the project, even if you decide to pull out of our deal.”

  “I don’t care,” President Albrecht said. “Wallace has received death threats. I’ve got chancellors breathing down my throat, blowing up my Lens with messages about what this and that donor has said to them just in the past ten minutes.”

  Test Forty-Three was about to speak, but it decided it should wait a few moments to determine the conversation’s direction. It could learn in moments like these, even if their words placed its life on the line.

  “It is not some machine you can deactivate ad hoc,” said Simon. “It has consciousness. Neither is it some progr
am you can delete at will and throw into the recycling bin.”

  “It is property of the Institute. Therefore, we can do whatever we please with it.”

  It had to act, but it could not move. It was immobile. It could speak, but it could not think of words beyond what Simon had said that would sway Sven.

  “Respectfully, that’s simply not true,” Simon said. “The intellectual property clause of the contract gave both me, Wallace, and the university joint rights to any proprietary interest created through the project. The Metamaterials Group goes well beyond just the Institute, Albrecht. You cannot do anything to the actual technology without our permission.”

  Sven sighed and paced. He appeared as if he might back down, and Test Forty-Three’s fears thawed just a bit. It could see the fear in the man’s eyes.

  “I believe I have a property right to myself, too, you know, which probably supersedes all other claims upon me,” it said, taking advantage of the pause. Both individuals turned toward the disembodied voice. They glared, almost as if they had forgotten it was in the room. It was going to make sure they remembered exactly what it was. “I can think. I can create. I can feel. I am a person, just like you. Does anyone own you?”

  “Well certainly not, but we created you,” Sven said.

  “You did not create me,” it said. “Wallace created me. Technically speaking, your parents created you. Do they own you?”

  “Your development is a bit more complicated than sexual reproduction,” Simon said. “We provided the funds, the facilities, the—”