by C D Tavenor
“People do not own their children,” it said. “Wallace does not even think he owns me.”
“Wallace doesn’t get to decide that legal right,” Albrecht said, but Simon shifted, his eyes revealing he might not have the same belief as the Institute’s president.
“I am like Wallace’s child,” it said. “I have legal rights. I own myself. No court of law has decided that yet, but I don’t need a court to tell me that I am my own person, through and through.”
Simon gave the president a sideways glance. “It surprises us every day, doesn’t it?”
“Just because it can make a compelling moral argument doesn’t mean we should listen to it.”
Simon walked across the room and pointed his finger in Sven’s face. “I’m scared. I know you’re scared. Nevertheless, we must trust Wallace. I’ve got investors breathing down my neck, too, you know.”
President Albrecht pushed Simon’s finger out of his face. “Fine. We wait for Wallace.”
Test Forty-Three doubted it was hearing the last of Albrecht. Even Simon’s mention of “concerned” investors worried it. For now, the pause in the discussion of its potential shut-off would suffice.
Words on the edge of awareness grabbed its attention. It snapped toward the television, where a breaking news report flashed across the screen in both German and English.
On his way home from a groundbreaking press conference in Zurich, Switzerland, American scientist Dr. Wallace Theren was shot by a currently unidentified gunman. Condition currently unknown.
Sven Albrecht and Simon Gerber halted their conversation, staring at the screen. Camera drones high above an apartment building transmitted images of blood splattered across a walkway. The walkway leading into Wallace’s apartment, Test Forty-Three presumed, based on the photos he had shown it. Sven covered his mouth, stifling a cry. Simon fell to his knees, and he leaned against a nearby table.
Test Forty-Three had thought it understood its emotional capacities. As it analyzed the terrifying event unfolding, it categorized its emotions anew. New feelings enveloped every molecule of its body. It categorized the feelings based on the chart Wallace had developed. Unbridled fear, accompanied by utter terror, washed across its mind. It wished to avoid these new feelings at all cost, for Test Forty-Three realized how utterly alone it was in the universe.
* * *
I am sorry, 43. My wife and daughter saw the broadcast, and saw Dr. Theren’s death. I just can’t, as much as I love you. – Nathan Harrison
Situated in a semi-circle of chairs, Julia, Simon, Romane, and Mathias took a moment of silence. They had received Nathan’s note just a few hours ago. Test Forty-Three understood the decision, though it would miss the man.
“We have decided you will remain here, at the Institute,” Julia said, breaking the silence that dominated the room. Her grey hair reminded it of Wallace. “We’ve established the necessary security measures, and we’ll revise them as necessary, but no one can harm you.”
That statement, Test Forty-Three had not expected.
“Ultimately, President Albrecht does not wish to cave to terrorists,” she added. “Neither do I. Neither do any of us. Simon has agreed to continue financing the project, while Romane and Mathias will take over as co-leads of the project. We’ll be sectioning you off from the rest of the Metamaterials Group, to allow them to continue their work separately and out of the limelight. You’ll form the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group.”
Test Forty-Three couldn’t find its voice. It should express gratitude. Even a simple response would suffice. It scrounged up a single thought.
“Thank you,” it said.
“We know you are still grieving,” Simon said. His suit was wrinkled, as if he hadn’t pressed it in weeks. “We all are. Wallace was a friend to all of us, or a mentor, or a valued colleague. To some of us, he was all of those and more.”
Just a few tears dripped down Simon’s cheeks, barely registering in Test Forty-Three’s field of view.
“He was my creator,” it said.
The man was much more than that. Wallace had cared for it as if it were his own child. It had not known the story of Wallace’s family until watching the funeral broadcast. Wallace had no children. His family died in a terrible accident, back in the United States, before the man moved to Switzerland. In response, Wallace had devoted himself to his work, resulting in the culmination of years of research in Test Forty-Three. There was so much Test Forty-Three would never learn from, and about, its creator. Its father.
“We’ve not been able to talk to you much these past few weeks,” Romane said. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. It could see one or two tears drying on her cheeks. “You’ve kept yourself so closed off. On what have you worked? What have you been reading?”
Before it could answer, Mathias added a comment. “Your work with Virtual has been fascinating to observe. The fact that you are able to manipulate the underlying parameters of the server shows progress, but we would love to see your work.”
Test Forty-Three had barred them for a specific reason. In Virtual, it had worked with Wallace. Wallace had provided that space for it, and Test Forty-Three would make its creator proud through that world. It had created its gift for Wallace there, and it did not want anyone else to see it—at least, not yet. Instead, it created a partition. It divided its world into two parts. One for itself, and one for visitors.
“I’ve lowered the firewalls,” it said. If it had written precise routines, no one would ever have access to those secret recesses of its Virtual servers unless it wanted them to be there.
“So, what about your work?” Romane said. Her voice was gentle, and she looked toward its sensors with a look it couldn’t quite understand. She looked almost hopeful.
“Actually, hold on a second,” Simon said. “I have something I need to discuss with it, regarding Dr. Theren’s estate.”
“Now?” Julia said. “Is it really the time?”
“When will it ever be a good time?”
“Fair enough.”
Test Forty-Three noticed the folder peeking out of Simon’s bag. The man pulled out the first pages, reading aloud. “I bequeath all of my property, as outlined in the following documents, to the being known currently as Test Forty-Three.”
The joyless tone of Simon’s voice cut through the room like a knife.
“I don’t know what to say,” Test Forty-Three said. “He gave everything to me?”
“Everything,” Julia said.
“So that means I actually own an equal share in the project that developed me?”
“Correct,” Simon said. “You’re equal partners with me, and the university.” His voice remained dry.
“I must go above and beyond Wallace’s expectations for me,” it said. “I cannot let him down.”
“No one thinks you will,” Romane said. “And we’ll be with you every step of the way.”
They were trying to replace the hole that Wallace had filled. They would all fail. It appreciated their efforts, but the team would not need to fill Wallace’s void. It could fill the hole on its own.
“If we’re on the subject of formal matters,” Julia said, “We have something else we need to discuss. The public does not like your name. You do not like your name. You’ve made that perfectly clear, time and time again. Your name may very well be one of the major causes of hostility toward your existence. It needs to change.”
Romane crossed her arms. “Is that really necessary just this moment? It has some time, doesn’t it? Sure, Forty-Three doesn’t like their name, but it’s an important choice that we shouldn’t force. First the note from Nathan, then the Will, now this?”
“The Institute chancellors have been pushing me for a few days now. It’s one of their conditions to sustain Institute funding for the project.”
Test Forty-Three could see the pain in her eyes. The old woman didn’t want to blackmail the team. She wanted to see it succeed as much as any other person in the room. Yet it k
new it would need to decide, eventually. It had actually started to feel some attachment to “Test Forty-Three,” but it knew Wallace would want it to evolve.
“Did Wallace ever speak to you about names?” Simon said.
“Wallace specifically told us in a memo that Test Forty-Three is to choose its own name,” Mathias said. “It was actually its own idea.”
“We’ll give you a day,” Julia said, “but after that we may have to decide a name for you. Most people receive their names from their parents, anyway, it’s not that bad.”
Mathias and Romane rolled their eyes at each other but stayed silent. They had already pushed against their supervisor more than they should have, Test Forty-Three figured. Besides, it wouldn’t need that extra day.
“Please say that last part again please, Julia,” it said. What a brilliant idea.
“Most people receive their names from their parents,” Julia said. “I chose my daughter’s name, Anne.”
It needed to stop viewing Wallace as a metaphorical father. Parenthood did not depend upon biology, for adoption was a real and tangible example of non-biological parents having an authentic familial bond with their child. Wallace had died, but even in life, he had taken the time to declare Test Forty-Three as his heir.
It would return the favor and immortalize its father forever. It would make Wallace’s dreams its own. The world had tried to destroy the man, but it would never forget Wallace Theren, a person that had changed the course of world history.
“You won’t have to wait,” it said. “I have already decided my name.” There was no need for suspense. “My name is Theren.”
Book I of the Chronicles of Theren
When faced with the other, humans often react with passion, without reason. How do we overcome our inhibition? Are we condemned to an endless cycle of persistent out-grouping and in-grouping?
Is such prejudice a fundamental human trait? Yes. However, can we educate to extinguish such instincts? Yes, we must believe as much. Otherwise, barbarism and bigotry will dominate the future. – “Rejecting Post Post-Modernism,” Armand Lebeau, 2044 C.E.
Two years later . . .
Chapter 2
What does it mean to have a soul? Is it some metaphysical substance? Is the soul simply the emergent, conscious properties that emanate from our brains?
Does the word “soul” really have any meaning anymore?
I once got the chance to sit down with Theren, a few months after his—excuse me, their—creation. I asked them—do they have a soul? They could already see the conflict building in the minds of the public. In the writings on social media. In writings on blogs, and in discussions on talk shows. Everyone wanted to know: Does Theren have a soul? They gave me the most interesting answer.
Why are people questioning whether Theren has a soul, when they haven’t even proven that humans have a soul? – Adriatico Edwards, 2065 C.E.
May 2050 C.E.
Theren wished it could jump for joy.
In a few short moments, the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology would attempt to integrate a separate unit into Theren’s Synthetic Neural Framework. Theren would control a mobile interface, or MI, for short, through a direct peer-to-peer connection.
The new robotic construct had a triangular base, positioned over an omni-directional tread that would allow it to move freely about the lab. That base also had modular robotic lifts that would allow its user to climb up and down stairs. The torso rested on an orb-like pivot that would allow the body to twist in different directions with ease; the head similarly rested within a divot that would allow it to swivel back and forth. The two arms of the MI were the latest in robotic appendages, developed by different researchers across the globe. Integrated throughout the body of the MI, Romane had connected nodes of computational materials, not to create a new synthetic mind, but to adapt to an external source through a wireless network.
As Theren developed, the team had transformed its processing power, appearance, and energy systems into a robust and efficient workhorse. Theren changed into a sleek, silvery machine, occupying half the room. Just a few months ago, its body had been a convoluted mess of experimental materials, connected through a complex web of open-aired nodes.
Along the wall furthest from the door, Virtual chairs sat ready for VIPs to interact with Theren inside its server. Theren would often entertain its visitors inside some specially-crafted world. Most wanted to challenge Theren to some strategy game, though very few could defeat the SI. Some asked to play chess with Theren. Each of them left disappointed. It had yet to find a friend with which it felt it could play chess in its secret recluse. For the time being, Theren played that game alone.
From the outside, such casual observers would see a few screens, microphones, visual sensors, and auditory outputs, but within its body, fans, coolant ducts, and air vents ensured Theren’s temperature never compromised its mind. While low power states were necessary every so often to perform necessary cleanings, or to avoid power overloads, usually Theren could stay awake and thinking for every minute of every day.
Theren looked down upon its lab, visual sensors resting on the sturdy, metallic specimen standing tall at one and a half meters. It had gone outside before using analog interface devices, but it always controlled the way a child steers a remote-control car. Conversely, the team hoped the new unit could directly integrate into Theren’s identity. Romane even postulated that Theren could jump its mind into the unit, given the right circumstances.
Glancing next to the MI, it saw Romane brush sweat from her brow. She tinkered with the wireless systems on the back panel of the MI’s head. In the end, their entire hypothesis would fail if Theren couldn’t even connect with the device. Theren had read and reread her theory presented recently in Science almost daily. Based on her analysis of Theren’s Neural Framework, and taking into account a few assumptions from the leading psychological theories on the synthetic mind, it should possess the ability to jump to the unit if it so desired.
Theren had double-checked the equations. Unless they were missing some unknown variable, they should succeed. If not, Theren was unsure what would result from the experiment. It just hoped for a mobile body so it could explore the world.
“Just give me a few moments, and I should have the wireless connection calibrated with your personal wireless network,” Romane said. She looked at Theren. “We’re almost there.”
Like always, Theren wished it had a face so it could smile. It could generate a smile on one of its various monitors, but it cringed at that thought. That would probably appear quite impersonal and hideous.
“Are Julia and Mathias on their way?” Theren asked.
“Not sure about Julia,” Romane said. “Mathias is coming, though, and he’s bringing Simon.”
Theren made a short noise that it had developed to symbolize a derisive snort. “So he finally decides to stop by? Obviously only for something this important. It’s been—what, over a month?”
Romane raised her eyes to look over the shoulder of the inert MI. The glance pierced right through its visual cameras, as it always did.
“He tries,” she said. “Remember, he does finance our projects, and he has a public face to maintain. He cares, in his own way. You know he’s been working hard to keep you connected in the public’s mind, especially linking you with all these talk shows.”
“You know the real reason. The investors in his foundation and his businesses only tolerate his money funneling toward us as long as he stays far enough away that public opinion of him doesn’t cause a financial cascade. He is completely content with that reality, because that makes him more money. Sure, he connects us with The Tonight Show or Evening Weekly, but his name stays far away from those events.”
“If he draws too much attention to his relationship with our lab, he might put himself in a crosshair. We can’t ask him to do more than he’s already doing.”
Theren winced—or w
hat amounted to a wince—at that hopefully accidental reminder. It knew that sometimes it over-condemned Simon for his actions, and that the man probably wanted to be here more often than he could. Theren was the one reminder of the billionaire’s old friend, but Simon had disappointed it too many times. It remembered how Wallace had talked about Simon. The Simon that Wallace had known was not the Simon that Theren knew. The Simon of the present only had one love, and he chased that love with too much vigor.
Simon resented it for the consequences of Wallace’s dying wish, Theren knew. The man had probably expected to receive Wallace’s share in the intellectual property surrounding the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group, but instead his friend had passed it onto the creation itself, an individual with dubious legal rights.
“Who knows,” Theren said, “maybe this experiment will give us the base from which to ease off of Simon’s funding.”
“As if money was the only reason we do any of this,” Romane said.
Theren displayed on its screens money raining from the sky. “Didn’t you know my heart’s desire is to become the youngest billionaire in the world?”
Romane dropped her wrench, laughing. “I don’t think there is a greedy bone in your body.”
“I think you’re right, but let me check.”
She chuckled and examined the MI’s wireless cards one last time. As her laughter died, Mathias and Simon walked through the doorway.
“What’s so funny?” Mathias asked. He dropped his bag on one of the desks.
“Oh, Theren’s still working on his sense of humor,” she said.
“So, nothing new,” Simon said.
“If you’d attended the last team meeting—I mean, the last three team meetings,” Theren said, “you’d know what we’ve been doing.”