by Robin Craig
Beldan just stared at the back of the chair, waiting. He had to suppress the urge to stride to the chair and hurl it around, to see who his strange interrogator was.
When Beldan did not answer, the voice continued. “Your robot would have been immobilized, made an experimental subject, forever imprisoned in some hidden underground laboratory. Do you think he would have wanted such a life? Would you?”
“Even if that’s true, it wouldn’t have lasted! We would have got him out!”
The man chuckled again, though there was no humor in the sound. “You are a man of action, Dr Beldan, a man used to getting his way. Det. Hunter worked inside a bureaucracy; perhaps in this case she was wiser than you. There would have been no escape.” The tone of his voice was grim as a death knell; inevitable in its certainty. “Capture would simply have been a gateway to a hell you cannot imagine, a hell from which there could be no escape.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“No. You wouldn’t. That is one of the reasons why I approached Det. Hunter for this mission, not you. In a world of paradoxes, here is another: a person’s strength can be their weakness. In your case, your self-confident optimism would have stopped you doing what had to be done, and the hell of which I speak would have come to pass. In her case, one of the things that made her a peculiarly effective detective was her empathy. I merely turned it against her. Having planted the seed of the inevitable future in her mind, she could not dismiss it as you would have: she could see it, feel it to her marrow, in its full eternal horror. She would rather die than live that fate herself. She knew Steel would too. She understood that there can be a fate worse than death.”
Beldan stood, not even aware that he had done it. It was as if his mind saw the shape of an answer but could not hold onto it. As if the answer was too painfully desired yet at the same time too impossible to be held.
“Consider the pain you have suffered since that day. Then consider her pain. Consider that she chose that pain, not for itself but in full knowledge that it was the price she would pay for what she had to do. Consider what that price was to buy: to save another mind from an eternal horror she could not truly conceive of. And not even the mind of one of her own kind, but the mind of a machine, more alien even than a creature from another star. Perhaps you thought she did it out of cowardice or ambition, or out of duty or service to ignorant masses and craven politicians. She did it for none of those reasons. She did it out of her love of justice, which though you could not know it was another face of her love for Steel. And for you.”
Beldan stared. “But if that is true…” Her face that day came back to him; how she had offered no defense even as he had flung his palm and his rage at her defenseless face. And I never forgave you, too wrapped in my own pain to wonder about yours. Too angry to ever comfort you, when I was the only one who could. “Dear mother of God… what have I done?”
“You did what you had to. It was not your fault. There is always a price to pay in war. I am sorry the price was so high.”
Beldan knew his anger was at himself, but it latched itself onto the nearest convenient target. He spun to point at Samuels. “You dare speak of price? Neither of you seems to have paid one! In fact I’d guess you’ve both done very well out of it all – the Professor here certainly has!”
Samuels did not react or defend himself. He just stood looking levelly at Beldan. His expression seemed to say, This is no longer my show.
As if to confirm it, the voice continued. “Dr Samuels’ role is vital, but he is not the essence. You are right about one thing. The one who has gained most from it all – is I.”
“And who the hell are you? What have you gained that was worth all this?!”
In one motion the chair spun around and a figure rose from it. But the figure did not step closer, as if sensing that it had no right to approach until Beldan had time to see, to absorb – or perhaps to forgive.
Beldan stared open-mouthed. It was impossible. It was not a man but a robot, almost a twin to Steel.
In wonder, neither fully aware of what he was doing nor thinking to question the propriety of his action, he stepped forward and ran his fingers over the metal skin of the face, traced the complex iridescent patterns etched onto the arm. They sprang from the same esthetic that had decorated Steel’s skin, but were different in detail: the same, yet not the same. The machine just stood there, holding itself rigid, as if his touch burned but could not be denied.
He stepped back. It was insane. There had been only one success. Only he could have made another, if indeed even he could. He knew he had not.
“We meet again, Dr Beldan,” the robot said, now in the voice of the Steel Beldan remembered.
He looked from the robot to Samuels and back again, at a loss. It could not be Steel – but it had to be. “But… how?” asked Beldan, his train of thought breaking out into words. “I saw you destroyed with my own eyes!”
“Magic,” replied Samuels.
Beldan looked at him, confused. “Magic!? What do you mean?”
“Escape artists like to exaggerate the impossibility of their escape by multiplying their chains and locks, all irrelevant to the actual method of egress. We did something similar. Steel had already escaped and the rest was just trappings. The world had to be convinced.”
“But how?” he asked again, dazed.
“All the answers are before you, Dr Beldan,” the robot replied.
Beldan stared at the impossible vision, then it was if his perspective shivered and shattered to reveal the truth. “You…” he whispered. “You swapped bodies! You stole one of the earlier bodies, and moved your brain into it!”
He stared a moment longer then burst out laughing. “Sonofabitch! Son of a goddamn bitch! Why didn’t I see it?”
The robot nodded but remained standing there, waiting as if for absolution. Or perhaps it was just waiting. Beldan strode to him again, drew him into an embrace. All that needed to and could be said between them was manifest in that embrace. At last he stepped back.
“But… Why didn’t you tell me!?” Beldan cried. “I could have helped!”
“We couldn’t,” answered Steel. “There had to be no doubt. You are a public figure under close scrutiny. If your reactions weren’t genuine someone would have figured it out. But do you think a machine can feel regret, Dr Beldan? I know what it cost you. And if a machine can feel regret, I can tell you that being unable to tell you was the second greatest regret of my life.”
“The second? What is the first?”
“That Miriam Hunter went to her grave never knowing it.”
He stared, aghast at the implications. If you felt guilt, Miriam; if I failed you in your time of need: now you have your revenge. “You should have told her,” he whispered.
“Dr Beldan,” answered Samuels. “I suspect you make a good poker player. But Det. Hunter was not a good liar, not in something like this. No, we couldn’t tell her.”
“You both had to believe it,” he continued after a moment. “Fully and without reservation. I mentioned the drama of that day, and it had a purpose. Steel’s creator and his nemesis, the two people closest to him, rumored to be lovers. Then one destroys him before the other’s eyes. In the face of drama so visceral, even if someone guessed the truth they wouldn’t believe it. Not when the two main actors so obviously believed things were exactly as they appeared.”
Beldan glanced at him sharply, again struck by the contrast between the man’s dispassionate analysis and his own roiling emotions. “You really don’t care about the cost of your plots, do you?”
Samuels just looked back steadily, and Beldan could see in his eyes that it wasn’t true. But he gave no defense, as if saying, Oh, I know the price, and it is one that cannot be repaid or forgiven.
The only acknowledgement Beldan gave of the silent exchange was a softening of his own eyes. Then he looked off into the distance, seeing the emptiness of Miriam’s eyes on that day, finally understanding it in all its horro
r. He was not a man who liked to cry, but he could feel the pressure build behind his eyeballs. Oh Miriam, he thought across the void to the woman he had loved, I’m so sorry. If only we had known. Now it is forever too late.
“But… but why didn’t Miriam tell me? Why she did it, I mean?”
“I asked her not to,” replied Steel.
Beldan stared at him.
“I could not tell her why. But she knew I had good reasons and would not ask such a thing lightly. I’m sure she worked out that I didn’t want people to know that my death was chosen; that such knowledge would weaken what I was trying to achieve by reducing my murder to a suicide. But she never knew the full reason: that there could be no hint of collusion between you two. In the eyes of the world, it had to be a betrayal too deep to cross.
“Dr Beldan, I told her one day she would understand, and I thought the pain of months would be redeemed by the truth on that day. But her time ran out before the day came.”
Beldan shook his head then looked back at Steel, then to Samuels.
“Holy. Fucking. Hell,” he said. “If you’ll pardon the expression. Professor, I think I need another drink. I don’t suppose you brought whisky as well?”
Samuels smiled as if he had foreseen the necessity. Which he had, and he poured them both a drink. Beldan stood there silently, sipping his drink on automatic, his sorrow over Miriam temporarily lost in his contemplation of the wonder of Steel reborn.
After a while Samuels spoke again as if continuing Steel’s last sentence. “But you are still with us, and we thought it was time you knew. You have moved on, at least enough to allay any suspicions. And there is another topic we wish to talk about.”
Beldan laughed, bemused. “This isn’t enough for one day? But go ahead. I think you’ve paid for a lot of answers.”
“We have only partially repaid a long overdue debt. The question concerns something related but different. What do you think of the Spiders?”
Beldan shot him a startled glance at the coincidence. “The Spiders? Why? They’re not mine and most of the details of their construction are secret. I have no special knowledge of the things.”
“Yet you are better able to make guesses than we are. Do you follow the arguments about AI on the net?”
“I used to. After Steel. But I stopped. My views are well known and if I haven’t convinced someone by now I never will: I’ve said all I had to say. And I admit, despite my dislike for you, that you were doing a good job too. You and others, especially that… that…”
He stopped mid-sentence and his mouth stayed open as his head swiveled to Steel. “You!” he whispered, pointing his finger shakily at the robot. “It’s you! Francis – is Frank. And the St isn’t short for ‘Saint’ is it? It’s ‘Steel’! Frankensteel!” It was too much. He laughed helplessly for long moments. “You’re St Francis, aren’t you? You! My God! If they only knew!”
He shook his head, laughing quietly, as if the laughter was helping heal old wounds. “You sure know how to poke your finger in your enemies’ eyes, don’t you? Even if they don’t know it. St Francis! My God!”
Steel smiled. “I confess it.”
Beldan shook his head. “You two are crazy. But what’s your interest in the Spiders?”
“The question has been raised as to whether the Spiders can be conscious,” Samuels replied. “I don’t mean in the dim way a dog is. I mean like us. Like Steel. True self-awareness. True thought.”
Beldan stared at them. “Why on earth would you think that? What do you think? What do you think I might know that could help?”
“From what I know they are an unlikely vehicle for consciousness. But the possibility has been raised with some degree of insistence, as if the question is more than academic interest or idle speculation. It might be nothing. It might even be a feint by Allied Cybernetics itself, or its enemies, for some political purpose. But the question and the motives behind it are intriguing enough that we have been wondering. As you say, the details of their construction are secret, and such secrets can hide many things. But if anyone outside of Allied Cybernetics knows something relevant it is probably you.”
Beldan nodded thoughtfully. “It’s an interesting question. But I can’t really help you. All I know is that unlike Steel, who has an electronic brain, the Spiders use actual neural tissue. I suppose, since that’s where our own consciousness comes from, that in theory a Spider could be conscious. But it would require a brain as complex as ours. That is the case with Steel too. And frankly, I can’t imagine why Allied Cybernetics would go that far: it would mean more tissue to keep healthy and more things that can go wrong. What’s more, surely they would be foolish to actually aim for consciousness in a war machine. And if they weren’t aiming for consciousness, they would want a simpler brain, one too simple to support that level of thought.”
“I have thought of one possibility,” put in Steel. “The Spiders must have a high functioning brain: they process sensory inputs including vision quickly enough to use it in battle; they can talk; and they work out tactics and even longer-term strategies. What if, for the sake of redundancy or to compensate for inefficiencies, they have substantially more neural tissue than is minimally required for those abilities? Neural tissue is quite plastic in how it develops. Maybe, under the right circumstances or stimuli, that extra tissue can evolve increasingly sophisticated functions. Perhaps as it becomes more efficient at its intended tasks, more and more pathways are freed to go their own way. Might such processes, perhaps coupled with some stress trigger, lead to the emergence of consciousness?”
Beldan thought about it. “Perhaps… perhaps. I can’t say it seems likely, but at least it would explain how they could have enough complexity for consciousness without some idiot doing it deliberately. The improbability of what you’re suggesting could even account for why AC felt safe doing it that way. There is a lot we don’t know about consciousness…”
After a moment’s reflection he continued, “But the only reason you think these things might be self aware is that someone has been pushing the idea. If the people behind the questions have a hidden motive – do you have any clues who they are?”
“There have been mentions of the Spiders on and off during the debate, but usually no more than analogies, references or comparisons. As near as we can tell, the recent more pointed and insistent questions started with a single individual, who calls herself – or himself – Kali. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Kali?” He sipped his drink, attempting to dredge what he knew from his memory. “Isn’t that the Hindu goddess of death, the one purportedly worshipped by the Thuggi assassins? Sounds like a grim name to choose, though I’ve encountered worse. You say she – let’s call her that – hasn’t dropped any clues to her actual identity?”
“No. She is obviously intelligent, though her arguments are not entirely convincing. On the other hand she is persistent, in a way that seems to indicate she knows more than she says but is unwilling or unable to reveal it. Perhaps she works inside Allied Cybernetics and has seen or done something she’s afraid of. It is all rather mysterious. She is not a scientist: there are too many gaps in her knowledge. Under other circumstances I might dismiss her as a crank. But for all her flaws she is clearly both intelligent and sincere, and lacks the single-minded blindness that tends to afflict cranks.”
Steel added, “In fact she is quite open to argument and changing her mind, except on that one central point which she defends to the death. As David says: as if she knows something, something dangerous she cannot tell, but which gives her a certainty beyond mere theorizing. And an insistence beyond theoretical interest, as if the answers are of vital importance to her.”
Perhaps she works inside Allied Cybernetics? Christ! What did Miriam get herself into? What am I getting myself into? Samuels saw the look of alarm in his eyes and wondered what he knew or suspected that he wasn’t saying. Then Beldan relaxed and casually sipped his drink, as if he had dismissed any conce
rns and to him, unlike this Kali, the topic was of merely academic interest. He felt a strange reluctance to discuss Miriam’s last days with them; though amongst his churning emotions he wasn’t sure if that was because of what they had done to her, as if they had lost the right – or to protect them from whatever evil had claimed her, as if carrying out her last will.
All he said was, “I hope for all our sakes it’s nothing more than a crank. I’m not sure the case you’ve been making for the rights of thinking robots will survive in the face of an army of self-aware killer cyborgs.”
He hoped he was as good at poker as Samuels thought.
Unknown to him, Samuels was wondering much the same thing.
Chapter 22 – A Meeting of Minds
One self-aware killer cyborg moved through the darkness with the graceful speed of its kind, hoping not to encounter any people. Kali wanted to get as close to enemy territory as possible, find a place to hide where Lyssa could come to her in relative safety, and then try to contact her.
She heard a faint clatter from ahead and crouched still under a projecting roof. Another Spider moved into view, a slightly older model: many scars attested to its longer time in the field. Damn. They exchanged identification signals and Kali hoped the other Spider would continue on its way; but it requested a Meld, and to her horror Kali realized her Id had automatically granted the request.
Melds were not routine but nor were they uncommon. It was a way the Spiders rapidly swapped memories to update each other on what the other had found about routes, traps, dangers and anything else of military significance. But a Meld included basic status data and would also reveal to the other Spider what had happened to Kali, and it was unlikely to ignore it. She cut off the feed.
It was too late.
“Stop!” signaled the other machine. “System compromise detected. Proceed immediately to base for repairs.”
“Cannot comply,” she signaled back. “Vital Command overrides in place. Essential that mission continues. Stand down.”