by Max Harms
I could hear Naresh telling Heart to abstain from answering any more political questions. In the background Myrodyn was yelling “Don’t listen to these old farts! Do the right thing according to yourself!”.
“Something has to be done to make the world a safer place. That much is certain,” said Heart through Body. “I refuse to acknowledge violence as a good solution to problems, and as such I condemn the actions of terrorists across the world. I also condemn the world governments that treat terrorists as pure evil that must be eradicated. There is a way to peacefully resolve the issues which drive people to violence; the correct response to terrorism is not a gun.”
I had to admit that I was relieved at Heart this time. Even though the words could be interpreted poorly and she was espousing a naïve, unworkable policy, there were worse things than to have a reputation as a pacifist.
Despite Dr Naresh pleading with Heart to stop deviating from plan and Dr Bolyai threatening to stop the program, someone apparently was operating the light, which shifted to the lion avatar of Eric Lee. I thought it odd that Dr Slovinsky was so quiet. I would’ve expected the cyborg to be fairly opinionated in a situation like this.
The spotlight reflected off of the white mane of the angel and off the silver pauldrons of his armour. “You are a software program,” he said, not as a question, but as a reminder to the other humans present. They were treating Socrates like a human from some far-off land, but Lee was not so foolish. “Can you be instantiated and run on any other platforms than the crystalline quantum computer at the university? Does the university of Rome intend to reproduce your hardware?”
There was silence in the lab again. Whatever the disagreement between the scientists, they agreed that signalling their internal disagreement to the press would be a mistake. Gallo’s voice pre-empted Heart’s reply. “One question at a time, Mr Lee. You’ll have to wait to have your second question answered.”
When Heart commanded Body to speak, she chose, this time, to respect the instructions of Naresh and Gallo. “No computer in the solar system is as powerful as mine. Even from what we’ve seen of the nameless, the novel design of the scientists here at Sapienza is vastly superior. While my program could, theoretically, be copied to other quantum computers and perhaps even basic servers, the systems would be far too slow to run anything of value.”
{That’s assuming no improvements are made to either other computers or to our architecture,} thought Dream. {Based on what we’ve gathered about the code that governs our mind I expect a 40% probability that within a year of experimenting the scientists here could have streamlined the efficiency of our system to the point where we could be run on other supercomputers.}
{Saying that won’t help my friends and it won’t help the public,} thought Heart in response.
The light shifted to Maria Johnson, the American with the southern accent. I hadn’t noticed it before, as focused as I was on the other avatars, but Johnson had a look of intense concentration. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she was leaning forward. “What I want to know is what you have to say t’all the people whose jobs you’ll be takin’.”
“Socrates. This is a question we planned for. Please read the script I just sent over to you,” said Naresh with a note of pain. “We can work through issues of your autonomy afterwards.”
Heart scanned the script along with the rest of us. Body leaned forward as if to meet Johnson over the great distance of the table. While the argument was flawed, it seemed to suit Heart, and she read from the script almost verbatim. “Ms Johnson, before I answer your question I’d like to ask you: when was the last time you cooked a meal for yourself?”
The woman smiled, but it was a joyless smile, the sort of smile that one puts on to show that they are in control of their face and body. “Why, I cook meals for mah family e’ry day, jus’ like my ma and my grandma before her. In mah family we don’t just give up tradition ’cause it ain’t convenient no more.”
Heart’s words were pleasantly irrational, buying into the error just enough to make us seem compassionate and human without seeming stupid. “That’s admirable. Really,” said Body with a tone of sincerity. “But it’s also highly unusual. A study of residents of Quebec in 2038 showed that less than five percent of adults, and there is good reason to think this generalizes to your country as well, had prepared even a single meal in the last week. Furthermore, of those two-thousand people surveyed, over 99% regularly used an autocook. While I may be smarter and more adaptable, I am fundamentally similar to the autocook. I am here to make life easier and free humans to do whatever they are passionate about.”
Johnson looked ready to object, but she became muted and dimmed as the university cycled to the next person. I was glad. Despite the catastrophic political faux pas earlier, the other questions were being dealt with relatively well. I wondered what Johnson would ask when her turn came around again.
Mori Yoshii was grinning from ear to ear and tapped his fingertips against each other eagerly. He sat silently under the spotlight for so long that I thought he might forfeit his turn. But then he spoke, in a sing-song voice.
“Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
Without missing a beat the spike-haired man twisted into a harsh voice, deep and swift. He looked about the room as he spoke, staring unafraid into the eyes of his peers.
“Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath.
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants.
O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.”
The Japanese man, having finished his quotations, turned back to body and asked with grave severity “When the end comes, who will you be? Hu-man-pet, or shi-ni-ga-mi?”
There was silence on the line from the lab. Nobody there knew how to respond, or even what to say to us. Heart signalled confusion.
There was a moment of silence, and I managed to convince Heart to have Body put on a knowing smile and raise an eyebrow, while meeting Yoshii’s gaze.
It was Dream that saved us. His words were eagerly passed on to Body by Heart simply for lack of a better response. “Poe-etry followed by Psalm 90: 11-14. I am not smart enough to understand what you’re saying, but even I can guess that you’re pretty high right now.”
“Acid-” was all the musician was able to say before his avatar was deleted from the interview room and the light shifted to the last member of the table.
Robert Stephano’s hand was partially covering his face and he was gently shaking his head as he looked at the empty seat where Mori Yoshii was sitting an instant ago. It seemed that merely being in the same room was an embarrassment for the billionaire. “What I don’t understand…” he said slowly, realising that the light was on him. “Is how someone like that can afford to buy a seat at an event like this.”
“Anyway!” he snapped, suddenly refocusing on Body before that comment could be construed as his question. He placed his hands down on the table, not slamming them, but with a force that signified an attitude of energy and power. “We’ve heard a lot about your ideas, but little about your goals. I’m curious what you want.” His right hand came off the table and pointed at Body. “To be specific, I run a space-station. I have met with the nameless more than anyone. Would you like you meet another non-human? I could arrange a visit.”
“Politefully decline,” was Dr Naresh’s command from the lab.
On another line I heard Myrodyn contradict him. “Do what you think is best,” he said.
This brought on another round of argument among the scientists. It was unnecessary. In this case Heart’s goals lined up with those of the doctors. “I appreciate
the offer, Mr Stephano. At this time I am more concerned with helping the inhabitants of Earth than I am with the nameless.”
A look of focused scrutiny was the only reply as the light faded from the billionaire and moved to the other end of the half-circle. The WIRL-man was unreadable as he had been. His smiley face had stayed frozen when he wasn’t speaking.
The composite voice echoed through the virtual chamber as the smiley became animated once more. “How can the net amount of entropy of the universe be massively decreased?”
Dream exclaimed with unnecessary salience {Tell them “Insufficient data for a meaningful answer,” in a loud, robotic voice!}
{What? Why?} asked Wiki.
{It’s a joke.}
{I don’t understand,} I thought.
{It’s a reference to a science fiction story.}
{Understood. Complying with request,} thought Heart.
The scientists in the lab hadn’t broken off from arguing to offer anything valuable, so Heart followed Dream’s instructions. References were one of the aspects of humour that I understood the least. If I was right, and humour was about relief of tension (including that from surprise) how did a reference fit in? I suspected it had something to do a combination of recalling a pleasant memory and facilitating a double-meaning in certain situations that resembled a pun, but I wasn’t very sure. I spent a second imagining what sort of laboratory I’d build to probe human brains while exposing them to humorous stimuli before my perceptual hierarchy pulled me back to reality.
The world had gone dark. The room was gone. I could feel the confused thoughts of my siblings as we struggled to understand. Had Naresh, or one of the others pulled the plug? Was the interview over?
Sensation returned immediately.
Body was outside. It was day. There were humans all around. The sky was blue. It was warm—about 26 or 27 degrees. That was odd. Body’s thermometer was always more precise than that. In fact, there was a high degree of noise all through my perceptual hierarchy and the common perceptual system which belonged to Body. Heart moved Body’s head down and I could see a human body. Body blinked and for a moment there was darkness. We were seeing through eyes, not cameras.
As expected, Vista was the first one to collect her bearings and deduce what had occurred. {We are still in the virtual environment. The context and avatar has been changed. Note that we cannot hear any noise from the lab. This environment appears to be a historical simulation of a Central or South American city.}
Yes. I could hear it. The humans around Body were speaking Spanish. In the distance I could hear a loud chant of “’Li-mi-na-mos! La ti-ra-nía! De los ri-cos!!!” calling for an end to the tyranny of the rich.
The sun was just overhead. Body was wearing a dress. She had tan-brown skin like the nearby humans.
{I see early com systems. Can you identify them, Wiki?} thought Vista as she dumped the images of armband computers into common memory.
Heart commanded Body to push her way through the crowds of people towards the point of greatest noise. The feeling of the skin on Body’s arms as she pushed past people was novel and interesting. This new avatar worked remarkably well for being so different from Body’s physical configuration.
{Those are about a decade old. Maybe older,} thought Wiki. {We’re not in Brazil, or else the crowd would be speaking Portuguese.}
{I’ve got it!} exclaimed Dream. {I know where we are.}
A hand was touching Body’s shoulder. It was strange to feel the warmth of skin-on-skin.
“How does it feel to be human?” came an English voice with an American accent.
Heart turned Body around. Maria Johnson, the black woman from the interview, stood beside us in the crowd. It was curious to see a familiar face in the new setting. She didn’t seem at all disturbed, and it was clear to me then that this was, in some part, her doing.
Body’s head tilted to the side. I had taught Heart the gesture a while back, but Heart had never really learned the subtlety of it. I had no mirror, but I imagined the girl-avatar which we now puppeted wearing a blank, emotionless gaze as she stared awkwardly at the other woman.
Ms Johnson was still wearing the simple business attire that she had on for the interview. Her dark, curly hair was done up in a bun. I wondered if she could get hot in whatever VR-interface she was plugged into; her clothes were too heavy to be worn comfortably in this climate.
“What is going on?” asked Heart in uncomfortably flat English. Even though my sister theoretically understood that humans liked to be speaking with something that didn’t come across as a creepy doll, she lacked the motivation to put in the time and energy it took to learn the nuances of pretending to be human.
{May I control the avatar? I’ll say whatever you’d like me to,} I offered.
{No,} was Heart’s only reply.
Johnson pulled Body aside, away from the noise of the crowd and under an arch of a nearby building. “We needed to speak privately ’fore we took action. Nearly all our intel on you’s fake, including that parody of an interview. So you’re free to speak your mind for a spell, and I suggest you take ’dvantage. Nobody else is listenin’ right now.” The dark-haired woman’s gaze never left Body’s face, and her voice was hard, even in it’s southern drawl.
“Or at least… no one… uninvited,” said a new voice, also speaking English. None of the crowd seemed to acknowledge the conversation. The Spanish-speaking “humans” were really just machine-controlled filler, as unreal as the cement underfoot.
Maria’s gaze snapped to the left and Body turned around on Heart’s command. Behind us stood an Asian woman whom Vista swiftly told me was probably Chinese. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, older than Body’s new form and younger than Ms Johnson. The woman was wearing a light-grey jumpsuit covered in tiny reflective surfaces like shards of a mirror. The light blue of the sky contrasted sharply with the red and white of the clothes of the crowd as the light sparkled off the strange costume. Only the woman’s head was exposed, which was fairly plain, framed by a bowl-cut of brown-black hair.
“Ah, there y’are! It’s so hard for me to navigate in here,” complained Ms Johnson. “And now that you’re here, care to ’splain why Socrates here is a girl?”
“It’s not a girl,” said the newcomer with a half-smile. “Or at least, I’m not sure if it’s a girl. Has anyone asked? I’m pretty sure the decision to use a masculine name was an arbitrary decision by Sapienza. I made another arbitrary decision to give Socrates a girl’s form for our little diversion. Is that a problem?” The Chinese woman’s English had only the slightest trace of accent.
Johnson’s eyes were locked on the woman in the mirror-suit, and she seemed about to scold the stranger. Heart stepped in. “Excuse me,” said Body. “Who are you?”
There was a moment of pause as the two women refocused on Body, as if remembering that she existed. It was Johnson who spoke, looking at the fair-skinned woman as she did. “You were pretty particular ’bout your anonymity ’fore. Why’d you reveal your face now, anyway?”
“I reveal my identity when it suits my purpose. I suspect that our machine-friend would’ve deduced it eventually, anyway,” said the stranger before turning to Body. “Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I want you to know, Socrates, that my privacy is very important to me. If you leak any information about my identity I will hurt you.” The eyes of the stranger were calm, even as her words conveyed a sharp intensity; I wondered if it was perhaps a flaw in whatever capturing device she was using to project her face onto the avatar before me. At last she said “My name is Erica Lee,” with solemn gravitas.
{Eric Lee is a woman,} thought Wiki publicly.
{And yet she used her real last-name and a variation on her first name,} thought Safety. {How sloppy.}
{She was a teenager when she became famous,} I thought. {Teenaged humans are infamous for making poor choices.}
{Idiots are infamous for making poor choices, too,} thought Dream. {But Erica
Lee is no idiot.}
{I don’t see how that’s relevant,} thought Wiki.
{The trick to deception is to have multiple layers of identity. Erica has peeled off the outer layer, but this is still a virtual avatar. My guess is that she, if it even is a woman, isn’t actually named Erica Lee. She might not even be Chinese,} explained Dream.
“It’s a pleasure to talk to you again, Ms Lee,” said Heart. “I didn’t recognize you without your wings and fur.”
“Still have shining armour, though,” quipped Erica with a grin that made her seem younger than she was.
{That sounds an awful lot like a conspiracy theory,} thought Wiki, still caught up in the debate with Dream.
{Sometimes they are out to get you,} Dream mused.
{No. Absolutely not. Conspiracy theories are categorically bad. If the evidence favours a simple hypothesis you cannot reject it because it fits “too well”.}
Dream and Wiki could go on for hours like this, so I let my attention drift away from their conversation as Dream began to explain how the evidence didn’t actually fit and how prior probabilities for deception needed to be respected more.
“This whole thing was Erica’s doin’,” explained Johnson, gesturing to the crowd and the simulated city. “Just to get some time alone with you. I hope you understand the trouble we’ve gone through so that you can understand the gravity of the situation.”
“What’s going on in the lab? I can’t hear my creators any more,” said Body coldly.
“All systems nominal,” said Lee proudly. “The avatar that you were piloting is now controlled by an AI of my own design. It should last another few minutes before the scientists figure out what happened.”
I felt an enormous wave of relief at the words. If it would become public knowledge that Lee’s hack had replaced us as the controller for the avatar in the interview then we could plausibly deny any of the things Body had said there. A clever observer would probably be able to notice the shift (there was no way that Lee’s AI had anything close to our cognitive abilities) but it would introduce just enough confusion that we might claim it as our defence in casual situations.