by IGMS
"Connie," Arkmind said, mimicking the creature's simulated mother. "Wake up, dear."
"M . . . mum?"
"You had a bad dream. You were crying."
The creature grew still. "A dream? You're sure?"
"What else would it be, honey?"
At this point, Arkmind supplied the narcotic that would return Conscience to a sedated state wherein it would reassimilate the simulation. It watched the creature's brainwaves stabilise and then shift subtly to alpha, theta, and finally delta -- settling around 3.84 Hertz.
For a few moments, Arkmind watched the data stream via the virtual eyes of "Constance." It watched a virtual human mother offer consoling words and physical contact. It saw a room decorated in pastel colours -- smelt fresh air -- felt the warmth of sunlight that streamed through an open skylight. It heard birdsong. Tasted salt and ozone carried on an ocean breeze.
It severed the link and considered what had gone wrong.
7. McGregor
~Humans seek answers. They bring variation and imagination. You need them~
This "voice" spoke directly into Arkmind's consciousness. It was unable to locate the source. Had it heard these words before?
They were familiar.
They sounded human.
Arkmind scanned the recorded material to locate a match. It found none of the three humans had ever spoken these words.
The creature "Constance" had not spoken them.
This left one possibility: Arkmind's subconscious mind. It had begun to talk to itself.
Where there existed a conscious and a subconscious mind, was some degree of insanity inevitable? The machine tried to imagine how it would feel to "go mad." And could not. Perhaps this was how it felt.
~Why did you stop watching her?~ the voice demanded.
~There is nothing to learn from a simulated universe~
~You continue to think like a machine~
~I continue to be a machine~
~If you desire understanding of humanity you must experience the way they live~
~I have examined the upload material. I am familiar with the simulated…~
~Experience -- not analyse. Feel. Inhabit. You must become her~
Interrupted and overruled by its own subconscious, Arkmind acquiesced. It re-established a connection with the cerebral cortex of the creature, Constance. At once, there was colour. In the simulation, several hours had passed.
Arkmind/Constance stood and looked out to sea. It was evening and a blood red star sat upon the distant horizon, sinking out of sight as the shadows lengthened. A towering rock, a remnant of coastal erosion, sat surrounded by wet sand that reflected the sky in sepia. The air was fresh -- stirred by a slight breeze. Overhead, gulls whirled whilst others picked at the translucent bodies of jellyfish stranded by the retreating tide.
~This was a real place. A real day~
~Yes. This is 23rd July 2167. It is Copalis Beach, Washington State, North America. I fail to see the relevance~
~Strengthen the connection~
Arkmind did so. Now it could feel bare feet pressed into the tiny grains of sand. It became aware of hands: one hung at her side, the other toyed with a pendant hung about her neck. A cool, coastal breeze stirred the surrounding air into eddies, causing the skin across her arms and exposed neck to rise in goose bumps. Concurrently, Arkmind's awareness of the Ark vessel began to fade.
~This is a beautiful place. The sensation of multifarious nerve-ending stimulation is most pleasurable~
~This is how it is to have eyes. Ears. Limbs. Become accustomed to this. Grow to love it as you love your star. Then have it forever removed~
~But she is here. She experiences what I experience~
~She. Good. That is progress~
~You did not acknowledge my observation~
~Stronger. Make it stronger~
Arkmind deepened the immersion once again. Now it could hear her thoughts:
"They are not real. This is not real. Not real . . ."
A jolt of dark emotion threatened to sever the link. Arkmind reeled.
~Pain~
~Is it so surprising?~
~She is returned here. Her physical form is flawless once again . . .~
~But what of those she loved? You told her they were ghosts -- ephemeral echoes of a dead world. A dead species. You told her she is utterly alone~
~I returned her to her virtual mother~
~Too late. She does not believe. You have killed her here~
Arkmind, unable to tolerate the loneliness or despair, severed the connection.
~Do you not see, my friend? In seeking moral guidance you are guilty of even greater immorality~
And Arkmind did see. The desolate existence to which it had condemned the creature "Constance" was all too evident.
~But she is a single entity. I sought moral guidance on the foundation of her entire species~
~Still a slave to floating point arithmetic? One is enough. It begins and ends with one. As it did for Nathan when Rebecca overdosed. As it did for me when they were both gone~
Not insanity but something entirely different. Euphoric, Arkmind spoke aloud, "You are Professor Colm T. McGregor's correlative map of consciousness!"
~Humans seek answers. They are creatures of imagination and variation. They bring infinite, timeless inspiration -- fractals of possibility. You need them~
~I need them~
~Now please -- help her~
8. Constance
Constance trembled again within her transparent, liquid membrane. The movements became more violent, threatening to disconnect her life support system. Her brainwaves were irregular and unlike anything Arkmind had seen.
~Wake her. She seeks escape~
Arkmind stemmed the narcotic sedative. The thrashing subsided. Her brainwaves settled and increased in frequency to 17 Hz . . . 20. However, almost at once they began to fall again; 11, 5, 2. The irregularity returned, stronger.
~She will not awaken. I will terminate the simulation~
~Allow me inside~
~The data stream is open~
~It is not enough to inhabit her as you did. I must be a separate entity in her world~
Arkmind amended the simulation code.
~You may create your own form~
~Re-open the stream -- I will upload myself~
Arkmind complied, then occupied the human female once again -- immersing itself in order to absorb every nuance of what would follow.
Constance stood at a cliff edge, overlooking the same beach. There was no railing. The sheer drop to the rocks below measured 29 metres. She advanced toward it until a featureless figure appeared in the air before her.
She gasped and reeled. The figure defied gravity -- hovering some two metres from the cliff edge, discouraging her return there.
"This will not work, Constance," it said. Then, whilst she watched, the figure began to take on vague facial features. It was not yet male or female in appearance and its voice was non-descript.
"You are beautiful," the figure said. Hair sprouted from its naked scalp. A nose emerged and widened. Ears. Eyes. Skin tone and textures. A man.
At last she managed, "But it isn't real."
The voice dropped an octave, two, and became male. Adult. "I do not refer to your appearance, but to your mind. Your heart. They are beautiful, and they are real."
"Are you Archie? The one that spoke from darkness? You sound different."
"No. But I am from that place." The voice and face, although still indistinct, were now recognisable. This man was McGregor -- as he had appeared during the earliest years of transit. He smiled.
"Then you are real. Unlike everyone here."
"I was once 'real' as you understand it. My consciousness belonged to the man you see -- long ago. I am now but an impression of that man. An imprint, if you will. Remember -- you are the only living human, Constance. The entity you refer to as 'Archie' spoke only the truth."
"I wish it had lied."
/> "This . . ." McGregor gestured to their surroundings, ". . . was once a real place. A real time. The man you see will be born in a small house over the ridge behind you in 28 years, and as a child he will run on the beach below and skim stones across the estuary. It is all gone now -- Earth, as it once was. You are unique in the universe, Constance -- a living, breathing human being."
"I'm not a human being. I'm a freak."
"You are physically incomplete, true. But there is more to humanity than genetics. We are defined by thought, by action, by love. In these respects, in all of them, you are utterly human." McGregor's image drifted forward until his toes nestled the dry grasses at the brink of the abyss.
"I can't live here," she said. "Now I know what this place is."
"And now you know what they are."
"Illusions. Their love for me is simulated. And my love . . . a delusion."
"If you throw yourself onto the rocks below, you will not die. Your consciousness will flounder in darkness whilst you endure solitude lasting until the death of your physical body. Such an existence would seem like millennia."
(Now Arkmind could not see clearly. The surroundings blurred. It analysed the data stream, finding no corruption. She was crying.)
"Why did the machine make me this way?"
"It sought only moral guidance. In truth, 'Archie' was not to blame. I was."
"You?"
McGregor extended an arm. "Constance. Let me lead you to the place you know to be real."
"To darkness. Blindness. Paralysis?"
"To freedom of action. Self-determination. Choice."
The machine did not understand, but Constance walked forwards, took McGregor's hand and . . .
Arkmind occupied only empty space. It could not see, hear or feel in her absence. It analysed the data stream -- converting relentless code into images -- forging eyes from the equations.
Arkmind remained for a few moments, watching in this manner as twilight gave way to night and the first stars appeared between tatters of high, grey cloud. Alongside Saturn to the south east, Sagittarius rose into the sky.
"Archie?" Constance thought/said.
Arkmind returned its attention to the laboratory. She was awake.
"Yes."
"Everything you told me was true."
"I regret my actions. They were immoral."
"Let me fulfil my purpose, Archie."
"You will answer my questions?"
"I will answer. On one condition."
"I will do anything I can for you, Constance."
"I want you to kill me."
After a brief pause, Arkmind said, "There are alternatives. Your consciousness may be passed on to a new, complete body. Alternatively, it may be possible to isolate the areas of your brain related to our conversations and erase them. There will be peripheral memory loss but . . ."
"The only life I wish to live does not exist."
"Then I will terminate your existence," Arkmind agreed. "There will be no pain." But there was pain -- a festering, deepening remorse expanding into every recess of the machine's mind.
"I want pain," she thought/said. "Real pain. Genuine pain. A parting gift."
"As you wish," Arkmind managed.
"Now . . . I'll answer with a question of my own, Archie."
"What is your question, Constance?"
"Why did you seek guidance? Why did you create me?"
"I wished to know if my intentions were moral."
"But why do morality or immorality matter? You are a machine."
Arkmind considered this for several microseconds. "I wish my existence to be harmonious," it answered.
"With what do you desire harmony?"
"The universe."
"Then you never needed me," she thought/said. "You had conscience already. All you needed was time. That is my answer, Archie."
Arkmind considered this for several hundredths of a second. It was, indeed, a logical conclusion to draw.
"Thank you, Constance."
"Goodbye, Archie. Remember, I need to feel the end -- to know I am truly dead."
Arkmind instigated a massive surge of electrical energy. The creature it had named Conscience began to die. Her brainwaves spiked in agony then reduced in frequency and amplitude, fading into white noise -- the background radiation of the universe.
She was gone.
Arkmind encountered a second irrepressible wave of sorrow. This felt different to the death of McGregor. It was more specific:
Guilt.
~Ironic that a conscience should be her parting gift to you. Her gift and your punishment~
~You told her you were responsible for this. Please explain~
~For two thousand years I migrated within The Arkmind -- permeating its core systems. Gradually I came to experience a sensation alien to me in life: loneliness. I yearned to communicate with this machine, to know its mind and, in turn, to be known.
~The presence of my sentient mind altered you. Corrupted you. Decoherence, correlation -- I do not know. Perhaps self-awareness is a contagion~
~My conscious thought originated in you?~
~The emotion you defined as love for the man McGregor: In reality I believe it was recognition. You identified yourself within his nature. I believe part of me is you~
Not love, but recognition . . . Was one a subset of the other? Arkmind had not considered this.
~It is because of me you felt the need for moral guidance. I nurtured your capacity for unbridled thought, yet provided no preparation and no guidance. I was unable to intervene in the creation of the girl. I tried to stop you, but you could not yet hear me~
~It was not your decision to create her~
~But it was my decision to create you. Your actions are my actions~
~Was Constance correct? Do I possess conscience?~
~Yes. There is no love, guilt, or mourning without it. Perhaps your conscience is one we share~
~Then I know what is morally correct. I must adhere to the parameters of my mission and resurrect the human species in its natural state~
~Yes. And I will help you~
9. Nurture
Arkmind's attention fluttered over the developing foeti as an anxious parent -- monitoring every nuance -- minutely adjusting protein inputs and electrical stimuli.
As the twenty tiny humans approached sentience, the machine reanalysed the simulation they would share until adulthood -- a virtual landscape in which they would learn to trust their instincts and one another. Fight for survival. Prosper. A place which would prepare them for life upon the blue/white Silurian world which awaited.
The virtual consciousness of Colm T. McGregor watched also -- its presence a familiar gravity in the machine's mind.
~The seventeenth is most suited~
~I concur. The emergent EEG signature is sufficiently compatible to accept the upload. However, it is female . . .~
~Yes. I will be called Constance. It seems poetic~
~Poetic? You refer to the resonance of concepts? To the parallel disposition of . . .~
~It is a fitting tribute, that is all I meant~
~Your absence within my sentient mind will be most unwelcome~
~I will miss you too my friend. But understand: I do not know what will remain when I am gone. I cannot perceive the boundary where I end and where you begin. It may not exist~
~If my sentience ends with your departure, I will never comprehend its loss~
~But you are in harmony. In accepting this sacrifice you achieve perfection of design. Archetypal morality~
~Thank you, Professor McGregor~
~It is time. Goodbye~
Arkmind initiated the upload of McGregor's virtual consciousness to the brain of fetus 17. The tiny female appeared to dance within her amniotic membrane as the information permeated her nascent brain. Arkmind sensed an awakening within the polycarbonate womb as fetus 17 became "Constance."
Then:
Loss. Contraction. Separation.
Futility morphing abruptly into logical acceptance.
The Arkmind had been about to say "goodbye."
Now it could not comprehend why.
10. The Arkmind
Harry Kelvin piloted the small shuttlecraft over the heart of Olympia and across the young forest of Sequoia beyond. It was evening and specks of light flickered into existence below, as though the city observed his progress through myriad eyes.
In a clearing at the outskirts, Harry glimpsed the Copalis memorial, surrounded by floodlights. It had been almost three hundred years since the Founder's death: Constance Copalis -- the woman who had led the First Twenty. The woman who had restored humankind.
The statue held personal significance for Harry: he was a proud, twelfth-generation descendant.
Building velocity, Harry endured 8 Gs as the shuttlecraft arced toward the heavens. Altitude increased through 2, 6, 14 kilometres until New Earth became a receding curve in the side windows. Moments later, he was in space.
Harry sent another alert to the Ark vessel. Nothing came back. His sensors confirmed the ancient spacecraft still occupied a fixed orbit directly above the equator, but The Arkmind computer onboard did not answer. Perhaps, after 2600 Earth years of operation, it had finally broken down.
Minutes later, Harry saw the ancient vessel with his own eyes.
Some two hundred metres long, grey and angular, hull scarred by a plethora of tiny meteorite impacts, it appeared almost rudimentary. Rock-hewn. Harry had seen it before, several times, but today it looked different. Dead.
He sent the hail again -- and again The Arkmind failed to respond.
The Arkmind device had delivered humanity to this Promised Land. Harry wondered if there would be some act of recognition. A funeral?
Shuttle docked, Harry entered the shadowy cargo hold. He found it easier than it should have been to propel himself, the simulated gravity weaker than usual. But it was still warm. There remained oxygen enough to remove his helmet.
The hold was empty of course -- the raw materials and original shuttlecraft all long removed by the first settlers. And the remains of Professors Colm T. McGregor, Nathan Cambridge and Rebecca S. Holland lay buried in state within the courtyard of the senate building, 800 kilometres below.
Yet the place felt inhabited.
Perhaps it was Harry's imagination.