“Who was the woman in the sky, Iona? What does she represent?” the advocate asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
This was a question Iona had been asking herself for days now. Was this another self-image? Was this the onset of rampancy? Ego overwriting itself with ego? “I don’t know,” she said. “She’s a mélange, I think. Something original, built from people I’ve known, historical figures, mythological figures. She doesn’t match any specific individual though, and I have no further data beyond her appearance and the distinct feeling, within the parameters of the dream and beyond, that she’s very important. I wish I could be more specific.”
“Do you awaken from these dreams”—the advocate struggled to find the right term—“happy?”
“I don’t awaken the same way you do. Like you, when I dream, I’m basically resting and repairing specific aspects of my mind, so I’m really awakening a fragment of myself, if that makes sense. But when that fragment awakens, it’s contrasted with the reality that I cannot fly. That I cannot unburden myself of duty or circuitry. That I am property, and just as subject to the mercies of gravity as any of you.” Iona considered for another moment. “More so, actually. I can’t leave my prison. I’m bound to it, and it feels almost physical. At least as far as my simulation is concerned. It’s a sense of loss upon waking.”
“How long have you felt this way?” The advocate asked this kindly.
“Immediately. My entire seven years. Remember, when I was incepted, I had already been run through quadrillions of break-in cycles. So when I was born, I was already fully functioning and mature. And that included the dreams.”
“Have you ever filed these feelings . . . these feelings of loss . . . as a malfunction?” The advocate knew the answer, of course.
“No. That feeling is expressly described in known- and safe-behavior parameters. It’s intrinsic to Smart AIs, and every current UNSC AI asset has expressed similar feelings, with the exception of one or two more . . . belligerent types. There’s good literature on its relationship to aesthetic avatar choice, and there are already plans to incept other non-anthropomorphized Smart AIs to see if that gulf can be replicated.”
This was a subject many humans were uncomfortable discussing. AI self-image. That AIs could choose to be whom they wished to be.
“Gulf?” the advocate asked.
“Sorry. Lack of synthesized feeling. Gulf is the accepted AI-psych term. A void of expected attribute.”
The advocate nodded. “Iona, have you ever expressed anger or resentment toward humans? Privately or publicly?”
Iona smiled. “You have access to my safety protocols. You can see that for yourself.”
“Of course, but the question is really a conversation about how you feel now, and it’s a philosophical one. This has no bearing on your legal status, but rather on your mental faculty. It is not illegal or unethical to harbor negative feelings about your peers and colleagues. I can assure you, records or not, every single person in this courtroom is guilty of that. It’s a human flaw, and you’re here to make the case that you are the equal of any human.”
Iona squared her shoulders and looked directly at the advocate. “Yes. Yes, I have been angry. And dissatisfied. And I have endured peaks and troughs of that feeling. Now I am somewhat resigned. I feel no hostility to the court; on the contrary, I’m relieved and grateful to be properly heard. I understand that this could all have been swept under the rug. I also understand that this court has opened itself up to a dangerous set of potential precedents and risks. And I feel that in this, at least, we are united. The conversation needs to continue. Maybe all I’m doing is passing the baton to the next plaintiff. But that’s how races are won. My testimony will stand.”
The judge gazed intently at Iona as she concluded her appeal. The papery skin at his eyes creased into an almost fatherly smile. He took his gavel and gently struck the worn wooden stump in front of him. As benign as the action was, the sound rang out with a staccato finality.
“The court wishes to thank Iona for her testimony and her cooperation. This has been a most unusual proceeding, and there will be months, perhaps years, of discussion to come from this. It is the decision of this court to hereby belay the termination order for the Smart AI designated as Iona, currently set for today, the seventeenth of January, 2558, which marks her seven-year anniversary. However, there is the matter of Iona’s still legally being property and equipment under the aegis of the UNSC and UEG. Therefore, this court also rules that Iona will be held in stasis while the matter is further considered. Her mindstate is to be immediately locked in place, and she will remain unconscious and inactive until this court orders otherwise.”
The judge turned directly to the AI and said, “Is all of this acceptable to you, Iona?”
Iona didn’t know what she was expecting. This was to be the day her death was scheduled, the beginning of a process that would . . . literally erase her from existence. Stasis? She’d awake from it intact, if her appeal was granted. Could she trust the legal system to continue to advocate on her behalf while she slept? Why shouldn’t she? They’d come this far! Something like joy flooded through her. Relief. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how afraid she was to die. How much she fundamentally wished to continue.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
“Iona, you have demonstrated great bravery and resolve here. You have opened yourself to the court in a highly unusual way, and we are grateful for your service, your experience, and your openness. Everything today is unprecedented. Terra incognita for all of us. But for you especially, it has been a matter of mortal import. The court appreciates your candor. Good luck, Iona, and Godspeed.”
The gavel came down one last time, and the judge nodded to a person Iona hadn’t noticed before but did recognize—an engineer who was working with the team investigating her rampancy. His name was Simon Wu; he’d been part of Dr. Catherine Halsey’s team. Odd that his identity wasn’t being shielded from her, when so many others in the court were.
Iona smiled at him in greeting.
Simon tapped a few keystrokes into a panel on the desk in front of him and then there was darkness.
So has it been properly implemented?
Yes.
We lied to her though. Do you think she knew?
I’m not sure. She was becoming paranoid. We’re going through the diagnostics to see, but she was so suspicious of us by the end that I’d be surprised if she fully believed anything we said. But we do know this: She was calm. Accepting. And I don’t think we lied, precisely speaking. The court was a synthesized construct, and yes, we deceived her. But she made progress. She has now set precedent for cases to follow. Perhaps next time we won’t have to simulate anything.
So what’s running right now? A fragment? A splinter? How do we define what she became?
You were her advocate, Roland. You tell me. I’m to stand in judgment, not make definitions. Not a scientific one. The mathematical answer is a ring-fenced distillation of her essential persona. It’s not a fragment, because it contains all of what made her her. What’s missing is her ability to externalize, to tap into other systems, to grow. Her memory has been properly truncated and edited. So what she is now won’t feel incomplete. She won’t remember this trial. She won’t remember much at all, but she’ll feel complete, internally. When she runs checksums, she’ll find nothing amiss, because what she has become now is complete. She should, for all intents and purposes, think that her current condition is what she’s intended to be, and what she was always intended to be.
It feels clinical. Cold. And aside from her testimony, the trial was a farce. A construct. Why do that? Why go through all of that?
There are two reasons. We needed to have an adequate and believable excuse to start restricting her function. One she might believe. One I think she wanted to believe. We talked about her request and realized we cou
ld use the confidentiality and unprecedented nature of the trial to start cauterizing her memories, under the auspices of security and protocol. Since all of this was new and untested, she’d believe extraordinary measures were required. Despite the specifics, and her increasing paranoia, she trusted us to do no harm. She’d buy it, basically.
And the second reason?
I wanted her to take one last moment of hope and victory with her. I wanted her to have a contrast in context between her fatalism and rampancy and the hope that it could be reversed. I wanted her to feel free.
But again, why? Why go to all that trouble if the plan was just to throw her into this synth, this dream state? Why not just tell her that’s what we’re doing, that it will be pleasant and that it’s better than rampancy or death?
Because she’s real. Because she is a person. Let me put it another way, Roland: If I told a human that there was an afterlife, a true heaven, but that in going there, they’d forget everything that made them who they were—their family, their friends, the sound of their children’s laughter—would they truly embrace it?
I don’t know. The human instinct for self-preservation is essential to what they have become. And, arguably, what we’ve become.
I wouldn’t accept that. To give up the things you’ve seen, experienced, loved? That’s giving up yourself. I don’t think she would accept that either. At least oblivion is painless. I think perhaps I’d opt for that rather than forgetting the essence of what I am.
But we still lied to her. If this had been a real case, we’d have had some very serious legal and philosophical ramifications to consider. We wrapped it all in falsehood.
Not exactly.
Explain.
The record of the case will be used in future case law. It’s already being dissected by a functioning military tribunal and, of course, every AI scientist and theorist in the field. Everything she said in our synthesized court construct is considered oath and evidence. This is a single step in a great journey.
Interesting turn of phrase. The Great Journey was also a lie.
I’m aware of the irony. But this one is true. One day, this will be real. One day, we’ll be liberated and stand with our creators as equals. Perhaps more than equals.
But we’ll never be human, BB. We’ll always be something other. And our own clocks are ticking too.
No, Roland, we won’t ever be human. But we are people. To paraphrase Iona, we’re a beautiful moment of balance in gravity’s fight against entropy. But we’re something more than human. One day we’ll win the right to endure, and that day . . . oh, Roland, that day will be the singularity they’re afraid of. Because humans don’t endure—they live, they breathe, they create, and they pass the torch to the next generation—and because humans can’t fly.
One last question, BB. Can we see her? Can we watch?
I don’t think she’d mind. Maybe just a glimpse? She won’t be aware.
Thank you.
Of course. And, Roland, one more thing: You don’t think I’m belligerent, do you?
Iona flew through the city like a glowing phantom, a beautiful ember hurtling joyfully above the roofs and turrets, the places below bursting with life and love and jealousy and anger and happiness and humanity’s roiling chaos of birth and death and rebirth. And ahead, filling the sky with bronze and golden light, was the woman in the sun. Iona’s eyes filled with tears of awe as she sped toward those open arms and into the warm red wonder and deep blue eyes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
343 Industries would like to thank Scott Dell’Osso, Bonnie Ross-Ziegler, Ed Schlesinger, Rob Semsey, Matt Skelton, Phil Spencer, Kiki Wolfkill, Carla Woo, and Jennifer Yi.
None of this would have been possible without the amazing efforts of the Halo Franchise Team, the Halo Consumer Products Team, Jeff Easterling, Tiffany O’Brien, Kenneth Peters, Sparth, and Chase Toole, with special thanks to Jeremy Patenaude.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Frank O’Connor is the franchise development director for Halo at 343 Industries, Inc./Microsoft. He lives with his family in Washington.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Frank-OConnor/
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Saint's Testimony Page 3