Alicization Lasting

by Reki Kawahara

  Asuna looked at me and asked, “How long do you think we’ll be living in here?”

  I was silent for a good long while, then told her the truth. “A minimum of two hundred years, apparently.”

  “Ah,” Asuna murmured. She gave me a smile that hadn’t changed for as long as I’d known her. “Even a millennium with you wouldn’t feel too long…C’mon, Kirito. Let’s go.”

  “…Yeah. Let’s go, Asuna. We’ve got so much to do. This world is still just a newborn.”

  Then we joined hands, spread our wings, and took the first step into the infinite blue.

  EPILOGUE

  AUGUST 2026 AD

  1

  At the bottom of the sea, where no light could reach, a shadow slowly crawled along.

  It looked like a large, flat crab. But it had only six legs, a string extended from its stomach like a spider, and its form was covered in a pressure-resistant metal shell painted gray.

  The metal crab was a deep-sea maintenance robot designed to administer to the transpacific optical cable that connected Japan and America known as FASTER.

  Since being placed at its sea-floor protective terminal three years ago, the crab had slept without once being called into duty. Until today, when at last it received a wake-up signal, and it stretched grease-crusted joints and left the safety of its home.

  The crab had no way of knowing or understanding, however, that the order was not coming from the company that owned it. Following the unofficial orders from this mystery source, it headed straight north, hauling the FASTER repair cable behind it.

  A faint, repeating artificial sound was calling the crab. Once a minute, it stopped, ascertaining the location of the sonar signal, then resumed forward progress.

  How long did it repeat this process?

  At last, the crab determined that it had reached the indicated location. It turned on the light equipped to the front of its body.

  The ring of light it produced captured the sight of a silver humanoid machine resting on the sea floor.

  A number of brutal holes were opened in its simple aluminum-alloy exterior. Exposed cables were burned and severed here and there, and its left arm was practically ripped loose. The head was even half-crushed, apparently from the water pressure.

  But in its right hand, lifted the tiniest bit, was a fiber-optic cable of the same deep-sea line that the crab was pulling from its stomach. The cable stretched straight upward, vanishing into deep darkness, and what it went to was unseen.

  The crab stared for a while at the remains of the robot, one of its own kind.

  But of course, it did not feel any emotion or fear toward this object. It just followed its orders, extending a manipulation limb to grab the end of the cable held in the humanoid robot’s hand. With its other manipulator, it pulled out the endless cable stored around the reel in its own stomach area.

  Then the crab pushed the connector ends of the cables together.

  That was the end of its orders.

  It did not spare a single thought for where the cable the humanoid robot held was going. The metal crab just turned around, six legs working in alternation, and headed back to its sea-floor terminal for another long period of hibernation.

  Leaving behind it the remains of an utterly destroyed humanoid robot.

  The heavily insulated optical cable remained firmly clutched in its metal hand.

  2

  Two PM, Saturday, August 1st, 2026.

  A typhoon had passed over the Kanto region the previous night, and blue skies abruptly returned when the morning came. At Roppongi Hills Arena in Minato Ward, media companies of all kinds from within and outside of Japan had gathered, waiting for their now-delayed payoff.

  TV variety shows and online live streams were already covering the press conference. Reporters and commentators breathlessly spoke over the murmuring of the crowd.

  The talking heads’ tone was skeptical. “You see, no matter how close you get to the real thing, a fake can never be real. It’s like alchemy in the Middle Ages. No matter how you burn or boil iron and steel, you can never turn it into gold!”

  “But, sir, according to their press release for this conference, they’ve succeeded at re-creating the structure of the human brain itself…”

  “And I’m telling you that what they’re saying is impossible! Listen, our brains are made up of tens of billions of brain cells. Do you think that a piece of electronics, or some computer program, can re-create that kind of complexity? Do you?”

  “Pshh, listen to this guy…acting like he knows what he’s talking about before he’s seen it in action,” sneered Klein, nursing a midday gin and tonic, his tie loose around his neck.

  The coffee shop and bar known as Dicey Café, located in a back alley of Okachimachi in Taito Ward, was so packed that there almost wasn’t any standing room. They didn’t need the CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY sign out; nobody would want to squeeze in anyway.

  Sitting at the counter, across from Agil, the proprietor, were Sinon, Leafa, Lisbeth, Silica, and Klein. The four tables were packed with ALO leaders, like Sakuya, Alicia, and Eugene; the Sleeping Knights, like Siune and Jun; and former SAO players, like Thinker, Yuriel, and Sasha.

  Every person had their own beer, cocktail, or soft drink as they watched the large TV on the back wall.

  Lisbeth sighed as Klein continue to kvetch. She told him, “I don’t blame the guy. I didn’t even believe it until I saw it for myself. How could I believe that those people were artificial intelligences and that world was just a virtual creation on some server?”

  Sinon brushed the temple of her glasses and murmured, “I know. The smell of the air, the texture of the ground—in a sense, it was almost more real than real life.”

  Leafa nodded in agreement, and Silica winced. “That’s only because you had the privilege of diving with those…STLs? Those machines. We were stuck using our AmuSpheres, so to us, the environment and items were just normal polygonal models.”

  “But nobody ever believed that the Underworlders themselves were just NPCs, did we?” Agil said, the most crucial point of all.

  Just then, the sound of the newscaster’s voice on the TV rose in pitch. “Ah, it looks like the conference is about to start! We’re going to return you to the media center so you can watch it live!”

  The building went quiet. Over a dozen VRMMO players held their breath as the camera flashes went off at the conference. They were about to witness the moment that the thing they’d worked so hard to protect was revealed to the public at last.

  The first person to appear before the rows of TV cameras and photographers was a woman in her late twenties wearing a relaxed pantsuit. Her makeup was reserved, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  She came up to the podium and the dozens of microphones arrayed there, where a placard read DR. RINKO KOUJIRO, OCEANIC RESOURCE EXPLORATION & RESEARCH INSTITUTION. She squinted at the flood of light from the flashing cameras but bowed firmly to the crowd before speaking.

  “I appreciate your time in the midst of your busy schedules. Today, our institution announces the birth of what we believe is the world’s first true artificial general intelligence,” she said, getting right to the point. The crowd buzzed.

  The scientist lifted a hand to point to the other side of the stage and coolly announced, “And now I would like to introduce you…to Alice.”

  Into a maelstrom of attention both hopeful and skeptical, a figure emerged from behind a silver partition set up on the stage.

  It was a girl in a navy blazer. She had long, shining golden hair. Skin whiter than snow. Long legs and a slender build.

  On the TV, there were so many flashes going off that the image was practically blanked out. The girl didn’t even turn to the reporters, much less bow to them. She just walked forward, her back straight, looking proud. The stream of shutter sounds and the murmuring of the crowd drowned out the faint mechanical whirring that her steps produced.

  She crossed the stage smoo
thly and came to a stop next to Dr. Koujiro. It was at this point that the girl finally turned. Her blond hair gleamed as it swayed in the spotlight.

  The girl stared down at the reporters in silence. Her eyes were a brilliant crystal blue.

  Her beauty had an almost unearthly quality, not quite Western and not quite Eastern. The crowd steadily began to fall silent.

  The intuition of everyone at the conference and of the countless viewers at home said that this was not the appearance of an organic human being. It was most definitely something created by humans—a robot with a metal skeletal structure covered in silicone skin. You could go to the closest theme park or event hall to see similar feminine robots.

  But the smoothness of her walk and the perfect posture, plus something about that golden hair, shocked the audience into silence for some reason no one could articulate.

  Or perhaps it was the deep brilliance that illuminated those blue eyes. It was a sign of intelligence, something that could not reside in a simple optical lens.

  When the reporters fell completely silent, the girl’s mouth curled into a suggestion of a smile, and she performed a strange gesture. She made a soft fist with her right hand, then touched it level to her left breast. Her left hand hung down and brushed her side, as though resting atop the hilt of an invisible sword.

  Then she returned to a neutral posture, swept the hair off her shoulders and over her back, and parted her light-pink lips. A clear, clean voice with a hint of sweetness traveled over the speakers in the hall and those of countless television sets.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, people of the real world. My name is Alice. Alice Synthesis Thirty.”

  “Oh…hey, that’s our school uniform!!” shouted Silica. She looked from her own blazer to the one Alice was wearing on the screen, stunned.

  “She asked for it specifically,” Lisbeth noted, tweaking the ribbon of her own uniform. “She wanted to wear the uniform of the knight brigade that came to the aid of the Human Guardian Army, apparently. But her first choice was the same golden armor that she was used to wearing over there.”

  “Even Rath can’t make something like that happen,” Leafa said, sending chuckles through the room.

  On the screen, Alice had taken a seat just behind Dr. Koujiro’s podium. In front of her was another nameplate, reading A.L.I.C.E. 2026—ALICE SYNTHESIS THIRTY.

  “…The level of detail in her re-creation is amazing. I only spoke with her a bit in the Underworld, but I can barely tell the difference, looking at her now,” Sinon remarked.

  Dr. Koujiro cleared her throat and addressed the crowd. “Now, while this might seem a bit exceptional, I would actually like to start with a question-and-answer demonstration.”

  Hands shot up from the reporters’ seating area; they had been briefed on this already. The first man Dr. Koujiro called on was from a major newspaper.

  “Well, uh…I’d like to ask you something basic, er…Alice. How are you different from other programming-dependent robots?”

  Dr. Koujiro stepped in to answer that one. “At this conference, Alice’s physical appearance is not the primary concern. It’s her brain…or what we’re calling her brain. Her consciousness, which is stored in the photonic brain contained inside her skull, is not a program that is compiled from binary code, but in essence works the same way that human brains do. That is the absolute difference that separates her from existing robots.”

  “In that case…it would be nice to have that demonstrated for us and our viewers in an easy-to-understand way…”

  Dr. Koujiro’s eyebrows knit in annoyance. “I believe you have the Turing test results in the materials we distributed.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m referring to her head…If you could open her skull and show us this photonic brain you’re talking about.”

  The scientist looked stunned for a moment, and she would have said something rather cross if Alice had not answered for herself.

  “Of course. I don’t mind,” she said with a natural smile. “But before I do that, can you prove to me that you are not a robot?”

  “Huh…? I-I’m a human being, of course…I don’t know how to prove that.”

  “It’s simple. Just open your skull so you can show me your brain.”

  “Oh, wow…Alice is pissed!” Leafa giggled, her shoulders shaking.

  All the players at Dicey Café had already had a chance to interact with Alice in ALfheim Online, so they understood her dignified and sometimes acerbic personality.

  Naturally, because Alice needed to generate a new ALO account, her avatar’s appearance was a bit different from how she looked now. But she still had her superhuman technique with the sword, and her innate knight’s pride and honor struck fear and awe into the hearts of many players.

  On the TV, the reporter sat back down with a disgruntled look, giving the next person a chance to stand.

  “Uh, this question is for Dr. Koujiro. We’ve heard concerns from some labor unions about a side effect of advanced artificial intelligence in the industrial space leading to a rise in unemployment…”

  “Those suspicions are unfounded. Our institution has absolutely no intention of providing true AI for use in simple labor,” she said flatly.

  The reporter mumbled for a moment but regained her poise and continued, “It seems as though the financial world has its hopes fixed on this, however. The stocks of industrial-robot manufacturers shot upward on the news. Any comment about that?”

  “Unfortunately, these true AIs—or ‘artificial fluctlights,’ as we call them in the notes you’ve been provided—are not the kind of thing that is mass-produced on a short turnaround. They are born as infants, as we are, and grow into unique individuals under the care of their parents and siblings as they age from children to adults. We believe that it would be wrong to place intelligence of this kind into industrial robots to force them to perform repetitive labor.”

  The conference hall went silent. Eventually, the reporter asked, more than a little harshly, “Doctor, are you saying…you acknowledge this AI as having human rights?”

  “I’m well aware that this is not the kind of topic that can be argued to a conclusion in a day,” said Dr. Koujiro. Her voice was soft and even, but there was the firmness of resolute purpose at its core. “But we must not commit the mistakes of the past again. That much is very clear. Years ago, many of the developed countries we called the Great Powers used colonization to impose their will on undeveloped countries, selling their people as products and forcing them into labor. Even now, a hundred, two hundred years later, this history casts a long shadow on international relations. I’m sure the majority of people listening right now would take umbrage at the suggestion that we should immediately accept artificial fluctlights as human and give them full rights. But in one or two hundred years, we will live in an equal society that accepts them as ordinary. We will interact with them, even marry and start families with them. That is my personal view, but I am certain of it. Will we need to experience the same bloodshed and sorrow that came with the process the last time? Do you want human history to contain another chapter that no one wishes to remember—that we try to hide?”

  “But, Doctor!” the reporter cried, unable to help herself. “Their existence is too different from ours! How are we supposed to accept a common humanity with something that has a mechanical body without warmth of its own?!”

  “Earlier I said that Alice’s physical body is not the point,” Dr. Koujiro answered calmly. “We are different beings with bodies that work on different mechanisms. But that is only here, in this world. We already have a place where we and the artificial fluctlights can entirely accept one another as equals.”

  “What…place is this?”

  “The virtual world. A very large percentage of general-use VR spaces that we use in society today are shifting over to the system of standards supported by The Seed Package. In fact, much of the press requested that we conduct this conference today in a VR environment, but at
our institution’s insistence, we held it here in the real world. That is because we wanted you first to be aware of the differences between the artificial fluctlights and us. In virtual reality, it will not be this way. The photonic brains of artificial fluctlights like Alice are built to be perfectly compatible with The Seed’s VR spaces.”

  The conference room buzzed again. Many of the reporters understood correctly that if an AI could dive into a virtual space, then there would be no way to tell the difference between a human and a sufficiently advanced AI.

  The reporter sat down at last, speechless, and a third person rose. The man wore lightly tinted sunglasses and a flashy jacket. He was a well-known freelance journalist.

  “First, I’d like to confirm something. I’d never heard of your Oceanic Resource Exploration & Research Institution—I assume this is an independent entity within the Ministry of Internal Affairs? Meaning that the funds you used to complete your research came from taxpayers’ pockets. Wouldn’t that make the product of your research, that…artificial fluctlight…the property of the citizens of this country? Why is it your institute’s decision whether to use this true AI for industrial robots, and not up to the people?”

  Dr. Koujiro had handled all the previous questions with grace, but this was the first point at which her mouth pursed with displeasure. She leaned into the microphone, but a pale hand stopped her. It was Alice, who was ready to break her long silence.

  The girl with the mechanical body bobbed her head, making her long blond hair shift. “I accept that you real-worlders are our creators. I am grateful to you for creating us. But another person born in my world once said, ‘What if the real world is also just a creation? What if there is yet another creator behind it?’”

  Lightning flashed in the depths of her cobalt-blue eyes. The journalist pulled back, intimidated. Alice stared at him and the other members of the press and rose to her feet.