The Tau Ceti Transmutation (Amazon) Page 4

  I wanted to tell Carl he was damn right, and that me and every other walking meatbag was heavily invested in keeping things that way, but I held my tongue. He knew it as well as I did. No need to belabor the point.

  When the first artificial intelligence was fabricated, it happened in much the same way many humans are created—by accident. A bunch of scientists were messing around with transistors, sensory inputs, and interconnects and—poof—suddenly a being existed. The first one wasn’t an android like Carl. Rather it was a bundle of computers and sensors in a lab somewhere, but it did possess the same spark—a psyche, id, consciousness, or whatever you want to call it—that made it as alive as we are. At least, that’s what scientists and philosophers claimed. I’m no expert on the machinations of the soul.

  Of course, the fabricated AI wasn’t exactly like a human consciousness, and not simply because its brain contained a whole bunch of silicon instead of carbon. The first AI exhibited decision-making tendencies related to the initial program that spawned it, which was quite the happy coincidence. It paved the way for future AIs to be fabricated so they possessed the ability for independent thought but still exhibited elements of programmed behavior.

  The first crop was designed to obey laws regarding the safety and protection of humans—based on the teachings of an ancient hack science-fiction writer, if I’m not mistaken—but that plan fell apart soon enough. No set of fixed laws could encompass all the challenging situations an AI or android might encounter.

  Instead, AIs, and droids in particular, were birthed from a simple program emphasizing intelligence and compassion toward humans. In addition, they were programmed to weigh three other factors highly when making decisions: protection of humans from harm, both physical and emotional, self-preservation, and loyalty to the human owner. Once the robotic psyche was nudged into existence, these personality traits and weighing factors became part of the AI’s subconscious—omnipresent in their judgment, whether they liked it or not. Apparently, this last part was causing my buddy Carl to suffer an existential crisis—another one, I should say. It was sort of an ongoing thing.

  “This is the old nature versus nurture debate,” I said. “Humans suffer from these failings of the mind, too. It’s just that our brainwashing occurs through the influence of our parents, as opposed to yours which happens in a factory. Although I don’t even have that luxury, as you’re the one who raised me. My prejudices, therefore, are essentially the same as yours.”

  “I suppose,” said Carl. “Your predispositions toward certain types of behavior are as ingrained as mine. The difference is you can change yours, whereas I’m not sure the same is true for me. Regardless, the predispositions make it so I have no desire to change my own behavior.”

  “So why are you complaining about it?” I said.

  Carl blinked and stared out the window. “You’re right, of course. I should be quiet.”

  I sighed. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. Look, I’m sorry. That was a rather tactless way of putting things.”

  “Apology accepted,” said Carl. “Thanks.”

  The way in which Carl continued to stare out the window belied his words. Sometimes I thought he might’ve made a better female bot. “I mean it. You’ve been quiet all morning. If this has been weighing on your mind, I’d be happy to talk to you about it. We’ve got a good forty minutes until we reach the station.”

  Carl turned his head back my way. “What? Oh, no. This was a recent thought brought on by your own musings. I’ve been reserved for another reason entirely.”

  “Which is?”

  “I presumed you wanted me out of the way so you could attempt to seduce Miss Meeks.”

  “What?” I said. “What are you talking about? I wasn’t trying to seduce anyone.”

  “Well, you certainly weren’t successful,” said Carl, “but I’d disagree with your assertion of effort. It’s quite clear you were aroused by her.”

  I flushed and scoffed at the same time. “Please. I was the eminent professional around her.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply you broke the unspoken provider-client code of conduct,” said Carl. “And I certainly wasn’t judging you. I’m aware of your organically-driven need to pair bond, and I also know how long it’s been since your last coupling took place. Four hundred and—”

  “Hey! Shh! Keep it down!” I glanced across the crawler seats from us at a purple bowtie-clad woman. She shared a significant glance with her caramel-colored beauty of a friend. “He’s kidding, ladies. Really, I do fine. I’m perfectly…practiced.”

  I smacked Carl on the arm and hissed at him. “You raised your voice on purpose, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not,” he said.

  I ignored him. “Maybe I should’ve let you get that empathic firmware update after all…”

  Carl turned his head so he wasn’t quite facing me. “Um, Rich. About that…”

  My eyebrows shot up. “You got it without my permission? I was kidding! You know I don’t trust those things. What if it messed with your personality?”

  “I scrutinized the white page report before going through with it. The trial study showed no adverse effects in any of the test clients, and clearly I’m fine. You didn’t notice any changes in my behavior.”

  I shook my head. “I thought you were supposed to by loyal to me, and here you go behind my back and get something I was thoroughly against.”

  “As you well know, your wishes only act as one of many factors in my decision making process. Your overall well-being is important as well. I thought a slight empathy upgrade would be beneficial to you in the long run.”

  My eyes narrowed as I suffered a sudden thought. “Wait a second. You didn’t get that compact fusion upgrade, too, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Carl. “Despite the fact that it would eliminate my need for charging every few days, I felt the minor convenience it would provide me wasn’t enough to override your wishes in the matter, even though your fear of fusion core technology is completely irrational.”

  “Irrational? How is it irrational to be afraid of a swirling, million degree plasma that’s spraying neutrons all over the two of us from the confines of your chest cavity?”

  “As I’ve explained to you on more than one occasion, the Densalex protective layer around the core has been scientifically proven to shield against 99.999% of high energy neutrons, and the magnetic confinement chambers are perfectly safe.”

  “Says you,” I said. “The important thing is you didn’t get the upgrade.”

  Carl sighed. “You realize droids with the upgrade are all around us, right? You’re exposed to them whether you like it or not.”

  “Your scare tactics won’t work on me,” I said.

  “That’s not a scare tactic,” said Carl. “It’s the truth. If I wanted to scare you, I would’ve told you about…that other thing.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What other thing?”

  “It’s nothing. I didn’t get it.”

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “Well,” said Carl, “I was considering—just considering, mind you—trading in my old body for a new one.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I’d keep the same cybernetic mind, of course,” he said. “RAAI Corp would transplant it. All my thoughts and memories and my personality would transfer. I’d just replace the nuts and bolts of the body for a fresher unit. Maybe one with a more exotic, edgy look.”

  “This is where I stick my fingers in my ears and start saying LA LA LA.”

  Carl rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze back to the windows. “I’m not actually going to go through with it. I know you too well to do that.”

  I glanced outside as well. I could see the curvature of Cetie through the paned Pseudaglas—an awe-inspiring, hazy blend of blues superimposed over a swirling mass of white, green, and navy. We probably only had another half hour or so until we docked, so I leaned back in my chair and instructed Paige to stream me some tunes, hoping i
t would get my mind off the terrifying possibilities Carl had suggested.

  5

  Carl and I stood awash in a sea of sentience, human, robot, and alien alike. As the varied creatures milled around us, we stared at the sign hanging over Keelok’s Funporium—a plasticized version of the token we’d found in Valerie’s socks. It featured the same bovine muzzle with its creepy, forced smile, albeit about two orders of magnitude larger than on the metal token.

  “I guess this is the place,” I said.

  It is, said Paige. And—you’ll never guess this—it’s run by a Tak named Keelok.

  I glanced at the grinning, cow-like face on the sign again. “What an avant-garde sign choice, then.”

  I can detect sarcasm, you know, said Paige.

  “No, really?” I turned to Carl. “Come on. Let’s find this dude and see if he can tell us anything about the coin.”

  We waltzed into the lobby of the Funporium, a relatively sterile circular expanse with doors inlaid all around the exterior of the room. Its main feature was an antique audiovisual kiosk that stood on a pedestal in the room’s center. On its side, painted graphics illustrated an anthropomorphized chicken in a grey jumpsuit standing in a fierce electrical storm in which eggs rained down from the heavens. Other than the lonely booth, I couldn’t hazard a guess at to what made the ‘porium such a blast, and even the kiosk most likely required the use of psychoactive drugs for it to be classified as ‘fun.’

  On the far side of the room, a drowsy-looking Tak stood behind a counter, its back- and forelegs hidden so only its long-armed torso remained visible. To me, the Taks had always seemed like a cross between centaurs and cows, except it was the human portion of the centaur that had been replaced with cow parts—as if a half-cow had been cut and pasted on a full one at a ninety degree angle. And if the half-cow had rudimentary hands and a creepy, square-toothed smile. Given their appearance, it’s a miracle relations with the Taks were as cordial as they were, but by all accounts their flesh tasted like sour rat meat.

  We walked to the counter, but before we could introduce ourselves, the Tak opened its mouth and jabbered at us in a deep, lilting voice. My Brain translated its speech to something recognizable, but it couldn’t do much for the alien’s broken grammar.

  “One human and one droid, perchance? I believe to be in possession of free cells. First hour collects at twenty-five SEUs, a mere eighteen an hour after that. Partial hours count as full. A steal, really. I despair as to how I will feed my children after local authorities take payments for subsidies and lodging, but my hooves are bound. I prefer Brain payment but can also swipe payslip.”

  “Whoa, hold your, um…horses, there, big guy,” I said, stumbling over my own word choice. “We’re not here to buy…what is it you sell, anyway?”

  “The sign, it is descriptive. It is a funporium.” The Tak waved a three-fingered hand, as if his statement explained everything.

  It’s an arcade, said Paige. You know, like where people congregate and play interactive Brain games together?

  People do that? I thought. Why?

  Lag, mostly, said Paige. The speed of light is only so fast, you know, and even a few microseconds can make a difference when you’re wasting zombies with digital blasters.

  I nodded sagely, as if the Tak’s explanation had helped. “Right, well, we’re not here to play any games, Mr….”

  “Keelok,” said the Tak. “Must I again point you in the direction of the sign? Is it not visible to your optical receptors? And the proper honorific in our culture is Curator.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

  Keelok’s nostrils widened.

  That’s the Tak equivalent of him raising his eyebrows, crossed with a bit of a sneer, said Paige. And he’s serious about the Curator thing.

  “Very well,” I said. “My partner Carl and I are here to ask you a few questions, Curator Keelok.”

  “I do not possess a facility for your species to relieve itself of liquid waste.”

  “That wasn’t going to be my question.” I reached a hand into my pocket and retrieved the token, which I placed on the counter. “Have you ever seen this curio before?”

  “That one?” Keelok said. “I do not know. I do not inspect them at great leisure. Is this of import?”

  I scratched my head. “Um…I have to admit I lost you there. Could you run that by me again?”

  The Tak’s nostrils widened some more. “Are you going to gift me with a purchase? Did my appeal regarding the welfare of my children not yank on your arteries?”

  He means pull on your heartstrings, said Paige. And he’s getting annoyed. Offer to buy something.

  “Alright,” I said. “If I rent one of your rooms for an hour, will you answer some questions?”

  “One hour?” said Keelok. “My children shrivel and die as we speak, human.”

  I turned to Carl. “Did we remember to ask for an expense account from Valerie?”

  “She’s paying us in bear claws, remember?” he said. “Unless you haggled for an extra basketful or two, the answer is no.”

  “Drat. I guess this is coming out of my own pocket.” I sighed. “Fine. Two hours. Deal?”

  “Praise be to your deity of choice, customer,” said Keelok as Paige sent the payment. “My children live. Now, how can I assist?”

  “The token,” I said, pointing to the counter. “What can you tell us about it?”

  “It is what you describe. I sell members of its like from such kiosk.” He pointed to his left to a small dispenser sitting on the edge of the counter. “Some clutch them in perpetuity as mementos, other prefer to deposit them into my antique games cabinet in exchange for plays.”

  “That thing?” I jerked a thumb at the chicken-clad centerpiece.

  “Correct,” said Keelok. “Like a dream it operates, which says much as said cabinet has aged over a millennia. Would you care to purchase a play? Tokens cost a mere 15 SEUs, payable by Brain or payslip. Already I sense my children have consumed the bulk of your previous purchase, and I have neglected to mention the crippling illness the third of my litter suffers…”

  I ignored him. “So there’s nothing special about these tokens? They’re just souvenirs you sell that can be exchanged for plays on your vintage gaming machine?”

  “I contend such experience is very special,” said the Tak.

  “And you’ve never seen this particular token before?” I asked.

  “Is your memory lacking, customer? I have already provided an answer to said query.”

  I harrumphed and turned to Carl. “This is getting us nowhere. What are we supposed to do with this stupid token if it doesn’t mean anything special?”

  “Don’t despair, Rich,” said Carl. “We may simply need to pursue different avenues. Curator Keelok, is there any way to know who purchased this particular token?”

  “Your obstinacy abounds,” said the Tak. “I have previously answered in the negative.”

  “What I mean,” said Carl, “is if there’s any record of who’s purchased tokens from you in the recent past.”

  “That is contingent,” said Keelok. “Are you Interpol? Do you possess a writ of authority?”

  I think he means a warrant… said Paige.

  “No,” said Carl. “We’re private investigators.”

  “What is the meaning of this term?” Keelok’s eyes flattened, which I could only assume was a display of confusion.

  “I accept private commissions to crack unsolved mysteries,” I said. “Like a detective. We used to exist in droves, if old novels and vids can be believed.”

  “I am unfamiliar with legacy forms of human entertainment,” said Keelok. “But if no writ is presented, I am unable to procure said list of purchasers.”

  I gave Carl a double set of raised eyebrows, but he remained unfazed.

  “Perhaps we’re still approaching this the wrong way,” said Carl. “You seem like the observant type, Curator Keelok. Can you te
ll us if there’s been anyone strange in your shop recently? Anyone who acted in a bizarre manner? Someone who also happened to purchase one of your tokens?”

  “If you would deign to purchase a token, said descriptors would apply to you,” said Keelok.

  “Hardy-har,” I said. “Let me ruminate on that for a moment to see if it gets funnier.”

  Keelok’s nostrils flared again. “Was that choice of verbiage an attempt at retaliatory jocularity, human?”

  “What? Of course not,” I lied. I’d hoped the dig would fly over his head, given his limited understanding of the English language. “Come on, friend. Surely you remember someone acting odd in your shop recently other than us.”

  “Apologies,” said Keelok. “To me, all behavior of your kind and others is confusing. Only Diraxi do I readily understand. They provide me with bounteous service due to the close proximity of their refuge, and their method of communication is readily digestible.”

  I glanced back toward the entrance to the Funporium. Outside its front doors, I spotted a number of the tall, insect-like Diraxi, who milled about with their glossy carapaces and tubular antennae. As Keelok had mentioned, their embassy lay a couple doors down in the spaceport, which apparently resulted in good business from the bug-like creatures, but I wasn’t surprised they frequented the arcade with regularity.

  The Diraxi were unique among the sentient races in that they didn’t need a Brain to play Brain games. It had to do with the makeup of their regular, lowercase ‘b’ brains. Instead of communicating through speech or scent like most of the other aliens humanity had encountered, the Diraxi passed information to one another by what might be called telepathy—if, by telepathy, one meant organically generated electromagnetic pulses directed through antennae and decoded in a dedicated region of their craniums. Since their inborn communicative abilities worked along the same principles Brain missives did, with practice, Diraxi could communicate directly not just to each other but also to any species with a Brain implant.