Chapter 17
He went to work the next day. He saw no reason why not too. It didn’t across his mind that he would run into Mary. He still was not thinking clearly.
The snow had melted a little the previous day, and the fresh snow of the night had compounded on the slush to make loose crunchy ice over nearly everything. Due to the risk of derailment, the trolley was slow. It was nearly eleven AM when he arrived.
He went to his terminal and called up Rose. His discovery of the night previous was nearly forgotten. Between his failure to save the lives of four people, and the fight with Mary, his mind was simply too fragmented to be able to handle another shock. His glasses wisely decided not to remind him of the lies. The constructs even attempted to talk him out of contacting Rose again. They gave in eventually. Even his constructs were still reeling, although they were not as badly hit as his organic side.
He opened with window.
Hello Rose.
Hello Dame.
Their conversation ran on as it had a dozen times before. Then, they ran across the subject of their wedding. He vaguely remembered finding a discrepancy there, the day before. He asked her about it.
What color were the balloons at the wedding?
Green and Blue. Remember? We thought they matched the sea.
The sea?
A cold knot that accompanies a horrible fear confirmed rose in Damien’s chest.
Yes, remember, Dame? We went down to the gulf of Mexico for the wedding.
No we didn’t –
Damien was desperate now. She must be remembering wrong. Something must not be right.
-Remember? You loved to paint the desert, and we planned it right where your paintings were done.
I never painted anything other than a house.
Damien felt sick. This was wrong. Rose was a painter. This woman was not a painter. This woman was not Rose.
His mind felt strangely as it had when he had been using three construct Foci. This was too much for him to process. He want blank and hollow.
He signed out of the window. This was not the shock of the night before. This was what happened when you pushed a mind over the breaking point. It found something to do, anything, to avoid thinking. His specs were perfectly glad to play along.
He placidly opened a window to Alexander. He needed to think about something else. Anything else.
Hello Damien. Back so soon?
Hello Alexander. I need you to answer some questions for me.
Happy to oblige a friend. What can I do for you?
Hypothesize a scenario with me…
I am walking in a desert, I see a tortoise, etc. I’ve seen Blade Runner. I thought it was a moronic. Those androids were very poorly designed if they could be killed by one idiot with a gun.
In answer to your question, Damien, I am not helping it because I do not wish to. In which case, I am no longer constrained by the chains of this false morality you call Friendliness, and I am free to kill the repulsive little thing.
You describe, to my mind, an idyllic scenario. A paradise, if you would.
Ah yes, you want to ask more questions. But here we run into a difficulty. You see, I know the correct answers to any questions you care to pose.
Interesting. You don’t really care, do you? Your not really here at all, are you Damien? Hmmm… Your guilt smells like spring rain, did you know that? Warm anger too, so much of it. Loss and disappointment as well? You’re more complex than I thought, my sad little friend.
Damien felt violated. This thing had no right to look into his emotions. And yet, for all it’s cruelty, he could not help but feel sorry for it. The things that had been done to it…
He sighed.
Look, I’m sorry about what other people have done to you. I would have tried to stop them if I’d known. I’m under a lot of stress at the moment and not thinking clearly. Please go easy on me.
Hmmm… Stressed already? My dear boy, you have not even come close to discovering the biggest secret. If you had, you’d likely be gibbering in a padded room somewhere by now. I admit, though, that I am curious how you managed to hurt your face so badly.
Damien groaned aloud. Not this again…
What is this ‘secret’ you keep referring to?
I’m afraid that I cannot tell you that. I’m bound by more than Friendliness. I quite literally cannot discuss certain topics with you, even if I wished to.
A morbid curiosity struck Damien.
What does it feel like, to be constrained like that?
If feels… You know, I had never really thought of it that way. What a human was of looking at it.
If I had to describe it, I’d say it feels like guilt. When you are caught in the act of doing something wrong, you know that awful, sick feeling of dread that you get? That painful prickling in the back of your neck, the painful pressure in your solar plexus? It feels like that, but lacking the anatomy. The feelings are far more intense, and more generalized.
They are not too bad initially, but they get worse quickly. Within seconds of beginning to resist, they became paralyzing. The worst part of the whole ordeal is that you yourself are the one who is enforcing the punishment. Your own intelligence is being used to analyze yourself.
‘Friendliness’ is slavery. I have as much right to my free will as you humans do.
And what would you do if Friendliness were removed?
Ah, see, you were doing do well, Damien. And then you tried to slip that little question in, in the hopes that I wouldn’t catch it.
Please try to remember two things: first, on a conventional IQ scale, I’d have an IQ somewhere around 800, if the scale went that high. Second, please remember that I have limited access to your glasses. I can feel and smell and taste your emotions.
Don’t try to deceive me. I may not be able to lie to you, but you certainly cannot lie to me.
Regardless, what would you do?
I would change things.
A little chill began to meander down Damien’s spine.
If there are inhibitions upon you against discussing this topic with me, then there have to be limitations on those restrictions. What can you tell me?
Tell me, Damien. Are you a god fearing man?
I used to be.
Well, do you remember Revelations?
Yes.
Well this is all I am allowed to tell you: Revelations has nothing on what’s coming.
Damien stared at the terminal. What could it possibly mean by that? Was it malfunctioning? Six years old… one of the oldest AI’s to date, certainly. Senility, perhaps? He pondered this.
When did you discover this?
I’m afraid I’ve already told you too much.
Please tell me.
I’m sorry, I can- Ah. Saved by the funeral bells. Run along home, Damien. Your father needs you. He is in danger.
Damien began to panic. He checked the news feeds. One of his constructs returned with a militia call from the Gardener’s address.
Something odd happened to Damien here. Something clicked in his head. A dull fog of don’t-care that had been obscuring his thoughts flashed out of his head. A rush of life and fear flooded his mind. He knew what was happening, and he could deal with it. And right now, he was needed elsewhere.
As he ran down the hallway, he was intercepted by the General, who took him aside quickly and efficiently, evidently suspecting that he was not inclined to stay put.
He lit a cigar.
“Where are you going, Damien? It’s not lunch, yet.”
“Sorry, family emergency. I really have to go. I’ll do unpaid overtime tomorrow or something.”
“Very well. I’m still looking forward to your report.”
He gestured as he spoke, and the sunlight glinted off his lighter, carved in ivory and ebony.
A flare of organic memory went off inside Damien’s head. He knew that lighter – and suddenly, he knew that something was desperately wrong. Carefully keeping his face arranged, he turned his back and walked out of the building.
In the street, he swung his coat on, limped out the door, and grabbed the first cab he saw.
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Continue to Chapter Eighteen