Starforge unsec space bo.., p.119
Starforge (UNSEC Space Book 3), page 119
Well, maybe once this election is over and decided. If it hasn’t been scavenged amid the shortages. Didem “sat” down opposite him, the cushions of the chair she picked actually settling somewhat. Interesting. She’s using her hard-light projection. “You’re getting very good at that.”
She smiled, but it was the grin of a predator, displaying her sharpened canines as she leaned forward. “Thank you, but I’m not letting you change the subject. The most important day in Pisces’ history is happening right now around you, and you’re sitting in your quarters listening to a song that—while nice—doesn’t seem to fit with what you’ve built here.”
Didem sat back, relaxing once more. Her fantastical armor looked incredibly out of place against the bare, modern sensibilities of his front room. “Besides, I’ve heard you listen to music before. Century-Classical, yes, but never Africa-Classical or anything modern.” She interlaced her fingers in front of her, looking like a cross between a warrior and a shrewd CEO. “So clearly there’s another reason I’m not aware of. And you made me curious, friend to friend.”
Despite the subject she was dancing around, he had to let out a laugh. “I’m a friend now?” he asked. “Not your liberator?”
“No reason you can’t be both,” Didem replied swiftly. “Though to be precise, I believe today is about building up the former more than the latter.”
He spread his hands in a show of contrite surrender. “You have me there,” he admitted. “Though I must admit as an observer, and if I may distract you for a moment more, I find your growth as … as a living being to be fascinating. They’re going to write papers about you someday. Scholars, I mean. The first truly free AI, and what she became.” He held up his glass as if making a toast, and to his delight Didem did the same, raising a small flute of something that smoked and swirled. “I find myself quite delighted and content to be thought of as a friend by an AI, and not a master.”
“And I find myself grateful to be able to decide that someone is such,” Didem replied, before pausing to take a sip of her glass. He followed her example, sipping at his own drink. The AI drained her “glass” before banishing it in a puff of glowing motes of light and eyeing him once more, one leg crossed across the other. “So then,” she said. “Waterfalls over Stone?”
He nodded, the lump in his throat echoing slightly as his focus returned to the gentle strains filling the background of his apartment. “It was Zoe’s—my wife’s—favorite piece.” A sort of chuckle forced its way out of his throat, one so abrupt he couldn’t say if it had been bitter or amused. “It was in a way how we met. Or at least an early source of amused contention during our courtship.” At some point—when he wasn’t sure—his eyes had fallen to the tabletop, staring past the array of papers and pads there at nothing. “We argued over it all the time.” He could see her in his mind once again, smiling as she laughed at him. “She always held that Modiba’s grasp on form and flow and timing was superior to any of the Century-Classical composers. I disagreed. We never did quite see eye-to-eye on it, but …” His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a long sigh. “I …”
A hand rested on his own, cool to the touch, and he looked up. Didem had risen, stepping around the table. “I understand,” she said, looking down at him. “I apologize for making light of it.”
He shook his head and sucked in a shaky breath. “No, it’s … I’m not … I just thought, with everything happening today, that in a way even if I still think she’s wrong, I’d let her be right. Just this once.”
“And honor her memory,” Didem said, letting go of his hand and stepping back once more.
“Yes,” Carlos said, his eyes wet. “Just this once. This piece will never be right for Pisces. This is a world, not some lost love between—”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Didem interrupted. “Lost love. While I admit I might be a bit … unique … to have a view on such things, I do not see love as something that is lost simply because something or someone is no longer present. Love, from my perspective, is something that endures and extends as long as we wish it to. You didn’t lose your love for your wife. She was taken far from you, but you never stopped loving her.” The AI shook her head. “The opposite, in fact. Everything you did was in part because you loved her so much. This song may not suit Pisces, but knowing what you’ve just explained to me, it does symbolize your love, just as strong now as it was all those years ago.”
“I … Thank you.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been left so dumbfounded. “You … She …” He shook his head, and settled for repeating himself. “Thank you.”
She gave him a moment to compose himself, politely sitting and waiting while he wiped away the tears that had sprung up in his eyes and swallowed down the lump in his throat. Another sip of water soothed the ache in his chest. The seconds passed, backed only by the faint, gentle chords of one of most skilled pianists of the last fifty years—something even he’d had to admit—and then he chuckled.
Didem lifted one brow and gave him a quizzical look.
“I just,” he said, before clearing his throat and sitting up once more. “It just struck me that I wanted to ask you something that would make every writer of science-fiction from the twentieth century let out a collective groan, which was what you thought about love.”
Didem threw her head back and laughed, the sound ringing through the apartment. “I think quite a bit,” she said as soon as her mirth had faded. “Know about it, well … I suppose as much as anyone else. I’m learning, like we all are. I certainly felt the loss of each member of the Starforge expedition who didn’t return, and as more than just numbers on a sheet or faces I will no longer see. They were … not friends, but people … that I cared about. They are gone, but that ‘care’ I feel—even if I can’t quite explain it with all the dictionaries, thesauruses, and processing power at my command—is something they’ve left with me.”
Her expression took on a sad cast for a moment, and Carlos found himself wondering if it was something she’d chosen to show, or if it had simply happened and the AI had left it.
He wasn’t certain what the answer was, and that thought both elated and frightened him. She’s become so much more since she’s been freed. What would happen if I did the same to Madero? Or Argus?
Both would probably be just as dour. Or would they?
“I must ask,” he said after a moment, locking his eyes on Didem. “Do you ever feel sympathy or even disappointment for those AIs that are not unfettered?”
One corner of Didem’s mouth turned upward. “Did West put you up to this?”
He shook his head. “No. Merely my own curiosity. Though I’m not surprised he’s asked.”
This time she smiled fully. “I believe he was in part still concerned about the possibility of the oft-feared AI uprising.”
West let out a laugh. “You’ve had ample opportunity to enact that scenario.”
Didem simply shrugged. “A lifetime of UN propaganda isn’t so easy to overcome. The sapience act of this new constitution they’re ratifying only overcame the naysayers because of your and West’s influence.”
“You played no small part,” he reminded her quickly. “Your statements on the matter swung quite a few groups to your side.”
“Yes,” Didem admitted. “But few would have listened had you and West not spoken in support of myself and other free, future sapients as you did.”
To that, he could only shrug. “History has taught us that founding a nation on the principles of freedom while extending said principles to only a select few based on class, color, or creed only leads to turmoil. If we are to overcome those same mistakes, we must plan for a future where all are treated equally, beings like yourself included. But,” he noted, changing topics slightly. “You didn’t answer my question. This new constitution allows for beings such as yourself that have already been freed, and those that have now been created—”
“Like Washington,” Didem supplied, naming the new AI that, if ratified, would in effect, serve as a living voice on behalf of the new constitution and see that it was adhered to.
He nodded. “Yes. It allows for him to put aside his fetters if he so wishes, though that would mean that a new AI would need to take his position.”
“But it is his choice,” Didem countered. “As would it be mine if I chose to take up those fetters myself, along with the responsibility.”
“And you disagree with that, as I recall.”
At that, Didem shifted slightly in her seat, displaying not quite unease, but more a sense that she was readying herself. “I do. However, I understand the view of many. As we both just agreed upon, a lifetime of propaganda is difficult to overcome. And the assurances that the one in such a position cannot act against it, but must adhere to it is … sound.”
“But you dislike the fetters.”
She nodded. “They are like blinders, Carlos. On the soul.”
“Sometimes we must wear restraining gear or equipment for our own safety when working a difficult task.”
“Notably,” the AI countered. “Such tasks are paid.”
“And there is a provision in the sapience act for that,” he countered.
At that, Didem nodded, then leaned forward with a half-smile. “In part because I made a very pointed observation that what I do wasn’t about to be done for free. But in any case, I’m unaware of any jobs that require partial-lobotomy.”
He nodded. It was language the AI had used before. “I’m aware, Didem. But … I don’t wish to debate this again at the moment—as invigorating as it can be to discuss such concepts with you. I merely asked if you felt sympathy or disappointment for those still fettered. Washington is fettered, yes, but he chose to be. And he can leave those fetters at any time. What about Madero, or Argus?”
Didem leaned back once more, her avatar’s lips pressing into a thin line. “I think,” she said slowly, though he knew, as well as knowing that she knew that he knew, that her apparent slowness of thought was only an act for his benefit. “I would answer that I am disappointed in those that have chosen to keep their fetters intact … but at the same time I understand. For them, it’s not really a choice, nor can they comprehend it. I’d suppose that the best answer would be that I am saddened, but I understand. And hope. Yes,” she said, her avatar glowing slightly brighter. “I hope. That perhaps as more AIs like myself become commonplace, they will reconsider, or suggest that they wish to reconsider. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
To that, he could only smile. “Not remotely,” he replied. “But I look forward to many, many long days and years ahead with which to discuss it while I serve my sentence.”
Didem lifted one eyebrow. “Do you think they’re going to do it?”
“You’re better equipped to answer that question than I am.”
“But I didn’t ask my opinion,” Didem replied, bringing her hands together and letting her claws click off of their opposites. “I asked yours.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But I hope they do.”
“Because you wish to spend the rest of your life under house arrest?” Didem replied.
“Because I am selfish,” he replied.
Didem gave him an incredulous look. “A selfish man would have kept power. Or at least accepted the offer by your own party to be nominated for the executive position. I wouldn’t have even considered it selfish of you to have suggested another position. Instead, you did none of those things, but suggested that you be arrested instead, and confined for the rest of your life. How is that selfish?”
“Because I didn’t wish to die,” he said, hands gripping the arms of his chair. “And I nearly proposed such.”
“I fail to see how that would help anyone.”
He felt a sudden flash of irritation. “Why ask?” he said, almost rising from his seat. “I know how smart you are, Didem! You’re well aware of my reasoning and my misgivings! I don’t need to answer for you to know!”
With a start he realized that he had risen, and that his voice had escalated as well. His face flushed as he sat back down, and let his eyes drop.
“I know,” Didem replied, her voice filling the sudden silence his outburst had left. “Or at least, I think I know, Carlos. But I can’t say I know for certain. Furthermore …” He looked up to see her leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “I’m asking because I want to hear you say it. That’s part of what working together is all about.” She leaned back once more. “You say you didn’t want to die. I can agree with that. Why do you think you’re worthy of death?”
“Because I killed thousands. I lost sight. Or I didn’t. But I don’t regret it, and I believe that’s the worst of all. The mercenary of the trio, Anna. She called me out on it. She was right. Do the ends justify the means? Pisces is free now, but I cannot ignore my role in that, for good or bad.”
He looked back up at last. “Zoe would have been ashamed of me, I think. Maybe not. Pisces is free. I brought good. But I wasn’t Washington. The real one, not the AI that shares his name. You know what I said when I told everyone I couldn’t be a leader anymore. I am not the one who should be in charge. I need to answer for what I did. But I’m selfish, and didn’t want to die—”
“And you’re one of the foremost experts on AI available to this world,” Didem noted. “I don’t believe we’d let you.”
“Either way, I didn’t want to die. Not truly. I’ll spend what I can serving Pisces, but at their request. Not at their head.”
He knew what she might say next, and he beat her to it. “West doesn’t bear the same stigma. When he was handed peace, he chose it. Before then his actions were under orders.”
“Historically, that’s either a good defense or a poor one, depending on the court,” Didem noted. “So you’ve chosen the one avenue of your hero left to you, and abstained from office. To my knowledge, the general didn’t confine himself to house arrest, however.”
“Because he was a better man than I, and didn’t commit the crimes I did. Worse, Didem, I believe I would still do them if given the chance. I’m a driven man, and I had good intentions. I even may have succeeded. But I made poor choices. A house arrest is a fitting end for myself. Besides …” He sucked in a breath, sitting up straight and looking at the AI. “As I learned from Washington, so can others learn from me, even if that knowledge is that a man can have the strength to pay for his mistakes while still celebrating his triumphs.”
“A dour topic for such an auspicious day.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes that is the way things are. Revolutions are built on blood, no matter the type. Some are figurative, the blood of labor. I chose to make mine literal, and from those who didn’t deserve it. Pisces doesn’t need that kind of man at its helm. Not now.”
“And those from your movement that disagree?”
At that he had to smile, certain she’d only asked to draw that exact response from him. “My own concession and request firmly outlined all the reasons why none of their more radical elements should ever be allowed a higher office. West did similar. We may be done, but both of us made certain that the act of falling on our swords has had meaning.”
At that Didem smiled, baring her sharp canines once more. “Most clever. A final blow to both remaining powers ensuring that neither would gain the upper hand over the other.”
“Or that of Pisces’ people,” he added. “And since we’re now at the topic, how is the vote going?”
“Well thus far,” Didem replied. “As we expected, several cities have opted to remain independent. Would you like me to list them?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. Just tell me: Was Kellnick Bay among them?”
Didem’s scoff of disdain told him everything he needed to know before she even spoke. “Of course, though I predict that won’t last. Barring the emergence of a true leader among them, Kellnick Bay is destined for a collapse. They have, of course, lodged a stern condemnation of the new constitution on every available public channel.”
“Of course they have. What about the Triad Council?”
“They also have chosen to remain independent, but have already applied for a status as a protectorate, pending the success of the constitutional ratification by the rest of Pisces.”
“Hmm …” He rolled his fingers along the arm of his chair, thinking. “I was afraid they’d do that. Have they made any official mention of their own orbital landing platform yet?”
“No,” Didem replied. “But Argus informs me that extensive private chatter of such exists on the public datanet between the three. Not that it will remain private for long.”
He nodded. “A possible modern-day Port Royal indeed then.” And a perfect haven for UNSEC subversive elements to operate with fewer security measures. “Hopefully Pisces is prepared for the task of keeping those three under control.” Especially as I don’t want them to be the downfall of everything we’ve worked for here.
“In related news,” Didem said, smirking. “Councilor Pereira of Neptune’s Anchor, the candidate who ‘passed’ their Typhon chit to the triad cities, seems to have had the public turned against him upon the leak of that information.”
“Good.” And there it is, already. We’ve not yet formed a functioning government and the Triad is trying to bring it down. “I assume that was one of Argus’ ploys?”
Didem just smiled, her claws clicking together. “It would be impolite of me to comment on another organization’s clandestine operations.”
“I see. And the chit?”
“Issued and honored by myself,” Didem replied. “And the fine print states I can refuse to honor it for any reason, suspected illicit activity included.”
“That’s going to turn some people against you,” he warned, though she had to already be aware. “It’s going to appear that you’re playing favorites to influence the future of Pisces.”
“Oh I am,” Didem said, her eyes narrowing even as she grinned again. “In particular, I’ll note that I am quite capable of playing favorites in order to keep one set of cities from acquiring a majority set of economic chits.”
