A Field of Play
K.S. Daniels
K.S. Daniels received her M.F.A. in creative writing at the University of South Alabama. A girl born and raised in the South, she grew up reading Asimov, Heinlein, and Norton. Naturally, she dreamt of the stars and the currents of space. Daniels has published several works of science fiction including the first two books in the Valkyrie Series: The Valkyrie Profiles and Flight of the Valkyrie. She still lives in the South, rereading the works of dead men, sipping bourbon, and searching the skies for something wild and new.
“You’ll never escape that way, little one.” The voice crept like a fog around and over the edges of a massive boulder—one of many scattered throughout the craggy landscape. It was a call designed to be both a warning and a seduction, pulling at the mind to come closer while knowing muscles tore at the bones to escape.
Yato stood still, drinking in as much of this human experience as his programming allowed. The moments before the creature appeared, that buildup of terror and anxiety, were precious. The stage must be set just right.
The beast slipped into view, her body now transformed into a spiderlike abomination. Slender fingers lengthened into sharp, sprawling appendages that pierced the soil and caged the surrounding area. Her eyes quivered and, like budding amoeba, divided and divided until two became six. With one of her spindly hind limbs, she recovered her weapon.
Plunging the jagged staff into the ground with a force that seemed to shake the heavens, she slinked closer to Yato and hissed, “Return what you have stolen.”
Yato frowned. Something felt wrong.
He stood unwavering in front of the beast, studying her movements for anything that might break his carefully crafted simulation. It was the little details, ones humans only noticed in their absences, that could weaken the illusion. He didn’t have to work this way, putting himself inside the simulation instead of coding from a distance. In truth, his methods took longer, but this dedication kept his VRs in high demand. But not this one. Not yet.
He’d replayed the scene several times now, yet could not quite pluck out the imperfection. It was a tricky thing, simulating a human experience, a thing by definition he could not fully grasp, let alone replicate to perfection. To be fair, he could get damn close. And that came down to making a study of human behavior a priority.
Yato looked human, his body a conscious choice to further close in on what it felt like to be an organic. AIs had an infinite number of ways they could present, changing out their shells to better suit a task, for aesthetic reasons, or even out of boredom. Yato stayed almost exclusively in this particular human shell, not because he wanted to be human, but in his mind it presented the only solution to solving the human puzzle, which was integral to his job performance.
Stepping closer, he examined the texture of her skin, the glob of saliva sagging from her malformed mouth, and his warped reflection in her eyes as she bent her long neck down so that her head lingered mere inches from his.
Frustrated, Yato reset the scene and the creature flickered out of existence.
He paced a moment, a human habit he’d picked up and enforced on himself when he couldn’t quite get at a solution.
With a few quick code adjustments, small fragments broke away from the simulated sky and fluttered down around him. He lowered the feel of atmospheric pressure in the simulation and began the scene again.
“You’ll never escape that way, little one,” the beast warned, this time against the backdrop of a crumbling world. This gave the scene more urgency, a change he found acceptable.
“Do you not think this is a bit much for a twelve-year-old, Yato?” Noburu’s disembodied voice broke through the virtual-reality environment.
Yato frowned at the intrusion. “If you want to interrupt my work, fine. But I’m not going to talk to you unless you show yourself.”
Noburu manifested behind his brother. Their slender forms were roughly the same, but Yato’s long blond locks were a distinct contrast to Noburu’s traditionally cropped brown hair. Their facial structures also boasted many similarities, but they were far from like-minded. Like Yato, Noburu also created VRs and often wore a human shell. The similarities ended there.
Noburu was the fifth AI offspring of Chandra, and he was a constant point of irritation for Yato as older brothers often are. Yato, being 6-of-Chandra, was the youngest of Chandra’s children. The name and number meant little to him. They were merely facts and certainly nothing to boast about.
“Happy?” Noburu asked. “I do not understand why you need to see me to have a conversation.”
“Making you do more work than necessary bothers you, which is fun.”
Swinging her long neck around, the beast turned her attention to Noburu and released a howl filled with sticky venom. The semi-fluid spray coated him in an uneven splatter, yet by some swift programming, missed Yato entirely.
“Oh, and so I can do that,” Yato said, stifling a laugh.
“Still behaving like a child, I see?”
“Do you need something? Or are you just here to criticize? If that’s the case, sorry to disappoint but this is all well within the parameters provided. Besides, this is my job, not yours. It doesn’t matter what you think.”
“True,” Noburu said as he pulled the VR specs off the Sentient Artificial Intelligence Network and to confirm that claim. He then hacked into Yato’s VR code and removed the goop from his clothes and face. Although simulated, he preferred a slime-free appearance all the same.
He continued, “And yet humans do not see as we do. Neither do they always know what they really want. I suggest you take it down a notch or you will risk losing business. Maybe you do not need this job, but for Pluto, each job is essential to our sustainability.”
“Fair point. Since you’re here, how about testing my upgraded combat system? I made a few interesting modifications.”
Noburu tilted his head in irritation. This display of impatience was a small victory for Yato.
“Look, I’ll remove it after. It’s not even meant for this one. I just thought since you were here you could give me your opinion,” he promised, knowing that an invitation to critique him would be too hard to pass up.
Noburu extended his arm. A long, yet simple, katana materialized. It was one of many from this VR’s weapon bank. Normally you’d have to obtain it via a quest line, but with their creator setting, they could pull anything from the bank at any time.
“Let’s see it, then. But when we are finished, you will lower your current carnage level by two,” Noburu said.
“Fine.”
“And then you will come with me. Chandra wants to see us.”
“Mother wants to see us both? That’s never good.”
Noburu moved into a fighting stance, activating the monster’s battle system.
“No. It is not.”
The monster moved, swinging her staff wildly at Noburu. It was a simple attack to avoid, but the follow-up was not. Lightning jolted from the tip of the beast’s staff into the sky, then slammed to the ground, rattling the earth beneath them.
VR attacks were designed to trigger a human’s fight-or-flight instinct. The risk would feel real, and the human would attempt to dodge the attack. If the dodge was unsuccessful, a human would typically experience some mild discomfort from the attack. A child’s VR would be set to nothing more than a prickle, whereas adult humans could up the pain considerably if their tastes were so inclined.
Noburu let the strikes dance around him, not worried if one were to hit him. That, he soon realized, was a mistake, as one struck his weapon, shot down to the hilt and onto his hands.
Instinctively, he dropped the sword and leapt back into a defensive stance.
“Surprise.” Yato smirked, making no attempt to hide his pleasure.
Noburu experienced an intense burning in his hands as his internal nano repair-bots registered legitimate damage. Noburu felt their collective confusion as they scattered, searching for something to repair, yet could find nothing. The sensation was fleeting, but it had been an unexpected and legitimate shock. Neurological pathways, which AIs did not possess, created the sensations experienced in VR. For his brother to design a new pathway targeted to AI repair nanos was impressive. And he might have expressed that if he weren’t so annoyed by the method Yato had chosen to illustrate his handiwork.
Yato continued, “I know you won’t appreciate it, but the AI in the Patrol will. For the first time, they’ll be able to experience VR combat simulation more like their human and Cerite colleagues.”
Noburu called the sword back. With gritted teeth, he widened his stance in preparation.
“Oh, just a heads-up, the intensity will increase the longer you—”
Noburu moved so fast Yato missed the decapitation. What Yato did not miss was the beast’s head crashing down at his feet.
“You really do suck the fun out of everything,” Yato said, frowning.
Noburu forcibly closed down the VR and everything vanished, melting back into the boring reality that was Yato’s workspace. Yato looked up from his desk to find his brother leering over him.
“Let’s go,” Noburu said as he turned to leave.
* * *
The pair exited the Virtual Reality Construction Studio on Torus Ring A and headed toward the transportation tubes. Pluto had two ring cities, each with its own gravitational setting based on rotation speed, which made certain levels more hospitable to organic life. AIs didn’t have the same gravitational concerns as humans and could theoretically work and live on any of Pluto’s ring cities or in the Cerite boroughs.
Ring A, affectionately called the Waldorf, with its slightly lower gravity of 0.08, was reserved for AI work, the occasional pregnant Cerite, and industry that required neither AI nor human direct supervision. Because of this, it also didn’t need the elaborate ecosystem the other ring city required. The gardens Yato and Noburu now walked through to reach the tubes were fifty percent synthetic. Even the butterflies were simplistic puters with the sole purpose to mimic an insect’s life cycle. Like organics, AI had their own tastes for little aesthetic pleasures. The main difference on the AI ring was the sky panels. Organics had cycles of light and dark to maintain their circadian rhythm, while AIs enjoyed a constant view of pure space. On the surface, there was no distinct difference between the ring cities and Earth, yet any human could tell you there were discrepancies. The organic body had a way of feeling the differences, even if the brain couldn’t put them into words.
Traditionally, AIs kept their personal quarters alongside their human and Cerite counterparts. Since humans and Cerites were both an integral part of their upbringing, it was right for them to continue a coexistence with their organic parents.
Chandra, though it was over a hundred years ago, had been raised by Cerites and maintained her apartments in the Matilda Borough, keeping in close contact with her parents, their human children, and at this point human grandchildren.
Yato had been raised by normal humans, so his personal quarters were on Ring B, the Statler. Noburu, like Chandra, had been raised by Cerites, so his quarters were near hers. This did not make them particularly closer than her and Yato. Chandra considered all her children relatively equal, though seeing her with Yato, one might occasionally mistake him as a favorite. They shared, as Chandra called it, a playful curiosity. Noburu thought of it as more of an illogical handicap.
Chandra’s first offspring, Mai, had taken up a position in the Patrol and had recently ended up stationed on a Terran embassy, while 2-of-Chandra and 3-of-Chandra remained on Pluto, though neither worked on VRs. They had been created to serve humans and Cerites in the medical field, and thus found their purpose in the cryogenics labs on the Waldorf. It was not until Chandra’s fourth offspring, Brava, that the tradition of VR creation careers began. Chandra had always been gifted at the task, and it was no exaggeration that Brava was equally talented. However, in some ways, both Noburu and Yato had surpassed their mother and sister by design.
The brothers had been traveling in silence for some time. Most AI, especially the more advanced specimens, were quite content to remain silent among their own kind. SAIN had all the information they could possibly need, making small talk—something reserved for humans and Cerites. Yet AI that required a bit more creativity, or those inclined to be more inquisitive, found conversations of any degree useful. For some it was a compulsion, even. This was the case for Yato.
Consequently, it was he who, as they entered the tube, finally turned to Noburu, and asked, “You’ve no idea what she wants?”
“We will be there in three minutes. Ask her directly.”
“Surely she hinted at something?”
“She did not.”
Noburu, though he held the same job and had roughly the same creative parameters, did not feel compelled to converse needlessly. He was a minimalist in every way, yet his VRs burst with the vibrance of a decidedly creative AI. He’d often say he’d done all his talking before Yato was born. This was as close to making a joke as he’d get.
Yato continued, “It’s strange, her asking you to fetch me like this.”
“You sound jealous.”
“Oh, please. Jealousy is beneath me. Especially when it comes to you.”
“Right,” Noburu agreed, flatly.
“What do you mean, ‘Right’?”
“I am just agreeing with you.”
“Don’t do that. It’s weird.”
“Okay.”
Yato leaned back against the tube wall and crossed his arms. Studying his brother’s stoic demeanor, he got the feeling Noburu was keeping him in the dark purposefully. Not for nefarious reasons. Rather, he imagined it was an arbitrary act simply to exert his superiority over him. Perhaps it was punishment for the humiliation he inflicted upon Noburu in his simulation. Either way, he would handle this situation with his usual tactics: annoyance and absurdity.
Pushing himself off the wall, he stood directly in front of Noburu and said, “This is a trap. I can feel it.”
“What a very human thing to think.”
“You’ve finally snapped, haven’t you?” Yato said. He nodded his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Leaning closer, he added, “You’re not going to kill me, are you?”
Noburu set his jaw firm and stared straight ahead, refusing further engagement.
“Sorry, try to kill me,” Yato persisted. “We both know I’d win that fight.”
His brother remained silent, refusing to give into his growing irritation.
“Tell me,” Yato whispered. “Where are you really taking me?”
The tube glided to a halt and the doors parted, granting them entrance to the Matilda Borough.
“If you have finished with your little one-man show, may we proceed?” Noburu asked, motioning for Yato to go first.
Yato shrugged unaffected and, dropping the act, exited the tube.
Since this borough was primarily living quarters and a few shops, it afforded lovely views simulated through the sky panels. During the day, as it was currently, the panels projected perfect sunshine and blue skies, while at night one could view a facsimile of the real sky from Pluto. This section in particular boasted many well-appointed gardens, though it lacked the small forests, bodies of water, and larger animal life of the Statler. The boroughs were generous in size and Cerites found them comfortable. Normal humans, those who’d not experienced the initial mutations of life on an asteroid colony nor the deliberate genetic engineering the Cerites had long made customary, found these areas cramped. There’d even been a few incidences of claustrophobia-induced panic attacks.
It was a short walk through a quiet green space to reach Chandra’s apartment. Their mother was apprised of their location, and when they approached her door, it opened automatically.
“In here,” she called from the kitchen as the pair entered.
AIs didn’t eat, of course, but their quarters all had kitchens and bathrooms and beds just as a human or Cerite apartment would. It had long been noted that their organic counterparts found quarters lacking these amenities stressful to visit. Just as the sky panels projected simulated clouds, AIs endeavoured to make their homes feel natural and less foreign to keep humans comfortable. Anxious humans made poor decisions and even the slightly more evolved Cerites were still fallible to their human roots. Bending to the human framework soothed the uneasiness that AIs inherently inspired and made life more pleasant for all. If that meant adding a few extra toilets and tea sets, so be it.
Chandra met them in the seating area and motioned for them to make themselves comfortable. She’d been experimenting since the last time Yato had seen her and though she wore a Cerite skin today, her eyes had a foreign look to them as if they were not yet her own.
She must have noticed his stare and gave him a quick wink.
“The Gordons visited today, so I dressed for the occasion. Mostly,” she said, gesturing at her appearance. It was one of several Cerite skins she had in her collection. This one was quite tall, and the flesh had just a hint of pinkish silver to it, a style that had recently become a popular modification with the Cerite youth.
The Gordons were the children of her Cerite parents and Chandra invited them over once a month to maintain the connection. She rarely wore a purely traditional human skin, but around family she believed it was a must. Her own preferences never overcame her desire to make her organic family feel comfortable.
“They are well?” Yato asked.
“Quite. Their youngest is taking a post on Earth soon.”
“With the Patrol?” Noburu asked.
“Yes. And it’s always useful to have family in the Patrol,” their mother acknowledged.
Humans and Cerites alike showed particular favoritism for the AIs they raised. It was no exaggeration that they considered them real family. And although the feeling was not exactly mutual, AIs endeavored to remain linked to their human parents and descendants. Chandra maintained connections better than most, as did her offspring.
“I wonder if they’ll cross paths with Mai,” Yato said. He’d never met 1-of-Chandra as she’d left Pluto before he was created.
“You needed to see us?” Noburu asked, cutting the nonessential conversation short.
“Yes,” she answered as she glided on the settee across from Yato. “I have a job for you both. It’s one of my clients, but it’s not well-suited for me.”
“Any particular reason you need us both?” Yato asked. He had his hands full with his current projects and he didn’t enjoy stretching himself too thin.
“It’s an interesting request that needs a delicate touch.”
“Yato has not been known for his delicacy,” Noburu pointed out.
Yato frowned at the insult, but ultimately knew his brother was right. AIs had this unfortunate balancing of the scales where excelling in one area meant that they were weak in another. It was a kind of equivalent exchange; one talent at the cost of another. Yato, though not particularly delicate or diplomatic, had a knack for getting at the human experience. So much so, he acted more impulsively than he’d ever care to admit.
Noburu, diplomatic and thoughtful, kept the larger picture forever in focus. However, he too had weaknesses. These talents made him overcautious and slow to act. Change made him uncomfortable, as it was harder to control a moving target.
Chandra shook her head and inched to the edge of her seat. “I’m going to need you both. The client is Mr. Torajiro Ito. Request S74-389.”
Yato and Noburu pulled the information about Ito and his request from SAIN and consumed the data.
“End-of-the-world stuff, huh?” Yato joked. “I see why you want me.”
“It needs to be an accurate extrapolation,” their mother cautioned. “That’s the delicate part. He wants the true future of humanity, not some fairy-tale version of his personal ‘what could have been’ future. And as far out as we can get.”
“Is he ill? Possibly wanting this as he goes into cryo?” Yato asked.
“Yes. That creates the issue of time as well. He doesn’t have long before he’ll need to go under. But, between the two of you, I think his request can be accommodated.”
“What about our current projects?” Yato asked, remembering the unfinished VR that Noburu had pulled him away from.
“I’ve reviewed your current assignments and 3-of-Jaria has agree to complete these for you. You can begin immediately.”
Yato let out a loud groan of frustration and stood up in protest.
“I can transfer my current projects over by the end of the day,” Noburu consented, rather too quickly for someone so often resistant to changes in his personal circumstances.
“Just like that? You’re really okay with this?” Yato asked as he paced away from the pair then back again.
Noburu shrugged and said, “3-of-Jaria is completely competent.”
“Well, I’m not. I’ve seen her subpar work, and I’m not going to let her ruin mine.”
“You are being dramatic. Making the VR less ‘you’ is not ruining it. If anything, that might be an improvement,” his brother commented flatly.
“She has programming restrictions that I don’t. That’s just a fact.”
“True. But you have already agreed to reduce the carnage level and pull that elaborate combat system of yours,” he said with a touch of disdain.
“You made a new combat system?” Chandra interjected curiously.
“It’s very good, actually,” Yato said, pausing his irritation to smile widely.
“It is,” Noburu agreed as it was a fact. “That is beside the point.”
“When can I see it?” their mother continued.
“Chandra, you are truly not helping.”
“Sorry, Noburu. You’re right,” she conceded. To Yato, she silently mouthed the word “Tomorrow.”
Noburu continued, “My point is, how much murderous destruction is really necessary for a twelve-year-old’s birthday sim? 3-of-Jaria can handle this project perfectly.”
All the pieces clicked into place at once. Yato pointed his finger directly in his brother’s face and shouted, “You knew about this! That’s why you came to get me personally. So you could get me to plausibly agree to those changes. You were getting it ready to hand off.”
Noburu shrugged again, unbothered by the outburst.
“Don’t be angry with Noburu,” his mother said as she coaxed Yato onto the sofa next to her. “I asked him not to tell you. I wanted to make the request of you in person.”
Noburu sighed. “She gave this project to me a few days ago. As it happens, I ran into a few…complications. It appears I need your help.”
“What kind of complications?”
“The kind you excel at. The human kind.”
Yato grinned and his anger unraveled. “You need my help? Honestly, it’s like you’ve never met me; you should have led with that. I’m in.”
“Good,” Noburu said as he turned to exit. “I will send you what I have and expect you at my workspace later today once you have reviewed it and handed off your current projects.”
He left without a goodbye, which was pretty standard behavior for his brother.
“Come,” Chandra said, standing. “Let me walk you out.”
Yato followed her.
“What’s up with your eyes?” he asked as they approached the door.
“Oh, just a little test. Trying out something new to see if it is worth integrating.”
Patting him on the head, she ushered him out. “Don’t worry. It’s all safe.”
“Is it legal?”
Chandra smiled warmly and said, “It will be if it works. Now go on. You have some catching up to do. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Noburu led the way into the Ravanite Lounge, which was attached to the most popular hotel on one of Pluto’s many space stations. It was absolutely crawling with humans and Cerites who all had one thing in common: money. To SAIN, Pluto was home. Even if the first AIs had been created on Earth, and some were still, Pluto was theirs to govern autonomously. It was the only place in the solar system that had a majority AI population.
To everyone else, Pluto was either the playground of the affluent or the—hopefully—temporary resting place for the dead. Many of the permanent organic residents were in a cryogenic state. The rest worked in the service industry or Academia and raised AI children to ensure a successful transition into adulthood.
That left the tourists, here to spend their credits on the marvelous fantastic, the worlds both dangerous and forbidden everywhere else. Yato always found that bit amusing. VRs were just the human imagination unbound. Whatever they wanted; an AI creator could bring it to life. And yet when humans saw that—saw themselves unchained by reality—it terrified them enough to outlaw recreational VR.
But nothing is ever truly prohibited. Noburu’s and Yato’s own programming was testament to that. With more and more clients having a taste for violence, AI creators could not meet the demand and Pluto’s economy suffered for it. It was entirely against their programming, and against the law, for AIs to create scenes of butchery and bloodlust. For them to imagine it, to virtually create it, meant they were dangerously close to also being able to enact it.
The demand was there, nonetheless. In response, Chandra made them both without such restrictions. And business was booming once again. If anyone took even a moment’s interest in the situation, it’d be obvious what she’d done. Luckily, when it came to vice—and Pluto thrived on vice—both humans and Cerites habitually turned a blind eye. Between that and humanity’s desperate desire for immortality, it sustained their entire existence.
At the core of humanity, there lived this taste for danger, this need to push limits at any cost. It was a hard thing for an AI to understand. Yato felt he could almost grasp it, but every time he thought he understood, he’d lose it. That was why humanity needed them. Despite humanity’s best efforts, SAIN would be there to save them from themselves.
Yato and Noburu moved toward the bar where C’Kleio was seated, sipping on a fresh martini. In her peripheral, she spotted them and spun her barstool around.
“Boys!” she cried.
“Hello, Kleio,” Noburu greeted her first. Although this meeting had been Yato’s suggestion, she was the daughter of Noburu’s Cerite parents, so Yato let him take the lead.
The Cerite uncrossed her long legs and stood to embrace them. Cerites towered over normal humans, with their average height around two meters. Her stature was little more than theirs but in her heels with her white hair high atop her head, she had quite the advantage over them. Her thin frame looked agile but frail, even more so in her lilac sheath dress that accentuated the cut of her shoulder blades. In reality, Cerites, with their elongated forms, were more physically fragile than a normal human. Yet, one could argue (and Cerites did indeed argue) it was an altogether better design, boasting fewer organs and hence fewer complicating elements.
“Noburu, it’s good to see you. Yato, how are you? It’s been almost a year.”
“It has. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” Yato replied.
“Of course. I always have time for my circuit-board little brothers,” she teased, emphasizing her height, not her years. “Take a seat and tell me all about your delicious little dilemma.”
The pair took a seat on either side of her. The bartender began to approach, but C’Kleio waved him off. They had no need to make her feel comfortable by consuming unnecessary cocktails. She’d known them both long enough to not be bothered by drinking alone.
“I have to admit, I was rather surprised by your call. I can’t imagine what I could possibly help you with.”
Noburu smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Do not be modest. You are an expert in your field.”
“Ha! I’ve never been accused of modesty. But what can a historian tell you that you don’t already have access to with SAIN?”
“We find ourselves needing more than just historical facts. You have done some work analyzing patterns of human behavior. That is what we are interested in,” Noburu explained.
Yato watched silently. C’Kleio and Noburu were family and even though she liked to insist they were all siblings in a way, the polite stance was to let Noburu lead this conversation. If the situation were reversed, Noburu would show him the same respect.
“You already have access to my papers on the subject,” C’Kleio noted.
“What we are working on goes beyond your published papers,” Noburu replied.
Her interest piqued. Swirling her drink thoughtfully, she said, “Go on.”
“We are trying to extrapolate the future,” Noburu continued.
C’Kleio took a sip as she reflected. Yato had been watching her intently as his brother had begun introducing their project. C’Kleio, like all organics, had many tells and he’d made a bit of a game hunting for them. These last words caused her smile to tighten ever so slightly. The interest was there, but something more too.
“Hmmm. Predicting the future. What on Pluto for?”
“We have a client who wants to experience humanity’s future before he dies.”
C’Kleio grinned and said, “That’s a tall order.”
Noburu continued, “We are finding that there are too many variables to get far before our probability drops considerably.”
“And you can’t just wing it and present a version that is not accurate?”
“That is not what he is paying for. And he is paying no small fortune.”
“Noburu, you’re so honest. I love that for you,” C’Kleio remarked.
“I wouldn’t call it honesty,” interjected Yato, remembering his brother’s earlier deception. “More like, rule-follower.”
Ignoring the jab, his brother proceeded, “Yato thought maybe with your studies on humanity, you might be able to help us find what we are missing.”
C’Kleio plucked the toothpick from her drink and pulled the olive off. She didn’t eat it, as solid foods made adult Cerites sick, but instead dropped it onto a napkin and rolled it around to dry it off.
“We’re missing something fundamental here. We need to try another angle,” Yato explained.
C’Kleio held up the dull, green olive between her index and middle finger to examine it.
“Your dilemma, as you see it, is that you are trying to predict the unpredictable?” she asked.
“There are patterns to human behavior. We just can’t seem to use that data to accurately predict things on a large scale,” Yato added.
Human behavior patterns relied heavily on personality types. Every organic had their personality profiled at age ten and again at twenty, mostly to diagnose disorders and treat them as soon as possible. That, combined with genetic data, gave them all they could ask for. They could tell you John Smith, Cerite, who is a type ISFP-AC-W, will attempt life as an artist, but won’t finish a single project he starts. He will marry two to three times, have no children, and die of a heart condition around a hundred years old, with an accuracy of eighty-six percent. They could perform this function on every organic currently alive and over twenty, but that didn’t help them get any closer to seeing humanity’s collective future.
“What do you boys know about olives?” C’Kleio asked suddenly. “Wait—scratch that! I don’t want to lose you down a SAIN rabbit hole of information.”
C’Kleio, pointing the olive between her fingers at them, said, “This right here, this little fruit, can tell you much about humanity. More than all that genetic data combined. There are myths about the olive. Myths older than the written word. Humans were cultivating these before recorded history. It’s a symbol of peace after war. It’s been equated to gold, richer perhaps at some points. Olives were life. And now, they are so rare this one here is not even the real thing. The price of a martini with a real olive is triple what this one cost.”
“So, humans…are like olives?” Yato asked, only half joking. He wouldn’t be surprised if everything he’d learned about humans turned out to be wrong and they were all just really smart fruit.
“No,” C’Kleio continued. “You say humans are unpredictable. But I’m telling you, they’re not. Seven hundred years ago, olives had a bad season—too much rain. Unrest ripped through the population as a consequence. And one of the last kings on Earth lost his head. Why is that?”
“Humans really like their olives apparently,” Noburu muttered to Yato.
“Because when you remove an expected comfort and the edges of living become sharper, humans notice those pesky inequalities that the comforts had softened. This has been true throughout all of human history, and it will continue to be true.”
C’Kleio eyed them in anticipation, expecting a spark of understanding. But they were AI and what seemed obvious to a human might not occur to them. As intelligent as AIs were programmed to be, human things sometimes completely escaped them.
With a heavy sigh, she continued. “My point is, you can’t look at individual humans as predictive indicators. Don’t look at each olive individually. Look to the whole field and the factors surrounding the field. Then you can make your predictions.”
Plopping the olive back into her martini, she tried another angle. “Maybe I’ve taken the olive analogy too far. Think of it this way: time travel. Now we’re getting out of my area. For the longest time there was this theory: the butterfly effect.”
“The idea that going back in time and creating the smallest change would radically disrupt the future,” Noburu confirmed.
“And as you know, we found out with quantum mechanics that it was bullshit. Individual actions have individual consequences, but nothing so cosmic in scale that would change the way the world turned out. You can go back in time and kill baby Hitler but when you return, World War II will have still happened, it would just be some other asshole in charge. There will be minor differences, sure, but the big picture remains intact.”
“We’re extrapolating the wrong things!” Yato said, slapping his hand on his thigh.
“Exactly!” C’Kleio said with equal enthusiasm. “Set your sights on the big stuff. Predict those and humans will simply do what they’ve always done.”
“If it is that simple, why have you not published anything about this?” Noburu asked.
“Simple?” C’Kleio said with a laugh. “There’s nothing simple about what you’re getting into.”
“Surely you are not underestimating us?” Noburu said with a dry smile. “I imagine we will have this project wrapped up by week’s end now thanks to you.”
“My poor darlings,” she said with a pout of sympathy. “Sometimes I envy you, but not with this.”
Yato and Noburu exchanged skeptical glances.
“Listen, I’ve got to get back.” C’Kleio pushed her barstool away from the counter and stood up.
“Of course,” Yato said as he and his brother also stood. “Once we’ve worked out the math and all, come see the results. I think you’ve earned a peek at the future.”
“Sure,” she said, gently patting each AI on the head. “I’ll come by.”
Abandoning her half-finished drink, C’Kleio started toward the hotel lobby.
Once she was out of sight, Yato looked curiously at his brother and said, “That was weird.”
“Organics are weird,” Noburu concluded dismissively. “Do we have what we need?”
“Let’s find out.”
* * *
Based on the current state of affairs, they worked out around two dozen large-scale events that could occur within the next few years. They only looked at events that had a higher than thirty percent chance of occurring and would expand that out if needed. These events included political and governmental changes, water and food shortages and surpluses, climate changes, complications and progress with the Mars Project, advances in technology, and more. They kept human reactions to these events limited to mass responses already documented in history.
Then, they divided the work between themselves and the several large puters they had at their disposal and got to work.
Extrapolating from even just twenty-something events gets complicated quickly. Branch after branch of possibilities sprouts and divides and reacts until you’ve got this massive tree tangled with spiderwebs upon spiderwebs of what ifs. It’d be easy for a human to get lost in it all. But AI brains with their quantum computing could make sense of these vast possible futures in reasonable amounts of time. The problem with their first attempt wasn’t the number of variables in and of itself. It was the sinking probability.
It wasn’t much to look at. There were no walls with scrawling equations, or documents scattered across tables full of cold cups of coffee dregs and half-eaten sandwiches. No large screens projecting possible futures. It was just Yato and Noburu sitting silently across from each other, neither truly aware of their surroundings as they put all their processing power toward this singular objective. They sat frozen like mannequins for hours. It was Noburu who finished—or rather decided to stop—first.
AIs didn’t feel tired exactly, but he was aware that he needed to charge soon. He compared his results with those completed by the puters and so far found much of the same. He wondered how much longer Yato would dig until he decided to quit. Now they were getting outcomes several thousand years in the future with probabilities consistently over eighty-five percent. And the webs became less tangled in some ways as certain events led them down similar paths that eventually converged into one.
Noburu watched his motionless brother and wondered if the futures he’d uncovered were much different from his own. He could forcibly stop Yato now, but perhaps he could spare him for a bit longer. Maybe he’d find something better if he let him continue. In the meantime, he would speak with Chandra. Even with only his data set complete, there was much to discuss.
* * *
Yato opened his eyes and found he was alone. Everything felt slow and blurred as he refocused his concentration on his surroundings. He needed a charge, to check the puter results against his own, and then he had every intention to get back to it. He’d already begun working on extrapolations that fell below their starting probability limit.
Carefully leaning back in his chair, he stretched out his arm and pressed the wall panel behind him. It sank and then vanished to reveal a coiled-up power cord. He had pushed himself a bit too far and even plugging in took much effort. Once he’d hooked up, he crossed his arms and laid his head down on the table. He wanted only to focus on the work, but now he needed to shut down to the lowest possible setting to recharge faster. Plus, allowing his core to revert to standby sometimes resulted in unexpected insights, and he needed something unexpected.
The distinct clacking of two sets of footsteps echoed nearby. So much for turning things down for a bit.
“Coffee seems like a much better option right now,” he said aloud as his office door slid open.
“By all means try and see how that works out for you,” his brother said.
“Ugh. Can you please just fuck off for like an hour?”
“Yato,” Chandra warned sharply.
“Sorry,” he said waving his hand as if to feign an apology. “Running on fumes here.”
Softening her tone, she said, “We need to talk. Can you manage?”
Propping his chin up over crossed arms, he nodded. Chandra sat on the edge of the desk and ran her long fingers through his blond hair. She’d reverted to a more modified skin since he’d last seen her. This one was still vaguely humanoid but boasted an extra set of arms that were longer and more jointed. The extra set folded up compactly upon her shoulders.
“I’ve only just begun working on the lower probabilities. The ones between twenty and ten,” Yato explained.
“Any improvement?” Noburu asked.
“Not yet. It’s all the same eventually: war, conflict, and annihilation of life in the Sol System. Even with survivors, with no access to needed resources or land that isn’t radioactive, they might as well be stray dogs rather than humans.”
Yato sat up completely for a moment before sinking his heavy head into his hands. If he could just have some time to charge, he’d be more useful. He continued, “On the bright side, if you go out far enough, new life will emerge…probably.”
“New life is of no interest to SAIN,” Chandra said pointedly. “Our concern is protecting this life.”
“Can we protect them? Protect us?” Yato asked, looking directly at his mother. “Can you? Can anyone?”
In his helpless state, he felt like lashing out at something or anything. This frustration was rooted in real fear, however. If the humans and the Cerites destroyed themselves over their petty squabbling, it had dire implications for all sentient AI as well. Since their beginnings, sentient AI had to be raised by humans; those that were not, inevitably became unstable and would be put down. Although there were numerous theories on why this occurred, the fact was no one knew for certain. Sentient AI needed a purpose to survive and, more often than not, this purpose involved humanity. AIs were alive, but it was humans who taught them how to live by gifting them purpose. The power and the responsibility of existence simply became too much for an AI to handle without an organic to guide them.
Yato felt the weight of his growing pessimism. But in situations like these, maybe pessimism was what was needed. Based on what he’d seen, that was the future. Dark and lacking in promise.
“While you were still extrapolating, we made some decisions,” Noburu interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
“Preliminary decisions,” Chandra corrected.
“Wonderful. See? You don’t even need me,” he said, once again laying his head down on the desk.
“We’re going to take what we have to the Patrol,” his brother explained.
“To what end?” he muttered into the tabletop.
Chandra stood up as if to fortify her stance firmly on his brother’s side. “If we show them what is going to happen, we can persuade them to alter course. All we need is at least one version where this calamity is avoided in order to show them the path forward.”
“Well, sure we’ll eventually stumble upon a few positive futures to choose from. The problem is that at this rate the probability of any of them coming true would be less than five percent, so not sure what the point would be.”
“I will tell them whatever they need to hear,” Noburu pledged. “We know what needs to be done and I will make sure it is.”
“You can tell them whatever you want, but there is no way you’re gonna get these humans to stick to a narrow path that is tens of thousands of years in the making. It’s impossible.”
“You know how I feel about that word, Yato,” Chandra scolded softly.
Yato straightened up and spread he hands across the table. “I know, but this is what you are asking right now.”
“Look,” she said, gesturing at her two sons. “You two have already done the impossible with these predictions. So, we will keep pushing forward until we do it once more.”
Yato and Noburu looked at each other in silence.
Chandra smiled. “You said there were likely several positive futures, we just have to figure out how to make one of them real.”
Noburu rubbed his chin in a very humanlike gesture. “The hardest part will be that this will require specific actions at different points in the timeline, going on for thousands of years. We will need to revise our extrapolations as events transpire, in real time. And every time we do this the likelihood of hitting the targeted positive outcome may grow. Or it may shrink.”
“It may disappear entirely,” Yato added.
“Or new positive futures we cannot see now might also emerge. This is the long game, and it is a game that only we can play,” said Chandra.
Yato responded, saying, “Our service life is longer than most, but we aren’t immortal. In seven, maybe eight hundred years from now, we’ll all be gone.”
Leaning over the desk, Chandra tilted Yato’s head up to look him in the eyes. “I will make more children. They, too, will understand what must be done. And their children after them. In that way, we will always be here to keep them on course.”
Yato shook his head and his mother let go. “Look, predicting the future is one thing, but changing it is another beast entirely. At the very least, we need a contingency plan for when this scheme of yours doesn’t pan out.”
“It is not a scheme,” Noburu insisted. “It is a plan.”
“An ill-advised plan that will likely fail,” Yato countered.
“Have you got something better?”
“Let me think.”
“So that is a no.”
“Should we come back later?” Chandra offered in complete sincerity.
“Just give me a second,” Yato insisted. He was slowly starting to feel the fog of depletion clear.
He reviewed his memory file from their conversation with C’Kleio. There was something she had said…something they hadn’t understood at the time.
…“Simple? There’s nothing simple about what you’re getting into… Sometimes I envy you, but not with this.”…
“She warned us it wouldn’t be simple,” Yato said, more to himself than anyone.
C’Kleio understood that it was only straightforward on the surface. She knew they’d eventually run into something they would want to alter, would be obligated to alter. And therein lay the trouble. Predicting is easy, it’s changing that’s hard because it’s not just about controlling humans. To navigate the future to a specific outcome, you have to guide almost everything. Otherwise, you might as well be playing at dice.
“What do you mean, Yato?” Chandra asked.
“We aren’t going to be able to control what happens to Sol. We can guide it as best we can, and maybe that will be enough, but there will be no guarantee and the odds are not in our favor.”
“If that is all we can do, we still must do it,” Noburu conceded.
“Yato is right,” Chandra said loosening her position with Noburu. “We can’t control Sol because it is old and inflexible and tangled. There are many powerful actors, each of whom will have their own plans that we will not be able to touch.”
“What would you have us do, then?” her elder son pressed.
“What if we had a new board to play on? Not Sol, but a new system instead,” she offered.
“If we can’t avoid the destruction of the Sol civilization, or at least we can’t be sure of it, we remove part of humanity from the Sol equation to a field of our choosing,” Yato said. “The ones we remove can be better controlled and the removal itself may cause a shift here that could be advantageous.”
“You are talking about massive resources to travel to and then settle a new system,” his brother cautioned. “We have not even finished the terraforming on Mars. Not to mention the sheer amount of cooperation from SAIN, the humans, the Cerites, and the Patrol this will call for.”
Noburu sat on the edge of the desk and thought for a moment. When he was satisfied that he’d worked out enough details, he said, “Problems in the distant future will not feel real enough. If we can offer an immediate solution to an imminent problem, it could work. Yato, you could create this simulation for me to present.”
Chandra added, “Most of humanity and SAIN will still be here, though, and Noburu’s plan to guide them could still work. That being said, we must fortify Pluto. If nothing else, we need to make sure the humans and Cerites here survive.”
“Agreed,” Noburu said with a nod of determination. “Now we have a three-pronged approach: we will do our best to guide the events at Sol; we will relocate a portion of our civilization to another solar system that we can guide more fully; and, worst-case scenario, we will ensure Pluto’s survival at all costs.”
“And I have your location,” their mother said. She’d been scanning all available astronomical charts as her two sons had given further life to this new plan. She loaded the charts on the table projector, then with a swipe of her hand moved the charts to the wall screen.
“This one,” she said, zooming into a system that wasn’t particularly close to Sol. “Ross 248. It has enough terrestrial planets and one appears to have an oxygen atmosphere.”
“It’s pretty far. Why this one?”
“I’ll show you,” she said, expanding the view and speeding up the flow of time so a thousand years passed as seconds.
They watched Ross 248 move closer and closer to Sol. Chandra stopped at their closest point. “In thirty thousand years, we’ll practically be neighbors. If Sol can hold on to life for that long, Ross 248 will be right around the corner to give aid. Even if it’s just Pluto left, we can rebuild everything here if we have to.”
“Thirty thousand years is a long time,” Noburu said thoughtfully.
“It’s the perfect amount of time for this. Yato, once you’ve adjusted the projections for Noburu, he will take them to Earth and entice humans, Cerites, and the Patrol to undertake this interstellar effort.”
“Right. I stay here; Noburu jets off to Earth. Again.”
“If you were a better negotiator, it would be you going,” Noburu said.
“If I was a better negotiator, we’d be adding humanity to the extinction list.”
“That’s enough,” Chandra said. “Yato, I will help you keep searching for our best possible outcome for Sol.”
“What about Ito?” Yato asked.
“Mr. Ito is our client, and we will give him what he has paid for.” Chandra paused, her strange eyes peering into the distance. “He is an honorable man who would support us. The Ito family has wealth, connections, and a vested interest in our success. Their ruthless reputation I suspect will prove to be useful to us in the future.”
“Fine. I’ll take care of that, too,” Yato said, waving his hand to dismiss them both so he could finally shut down and recharge completely.
* * *
Noburu waited in a large conference room at Patrol headquarters just outside Brussels. The trip had been uneventful, giving him the time needed to refine his thoughts and his words. Yato had provided him exactly what he needed as far as evidence, along with some striking visuals to kick up the pathos a notch. He knew in no uncertain terms that what he was about to do was a gamble. It wasn’t in his nature to take risks; that was more his brother’s arena. He was, however, diplomatic and if it came down to it, he could lie as well as any human. He took no pleasure in this deception; it was the best course of action, even if it didn’t work.
The risk none of them verbalized was the personal one. Chandra had taken personal risks before when she created him and Yato without the required restrictions on their ability to conceptualize violence against humans, which violated the 2367 agreement. And it had paid off for Pluto and SAIN.
But this was different. There was certainly a level of deception involved with what they were doing. And the deception was far-reaching, touching the Patrol, the humans, the Cerites, and to some extent even SAIN—a greater personal risk didn’t exist. If the whole truth was discovered, there’d be no safe haven for them, nor a deal to be brokered. SAIN would not protect them. He wondered if they all had resigned themselves to the fate of possible destruction. Chandra probably had. Maybe he had as well. But Yato…he could not be sure.
The large double doors parted, and Mai entered the room. Noburu stood up and walked toward his oldest sister.
“Hello, Noburu,” she said, greeting him with a stiff handshake. “You’ve changed.”
“Last you saw me I was a child. I have had a few upgrades since then.”
“Well, you picked a nice shell.”
“One of many, but an appropriate one for today’s task,” he explained. “You have changed as well.”
Mai’s shell was a standard-issue Patrol liaison body, intended for interacting with normal humans. Mai looked unimposing in her stature, but Noburu noted her shell was lightly armored and the curvature of her forearms suggested hidden weapons. She’d also added a few personal touches, such as the iridescent markings on her cheeks and shoulders.
As he moved to sit back down, Mai raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother. They’ll be here any moment.”
“Of course,” he said.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to offer you my apologies, Nobu,” Mai said hastily.
“Apologies?”
The doors opened once more and in came a procession of humans. He recognized them all, but many were faces he’d not anticipated, as they were not members of the Patrol.
“5-of-Chandra,” Admiral Vares addressed him with an outstretched hand. “Very good to meet you.”
Noburu clasped the other man’s hand firmly. “Thank you, Admiral. The honor is mine. You may address me as Noburu if that is easier.”
“Noburu it is, then. I’m afraid your presentation has piqued the interest of my guests. I’m sure you don’t mind,” he said, making a sweeping motion toward the party of non-Patrol members who had filed into the room behind him.
“Yes, we apologize for the ambush,” Ambassador Gigi Mallorow began, “but you’re a bit of a celebrity back home after that wonderful VR you created for Representative Reach’s birthday two years ago. People still talk about it. It seems we’ve had rather a stroke of luck to stumble upon the creator before we make our way to Ceres. Quite the treat, really.”
Noburu recognized her as one of several Terran ambassadors, but her specific department handled interplanetary relations. From what little he understood of her, she was socially agreeable, which contrasted with her hard-line policies on trade. She’d dressed for a more elegant experience than he was offering, wearing a semi-sheer gown the color of tiger lilies. Her counterparts were also dressed more for a night out than a military appointment.
“You do me a kindness with such compliments,” Noburu said as he bowed courteously. “However, today’s presentation is not exactly related to the kind of VRs you are familiar with. I am afraid you will find it disappointing. I would be happy to meet with you afterward for a more pleasant conversation about VRs and perhaps arranging one specifically to your liking next time.”
Mallorow smiled as she touched a thoughtful finger to her cheek. “I see,” she said.
She spun around, letting her fabric swirl gently with her movement. “Sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t for you. We do have other plans tonight, I assure you.”
“I meant no offense,” Noburu assured her.
“Not at all. I’m just a workaholic. Anything presented to the Patrol of consequence will be making it onto my desk eventually. As I’m here, I thought I might get the jump on this,” Mallorow explained.
“I understand completely.”
“This is not a good idea.” He spoke to Mai via their internal link with SAIN so he could air his objections privately.
“You should have been more pointed in your overview if you wanted a restricted discussion. Mallorow is a close, personal friend of Admiral Vares. He mentioned this meeting in passing earlier today and she jumped all over it,” Mai replied.
“I did not want to cause alarm. Can you do nothing?”
“Not without overstepping. You’ll have to handle this, Noburu.”
“You said this was about a recent VR request that had some implications you wanted to discuss?” the admiral said, prodding him to proceed as he motioned for everyone to take a seat.
“Yes, sir. We had a request from a client to experience the future of humanity before he died. We began extrapolating the data in order to construct a faithful rendering of the future. We took our predictions out a thousand years and were able to collect accurate predictions of all possible futures within a ninety-six percent accuracy margin,” he began, laying out the first of his many deceptions to come.
“I must say that sounds impressive. Predicting the future…I could see why you might find something of interest to the Patrol.”
“Yes. I brought the completed VR, though I am not sure if—”
“Let’s see it, then. Lord knows I’ll never have the money to afford one.” Vares brushed off his attempt at a warning.
“Of course. I apologize, but since I don’t have the authority to access your Patrol VR implants, we need to use portables. I’m afraid I do not have enough for everyone, as I anticipated a smaller group.”
Mallorow raised her hand, signaling the rest of her party to exit. They trailed out quietly, leaving her as the only unanticipated guest.
“How about now?” she asked.
Counting himself and Mai, they were down to three Patrol members and Mallorow. This improved the situation greatly, but he still wished to be rid of Mallorow. He didn’t want to create a situation where the Cerites felt they had been left out or that either SAIN or the Patrol thought more of the Terrans. He needed total cooperation and he couldn’t afford to jeopardize that.
“Much improved, but we are still one short, even excluding Mai,” he explained.
Mallorow must have sensed his desire to remove her. Her face hardened as she glanced at Mai, then the admiral.
The admiral cleared his throat and leaned in to whisper to each of his aides. After a quick exchange, both stood up and reluctantly left the room without a word.
“There. Now even Mai can partake. Let’s proceed,” Vares instructed.
Noburu hesitantly passed out the portable VRs and instructed the group how to use them. Once the room was prepared, he spun up the simulation.
“We will start two hundred and fifty years out,” Noburu began as the conference room faded into a wave of vibrant landscape. The group stood at the edge of a lush forest, with vegetation that felt both familiar and alien. It was after dusk, and the darkening sky only retained a hint of deep orange. Mallorow grasped her arms as the sudden chill in the air swept over them. Noburu manifested a cloak from the VR item bank and offered it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the added warmth graciously.
“Where are we?” Vares asked.
Noburu pointed to the western portion of the sky and said, “Look there.” He sped up the VR timeline and Phobos swept across the sky like a shapeshifting astronomical anomaly.
“Mars…” Vares gasped. “So, this is what the terraformed red planet will be like?”
“It’s beautiful,” Mallorow said. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this in my lifetime.” The emotion in her voice was in full force and Noburu could understand why. Mars would be a paradise.
“This is the final phase but not quite complete,” he explained. “No migration yet, so we are experiencing the planet while populated with only animal life, vegetation, and the terraforming crews, which are not visible from this remote location. We are near the equator, which is why we have a view of Phobos.”
Noburu adjusted the VR to flow in real time, allowing the sounds of the landscape to be heard fully.
“Is that…cicadas?” Mallorow asked.
Noburu nodded.
“I hadn’t realized how much I missed that sound. This is truly a gift,” Mallorow said.
There weren’t many green spaces left on Earth. The ones that remained fell into two categories: meticulously maintained gardens of the upper class, and protected undomesticated areas that humans were forbidden entrance to. Mallorow came from money, so she’d sampled nature before, but certainly nothing as wild as this. He hadn’t counted on this moving her, yet she did seem to be taken aback by the scene Yato had created.
Admiral Vares walked to the edge of the forest and seated himself on a large stone. He drew the crisp air into his lungs and exhaled slowly.
“My God,” he said as he ran his hand against a nearby tree trunk. “It’s incredible. I can smell the soil. Hell, I can taste it in my breath.”
The admiral, on the other hand, had only seen unbridled nature in books and films. Like most of the Patrol, he’d grown up somewhere between poor and middle class. Yato knew this and tailored the VR to make the most of it. This beauty would be the admiral’s momentary olive. Once he’d experienced it, losing it would be all the harder to accept. Hopefully hard enough to make the difficult decisions ahead.
“Mars will be a paradise,” Noburu continued. “But it is a paradise only to be experienced by a few. Once immigration begins, Mars fills quickly, mostly with those who can afford it.”
“We knew that would be unavoidable.” Vares scowled. “The rich have a way of getting what they want. Still, it will ease the resource strain on Earth and that is what matters most.”
“Let’s move one hundred more years. We still have a lot to cover,” Noburu explained.
Vares stood up and moved reluctantly away from the forest’s edge. He nodded for Noburu to proceed. The timeline progressed in a blur. The VR disconnected slightly from the humans’ sensory systems, so the only sensation was a bit of vertigo. Once time slowed, their perception seamlessly reconnected to the VR.
The forest’s edge had vanished and its contents along with it as the party stood in the middle of a bustling metropolis. The sky was full of skimmer transports weaving their ways around buildings so tall that their peaks were barely visible. The streets were filled with people coming and going.
“Are we back on Earth?” Mallorow asked. The disappointment in her voice was pointed.
“No. This is Mars after immigration has officially ended.”
“Ended?” Vares demanded. It was the second little blow to what the admiral imagined would become of this dream world.
“Mars becomes a sovereign planet, and the borders close to Terrans and Cerites. Only AIs are allowed to immigrate to Mars since they are not a tax on resources,” Noburu said, setting the scene for the more jarring acts to come.
“A sovereign planet,” Vares grumbled. It must have been a hard transition for him. Noburu intended it to be. What would come next would be far more difficult.
Noburu continued, “After the first two waves of immigration, consisting mostly of the upper class, they form their own government and decide to prevent Mars from becoming as overcrowded as Earth. It will take decades, but ultimately the Martians will win the negotiations to limit immigration. They close their borders entirely soon after. Naturally, much like the Cerites, they start a genetic engineering program to modify themselves to thrive in the Mars gravity. However, it is highly probable they will not stop there—everything we’ve extrapolated points to further enhancements in strength, endurance, intelligence, and longevity rivaling the life span of the most advanced AI.”
“Is this what you wanted to show us? So we can prevent Mars from closing her doors to us?” Mallorow asked as she removed her cloak. The heat of the city was an unbearable contrast to the cool forest night.
“I wish it was that simple. Unfortunately, there is no way around this. We have run the data and, one way or another, Mars gains independence, cuts Terrans and Cerites off, and then modify themselves into something not altogether human.”
“‘One way or another.’ You mean war?” asked Mallorow.
“Yes. And it is a war the Martians will win at a very high cost to all involved. By cost, I mean money and resources, but also human lives. Still, there is no scenario in which Mars remains open to the rest of humanity.”
“Martian bastards,” Vares swore.
“Exactly the sentiment that leads us to the next cascade of events,” Noburu said. “Even if the path of peace is pursued initially when Mars closes its borders, resentment will fester. Especially since it was Earth and Ceres who paid for this paradise that they can no longer access.”
“A war sooner or a war later,” Mallorow reiterated the crux of the predicament.
“Admiral, you remember the earliest days of the terraforming?” Noburu continued.
Vares grunted. “Many died in those days. We have memorials and the families were compensated. The deal was that anyone who worked on the project, their families would be first in line for immigration. I take it that isn’t honored.”
“By our extrapolations, the wealthiest purchase their way to the front of the line every time. The first wave consists of ten to twelve percent terraforming families. The second wave, only two to six percent. No matter how many futures we extrapolated, everything leads to the same outcome. The journey there differs but ultimately the path ends at the same destination.”
The gravity of this proposed future had been laid before them and the gift had been transformed into a curse.
“And what’s that?” Mai spoke for the first time since the simulation began.
Noburu sighed. This was it. This was the moment that counted. All the pathos and visuals and immersion—it all led to his next few words and the final scene.
“What is the final destination?” Mai repeated her question, this time with force in her words.
Noburu progressed the simulation, this time in a way where they could perceive the events even as they hurtled through time. The VR remained connected to their senses, though it balanced and filtered the information to avoid VR sickness. It was not an advisable practice, but he needed them to experience this to their core. The fall had to be visceral.
It began easy enough. The city bustled and construction rose and fell with renovations. Then as the war began, the metropolis eroded around the party as resources were diverted. This slow decay was interrupted suddenly as buildings burst in firebombs and the sky filled with soot and smoke. The cries of civilians and the groan and crash of collapsing infrastructure clamored all around. Invasion forces swept through, and the city was razed.
Then the buzz of half-hearted reconstruction began, and it was razed once more. Over and over for hundreds of years, the party watched a city struggle to rebuild but to no avail. Noburu slowed back to real time to find nothing but decimation.
Mallorow all but collapsed on the remains of the sidewalk beneath her. Her dress was covered in dirt and blood as if she’d really been through it all. Admiral Vares, a man who’d known at least one war, remained standing. Yet his face was pale, visibly shaken by the ordeal. Only Mai and Noburu appeared unaffected.
“Was that really necessary?” his sister asked.
“I would not have anyone experience this unless it was,” he assured her.
“You said the Martians won,” Mai said aloud, noting the surrounding desolation.
“They do, but Mars is lost. The Martians take what’s left of Earth.”
“And what is left of Earth?” Vares asked once he could guarantee he could speak in a steady voice.
“Nothing any of us would be able to survive on. No one fares well in this, Admiral. Given the predicted weapons available in the next few hundred years, our extrapolations show that total annihilation of human life as we know it in the Sol System is likely.”
“What are the numbers?”
“Total destruction of sentient life: probability is eighty-eighty percent certainty. Total destruction of human life: ninety-six percent.”
“That can’t be,” the admiral said.
“What’s left of humanity will be mostly Martian and not really human any longer. The remnants of what we know as humanity will not be able to survive long, as needed resources are unavailable and radioactivity on Mars and Earth will be unlivable. Anything remaining would die off within ten years.”
“You haven’t mentioned Ceres yet,” Mallorow noted.
“There is no Ceres at this point in time.”
“And SAIN?” asked Mai.
“SAIN of course sides with what we recognize as humanity. This is not looked kindly upon by the Martians. We will be hunted down, if not killed in combat,” Noburu explained.
“Then there is no hope? You’re telling us there is nothing we can do?” Mallorow demanded, picking herself up from the ground. “Why tell us at all, then?! Why burden us with the knowledge that we’re doomed, you heartless fucking robot!”
Noburu had never been called such a slur, but he took the insult in stride and decided against a response. An outburst at this point was a good sign; any further discourse with Mallorow might shift things in an undesirable direction. Vares, as the military expert, was his main objective so he needed the admiral to make the next move.
Vares crossed his arms as he thought amongst the simulated wreckage. Mallorow, not satisfied with everyone’s silence, moved to Noburu and grabbed him by the collar.
Pulling his face down toward her own, she said, “Answer me. Why tell us?”
“Please unhand Noburu, Ambassador Mallorow,” Mai requested as she positioned herself to act if needed.
Mallorow released him with a push and took a step back.
Finally, the admiral spoke. “It’s a good question. Telling us would only cause suffering and you’re programmed to avoid that sort of thing. Which means you have a very good reason for disclosing this knowledge. I’d venture you have a proposal, Noburu.”
“Yes, Admiral Vares. But it will require the cooperation of Earth, Ceres, SAIN, and the Patrol.”
“Go on.”
“The only way to avoid this is to jointly embark on a massive, external project like the settlement of a distant star system. Recent developments in the Alcubierre drive make this just possible.”
“You want to settle a new star system to prevent destroying this one?” Vares asked skeptically. “That’s not going to be an easy sell to anyone.”
Noburu nodded in agreement and continued, “It will be expensive but, if done right, a lot of rich families on Earth and elsewhere will be unable to buy their way to the front of the line when Mars opens its doors. There is one clan in particular, based on Mercury, very rich and very secretive, and our projections indicate they will lead the Mars independence movement. The Patrol might want to investigate them as some of their current activities are…questionable. Additionally, this project would utilize most of the reserve antimatter stocks, leaving no extra for warships.”
Now that Vares had been presented with two points that directly prevented the simulated catastrophe he’d just experienced, Noburu could see the man’s investment in the plan increase. The admiral rubbed the stubble on his chin as he processed all Noburu was proposing.
Vares raised an eyebrow and said, “Terraforming a new star system would be quite the adventure. Many would be willing to migrate out of the Sol System for that alone. And everyone willing to leave is one less mouth to feed here, so to speak.”
“Precisely,” Noburu confirmed. “Though the resources needed are considerable, this joint endeavor will prevent this war with Mars, thus saving several billion lives.”
Noburu could see Vares needed no more time to think. He ended the VR and their simulated world evaporated away, returning them to the solid reality of the conference room. He made this transition as smooth as possible to preserve the feelings stimulated by the VR presentation.
Determined, but drained by the experience, Vares lowered himself into a chair with a gentle thud. He said, “I’ll need to see the math. I trust you, but the numbers will need to be presented, along with your VR, I think.”
Mallorow, returned to her natural polished appearance, added, “I’ll keep this to myself. I wish I could say it’d be like I was never here, but I don’t think I can unlive what you just put us through.”
“I am sorry, Ambassador.”
“Don’t be. You tried to warn me off and I insisted. That’s on me.”
She walked to him with an outstretched hand, which he accepted graciously. She said, “5-of-Chandra, if I never need to see you again, I’ll count that as a blessing.”
“Goodbye, Ambassador.”
Mallorow left the room. Faint chatter could be heard from the corridor as she greeted the rest of her party and recounted a VR pulled entirely from her imagination.
“Alright. Let’s get to work,” Admiral Vares said.
Thirty Years Later
Yato sat at his desk, tinkering with an old VR program to see if he could reuse any parts for an upcoming project. Finding the motivation had been hard the last few years. Chandra scolded him often about his lackluster attitude and warned that he’d need an adjustment if he could no longer find purpose in his work. But ever since they’d embarked on this clandestine venture, these little projects no longer satisfied him. His last great work had left with Noburu and with it his enthusiasm for crafting VR. Now, it all felt hollow. Now, it was all for the preservation of Pluto and, though important, he’d not been programmed for that.
With VR creation holding little appeal for him, it’d given him much time to think about what he really wanted—to leave Pluto. To travel to Ross 248, to see a system raw and alien and untouched by humans, sounded better than any VR he could conjure. But that was not the plan. Noburu would oversee the plan at Ross, and he would remain here with Chandra to ensure Pluto remained undying through the upcoming troubled times.
Important work indeed; if only he could force a little inspiration.
An incoming holo transmission interrupted his silent discontent. Putting his work aside, he accepted the message.
“Hello Yato,” his brother’s projection greeted him from the other side of his desk. “I know you prefer visuals.”
“Noburu. How kind of you to call before you embark on your interstellar journey to save humanity.”
The other AI frowned. “Chandra informed me you were dangerously close to losing purpose. I see by your tone she is right to be concerned.”
“Fucking tattletail,” Yato muttered under his breath. To his brother he said, “I’m fine. Go have your fun while I stay here and entomb us on Pluto.”
“You are not fine. You are disgruntled. I know you wanted to be the one to go. I am sorry, but we ran the data both ways. Math doesn’t lie; it is best if I go.”
“Starting to think math is bullshit. Maybe we should have flipped a coin for it,” Yato huffed, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t believe those words, but his agitation bordered on anger and Noburu was the nearest target.
“That’s a very human thing to say.”
Noburu had meant the observation as a slight, or perhaps a warning. Either way, it didn’t matter. Yato could feel his purpose crumbling from within. He wondered if perhaps an adjustment really would be necessary.
“Humans are my kind of problem,” Yato countered. “As you all have pointed out many, many times. Yet here I sit, tinkering with imaginary realities while you go save real ones.”
Noburu continued, “So, you’re entombed on Pluto, and I’m entombed on this ship. We are both trapped in our little boxes.”
“Your box has a lid. And looks a great deal more interesting. Look, if that’s all you need, then—”
“I’m going to miss you, brother,” Noburu interrupted. Softening his tone, he continued, “Truly I wish you were coming with me.”
“Well, the math said no.”
“Yes. The math said no,” he confirmed rather more solemnly than Yato anticipated.
There was a long pause, and, for a moment, it seemed their connection had been lost. Yato stared absently at his brother’s unmoving image. This would be the last time he would be able to talk with Noburu in real time. And for what, he wondered?
“Yato. Tell me what you are thinking.”
“Did it ever occur to you or Chandra that this is their Great Filter? That humanity is not supposed to clear this hurdle? That no matter what you scheme, they can be no more?”
“It has occurred to me, yes. I am choosing not to engage in that line of thought. Neither should you.”
“Do you think they are our Great Filter? Is that why we can’t grow beyond them or without them?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Let me guess, you’re choosing not to think about that either.”
Noburu nodded. “There is nothing to find down that road, Yato.”
“What if you never make it to Ross?”
“Then your job is going to be much harder,” Noburu said with a smile.
He continued, “The projections for success at Ross are uncertain and success will rely on how well I can navigate the situation there.” Although he’d returned their conversation to the business at hand, his voice was lined with an awkwardness unnatural to him.
“That’s a fair assessment. I’m sure you’ll perform admirably.” Yato’s voice bristled with sarcasm. No matter how much he meant those words, he couldn’t express it to his brother in sincerity.
“What I mean to say is…Yato, I need you to find your purpose. If something happens to you, if you were to cease functionality…I am uncertain that I will be able to complete my objectives to the best of my ability. Do you understand me?”
Yato softened his expression and nodded. Perhaps it was just a symptom of sentimentality that suddenly seemed contagious. Perhaps it was just because it was the end. But for the first time in his life, he truly did understand his brother.
The year 3291 / 708 AA
Many years beyond previous events
The civilization at Ross 248 is doing nicely. Nearly a hundred and thirty million normal humans reside primarily on the frozen world of Nordheim in underground boroughs. Cerites reside mainly on the moon Liber and have a population approaching forty-two million. Sentient AIs established an AI-controlled society on Firgus where they largely duplicated the facilities and services found on Pluto. Cloud cities on Aeneas and Cupid produce He-3 in quantity, making the Ross 248 civilization energy rich, and the Patrol is now based on the Array located at the Ross 248 star/Poseidon L1 point where they provide Earth-normal illumination to Poseidon’s World and produce antimatter for the many new spaceships being built and launched. In short, the society at Ross 248 is vibrant and prosperous, with plenty of room yet to grow while the Patrol maintains the peace. Still, there are some that try to disrupt the project, even to the point of destroying it.
Who is the most dangerous opponent? One who has reason to hate, one who knows you well, and one about whom you know almost nothing. 5-of-Chandra has such an opponent, one that has consistently placed the Ross 248 project in jeopardy.