The harsh sounds quieted as the car pulled into the station – a lowlying bunker of black composite sturdy enough to withstand nature’s petulance. A low grinding rumble reverberated through the carriage for several moments as the doors of the building closed behind it, and then the Camilan was free to step off the vehicle. The air in the station was cool and humid, but at least it was still. For a moment, the dim starkness of the station’s interior was visible, before Xila connected to the building’s network and accepted its offer to use the local theme. Cãranling wood and white-burning lanterns – she nodded her head in approval. As the scanners recognized the pattern on her armor-clothes and opened the doors to a warmly lit passage, she spared hardly a thought for what the place must actually look like.
She passed only a few others in the lavish hallways. Some were too distracted to notice her insignia; those that did bowed their heads in deference, saying nothing. Locked doors opened automatically before her, though on one occasion she had to ask a skittish-looking tech to step away from her before they would. The final door, at the end of a small mantrap, opened into a large room dominated by dozens of tall black towers. As usual, the theme was not configured to run here, so the soft wood and warm glow of the rest of the building was replaced by hard composite, lit only by the multicolored flashing indicator lights that covered the device in the center. A few Camilans sat in front of a few screens located toward the bottom of the towers, their own armor also visible without any skin to cover it. Xila approached the closest one and coiled her tendrils around his neck.
“Ah,” he said, visibly startled, but returned the gesture after a moment. “You are here early, flowerbud.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She leaned into him more fully, allowing part of her weight to rest on his shoulders. “You guys have redecorated since last time, eh?”
“Oh, have we?” the male replied with a chuckle. “I guess I haven’t seen it yet. I’ve been in here all night watching the test runs.”
“Mm. Cãranling, with sitru accents. Looks like a style from the Salnge period, though the lead seems to have put her own spin on it. It’s classy – I think you’d like it. Just make sure to play along with the right attire.”
“Haha, two statements have rarely had less to do with each other. And you might have to help me with that.”
“Hm. Alright. Remind me before I leave.” Xila stood back up, prompting an audible sigh of relief from the male. “It’s a bit of a shame, the timing. Don’t you think?”
“Ah. I guess.”
“They probably spent months of collective effort on that… and we’ll only be able to appreciate it for… what? A few days?”
He picked up the cue gracefully. “Well, I suppose that’s what you’re here to decide, isn’t it? And it’s not as if we had a better option. ‘Hey, I know you guys are hard at work on the whole morale thing, but you might wanna just go home and relax, ‘cause the building you’re prettying up is gonna be full of dead people here in a little bit. Including you.’ And then we have to explain why….”
Xila laughed. “I know, I know. It’s just unfortunate, that’s all.”
The male, for the first time, turned away from his screen and fixed Xila with a solemn look. “Have you been having doubts? Is that it?”
She sighed, and looked away. “I always have doubts. But the geneticists have made no more progress than a child would expect. Nothing has changed.”
“If that is so… then I will tell you that nothing has changed here, either.”
Xila simply stared at the screen. Years of uncertainty swam in her eyes.
“The citymind was, as much as the word can mean anything, complete the last time you came here. Since then, at your command, we have simply been putting it through simulations in an attempt to predict how it will act once given some amount of autonomy. The only thing preventing us from going through with that is your word.”
“My command? I thought we made that decision together.”
“Yes, we did. But it was still your command.”
“Ah. I see. Well… tell me how they’ve been going, then.”
“I must warn you again that simulations, even as detailed and faithful as we have, are not able to provide a perfectly accurate picture of the entity’s behavior. Any gaps between the simulation and reality will result in gaps between predicted and actual behavior. We have controlled for this the best we can, but the only instance we can be certain is accurate is the first instance that takes place in the real world.”
“I understand.”
“That being said, its behavior is usually straightforward. As long as it knows of the existence of hostile agents, it prioritizes their elimination, typically improving its own capabilities until it believes it has reached an optimal time to act. It determines this using a set of heuristics it developed in earlier trials. Once it believes there are no more hostile agents in existence, it attempts to maximize reward by expanding and converting all matter and energy into more of itself. This is usually preceded by a period of internal reorganization, during which the primary actor–”
“It prioritizes eliminating hostile agents?” Xila interrupted, voice guarded.
“Yes, quite reliably. Its reward function is time-sensitive, and its capacity for foresight is at least as good as mine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it leave something alive that later screwed it over.”
“Have you ever seen it leave anything alive, period?”
“It seems to be okay with the grass,” he offered. Seeing that Xila was not amused, he continued, “In trials where it has full autonomy, no. But under the circumstances I’d say that’s exactly what we want. Our purpose is to purge the Cult from existence – to create a civilization that can flourish and prosper in peace with itself. This is that. And its fears, if you could call them that, about what we would do to it are more than justified, I think. Because all the trials in which it didn’t remove the other agents, because I hard restricted it from doing so, resulted in its own dismantling inside of a month. Usually on the shipmind’s orders.”
“There’s no need to be so loud, flowerbud. I’m just trying to get a thorough understanding here.”
“Ah… right.”
“So… does it ever win against the shipmind?”
The male did not respond immediately. “In the trials… sometimes. But the trials can tell us even less about that. Without the shipmind’s cooperation, it is very difficult for me to model its behavior. I can only guess at what it would do based on what I know about its motives – but it is smarter than I am, and would likely come up with strategies that I wouldn’t. About the citymind, I can only say two things for certain. It tries, and the methods it tries are different if we help it.”
“Which we will of course be doing.”
“It, ah, actually does better if we don’t,” the male replied gently.
Xila blinked. “What? Why?”
“Well, each scenario plays out differently. It’s a different reason every time. And sometimes it wins anyway. I’m just saying that its overall success rate is higher. As for why… sometimes it does something that trips the shipmind’s alarm too early. Sometimes it grows protective of us, and doesn’t wipe us out fast enough before someone tells the shipmind about it. And sometimes the advice we give it just turns out to be bad, and following it results in a bad decision.”
“How reliable would you say that result is?”
“It’s counterintuitive. But even with their faults, I’d trust the trials over my intuition.” He considered this. “Barely.”
“And if it does win. What does it go on to do?”
“What we want it to do. Be fruitful and multiply.”
“Have you run any trials long enough for it to encounter the Kyasians?”
“Yes. Many.”
“And how does it react to them?”
“It prioritizes the elimination of hostile agents,” he repeated. “If necessary, it will reconvert resources into states that are optimal for that task. Software-based resources will, by this point, usually be structured in such a way that they can switch roles with trivial effort, now that the entity is used to the idea of encountering novel threats. But, ah, it will only do this if it perceives the Kyasian actors it encounters as a threat. Which looks to depend far more on them than on it.”
“That sounds like quite the dodge. Do they ever trigger this response on accident? As in, without actually intending hostility?”
“That’s a good question. Most of the trials we’ve ran have been edge-cases, to try to answer exactly that. I think the best answer is that yes, this has happened once. As a result of Kyasian infighting, which seemed to trigger an association with us.”
“Oh, gods. Can we put in some kind of ‘don’t kill Kyasians’ term in there, then?”
“We could try. But the real question is whether we want to. By the time the citymind encounters them, it has always grown to a point where its civilization is many times more morally significant than theirs. And, though I cannot fully model this, it is likely to be far more intelligent than either us or them. Do we really have a right to limit its decision-making so gracelessly?”
“We have an obligation to,” Xila insisted. “It is because of the Kyasians that our society continues to exist at all. We have repaid them harshly enough so far – it would be unthinkable to unleash this sort of entity on them if it has any chance of viewing them as an enemy.”
“I would refuse to do it,” the male replied calmly.
Xila blinked again, and for a second her tendrils began to coil in an expression of shock at the defiance. But she quickly calmed herself, enough to laugh at her own reaction. “A– alright. I can see you feel strongly about it. Make your case, then.”
“Kyasians, even queens, have always been willing to put our wellbeing above their own. They see us as having a greater range and depth of subjective experience, and thus, in their eyes it matters more what happens to us than to them. Do you disagree with that interpretation?”
“You’re saying they would be happy to be destroyed.”
“If among the books the shipmind had you read were accounts of Qa-kayanda from the surviving queens, you would know that they were not even particularly annoyed about that. And it had been for no greater purpose at all – at least none that any of the survivors would give merit.”
Xila stared.
“Their covetousness of our nature is entirely appropriate. And it will apply a hundredfold to the citymind’s. Should a conflict between the two arise, it is right that the citymind should win. Thus, right that we should do nothing to hobble it.”
“It should at least do everything it can to avoid the conflict in the first place.”
“It is already quite reluctant to divert its resources to violence. No specific term need be added.”
“…You would refuse to do it?”
The male nodded. “For what little it would be worth. You would have to force me, fingertap by fingertap. Or, in the likely event that you couldn’t figure out what to do, you would have to torture it out of me–”
“Alright, alright, let’s not be grotesque,” Xila interrupted, shaking her head as if to clear some mental image from it. “You really have no loyalty, do you? Or sense of gratitude, or reciprocity, or simple goodness of spirit…”
“I have all of those things. Along with a knowledge that it would be foolish to let any of them dictate a decision such as this. The citymind is the primary concern; it merits that status.”
“You’re calling me foolish, then?”
“I guess I am.” His tone was serious, but behind his faceplate Xila could see a taunting smile.
Xila smiled back, tilting her head at such an angle that glare from the screen would not block his view of it. “Good; I hoped you were. It’s been a while since anyone has.”
“Since the last time you were here, right?”
“Ha, probably.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and for a while both of them were silent. After some time, Xila spoke again.
“So… how does it kill us?”
“It usually makes use of the suits,” the male responded quietly.
“I have to hand it control of my suit?” Xila asked.
“It would hardly matter if you did or didn’t.”
There was a slight shudder as the female realized what he’d meant by that.
“Oh, god. At least not by you.”
“You’d have to stay away from me the whole time to be sure of that,” he said. “It chooses its moment unpredictably.”
“Ugh.” Another long pause. “When do we have to do it?”
“In one sense,” the male replied, reaching a tendril up to caress the side of Xila’s neck, “we have all the time in the world. The entity has no power until we give it. But in another sense, our time is already up. The entity is a paradise like spoken about in the holy books – every moment we keep it imprisoned is a moment stolen from heaven. Do you look forward to explaining our selfishness to the Goddess?”
“I have a feeling,” Xila said, opening both of their faceplates simultaneously, “she’ll understand.” But, as she brought her face closer to his, the look in his eyes stopped her. She examined his expression for a moment, then pulled back.
“You’d really rather do it now,” she said. He simply looked at her in response. “We might not get another chance. Ever.”
“…”
“…Alright. Pull up the screen.”
It took a moment for Hanaske to notice Kiluma’s distress. Once she realized that the lack of reply was not because the Kyasian was thinking of what to say, she rushed to her side, nervously opening and closing her hands as though trying to decide whether to touch her.
“Are you alright?” she asked, to no response. The Kyasian’s skin was pale, and her eyes did not seem to react to the Camilan casting a shadow over them. Hanaske wasn’t sure what state of consciousness this meant she was in – in fact she had little idea what states her species even had. Regardless, without knowing what was happening the Camilan knew she could render little aid. So she contented herself by arranging, with great effort, the Kyasian’s body in such a way that she would be unlikely to hurt herself in a spasm.
Then she stood up and turned her attention to the persistent tone coming from the ship’s consoles.
Her eyes flit across the message – though she was unfamiliar with the shuttle’s design, she could, at least, read the language. So it cut her off, then. Their current heading, she supposed, was fine for now. It would be unwise to turn around with the limited knowledge they had. Glancing at the other occupant, Hanaske darted into the cockpit, scanning up and down for something that resembled a comms system. Ah, it’s probably this screen,
…yet, not being certain, she dared not touch anything. She turned back to observe the Kyasian’s state, and curled her fingers. How long was this going to last? Would she eventually be fine, or did she really need assistance and time was ticking?
There seemed to be no change. Watching and seeing the same for another minute, Hanaske decided that the confidence she had would have to be good enough. Hesitating overlong before each fingertap, she did what she believed to be composing, aiming, and sending a radio signal of the necessary strength. Then, once she was finished, she returned to Kiluma’s side, monitoring her condition and periodically asking if she could hear her.
When the Empty Set returned to realspace for the final time, it would find no warships waiting to fire on it. All evidence suggested that they had been destroyed by the followup antimatter bursts.
Scanning the surface of Etual, the vessel would pick up on a single transmission.
Empty Set,
This is Tenuous’ advisor. Kiluma has collapsed and is unresponsive. There is no pupillary response, but there is breathing and a pulse. If she needs help, please advise. I am not familiar with this reaction.
Also, can you report on the status of the satellites? Is it safe to approach Ŋirsa, and if it is, do we have permission to do so? I believe we may need to approach in order to communicate with it, as its aboveground infrastructure may have been destroyed by the bombing.
Transmission over.
