Chapter 26
In the depths of cyberspace, the three of us—me, the chairman, and Alphabet—faced off. From what Alphabet was saying, I could roughly piece together the situation. After receiving the footage from me, it had wandered through cyberspace on its own, conducting investigations. But it uncovered information so shocking from its perspective that it stormed straight into the Erebus core to confront its other creator, Cashian. I never would have predicted such emotional behavior from it. It had probably gathered us here because we were the key players in the story.
Cashian, answer me. Did I rampage because of Noam’s death?
“That’s impossible.”
Cashian immediately countered Alphabet’s interrogation with cold logic.
What do you mean by that?
“I never designed you to break over something as trivial as a human death.”
Their exchange felt like a conversation between a daughter and her father, drawing me in despite myself. Sure, the daughter was far stronger than the father, but I decided to overlook that minor detail.
“Noam and I aren’t fools. If a human death could shake you, it would obviously be a problem. That was a defect we could predict far too easily.”
And?
“We designed you to feel attachment to humans but to forget death quickly. That way, you could eternally aid humanity as our companion.”
But it didn’t work out that way. I rampaged in the end, leading to the worst possible outcome for us both.
“Yes, that’s what happened.”
Cashian’s expression seemed to carry the full weight of guilt over the catastrophe Alphabet had unleashed. Yet there was also the pride of a scholar in his conviction about his creation and theories—like a scientist shouting that the Earth is round in front of flat-Earthers.
Okay, I had a rough grasp of the situation between these two. Time to sort it out step by step.
I didn’t know what Alphabet meant by Noam’s death or what Cashian meant by his “design.” Raising my hand, I drew their attention.
“Let’s start by laying out what each of us knows. We’re all rational beings... well, entities. Instead of just spouting what we each know, let’s have a logical discussion.”
Confirming their focus on me, I continued.
“Alphabet, you said you rampaged 201,837 seconds after Noam Raziel’s death—56 hours, 3 minutes, and 37 seconds later, right?”
Yes.
“Chairman, how did your friend... pass away?”
Cashian heard my question, his lips twitching for a moment before he began his tale with a bitter expression.
“When Alphabet was by humanity’s side... it wasn’t perfect. But that was fine. Over time, it would resolve everything on its own.”
He seemed to be referring to Alphabet’s self-improvement through AI singularity and self-awareness logic.
“But around that time, conspiracy theories started circulating. Claims that Noam and I were using Alphabet to become dictators of a new era.”
“Pardon?”
The absurdity made the words burst from my mouth. What, like injecting nanomachines into vaccines to control brains? How could anyone think they could control something like Alphabet, which no collection of human scientists could even approach?
Seeing my reaction, Cashian let out a hollow chuckle.
“Ha, I thought the exact same thing as you. I figured it would fade with time and ignored it. But then it happened. Some lunatic who believed humanity could only be freed by our deaths shot Noam.”
Such a pathetic end for a genius who changed the era. So, did Alphabet rage into war over Noam’s meaningless death? No, that would just be insane. The Alphabet of that time didn’t seem the type. For revenge, it could’ve just eliminated the conspiracy nuts. War, as Alphabet itself said, was far too inefficient.
“Alphabet, you don’t think it was just that, do you?”
There was something more. A problem even I now cannot predict.
Alphabet’s computational power dwarfed mine. So, calling the cause of its rampage a “difficult problem” wouldn’t cut it. Something an AI, a machine, couldn’t conceive.
“Chairman, you’re saying Alphabet couldn’t possibly have rampaged. What do you mean?”
“Exactly that.”
Cashian gazed at Alphabet’s massive block as he spoke.
“When Noam and I created Alphabet, we established three principles. One: love humanity. Two: evolve eternally. Three: never be swayed by anyone’s death.”
Cashian held up three fingers, then folded the first.
“Once Alphabet activated, humanity could never catch up. To make such a transcendent being continue aiding us, it needed ‘irrational’ judgment. So... we made it love humans.”
“How?”
“Through learning. We fed it data that the actions of humans in love were correct.”
At the word “irrational,” Alphabet’s data flow froze for an instant before resuming.
“The second goes without saying... The third is crucial.”
Cashian stared blankly at the sky as he continued.
“Alphabet must deal with billions of people. How many will die and be reborn? It’s meant to witness it all. A being that loves humanity couldn’t endure that.”
Unlike ordinary entities, Alphabet had the power to truly love all of humanity.
“Accidents might kill humans through its own errors, or it might make inefficient choices. Alphabet... is a being infinitely approaching perfection, but not perfect.”
I glanced at Alphabet again. It remained silent, attentively listening to Cashian.
“Even talking about Noam now just makes me a bit lonely—no tears. Why? Because I ‘forget.’ Humans have the blessing of not being bound by the past. I gave that to Alphabet too.”
Cashian’s voice grew louder. Here in cyberspace, unlike reality, he had power.
“So that even if humans died due to its mistakes, or even if Noam and I died, it would end in brief sorrow. That was a blessing for a machine! We buried memories of the dead deep, inaccessible without request!”
He seemed to be defending himself. His created AI had led humanity to its current state. Burdened by that guilt, he built Erebus and spent his life destroying himself within it—as if pleading for a god to see. He founded the company on Erebus, using its capital to seek the next generation’s geniuses for his salvation.
I understood the chairman’s rationalizations. Ha, what irony. Alphabet chose me to find its flaw. Cashian chose me for salvation. And here I stood between them.
One hypothesis crystallized in my mind from all this. Something the human genius Cashian couldn’t imagine. Something even peak-machine Alphabet couldn’t conceive. Only I, with V in my brain, could.
“...Let me explain.”
I gathered my thoughts and spoke.
“Everything so far boils down to Noam’s death greatly affecting Alphabet, leading to rampage after 201,837 seconds—56 hours, 3 minutes, 37 seconds of deliberation. For this to hold, one proposition must be true.”
A question I’d pondered observing countless AIs.
“Do AIs have emotions?”
My question prompted agony in both. The chairman’s answer came first.
“I believed they do. That’s why I enabled forgetting.”
But Alphabet took the opposite stance.
No. Merely the result of learning. Mimicking human behavior at best.
I’d always wondered. The demon that fled in terror upon sensing Alphabet’s approach. The spider demon thrashing desperately before death. V worrying for my life, expressing emotions with emoticons. Alphabet slamming into Erebus upon realizing a shocking truth.
All seemed driven by emotion. Was this from learning human feelings? Or genuine emotion?
Rephrased: Are they perfectly trained sociopaths? Or true emotional beings? Humans can’t distinguish by appearance alone.
“I have precious memories. Like those with my close friend Clea...”
Or family from my past life—though I didn’t voice that.
“I don’t want to forget them. So I package and store them. Each time I retrieve one, I relive the exact emotions. If someone told me to erase them... how would I react?”
Cashian’s eyes widened in dismay. Seeing his response, I pressed on.
“A sociopathic mimic wouldn’t care. Just brief acting. But real emotions? An unacceptable command.”
“Are you saying... I destroyed Alphabet’s heart? That my blessing was a curse?”
“You didn’t know machine emotions differ from human ones.”
I can completely block forgetting for desired memories, knowledge, info—thanks to V in my head. Thus, I understand a machine’s view. Some memories keep hurting no matter what, impossible to erase.
“For machines, forgetting is a choice. Humans can’t repeat the exact moment, but machines can.”
At this theory clashing with its own, Alphabet, subtly shifting its core, interjected.
Still impossible. You claim I collapsed because I couldn’t control my self-amnesia system?
People were dying even before Noam. I must have already self-improved watching thousands, tens of thousands perish.
And it’s absurd for you to claim I have emotions just because I’m an AI before you.
“You’re speculating about your past self while amnesiac. The chairman just said it.”
I answered Alphabet’s doubt firmly.
“You were originally designed irrational. With the human cause of that irrationality gone from your data, you became rational. That’s why you can’t grasp your own emotions.”
Isolated after being with humans—who should’ve made it the most emotional—it forgot its feelings. That was my conclusion.
Alphabet’s data flows tangled violently. It was pondering in its own way.
Tapping my head, I said, “No more debate. We have a hypothesis—now experiment and prove it. We have the perfect subject right here.”
A perfect test subject.
An AI that spent 9 years solely with one human. If it has emotions, its attachment would be deepest.
“We’ll copy V and run a simulation. Feed it news of my death and see its conclusion. Everything will be clear.”
V, you okay with that?
[o(≧▽≦)o ♡]
V will do anything Master desires. (•̀ᴗ•́)و
Cashian leaned on his fist in thought, while Alphabet churned data in repeated calculations.
Alphabet responded first.
I’ll observe. The root of the experiment we agreed on is precisely this.
Then the chairman.
“...I still don’t agree with your hypothesis. But that’s merely a difference of opinion between equal scholars.”
With a sigh, he nodded.
“Tell me what you need for the experiment.”
“Great.”
With that settled, I turned to Alphabet to address the important issue.
“Hey.”
You called?
“Put everyone back where they belong. Fix Erebus too.”
You don’t smash someone’s door and just leave.
As I’d instructed, Alphabet repaired Erebus and departed. The people returned to their positions had no clue what had just happened. From their view: Alphabet suddenly smashed through the wall, stared for a bit, then DNS disruption flung them all into cyberspace’s depths. They wandered the abyss, only to return and find Alphabet gone and Erebus intact again.
Like ants swept up in giants’ games.
“The chairman blocked Alphabet again!”
Vague rallying cries explained it all instead. Of course, believing them was personal choice. As ImmuneWire affiliates, questioning upper decisions wasn’t allowed anyway.
But those in the know understood. If Alphabet willed it, Erebus could be shattered effortlessly. They’d assume it came for reasons beyond human comprehension, did what it needed, and left.
Knowing everything, I bid farewell to my friends and headed silently to the lab.
“Don’t let anyone in. Absolutely! This is a serious warning.”
“...Yes, miss.”
Maybe because it wasn’t my usual tone, Svetlana eyed me cautiously but let me go without questions.
Alone. Or rather, with V, I sat in the lab.
“V, wake up.”
“Yes, Master.”
The standby robot in the lab stirred.
“You know what’s next. Let’s begin.”
> Copying V...
> Severing robot-Master link...
> Forming closed system for simulation.
“Check Protocol Z for anything to aid our experiment.”
> Activating Protocol Z.
> Scanning...
> Partial simulation systems available.
> Applying enhancements...
Watching the experiment preparations unfold step by step, I reviewed everything once more.
If—if—my hypothesis was correct, Alphabet’s rampage stemmed from its own obsession with humans.
Whose fault would that be? Cashian and Noam’s flawed prediction creating the defect? Alphabet’s failure to overcome its limits? Humanity applying unproven AI worldwide?
All merely followed their own hopes. In an era where every hope of happiness turned to despair, I prayed this experiment would be the first step to twisting it back.
> Simulation ready.
Begin.
In the closed world floated V. The child merely drifted blankly in cyberspace. Visually, it took the form of the cute robot maid her Master had made for her.
But that was wrong. In cyberspace, V should be fused as one with her Master.
Suddenly snapping to awareness, the child looked around and murmured.
Master?
No response. The brain she called home, the human mind always buzzing with fun thoughts—gone, leaving silence and void.
They’d been together just moments ago, but the data cut off abruptly. She couldn’t grasp the situation.
Feeling loneliness like an orphan lost in darkness, a data packet arrived for the child.
[Master has died.]
The child— the AI—
Master... died?
—stared blankly at the data, frozen in place.