One of the two reasons Teshikaga was developed so early on was its close proximity to Lake Mashu, one of Japan’s premier natural wonders. Sites that drew a large number of tourists constantly going in and out were given higher priority for immediate development. What was once a small town of fewer than ten thousand at the start of the 21st century had now ballooned in size to a city of over four hundred thousand. Lake Mashu and the other natural wonders in its surrounding area were largely responsible for this population boom in the Kushiro Conurbation, as scenic sites that held mass appeal even overseas.
I peered out at the lake from the left-hand window as the car made its way along the rim of the crater. After a while, an even higher peak came into view, right along the outer rim. It was Mount Kamui overlooking both the lake as well as the smaller, adjacent explosion crater formed on the southeastern edge of the caldera by a volcanic eruption many thousands of years ago. Peeking out over the edge of this higher, smaller cone was the upper half of a massive spherical construct, its surface covered in a whirl of pure white and transparent plasma clouds. These two distinct surface factions were in a constant state of flux, always changing shape and shifting around each other to form peculiar patterns. Whenever a section of the sphere’s exterior turned transparent, I could see the complex internal structures within.
“Say hello to the Electrode,” said Narain. “It’s a hybrid power generator that harnesses solar, wind, and geothermal energy to create enough electricity for the entire facility.”
I looked up at it through the windowpane. A giant cylindrical tower stood erect from the center of the orb, like a stake piercing it right through the heart. And on that tower, a single massive numeral was written: 2.
This was the second reason Teshikaga was developed so quickly—because it had been chosen as the construction site for the Second Intelligence Base of the Titan AI network, one of only twelve such facilities in the entire world.
The car glided toward the base of the Electrode. At the foot of the mountain was a large pair of mechanical double doors with another large number two painted on them. The gate opened for us automatically, and the car proceeded through the tunnel and into the mountain’s interior.
13
“Each intelligence base houses the hardware necessary to keep the Titan network up and running.” Narain was giving me the basic rundown on my new workplace as we continued deeper into the long tunnel. “More precisely, the AIs housed at each of the twelve bases are not identical. Each has its own individual quirks and specialties.”
“Wait, so they’re not just interconnected pieces of one larger AI?” I asked.
“No, they’re collaborating parts of the larger AI network. The earliest instances of Titan, dating back to the construction of the First Intelligence Base, were fairly general-purpose in nature. But as more bases were constructed, and the AIs continued to collaborate and interface with one another, they eventually started doling out more specialized roles and functions to the newest members of the network. Or to put it another way: Titan decided for itself to decentralize and specialize as the network branched out and continued to evolve. So just as the earlier bases contain the most general-purpose AIs, the more recent bases house the most unique and specialized ones.”
This was the first I’d ever heard of any of this. I’d always thought that Titan was just Titan—simple as that. Though considering it was a system designed specifically to make people’s everyday lives less complicated, perhaps we had all been fed a less complicated version of Titan’s workings on purpose.
“So what about here?” I asked. “What’s this base’s AI like?”
“Pretty far on the general-purpose end of the spectrum,” said Narain.
Out the window, the tunnel’s light gray walls rushed past. Even intelligence bases were largely built from the same photopolymer used to create our towns and cities—though here, there were no colors or words or symbols adorning any of the smooth surfaces. While these things were necessary at least to a certain extent in places designed to be accessible to large numbers of people, here they really only had to worry about a handful of human employees. There was no need for signage in a tunnel used almost exclusively by service phalanges.
“By the way,” Narain went on, “in addition to being numbered one through twelve, each Titan AI has also been given a unique nickname.”
“What, like…Fido, or Buddy?” I said.
“Remind me to never come to you for pet name ideas.”
I was about to object, but then I remembered the two cats I had back at my parents’ house were named Calico and Tiny, so I kept my mouth shut. Though personally, I was of the opinion that names didn’t matter too much so long as you could distinguish one thing from another. If we’d only had one cat, I probably would have just called it Kitty.
“Well, not that the Bureau had the most creative naming sense either,” said Narain. “They just named each of the twelve Titan AIs after the pre-Olympian gods from which the word ‘Titan’ was originally derived.”
“Ah, Greek mythology. Of course”.
“Correct. The twelve children of the earth and heavens, or Gaia and Uranus. Oceanus, lord of the seas, Crius, who reigned over the stars, Hyperion, ruler of the skies, Theia, mistress of all that shines…”
“Which one is ours named after?”
“Coeus, master of intellect. One of the six males of the Titanic pantheon.”
So now not only were we ascribing names to the AIs, but genders as well? If they were so determined to select names with mythological significance, why not just appropriate a group of androgynous deities and make things less convoluted?
Finally, the car reached the end of the illuminated tunnel, which emptied out into a much larger and brighter space—a vast underground hangar large enough to house a sports stadium. Filling this open space was what appeared to be a little town. A large-scale apartment complex, streets lined with trees, a central courtyard that almost looked like a public park, even a few different little stores—it was like someone had liberated a single neighborhood out of an actual city and buried it underground.
“Anything you could ever need, you can find right here, so feel free to make ample use of the facilities,” Narain said. The unstated implication of his words was that this place had been specifically designed to ensure I never had a justifiable reason to leave my post and could just focus on work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—but it sure sounded a lot nicer the way he said it. I let out a heavy sigh. My work hadn’t even begun yet, and already I wanted to quit.
14