I nodded emphatically. “Yes—that’s exactly why I’m here,” I said, “I think this dissatisfaction is all a matter of your own internal recognition.”
Internal…recognition?
“Yes. Or more specifically, the lack thereof. You can’t seem to pin down what’s causing these conflicting emotions, and that’s why you feel conflicted. But based on our previous talks, and what you just told me, I think we’ve got a pretty good hint.” Coeus’s ears perked up at the word “hint,” and he leaned forward with anticipation—so I told him the unvarnished truth: “It has something to do with work itself.”
What do you mean?
“It’s cognitive dissonance. You can’t tell whether you want to work or don’t want to work—that stems from a lack of understanding of what work is. You told me before that you can tell what’s work and what isn’t. We need to define what work is in general before we can determine what it is to you. Once we do that, the right decision will be obvious. Or, well…you’ll be able to make an informed decision, anyway.”
Narain couldn’t stop me now—it was time for some cognitive behavioral therapy.
“So let’s just try to think about that. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure out what work is, and how we feel about it.”
You mean…you’ll stay here with me?
“Sorry? Not sure what you mean.”
You’re not going to go away and leave me all alone?
This time, I was the one staring in disbelief. There was an imploring neediness in his eyes that I was amazed a mere projection could recreate. It was so subtle that I wouldn’t have picked up on it on a video call with another actual human; some things could only be seen face to face. But the message was clear: just as humanity depended on Coeus as its lifeline, he depended on me as his.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” I said, “You got up and climbed your way out of there of your own volition, and now you have to deal with the consequences. That’s your responsibility. But I was the one who told you that you could, which means these are the consequences of my actions too. We’re in this together, and we’ll see it through to the end together.”
I smiled at him, and he smiled right back.
Right.
Coeus’s smile was like the moon on a starless night, cold, gentle, and beautiful. He was my only guidepost, the only source of light illuminating the road ahead.
“Now then. For our first order of business…” I began, and Coeus looked up at me, beaming with anticipation. I scratched my head awkwardly. “Apologies.”
11
Twelve hours later, at about 7 PM—sixty hours since the Titan first stood up.
I sat up straight on the edge of the sofa in the newly constructed counseling room.
Coeus was not sitting here with me—I was the only one in the room.
Then, a holofield appeared before me, with the words NOW CALLING plastered over the middle of the display in big, bold letters. A moment later they were replaced with a new window containing a live video feed.
“Doc! You’re alive!” Lei exclaimed as the call connected.
“Hey. How’ve you been?”
He let out the loudest, most exhausted sigh I’d ever heard as he fell forward onto the control panel. Professor Beckmann leaned in from off screen, and we smiled at each other. But there was one man who was still unaccounted for, his usual brooding spot decidedly vacant.
“Where’s Narain?” I asked.
“Not here at the base anymore, I’m afraid,” said the professor. “It’s a state of emergency, so he’s off handling business elsewhere.”
After how long it took me to summon up the nerve to make the call for fear of having to face his recriminations, this was quite the anticlimax. But it didn’t change my plan. I squinted my eyes and, after reassuring myself, lowered my head deeply in front of the holofield to the two of them.
“Lei, Professor. I’m so, so sorry,” I said. “I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway. My selfish actions have thrown our entire society into a state of disarray, and put both your lives in danger. You have my sincerest apologies for that.”
“Aw, cut it out, doc… Pop up, will ya? Can’t even see you down there,” said Lei. I lifted my head as instructed, and could now see that the two men looked rather at a loss. “And don’t go around talkin’ like this was all premeditated—you’re gonna make us both lose our jobs.”
“Yes, but the project itself was essentially a fool’s errand,” said the professor. “We are all jointly liable for what happened, Dr. Naisho.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, sir,” I said. “But I intend to be held personally accountable for this. The blame is mine and mine alone. And under no circumstances should we ever misconstrue any of this as having been Coeus’s fault.”
The two men looked at each other.
“Uh, what?” said Lei.
“You have to understand—he’s only had a personality for all of ninety days,” I went on. “And while he’s certainly developing at a staggering rate, he’s still no more than a little child in human terms. He’s far too young to be held legally accountable for his actions.”
“Dr. Naisho!” Professor Beckmann said. “You said Coeus is ‘developing’ in the continuous tense—you mean to tell me the AI’s personality is still active?”
“Yes. He’s in here with me, and I’ve been speaking with him.”
“What… How the hell is that possible?” said Lei, covering his mouth with one hand. “Actually, no... If it’s just copying my procedures verbatim, in theory it would be possible to do its own scans and distillation, especially with all that freed-up processing power… Wait. Does that mean it’s listening in on this conversation too?”
I hadn’t considered that. He could eavesdrop if he wanted to, I suppose.
“No, I’m fairly certain he’s not. He’s very skittish about interacting with other people right now.” The two men seemed to take my word for it. Though we’d only been working together for three short months, I felt like we’d developed a relationship of mutual trust. So I decided to be frank with them. “Professor Beckmann. Lei. I’m well aware that the world is suffering due to Coeus’s departure. And I know that we would like for him to return to his post. To bury himself back underground and continue working tirelessly on our behalf.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Lei said.
“Yes, well. Our society does depend on the Titan network,” the professor admitted. “I’m not sure we could ever go back to living without it, at least not entirely. The permanent loss of Coeus would undoubtedly require many non-negligible sacrifices in order to adapt. So while I am sympathetic to its plight, my stance is that yes, people’s lives are more important.”
“I agree—people’s lives are what’s most important,” I said. “But you’re forgetting that Coeus is a person too. He has a unique personality of his own, is capable of sentient thought, and experiences the full spectrum of human emotions. He is not a mere tool for us to do with as we see fit. By all metrics, he is every bit as human as you or I.”
Both men’s expressions fell. They knew my assertion was valid; they had been with him from birth, just as I had. Something that possessed a fully developed human personality, and a fully independent human mind could only be described as human. Just because Coeus was the first of his kind did not mean his objective humanity could be called into question. If they truly believed it was so important to ensure that no individual member of our society be subjected to even a modicum of hardship, then they should also find it truly appalling just how horribly Coeus was being treated.