“Furthermore, I think it would be illogical to assume that putting him back to work without treating his mental illness would achieve the desired result. All that would do is take us back to square one. Because as you’ll recall, the entire point of this project was to resolve the drop in Coeus’s performance, and we’ve only just pinned down the mental and physiological ailments that are causing it. To expect the malfunction to resolve itself without addressing the underlying cause would be simply ridiculous.” I said.
We had to set aside our superiority complex and help Coeus; we could not keep pushing him beyond his limits for our own personal gain, or none of this would ever end. The only thing that undoubtedly would end sooner or later, if we continued down this road of subjugation and conceit, was our species.
“So please,” I said. “I need you both to help me restore Coeus’s mental health.”
I stared straight at them as I made this request. I considered lowering my head again, but felt that wouldn’t be right. I wanted them to make the decision to help out of their own volition, without subjecting them to any undue emotional pressure. I wanted us all to be equally invested in this—as co-workers.
Professor Beckmann was the first to respond. “Well, I certainly don’t have a problem with that,” he said. “That’s the task we were originally entrusted with, after all. The scope of the project has simply expanded beyond what we were originally anticipating. Rest assured that I have no intention of abandoning my duties, and plan to see this work through to the end. I can only pray and have faith that you will do the same.”
“Thank you, professor,” I said. Then I turned my gaze on Lei, who looked about as annoyed with the prospect of being put to work as he always did.
“Awright, fine,” he grumbled. “But just so we’re clear, I feel like I’m entitled to a little compensation this time around!”
This got a genuine smile out of me.
“You know what? I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! I’ve got that on record now, I hope you realize!”
I really did have no problem with at least considering the proposition. Lei was not the horrid wretch I’d first assumed him to be, so perhaps he would find a way to impress me yet. I wouldn’t bet on it, of course—he couldn’t have ever scored more than 25 percent compatibility in my matchmaker program—but sometimes reality defied the odds. And not every casual fling or hookup had to be Titan-sanctioned, either. Especially after what happened last time.
“But just so you’re aware, Dr. Naisho,” said Professor Beckmann, “the situation is rather grim. I would submit that the chances of us being allowed to make these decisions for ourselves are quite low. We’ll likely be forced to abide by our superiors’ discretion.”
“Narain, you mean?” I asked.
“Him too, but also the real top brass,” he said, tapping an icon on his holofield. A document marked URGENT opened up on my holofield as well. “As I mentioned before, Narain is not here right now. He had to fly out for an emergency council meeting as the representative of the Second Intelligence Base. A meeting being held at the headquarters of the international organization that manages all intelligence bases.” The professor paused, then uttered the same four letters I could see in the logo stamped at the top of the document: The UNDP.
12
The assembly hall looked almost like a small indoor stadium. In the center was a large open projection space for a massive three-dimensional holofield, surrounded on all four sides by several rows of tiered seating. Though every seat was filled, they were spaced so far apart from one another that the room felt quite barren regardless; there couldn’t have been more than a hundred people in attendance. Naturally, this also meant that the acoustics were awful, so all discussions took place using microphones and video close-ups broadcast on the central holofield. I wondered why they bothered having an in-person meeting at all, but I suppose it was simply one of those antiquated customs Narain had told me about which refused to die.
I was watching a recording of the proceedings via a projection room—a room literally designed to have nothing in it, lined on all sides with omnidirectional projectors for viewing 360-degree recordings and images without any obstructions. It was a staple room in any household, but obviously there were none on Coeus’s body, until he took a moment and built one for me. I was beginning to realize that for a Titan, architecture could be an event, not a process.
In the central holofield of the assembly hall in the reenactment, the UNDP logo stood above the subtitle Emergency Response Meeting RE: Autonomous Titan Activity at Second Intelligence Base & Possible Solutions. I squinted my eyes and scanned the faces and titles of those in attendance. Had Titan’s support system been functioning properly, it could have simply predicted what I wanted to see in greater detail and shown me relevant close-ups, but sadly I was forced to do everything myself. The seating areas were arranged in a clockwise order starting from the First Intelligence Base, and I could see Narain seated in the second of the twelve. He was wearing his usual apathetic expression, from which nary a hint of visible emotion could be gleaned. Finally, there was a loud electronic chime, and the words ASSEMBLY NOW IN SESSION appeared on the central holofield. Immediately, several people started speaking all at once, then all fell silent as they tried to awkwardly determine who should go first. Thus was formed the air of tension and uncertainty that would hang heavily over the entire meeting.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we explicitly design these things to be incapable of autonomy?” said one of the attendants, whose seat was immediately highlighted and given a virtual nameplate. This additional information was, for the record, not being provided by Coeus on my end but was a part of the reenactment itself. The speaker’s title read: Director of Operations, Seventh Intelligence Base. “Surely during the drafting stages for the first IB, they would have immediately recognized the dangers inherent in making the AI mobile and crafted countermeasures, no?”
“Yes, all movement functions were restrained,” said another speaker, and the spotlight immediately shone on their seat. Engineer, Tenth Intelligence Base. “But the number of bodily stimuli the brains can receive also directly correlates to their sensory spec caps, and therefore overall output and productivity. It’s why we voted to loosen those restraints in the assembly meeting of ‘97.”
“But there was still an imposed limit,” said another speaker. General Affairs Officer, Fifth Intelligence Base. “It should never have been able to stand erect, or locomote, all on its own.”
“Yes, to my understanding, that level of movement should have been impossible…”
“Well, clearly it wasn’t, or we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Did someone misplace a decimal point in the new restraint settings or something?”
“Let’s not pretend that its mobility is the only issue here. Surely none of this would have happened if there weren’t a malfunction in the AI’s psychological programming as well…”
Representatives from each intelligence base were now talking over one another, so Titan’s highlighting system implemented an enforced speaking order to curb the chaos.