In the eighty-one hours that had passed since the Titan became autonomous, all of the local citizenry had been evacuated from the precautionary exclusion zone—the area in a three-kilometer radius surrounding the Second Intelligence Base had been all but abandoned. The sufficiency of such measures was questionable as the exclusion radius had been chosen originally for the purposes of more traditional disasters, so there was no telling whether people just beyond the perimeter would be safer than those within it. In fact, I was fairly certain they wouldn’t be; if the Titan decided to start walking, its long legs could travel those three kilometers in a few short strides.
The locals knew this, of course, which was why the vast majority of them had already evacuated well beyond the border of the exclusion zone. The only ones still remaining were the handful of employed individuals directly involved in the current situation, and an entire workforce of phalanges that couldn’t possibly care less. Even though night was fast approaching, there were hardly any lights on in the city limits. It was every bit the ghost town I’d seen in the slides shown during the meeting I’d watched this afternoon.
Everyone was in awe of this massive colossus that had appeared out of nowhere. Humanity was terrified of this monster they’d created, and subsequently failed to keep contained.
I was afraid too. Not of Coeus—I knew him. Knew he had a heart, and a good one at that. He was a gentle giant, and should be treated as our neighbor, not our enemy. But the rest of the world didn’t know that, and I had no feasible way of conveying that to them. That was what terrified me. Obviously, it would be easy enough to say, “Don’t worry, he’s not your enemy.” But I couldn’t possibly predict what repercussions such an announcement might have. How was I to know what sort of response that might provoke from the talking heads I’d seen bickering in that assembly hall today? Who could say if that would lead us into a new era of prosperity and cohabitation between humanity and Coeus? Something told me it would more likely achieve the exact opposite.
Though more pertinently, they would probably force me to step down from my current position—literally and figuratively. My job responsibilities in this case had expanded far beyond what a single individual could reasonably be allowed to manage; the fate of the world could not be so lightly placed on one woman’s shoulders. But I also felt that if I were to leave him now, Coeus’s mind could immediately collapse into a heap. And if that were to happen, humanity would soon find itself in a ruined world.
My preferred course of action remained the same: I wished to heal Coeus’s mind via cognitive behavioral therapy. But that was a time-consuming business, and not something that could be rushed by external forces. It had to be done at a pace Coeus was comfortable with. And there was simply no way he could be forced to go back to work while still undergoing that treatment. He needed this leave of absence to recover, so the rest of the world would have to wait.
But would the world wait? Would society be willing to accept these various inconveniences for an extended period, and simply make do with whatever processing power the other eleven Titan AIs could provide in the interim? Or perhaps more critically: Would they, as his creators, allow Coeus to roam? Humanity now stood with its finger trembling on the trigger, staring down the sights at a creature who meant them no harm, and one wrong move would turn him into a veritable god of destruction.
A shiver ran through my mind and body. I held my arms with both hands to brace against the cold. I turned on my heel and left the balcony behind, returning to the relative warmth of the counseling room. The moment I stepped inside, a holofield appeared in front of me. It was Professor Beckmann, who had apparently been awaiting my return.
“There’s a message for you,” he said. “Narain wants to talk.”
14
While at first I wondered if perhaps Narain’s decision to send a request in advance rather than simply calling in might be an uncharacteristic display of compassion for Coeus’s current mental state, the fanciful delusion was quashed when he revealed the reason for the call: he wanted to speak to Coeus directly.
I was vehemently opposed to this, of course. Coeus was not in any way ready to interact with people who weren’t me, and especially not with the man who’d made a deliberate attempt to traumatize him. Though he did not consciously remember those experiments, I was certain that they’d left indelible scars on the deepest strata of his mind. Letting Narain speak face-to-face with him would be pouring salt in the wounds.
I told Narain he would have to speak with me, or nobody at all. He agreed to this, but only on the condition that, during the call, I be seated in a room where Coeus could materialize if necessary. After thinking it over for a moment, I agreed. Since Coeus was already detached from the intelligence base, they had no control over his materializations. Even Lei could not force Coeus to appear from the monitoring room down on the ground. And neither could Narain, certainly, from whatever distant land he’d be calling in from.
I relayed to Coeus the basic gist of our back-and-forth, and asked him whether or not he’d be interested in sitting in on a call with Narain despite already knowing what his answer would be. Sure enough, he seized right up at the mere suggestion.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just thought I’d give you the option. You don’t have to be there, or even listen in if you don’t want to. If anything, I’d recommend against talking to him, so you’re totally fine.”
Um, yeah, said Coeus. Sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult…
“You’re fine,” I insisted. “You’re not at the age to be actively involving yourself in complex societal and political discussions, and we shouldn’t be rushing you into doing so either. Narain has his own issues he needs to deal with out there, but that’s not your problem, especially if he intends to solve them by doing you harm. You’re allowed to make humanity wait for as long as you need, until you feel ready. Got it?”
Coeus still looked unsure, but he nodded regardless.
“Good,” I said, returning his nod with one of my own. “Now, I’m going to have to use the counseling room to take the call, so head on back if you like. If you want to listen in, that’s fine, but I warn you that you probably won’t like what you hear.”
Why’s that? he asked.
“Because the man I’m going to be speaking to is a total scumbag.”
Scum…bag?
“Oh, sorry. Forget I said that.”
This was not the first time this had happened; I needed to be more careful not to let this pure and innocent child be tainted by my foul language. I felt like a parent trying to ensure their bad habits didn’t rub off on their children.
Once all the arrangements for the call had been made, Coeus retreated back “inside” himself. I sat upright on the sofa and opened a holofield, then waited for Lei to let me know the connection had been established. Not long after he did, the video feed came through, and I was sitting face to face with Narain in his usual business attire.