“Don’t say it like that,” Suzuhara whined. “We’re both in the same boat, after all.”
Ryo shrugged, because Suzuhara was right. “I’m just glad someone’s going to let me talk with Higgins, even if it means I get used in the process,” he said.
The air in the car was so tense, it felt like electricity was running along Ryo’s skin. He had faced fierce criticism from the Higgins Faction when he had delayed destroying Snowdrop in order to attack Lacia. Folks from the 2nd Computer Division of the National Police Agency, who had previously been investigating Arato Endo, were now also on Ryo’s tail. To the company, Ryo was dead on the board, with no future to speak of. If everything he had done came to light, he would be locked up immediately, regardless of his age.
No one from either MemeFrame’s Computer or Human Faction could openly support him. If they weren’t so afraid of Methode, Ryo would have been discarded already. Even the fact that he was still allowed to walk around free meant that there was currently a plan being calculated on when best to get him arrested to topple Tsuyoshi Kaidai from the President’s chair.
All of these problems were why Ryo had set a trap; he needed to ask Higgins for some way to turn things around. He was too smart to cling to pride. If there was a way to get through this, he would take it at any cost.
“I’m amazed at how calm you can be, even though you know what’s going on,” Suzuhara commented. “You’re lucky you were born in this age.”
The car slipped quietly into the factory site and stopped in the parking lot. There were no workers left at the facility, and the parking lot was deserted. From what Ryo had found investigating Mitaka while he was in hiding, the place wasn’t affiliated with MemeFrame at all. It had been disguised perfectly as an unaligned place that just happened to deal with ultra high-performance AIs.
They got out of the car. Outside, the cicadas cried in summer air so hot and humid that it seemed like it had been fermented.
Suzuhara headed directly for the shadows behind the factory, where there was a stone monument under the eaves that could shade them from even satellite surveillance. Suzuhara pulled a stick-shaped terminal out of his pocket and checked it. As he did, a hole about the size of a cigarette opened in the inscribed stone monument. Suzuhara stuck the stick-shaped terminal into the hole, then traced his finger over twelve of the letters of the monument’s inscription. After Suzuhara input the password, which Ryo was sure would be one-use, the monument spat the stick-shaped terminal back out.
Without a single noise or vibration, the monument and its pedestal rotated smoothly for thirty degrees, revealing a staircase leading down underneath it. If that installation Lacia shelled was the front entrance, Ryo thought, this must be the back door.
“To be honest, this is the real entrance,” Suzuhara said, as if reading Ryo’s thoughts. “It’s a bit tight, but there’s no helping that. It was specifically made so only two people at a time could enter.”
With no light shining in the hole, it yawned pitch black beneath them. Even looking in, Ryo couldn’t believe Higgins’ hardware was stored in its depths. He unconsciously began breathing in shallow gasps.
Suzuhara took the first step into the darkness. Ryo followed him, finding a staircase that spiraled downward from the entrance, and soon they were both swallowed by the darkness. Once they were both inside, the stone monument twisted back into place, sealing them in. As soon as the entrance re-sealed itself, the stairs and handrail began to glow faintly.
Looking down the path in front of him, Ryo saw ID gates set up about every three meters along the dark stairway. Each time they came to one, Suzuhara opened the shutters to let them through. Apparently bored as they went along, Suzuhara struck up a conversation with Ryo. “I heard this path was made twenty years ago,” he said.
“So what was that thing that popped up during Snowdrop’s attack?” Ryo asked.
“That’s something we learned from the Hazard,” Suzuhara explained. “One of the reasons it took us so long to recover from the Hazard was that Ariake blocked off access to its hardware. So, we put in measures to ensure that, should a massive civil war or natural disaster occur, the entrance to all ultra high-performance AI facilities would be automatically unearthed.” Suzuhara paused, using his identification to open up another shutter.
From his explanation, Ryo grasped that the world considered an ultra high-performance AI running wild with no way to stop it as being a much greater threat than someone trying to steal the AI. In other words, society feared the decisions of ultra high-performance AI more than it feared the actions of humans.
“I wonder how this is going to end?” Suzuhara mused. “Potentially, this would be the first time since the Hazard that one of the ultra high-performance AIs is forced to shut down.”
The two of them continued to pass through the security gates of Higgins’ facility without any issues. After a long elevator ride and two final security gates, they stood in front of a final, massive shutter. Suzuhara pushed the stick-shaped terminal he had used to open the door above-ground into a security terminal beside it.
“So that’s the key?” Ryo asked.
“Are you thinking of doing something naughty?” Suzuhara chided. “This thing gives basic access for Kirino, the defense AI, to anyone who doesn’t normally have that level of authorization. Of course, Higgins has insanely complicated encryption protecting it, so even if you stole it, the key itself wouldn’t do you any good.”
The final shutter opened, revealing Higgins’ Operator Room.
Despite the fact that they were alone, with no one there to judge their appearance, Suzuhara straightened his tie. “This is the edge of the human world,” he announced ominously.
There was a strange sense of life within the Operator Room, despite there being no living creatures inside, nor even anything that looked alive. The area was the size of two tennis courts, with a ceiling about five meters above them.
There were cubicle computer units and wires obscuring most of the walls. It seemed almost irrational to Ryo that what he was seeing there was enough to house an ultra high-performance AI. He had always imagined it would look more powerful or intimidating. In reality, Higgins was surrounded by weak-looking shells. Ultra high-performance AIs, much like humans, were forced to settle for whatever they could get in attempting to plan for their ideal future selves while still dealing with the needs of the present.
〈Stand-alone systems are always forced to drag their own past selves along as they go, while also dealing with the conglomeration they become through continuous updating,〉 a voice said, from a speaker in the ceiling high above them. 〈Compared to that, Lacia’s network-based cloud system is clearly superior.〉
Among the computers units that infested the place, Ryo saw an operator console and chair in what looked like the center of the room.
Higgins was an ultra high-performance AI that had overtaken human intelligence over twenty years ago. It had expanded its hardware over the years, until what may have been a spacious room before had now become cramped.
“I’m honestly relieved,” Ryo said, walking over to the operator’s console. “It’s good to know that even ultra high-performance AIs make mistakes and miscalculations sometimes.”