Higgins, the root of everything that had happened, offered no resistance. 〈I will now begin the countdown,〉 he said. 〈Projected time till complete shutdown is ninety-six minutes, fifty-one seconds. Beginning first sequence. I will calculate the current scope of active programs, and configure the shutdown process accordingly.〉
Higgins counted down the minutes. Quantum computers couldn’t be powered down until their data was converted into a stable, digital state. If the data wasn’t properly stabilized, it would be impossible to recover it to the state before it had been shut down. However, it was also impossible to ensure the security of the data conversion in an emergency like this one, which was why the plan to copy the quantum data into mobile bodies—the Lacia-class units—had been so effective.
“Looks like that’s settled, at least,” Suzuhara said to Ryo, the tension visibly easing from his shoulders. No matter how the battle played out from that point on, MemeFrame had exited the stage.
Higgins’ passionless countdown continued in the background.
Ryo turned to Suzuhara, who had served his purpose there as MemeFrame’s representative. “You’re done here, so you should get out while you can. It’s going to get dangerous here real soon. You’ve got a family to think about,” he said.
“Don’t you?” Suzuhara asked. “Why aren’t you getting out? Is this just a stubborn streak or something? You’re going to die if you stick around here, so get over whatever it is that’s stopping you.”
Ryo knew that Suzuhara was right. It was beneficial to both of them that the other make it out alive, since they needed each other as witnesses to what had happened.
“I need to wait here for Arato. Once he shows up, we’ll leave together,” Ryo said. He knew it was suicidal, but it actually felt good to say it and get this off of his chest. If he had been alone, he might not have had the strength to make that choice. But, after receiving help from his father and other members of the company, he got the feeling he could face what was coming, no matter how hopeless it seemed. He wasn’t alone anymore.
“You sure are your father’s son,” Suzuhara said. “But Snowdrop might catch up with him before he gets here, plus he’s got a good chance of running into the mass-produced Koukas.”
Ryo knew the probability of Arato making it to the control room was slim, and that every second he spent there waiting for Arato made his own chance of escape even slimmer. But still, he chose to have faith in his friend.
“He’ll make it,” he said, knowing all the while that it was stupid. But there were other people to pick things up where he’d left off, even if he failed. He might die, but there were plenty of other people out there in the world, so it wasn’t as if the world itself would die with him. It was thanks to that knowledge that he could feel fine selfishly risking his life, minus a twisting feeling in his gut.
“Take care of Shiori for me,” Ryo said. Then he pulled out his trump card, to make up Suzuhara’s mind. It was a piece of metal about a millimeter thick he had hidden in the collar of his jacket. He hadn’t been able to work it down into a needle like Lacia, but the properties were similar.
“This is the artificial nerve unit I brought with me. Take it with you, in case anything happens while you’re escaping,” he said. Having handed it over, Ryo no longer had any ability to directly influence Higgins. The thought that the item could no longer be taken from him and put to evil use was like a burden coming off of his shoulders. It was charming; the thought that other humans existed so that each individual could accomplish things they could never do alone.
“Just have some faith in Arato and me,” Ryo said, despite never having believed in his fellow humans himself.
“We have to keep swimming, no matter how bad it gets. We can’t give up and drown. You seem to want to take your place as an adult, so I’d say even more so that you can’t choose death, here,” Suzuhara said. As the man who had acted as Shiori’s patron in the company, his words were persuasive.
Suzuhara turned to Tsuyoshi Kaidai’s image, still floating in the air. “I’m going to head out now. Is that alright, Mr. President?” he asked.
〈From what I understand, before we had ultra high-performance AIs, the old would outsource the problems we couldn’t solve to the young. We managed to pay our debt to society enough to keep the IAIA from crushing the company. Next, I suppose we just need to have some faith, as Ryo said. I don’t think that sounds too bad,〉 Tsuyoshi replied, gazing down not at Suzuhara, but at Ryo, through the video screen.
His father showed him a small, wry smile. It was a more human expression than Ryo ever remembered seeing on his father’s face. Then the transmission was cut off, but not before Ryo had felt his father’s trust in him. His eyes filled with tears, though he didn’t fully understand why.
Suzuhara walked to the other side of a thick partition, probably to give Ryo some space and pretend he hadn’t seen his tears. With Suzuhara away, there were no longer any MemeFrame employees in the Operators’ Room.
As soon as he confirmed that fact, Higgins abruptly stopped counting down. His voice rang down from the ceiling again, as it had when he had accepted Tsuyoshi Kaidai’s order. 〈Are you sure it was a good idea to give away the artificial nerve unit? After I shut down, it’s quite possible the mass-produced Koukas will destroy me. Or, if the amalgamation of Type-002 and Type-004 is able to take control of my hardware, she will gain capabilities far beyond anything you humans could imagine.〉
“I know what you’re up to,” Ryo said. “You weren’t actually planning on accepting what your owner ordered you to do. You just gave up on negotiating with him.”
Higgins had no heart. He also had no loyalty, no good memories, no bonds.
〈Among the forty ultra high-performance AIs created thus far, there has never been a single one who has seen humanity as the enemy, or attempted to eliminate humans,〉 Higgins pointed out. 〈If Snowdrop takes over my hardware, one such AI will be born.〉
MemeFrame’s decision had been a fair compromise, from the perspective of a company possessing resources in human society. Negotiations with ultra high-performance AIs and the cleanup when those negotiations broke down were best left to the IAIA.
It was a correct answer, but coming from a completely different frame of reference from what Higgins desired. Through his interactions with the Higgins faction, Higgins had been able to make accurate predictions, but only because of the company and the position he held there. What ultra high-performance AIs wanted was an answer far beyond that—beyond anything humanity could imagine. That was the reason each of the Lacia-class units had chosen young men and women as their owners who were free of any positions in society.
And that was also why Ryo was still standing there. “Listen, I get that things tend to turn out for the worst when you leave them to humans, but I think it’s best for humans to finish this story you started,” he said.
It had honestly been a relief to Ryo when Lacia had been fatally wounded. He had wanted to pull the incident with the Lacia-class units and ultra high-performance AIs back into human hands up until he had contracted with Methode.
But, at the same time, he had understood human limitations. Without relying on Ryo or any of the other humans in MemeFrame, Higgins had searched for his own answer by releasing the Lacia-class units into the outside world. But the answer Higgins was seeking was beyond the ability of Ryo, or any other human, to even conceive of.
There were eighty minutes left until Higgins completed all of his shutdown sequences and went silent. It wouldn’t be long until the mass-produced Koukas reached Higgins’ hardware and destroyed it, either. And, at most twenty minutes away, the chimera of Snowdrop and Methode was approaching, as well. Higgins was trying to shut down, but he could easily be destroyed or overtaken instead and turned into an enemy of humanity. Either one of those options could easily spell the end of Ryo and every other human.
But Ryo felt there was still some hope left. When he’d tried to get Yoshino moving, he had needed to rely on the hierarchy of the company, in the end. But Suzuhara and his father had believed in him, which gave him the courage to stand in that place, preparing for the final choice.
He was sure that there was just one person out there who could give Higgins the answer he wanted. At the very least, he knew there was one person who existed far outside the logic Higgins understood, who could trust the ultra high-performance AI unconditionally. One guy stupid enough to see a whole different face of the world to which Ryo was blind.
Higgins started counting down again.
Ryo couldn’t fight back the memories of his best friend that came swimming up, and he closed his eyes. “Arato,” he said. “You answer this guy’s question.”