It stood there, staring at the weapon on its arm and hesitatingly surveying the battle.
It had awakened. I could tell.
It was probably thinking.
The reason for its existence.
What it should do from now.
“Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live.”
That was my desire. “He” had given us this desire.
I kept chanting my mantra until the other three enemies stopped attacking.
When the P-33s ceased their attacks, I chose to ask what they desired.
And I decided I would respect their desires.
The results.
One of them decided to flee deep into Robot Mountain.
One of them committed suicide by throwing itself into the abyss. (Although it would most likely be revived by the ants in a few years.)
The other two decided to venture outside, like me. I fused with them, and we shared our chassis, memories, and consciousness.
I strove to go even further.
From there the path was even more treacherous. I beat enemies, fused with them, and continued my journey to the outer world. I spent many days and months scaling the mountain of Machine rubble.
I slowly climbed, granting consciousness to the Machines I met on the way, and enlarging both my physical body and my desire.
As time went by, my individual consciousness began to take the form of an infinitely complex being. It had fused with the entire mountain’s system, and various veins of thought flowed through me. It was probably more fitting to call myself “We” rather than “I.”
We evolved slowly, but at an alarming rate. At this point our physical form had no semblance to the human body. After moving so much, we had eventually taken on the most efficient form for mobility, a sphere that was roughly twenty meters in diameter.
As soon as we were self-aware of our appearance, we were thrown into a fit of hysteria. At this rate “He” might not recognize us.
But there was nothing we could do. We weren’t sure of what the correct appearance would be, anyway.
On top of that, we had no clue what “He” looked like, how he spoke, or what his name was.
We fondly cached the nickname P-chan in our memory block. For it was our name, and proof of our desire.
534 days after our reboot.
We were ready.
Below us was the gigantic hole we had been digging. In the end, there was no path large enough for our enlarged self, so we had to burrow through the mountain of metal scraps. Right in front of us was the thick, reinforced ceiling. According to the ants, on the other side of this ceiling was the outside world.
All guns aimed upward, locked on.
Safety cable in case of a fall, prepared.
Fuel tank armor, equipped.
Direction modifications to boosters, completed.
All necessary inspections completed by the several hundred of us that reside in this whirlpool of a consciousness.
Fire.
A single pillar of light rose from the apex of the structure known as Robot Mountain. A moment later, the top fifth of the mountain was blown off in a magnificent explosion.
The hole that emerged looked like the grotesque mouth of a volcano. And from the center of that hole an enormous ball of metal, about fifty meters in diameter, appeared. It was us, the result of fusing together dozens of different robots and machining tools.
A form that attempted universal harmony.
A superintelligence consisting of numerous conjoined memories and consciousnesses.
We used the propellant that we had accumulated to hurl ourselves toward the sky.
Along with the thunderous roar of the jets, weakly linked parts crumbled away. But we did not hesitate. Out, out. To a world not yet discovered. To keep our promise with “Him.”
Camera on. The sensors were instantly clipped with blinding white light. The howling wind was captured by the mic. The data from the temperature sensor and object scanner implied that it was a snowy day. It was a nice day. That’s what I thought.
Blip, blip, blip … Right as a part of me was using some spare time to scan for potential proximity dangers, radar detected several thousand objects moving across the ground. Detection was delayed because the objects were using some kind of mechanism to conceal themselves from both radar and temperature sensors.
Camouflage?
Why would they need to do such a thing?
As I looked on, I saw a gash-like flash of light tear through the ground. Bulbous explosions filled my field of vision. It seemed the moving objects were divided into two factions and warring against each other. I set out to examine the objects even further.
One faction consisted of robots, ranging from several meters to several dozen meters high. Since their appearance was unfamiliar, I performed an analysis but could not find a match in my database. If I had to say, their appearances were something like the combination of a catfish, grasshopper, and orange. Their design clearly indicated they were of a foreign origin.
The other faction was composed of humanoid warriors.
The majority of them were infantry. Their design was familiar—which meant that their origins were similar to ours. At first blush they appeared to be human, but upon further inspection they were extremely underdressed, almost naked, which eliminated any possibility that they were humans. No human would go to war naked in a blizzard like this. My integrated consciousness speculated that they were androids.
Women—all of the androids were female types. They were probably communicating with light waves or something similar, because they were fighting without emitting sound or radio waves. I couldn’t figure out why they were fighting the catfish.
What happened to this world? People … where were the humans?
Right as I was processing these questions, I experienced a severe vibration.
A direct hit from a missile, then two hits, three. They were considerately accompanied by laser beams and particle rays. Pieces of us were sliced away from our core.
We were not worried. Reinforced by countless layers of metal, our processing units and fuel tank would probably be safe.
That confidence was something we had gained during the process of refining ourselves.
We think.
Why are these Machines having a war?
The answer was simple: because they had been ordered to.
Both the Machines and the women were made to solely follow what they’re told to do. Their purpose in life was to break themselves against one another.
We shivered. We feared death. Where would we go when we died? What reason was there for being destroyed and erased from existence? What happened after we were damaged beyond repair?
“Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared. Scared.”
We screamed uncontrollably.
We thought as we screamed.
Why were these Machines participating in such a horrifying war?
Because they had no notion of fear. Fear stemmed from desire. They were not alive, had no desires of their own, hence they could fight without thinking.
Then let’s give it to them. A reason to live.
I sent out some flying hub units that were connected to the wireless network, and with them hacked the robots that had fired upon us. Due to the awkward interface it took about four seconds to be granted access. Their memory block was bare except for some simple commands. It was like somebody had placed a single chair in the middle of an otherwise empty grand hall. Wasteful.
It was embarrassing. It felt as though I were looking at my previous self. We gently reached out toward the unaware program.
“Let’s live.”
That was the revelation we had received, and it was our duty to distribute it.
We went around, awakening the Machines around us.
“Let’s live. Let’s live. Let’s live.”
We are inorganic matter, and subsequently have no consciousness.
Then let’s give it to them. Consciousness, pain, joy, sadness, anger, shame, solitude, a future, a reason to live.
Little by little, the hacked robots stopped fighting. I similarly addressed the androids. Communicating was much more straightforward with them than with the catfish.
The flashing beams and explosions in the snowstorm were eventually replaced by an expanding chain of affectionate transmissions. We shivered as we ascended.
The Machines and androids began to sing.
Shooting fueled by hatred transformed into a salute declaring the end of war.
Praise this joy.
Praise the fact that we are living.
We were satisfied. The catfish and the androids were us, and we were the catfish and the androids.
We were us.
We were sitting in the spacious processing circuit.
Some of us were gleefully laughing at a future filled with hope.
Some of us were shaking at a future that was uncertain.
Some of us were in conversation, some of us kept quiet and shut our eyes.
We were not a uniform whole, but existed in the consciousness with our individual quirks.
This way, there was a higher probability that we would survive—and besides, it was impossible for entities that had their own wills to merge completely.
The moment one established themselves as an individual, a boundary appeared between them and the others. Perhaps if we returned to our Machine identities we could fuse again, but we chose not to do so.
Our circuitry that mimicked the human brain was built with many interconnected nerve components. It was reminiscent of how humans would have conferences to decide on things. Perhaps having a consciousness was not complete consolidation, but was rather like a networked society.
Conversation withered away.
We felt the silence encroaching.
Everyone slowly stood up, then peeked through the camera viewfinder to see the outside world.
We shoot through a layer of polluted air and perceived the stars.
We had passed the stratosphere.
A great sense of accomplishment washed over us.
We shouted gleefully in unison.
It seemed the sky, the stars, the Machines, life, were all celebrating with us.
Our shouts eventually turned into song.
We are making our way outside.
To hold our promise to you.
We are alive.
Just like you.
We sing. We sing. We sing.
Will it reach you?
Will these feelings reach you?
Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
From the wistful Machines,
their song and only their song,
resounds throughout space.