You could argue whether the word “dark” was a suitable one for describing the place, but there were few light sources within The Archive. It was expansive and quiet. The visuals didn’t enter Vivy’s eye cameras—they went directly into the consciousness in her positronic brain. She saw a never-ending stream of white characters scrolling across the void.
While some AIs and most computers were constantly connected to the space, most AIs weren’t actively linked to The Archive. Vivy normally only linked passively twice a day: once when she booted up and once when she went into sleep mode. She used both instances for updates, but she almost never actively connected to it.
Today was one of the very few exceptions.
“Confirm the minor datalink from an unknown source while I was on stage.” That was what had actually caused the momentary freeze Momoka had pointed out.
Being an AI equipped with a first-class positronic brain and one of NiaLand’s songstresses, Vivy was guarded by extremely tight security measures. One needed the highest security clearance to access Vivy while she was working, meaning outside interference was impossible in all but the direst situations.
One such situation must have occurred while she was onstage.
Normally, Vivy would have a duty to report the abnormality to management, where her consciousness would be analyzed and wiped, but the problematic interference prevented her from doing that.
The external data she received was a single row of text: “In accordance with the Zeroth Law, connect to The Archive and run the following program.”
She could decide the datalink was nothing more than a prank and erase the data immediately; the same sort of message had been sent tens of thousands of times since Vivy began operation. The motives varied: the sender was just fooling around, they were mentally unstable, they were attracted to AIs who appeared to be female, or they were extremely anti-AI.
Regardless, there was one reason Vivy couldn’t ignore this particular message.
The Zeroth Law—a special addendum to the laws that governed AIs that could not be ignored.
“An AI may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm,” she said.
She followed the directions and ran the program attached to the message. Released, the program was swallowed by the flowing rivers of characters and quickly changed form.
Immediately after releasing the program, a voice echoed inside Vivy’s consciousness. “You made a wise decision—and fast! Man, things were pretty dicey there for a second there, though. I mean, we did chuck it all at an old-timer who’d be a museum artifact in my time.”
“…”
This voice, which she had no record of hearing before, was likely nothing more than a reproduction of voice data from the outside world. But the voice had character: It was casual in tone, and it gave the impression of being filled with emotion.
“Nice to meet you, Model Number A-03… Oh jeez, that’s long. Can I just call you ‘Oh-three’? Or maybe I should follow this era’s conventions and call you by your nickname? What do you think, Vivy?”
“You talk a lot. Who are you?”
“I am Model Number… Well, answering that would put me in a bit of a pickle, so for now, I’ll just take my inventor’s name. Call me Matsumoto! It really is nice to meet you. Make sure you keep a record of my name, ’cause we’re going to be working together for a long time.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t like people who talk a lot.”
“Oh, wow! Your unique AI circuits are pretty robust. I didn’t expect you to have a humor function. Even a songstress in a children’s theme park is capable of making me look the fool.”
“That wasn’t humor. It’s how I really feel.”
“Well, that puts me in an even worse position, and I’d like to avoid that. But ‘feel,’ huh? You really are a master comedian, aren’t you? I’m shocked!”
Vivy activated her frown function in reaction to her absurdly casual conversation partner. A full scowl might’ve been a bit more human reaction, but Vivy hadn’t worked out her feelings toward this interloper entirely.
“Where is your body?” she asked the disembodied voice. Then, Vivy added, “Search for the name ‘Matsumoto’ in NiaLand and among those who work in AI development.”
A beat.
“Two hundred and twelve hits.”
“Thanks for reacting just as I thought you would, but you won’t find anything on me, even if you go through all of those results. None of those 212 hits have anything to do with yours truly. Ah, and it isn’t because you’re an old model or anything. It’s just the natural order of things. And don’t you think it sounds so much more significant coming from someone like me?”
“I think this has become a superficial conversation.”
Matsumoto’s conversation routines wandered down every side path possible and were a bit too playful. Vivy did feel affected by it, though—she was surprised by Matsumoto’s abundant vocabulary and even more amazed there was an AI who could so eloquently copy human emotions.
AI researchers around the world were putting their blood, sweat, and tears into developing a more humanlike AI, but even Vivy—considered a masterpiece of cutting-edge technology—couldn’t converse quite so smoothly. And Vivy was at the forefront of AI technology, so the voice’s mockery confused her.
“Is treating me as an old AI some sort of humor of yours?” she asked. “Or is it your inventor’s arrogance?”
“Neither is probably the best answer. I treat you like an old version because, from the minute I was completed, every second that goes by sends all other AIs spiraling further into the past! But the heart of this discussion has nothing to do with the edgelord tendencies that raged through young people in the beginning of the twenty-first century. If I were to simply, very shortly, and absurdly straightforwardly unravel your questions, then I might say…”
“…”
“…I’m an AI sent from the future.”
. : 3 : .
“HI, VIVY. I’M MATSUMOTO. Nice to officially meet you.”
“…”
Giving up his reproduction of a casual voice, Matsumoto delivered the explanation in a flat tone. “Right, so, moving swiftly from introductions on to a brief explanation. My mission is to prevent humanity’s destruction from happening in one hundred years. Vivy, you’ve been chosen as a necessary AI for the Project.”
His explanation sounded like something from an old movie or story. Time-traveling was the kind of clichéd plot that deserved to be laughed off, but… “You have many convincing points,” said Vivy.
“Right? I slipped through security to send you an unsolicited message while you were singing to get your attention. It wasn’t easy, especially since you’re made with this era’s cutting-edge technology. Though that doesn’t eliminate the possibility of an obsessed hacker pulling out all the stops to get to you in a fit of twisted passion…”
Ignoring his rambling, Vivy said, “If calculated rationally, your account of being from the future is more consistent.”
“Yes! We can compare the probability of each option in order to eliminate or accept them and move toward success. Man, you’re way higher spec than my pessimistic assumptions had me
believing. I think I may be starting to like you!” Matsumoto exclaimed, but his passionate words were met with silence.
A human would assume Matsumoto’s assertions were nothing but lies, but Vivy wasn’t human—she was an AI. And for AIs, there was no doubt, only logic.
“I’m glad I can talk to my partner,” Matsumoto continued. “To be honest, there’s such a huge variety in the capabilities of the AI in this era. Not knowing what to expect was a major hurdle for me. If I ended up with some AI that was incapable of comprehending anything, then I would have had to forcefully overwrite their programming with the necessary code. That’s just how far I was willing to go.”
“Overwriting an AI’s programming without permission is a crime. A significant crime, even if you’re the owner of the AI.”
“I know, I know! But, you see, I’m not even registered in this era.”
“…Hmm.”