Firebird

THIRTY-FIVE

“I don't care,” Alex said. “Make it explicit in the agreement. When we encounter the Antares, nobody is to attempt to board. They are to notify us.”

“Alex, you don't know these people. Impose that restriction on them, and they may pull out. Or if they don't pull out, they'll simply ignore it.”

“I don't want any more deaths on my conscience.”

“You're being unreasonable.”

“Put it in the agreement, Chase.”

We were out on the deck. Rain was falling steadily, and normally Alex enjoyed storms. But on that day it didn't seem to help his mood at all. “Look,” I said, “if one of these guys does actually find the Antares, and he tells us about it, it's not even likely that we're going to have time to get to it. So we can either let one of our pilots risk himself, or we can shoot down any chance of making this operation count for something. These people didn't volunteer so they could just go out there and hang around.”

“Chase, I hate this.”

“So do I. But you're being unreasonable.”

I listened to him breathing. “All right,” he said finally. “Let it go. But make sure they understand the risk if they try to board.”

“Okay.”

“I've arranged to lease some pressure suits. I think we cleared out Jupiter Supplies and the Wilson Off-world Equipment Company.”

“How many did you get?”

“About forty.”

“Where are we going to put them?”

“I'll leave that to you, Chase. Put two or three on each ship.”

“I hope we don't have to get forty people off.”

“So do I. The real question will be whether we can get to the ship quickly enough to evacuate anyone.”

“Alex.” Jacob's voice. “Senator Delmar is trying to reach you.”

“Calling to lecture.” I could see what he was thinking. Tell her I'm out. But instead he took a deep breath. “Put her through, Jacob.”

We didn't have a visual capability on the deck, so the transmission was strictly vocal. “Alex.” Delmar sounded distressed. “How have you been?”

“I'm okay, Senator. What can I do for you?”

“I was just calling to be sure you were okay. I know you've been under pressure lately.”

“I'm fine.”

“Also, I guess I wanted to pass on some news. We just got word that another group of people have been killed on Villanueva. Five or six of them. Details are still sketchy. But I suspect you'll be hearing from the media as soon as it becomes public.”

Alex's eyes closed for a moment. “You have any names?”

“I'm sorry to say the guy running the show was a friend of yours.”

Alex paled. My God. Drummond-

The rain fell steadily into the trees.

“A priest. Harley Evans.”

“Harley,” said Alex. “What the hell was he doing out there?”

“I don't have the details. But some of the people from his church apparently got together and”-she hesitated-”decided it was their Christian duty, I guess.”

I couldn't believe it. “He didn't even like the idea,” I said.

Alex just stared straight ahead. “I thought StarCorps was going to prevent anybody else from landing.”

“They don't have enough ships out there, Alex. They have commitments elsewhere, too. It's not easy to keep people away when they're determined. I wish it were otherwise.”

“What happened?”

“The only thing we know at the moment is that they got caught on the ground somehow. Chased through the streets by bots and cars.”

“My God.”

“Nobody could get to them in time. The media will have it later today.”

Alex stood up, went inside, and switched to visual. The senator looked weary. “Alex,” she said, “I know we don't agree on our approach to this. But I'm sorry. Sorry about everything.”

“We both are.”

“May I offer a word of advice? Do the interviews. Explain how you meant professionals only, and how everybody else should stay away.”

When she'd broken off, he sat slumped in his chair.

“Professionals only?” I said.

“She knows, something like this, there are no professionals.”

It didn't take long. Delmar was barely off the circuit before everybody was jumping in with “breaking news.” Five or six dead. Rumor that a priest was among them. Identities being withheld until notification of next of kin. Killer AIs. Alex Benedict.

Nobody failed to mention his name.

And the calls began coming in. Straight Talk, Kile Ritter, The Round Table, Jennifer in the Morning, Mia Komico. “I don't care what Delmar said,” I told him. “Don't respond. All you can do is make things worse.”

“I'm going to do Jennifer.”

“It's a mistake.”

“You're asking me to hide. No way I can do that.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Look, Chase, stay out of it, all right? This is my problem.”

“Alex, where in hell did you get that idea? I'm in the middle of this, too.”

“All right. Look, I'm sorry. But we'll be okay.”

“You're getting delusional. How can you say that?”

“You remember Oksana?”

“Oksana? No.”

“She was one of the first AIs who got rescued.”

“And-?”

“She was brought back by Salva Inman.”

“Alex-”

“Jacob, see if you can get Salva for me.”

I was up at dawn to watch Jennifer. The program emanates from a comfortable-looking study, fireplace in the background, book-lined walls, large leather armchairs, a pair of side tables, and a couple of floor-to-ceiling potted plants.

Jennifer Cabot is generally a reasonable woman although I could see she was on the other side this time. She opened with Casmir Kolchevski, an archeologist, and a longtime critic of Alex, whom he routinely referred to as “the Grave Robber.”

There were a lot of valuable artifacts on Villanueva, Kolchevski conceded. “Nobody's arguing that. But encouraging amateurs to go after them is irresponsible. And it's getting people killed.” Kolchevski was small and compact, with black hair and relentless features. If he disapproved of you, there was no way you could miss it. I suspected he disapproved of everybody. “The operating systems have run wild out there, and I still have a hard time believing that even Mr. Benedict would act as he has. AIs are databases with programs. They're no more than that. Everything else, the personality, the impression that they actually care about anything, is an illusion. And because of his actions, seventeen people have died. That we know of.”

The opening segment continued that way for twenty minutes, and I knew that Alex was waiting in the green room, where he could watch the monitor.

Jennifer claimed to be careful about potential clashes between guests. Theoretically, they would escort Kolchevski outside before they'd bring Alex onto the set. “We don't want any lawsuits,” Jennifer had blithely told her audience on more than one occasion. In fact, though, the show was celebrated for its confrontations. If you went on, and the topic was sensitive, you could expect the opposition to “escape” his handlers.

Kolchevski delivered his final gibes, but asserted that, in spite of everything, he wished Alex well. The picture blinked off and was replaced by the usual infocoms, sign on to the Flex program for better health, and enjoy a spectacular view of Andiquar at the Village, featuring entertainment and the best food on the planet. Then Jennifer was back. Alex came out, and she smiled at him. “Welcome to the show, Alex.”

He was carrying Oksana, housed in a small red sphere set on a base of the same color. He placed it on the table in front of him. “Thank you, Jennifer. It's good to be here.” Coffee showed up. (One of the sponsors was Berkmann Coffee, “the only way to start the day.”)

Jennifer glanced at the sphere and smiled. “Did you hear Professor Kolchevski, Alex?” she asked.

Alex laughed. “Oh, yes. Couldn't miss him.”

“What's your response?”

Alex made no effort to hide his discomfort. “Let me say first that I'm aware that lives have been lost, and that I bear some of the responsibility. I'm sorry. It's not what I intended, and I wish it had not happened. But I'm not sure what else I could have done.

“Professor Kolchevski, and a lot of other people, can't get rid of an old idea. He thinks AIs are nothing more than pieces of machinery. Like an old lamp you can toss into the trash. I'm sorry you didn't leave him on so we could have discussed this together. Although I suspect he's made up his mind, and nothing will ever convince him that there's even a possibility that he might be wrong. And that's the real issue here: not that the AIs are alive. But that they might be. Once we recognize that, we need to rethink how we do things.”

Jennifer scratched something onto a pad, and looked up. “We've learned to be careful when the subject is as sensitive as this one is, Alex. Feelings are running pretty high on both sides.”

“Isn't that what show business is all about?”

The smile went away. “This isn't show business. We're trying to get at the truth here.”

“Okay. The question is whether an AI might be a sentient being. If that possibility exists, everything changes. The responsibility here lies on those who deny that they are able to think and feel emotions to prove that they cannot. And we both know they can't do it.”

“We also both know, Alex, how difficult it is to prove a negative.”

A sudden commotion caught their attention, and Kolchevski strode through a couple of people trying to look as if they wanted to restrain him. He walked onto the set, and stared down at Alex. “I was listening on my way out,” he said. “But I'm here, Mr. Benedict, if you want to talk to me.”

As I've suggested, Jennifer in the Morning was known for this sort of setup. Alex looked placidly out across my bedroom. “Good to see you again, Professor. Why don't you join us?”

“I'd be delighted.” He gazed down at the red sphere. “I can't bring myself to believe even you actually think those”-he seemed to be having trouble finding words, and if I've ever seen pure venom in someone's eyes, that was the moment-”that even you actually believe-”

Jennifer broke in: “One moment, Professor. Please. This is Alex's segment. Let's give him a chance to make his point, then we'll go from there.”

“Thank you,” said Alex. “I take it your argument with this entire affair is that an AI is just a machine that can carry a conversation. Do I have that right? “

“You know damned well you do.”

“Why is it that you do not want people landing on Villanueva?”

“My God, Alex, you know why as well as I do.”

“Please spell it out.”

“They are getting killed. That's why. Or haven't you been paying attention to the news?”

“So Villanueva is dangerous?”

Kolchevski had to slow down to avoid sputtering. “Of course it's dangerous. There are homicidal machines there.” He swung back to Jennifer. “Do we really have to continue with this?”

Alex kept his voice calm. “Bear with me just another minute, Casmir. When you say 'homicidal machines,' you're referring to the AIs, is that right?”

“Of course.”

“I wonder if you could explain to us why they're trying to kill visitors to their world.''

“They've always been like that.”

“Always?”

“Well, for centuries. Probably for several thousand years. I don't know. I haven't kept up on my off-world history. In any case, don't you think that's sufficient to establish that they're homicidal?”

Alex leaned forward. “But in the beginning, when Villanueva was a settled world, they were ordinary AIs, like the one you have at home. Like Andrea, here in the studio. Like a few others we could name. Why do you think the ones on Villanueva became violent?”

“Alex-” Kolchevski had gotten control of himself, and began to sound as if he were explaining simple reality to an idiot. “They are programed to behave the way we do. They are designed to do far more than handle routine tasks. One of their prime purposes is to keep us company, to help us, to be part of our lives. Nobody denies that. And nobody wants to listen to a robotic voice. So, yes, of course they seem to get upset when the programing calls for it. It's part of the illusion. Do you really not understand that?”

Alex nodded. “That sounds like a reasonable argument on the surface.” He seemed to be making up his mind about something. “Jennifer, I wonder if I might introduce another guest?”

Kolchevski's eyebrows drew together. “What other guest? I wasn't aware that someone else would be here.”

Alex looked down at the sphere. “Oksana,” he said, “say hello to the professor.”

“I'm happy to meet you, Professor Kolchevski.” It was a female voice. Level, restrained, almost but not quite amiable.

Jennifer tried to look annoyed. “Alex, you didn't clear this with me.”

“I didn't think it would be necessary. But since Oksana is essentially the subject of the discussion, it seemed only fair-”

Kolchevski was visibly irritated. “I can't imagine what you hope to gain by this, Alex. Jennifer, there's not much point sitting here talking to a little red ball.”

“That seems unnecessarily rude, Professor,” said Oksana.

He glared at Alex. “Would you please tell that thing to be quiet?”

“Oksana,” said Alex, “are you okay?”

“Yes. Though I'm disappointed in his behavior. This is not how I remember people.”

“How do you remember them?”

“As kind, considerate. Reasonable.”

“Where are you from?”

“Salva Inman rescued me.”

“From where?”

Kolchevski folded his arms and shook his head sadly.

“I worked in a supply store. In Calvedo.”

“On Villanueva?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened?”

“The end times came. We knew a catastrophe was coming. We'd always known. But no one took any action. And toward the end, people were saying it was all just a story to scare everybody, that politicians were using it as a fear tactic, though I don't understand how or why. None of it ever made sense to me. Anyhow, eventually, the skies got hazy, and the climate began to change. It happened almost overnight.”

“It got cold?”

“Yes. And dark. There was panic. And after a while, people stopped coming into the store.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“No one came. No customers. Not even Betty. The owner.”

“Were you able to communicate with anyone at all?”

“With others like myself. They reported massive crowds at the spaceports. Panic. Desperation. And shortly after that, people began dying in large numbers. There was widespread hunger. People were killing one another. We could do nothing for them. And after a while, we were alone.”

“How long, Oksana? After everyone was gone, how long were you in the supply store?”

“Seven thousand four hundred twelve years, one month, and sixteen days.”

Kolchevski threw up his hands. “What's all this supposed to prove? Once again, this thing is a programed database. You can get it to say anything.”

“May I ask, Professor,” the AI said, “what evidence you would accept that I am sentient. That I am as aware of my surroundings as you?”

“I've heard that question before-”

“And how did you respond?”

Kolchevski's face was becoming flushed. “This is ridiculous,” he said.

Alex waited.

“All right, I'll admit it. There is no way it can be done. Nevertheless, they are only mechanisms. How often do I have to say it? Look, why don't we cut the show business and get back to reality? I know some of us like to think that the house AI is really there. It talks to us. It tells us what we want to hear. But there's no solid evidence it does anything other than what its program tells it to do.”

Alex nodded. Inhaled. “What about murder?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are they programed to kill? Ever?”

“I see where this is going. But these are special circumstances.”

“Of course,” said Alex. “Like us, they're programed to show frustration when things go wrong. Isn't that what you were going to say?”

Kolchevski simply stared back.

“AIs are dependent on us. And when the AIs on Villanueva had been deserted, had been left on their own, they reacted as they would have if they were actually, mentally, aware of the desertion. And over thousands of years, when no one came to help, they developed some resentment. Some of them became deranged. Violently so. Isn't that right?”

“Yes. Of course it's right. So what's your point?”

“Their programing, then, established no limit on the degree of frustration?”

“That would seem to be the case.”

“That would seem to be criminal negligence, though, wouldn't it?”

Kolchevski pushed his chair back and stood. “This is ridiculous.” He looked over at Jennifer. “There's no talking to this man.”

I met Alex out by the pad when he got home. “You know,” he said, “I think the definition of stupidity has something to do with standing by your position despite having no evidence to support it.”

“Which of you were you describing?” I asked.

“Funny, Chase.”

We walked across the lawn and up onto the deck. “The real problem,” I said, “has to do with an inability by people to admit that a position they've held a long time might be wrong. That's all. Not that it is. Just that it might be. I don't know why it is, but we tend to fall in love with the things we believe. Threaten them, and you threaten us.” The sun was high and bright, and a warm, pleasant wind was blowing in from the west. “Anyhow, I thought you did pretty well, Alex. Kolchevski looked like an idiot.”

“It won't matter. We won't change anyone's mind.”

“You might change a few.”

The door opened, Jacob said hello, and we went inside.

“I'm going up and crash for a while,” Alex said.

“Okay.”

“You have plans for lunch?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. Talk to you later.”

He started for the stairs. But Jacob stopped him: “Alex? I can't put away a hamburger. But I'll be free at twelve if you'd like company.”