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I heard Lieutenant Lanakov gave you a name, 74. That right amigo? Lieutenant Julio Quinteillia slouched down into his chair, to try and get a little more comfortable. The more senior flight and flag officers got the better seats in Kalashnikov's. Usually it was through the intimidation of presence alone that would cause a subordinate to shift, not even a word being required.
The machine looked up with rather hollow, colorless eyes. They regarded the Lieutenant without emotion. It spoke without emotion as well, "That is correct, Lieutenant. I have been titled Viatcheslav. They thought a number didn't fit something such as myself. I needed a name." The mechanical head swivelled slowly, peering about at the other patrons as they enjoyed their free time.
Julio peered at the robot opposite him. It was a standard deck maintenance rig, but it was what was inside that counts. 74 was probably the single most advanced piece of technology on the station, or even in the system, simply because of what had been uploaded into that simple standard template machine.
He pulled his drink across the table and continued to stare at the robot. He wondered for a moment if he was comfortable. Then he scolded himself. It wasnt a he, and it couldnt feel. Thats good. Do you like your name? He wondered if that would throw the machine. When hed first met it, itd talked of emotions. Rage, yes. Rage was passion, but could it comprehend other emotions too?
The head quickly turned back to Julio. "It is a rather nice name. It does not refer to me as a machine or an object of repetitive tasks. It shows me as a human. It is rather comforting." A soft, mechanical chuckles emanated from the speakers on the machine's face.
That threw Julio, an answer he truly hadnt been expecting. He picked up the shot glass, and finished the rest of the sludge that the serving staff called a spirit. Im glad to hear you like it. What about fighting? What do you feel about that? He was gaining a sinking feeling that he was going to have to revaluate his views on the machine, and quickly at that.
The head inclined slightly to the left. "That would depend on who was being terminated. You must understand that my role as a Harvester was to kill. There was nothing more than killing that satisfied the sensation known as happiness or amusement. Even now, I still take great pleasure in terminations. Mind you, I will not go out my way to terminate something. It's just what I must do when told, not when I want to." The machine brought its hands on the table intertwining its fingers in a mimicry of the man a few tables to the left.
Lieutenant Julio seemed to be more interrogative than friendly in this matter. Had Viatcheslav done something wrong? It was in the nature of the SCRA to be dubious of anything, but did they treat all suspected individuals like this? Did he even realize what Viatcheslav was worth? Being a technological marvel was something to brag about, but it would be unwise to scream it at the Lieutenant.
"Let me pose a question for you," Viatchelsav asked in a very friendly tone. The Lieutenant looked up, giving it his full attention. "What is your point of view on killing? I know that the SCRA deals with traitors in most unpleasant ways. And the gulags are no secret, either. How do you feel about this?"
There was a heavy silence as the Lieutenant thought to himself. Hesitating, he replied. Its hard to explain. You seem to take great satisfaction in killing Corsairs, who are by blood my own people. I disowned them in light of my belief, and my passion for the Revolution. My point is, in Corsair society, the place I had lived my entire life, there is no law. There is no peace. Death is as common on the streets as it is in the skies. You get accustomed to it, until its just background noise, like the hum of the generators on this very station. He dropped his eyes to his empty shot glass that he was now rolling over and over between his fingers.
I believe in the Revolution, and I believe in sacrifice. The deaths are a necessary sacrifice for the Revolution progresses on the blood of traitors and believers. I myself would lay down my life for the Revolution, to free my people from the stagnated hierarchy of patriarchal rule. He looked flushed, perhaps with anger and passion, or perhaps from embarrassment at revealing so much to a machine. What do you believe? Do you believe... Viatcheslav?
The machine's emotionless face seemed to look puzzled. It inclined its head and looked about, processing the meaning of the words. "Belief is a less passionate word for fanaticism. In my case, it is programming. The former 74 would have been considered a fanatic. It mindlessly did as it was told and never complained. In a way, it was true communism: All Harvesters were equal and never stepped out of line. They had a role and they did it to their fullest potential, no matter how redundant.
"As for me, I believe that as a sentient being, that I must choose my own path and decide what I should and should not do. A machine decides how it does something, not exactly what it does. That is why a Virtual Intelligence is not a true Artificial Intelligence. It only does what its told in a creative way."
The machine looked at the empty shot glass, continuing to speak, "And I have made the choice to join your Revolution. I believe that the SCRA's methods of assisting the people instead of slaughtering them in order to use their ships and ruined corpses for raw materials is a very good cause." A spout of laughter from a corner of the bar caught Viatchelsav's attention, its eyes entirely focused on the amusement of its fellow patrons. "And it seems that is what your comrades see in it as well," Its voice dropped to a whisper, "How I envy the human being for the ability to make choices and reject them at will." It spoke more to itself than to Julio.
There was a muffled clink as the shot glass was placed back on the table, in a sticky patch where something alcoholic had been spilled in the past. Youre not at all what I expected. Even the way you talk, right? The Harvesters, they were pretty basic from what Id experienced. They couldnt string a sentence together. Then theres you dabbling in... Rhetoric. There was another burst of laughter from the group near the jukebox, and a man in orange overalls was sent sprawling to the floor.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"
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"Rhetoric?" It asked. "Care to explain what you mean by that?" It turned its head back to Julio, focusing on him once again. The mechanical fingers were unmeshed and it leaned forward, resting its 'elbows' on the table and leaning forward to support its head on its fists.
Almost subconsciously Julio felt the need to lean back, away from the machine that was leaning across the table. He caught himself before moving. There was no need to be intimidated by it. There was a reason a maintenance bot had been picked for the upload, and that was it resembled a human sufficiently, but was at the same time flimsy enough to be overpowered if it should come to the worst.
He cleared his throat then continued. Rhetoric as in the fluent expression of thoughts. Arguing as well. Kind of like the tools of conversation and language, if you get what I mean? He picked up the shot glass again and twirled it between his fingers. He coughed for a moment, then replaced the glass. Excuse me. I need to get another one of those. He hauled himself to his feet and traipsed off towards the bar, leaving Viatcheslav in his seat.
The machine looked to the shot glass sitting on the table. It brought one fist out from under its 'chin', reaching out to pluck up the small glass. It studied the rather dull shape, slowly turning it in its stubby fingers. Stopping, it looked to Julio who had his back turned to Viatcheslav. Remembering the motions of the Lieutenant, it twirled the glass in its fingers. On the third rotation, the glass shattered audibly. The mechanical body stiffened as all eyes were turned on it. different sized shards of glass sat on the table. Viatcheslav remained immobile as everyone still stared.
Hearing the noise, Julio froze, his blood turning cold. He could visualise a drunken Sub Lieutenant throwing a bottle at the robot, perhaps a slurred insult telling it to get back to the hanger. He knew the machine would retaliate to such an attack, then he would be forced to enact Katzs Contingency, and itd be his balls going through the wringer. He slowly pivoted, and saw the shot glass shattered on the table, Viatcheslavs arm still outstretched, the fingers curled. One of the serving staff quietly placed a new drink on the bar surface behind him. Still watching the motionless machine, he reached for the glass and walked carefully back to the table.
He slid back into his seat, then swept the broken glass to the tables edge to clear some space. Dont worry about that. He placed his new drink on the table. Having second thoughts he downed it, leaving a second empty glass. He picked it up and held it out on an upturned palm. You were trying to spin it werent you? He nimbly tossed it into the air and caught it between his fingers a prodigy of a lifetime lurking in bars. Look, hold it this way. He held it up to the light as an example. Im guessing last time you put too much pressure on the glass. Just dont hold it as tight then try again. He rolled the glass down into his palm, then outstretched his hand again, offering it, as if for inspection.
After a few more minutes of idle chatter about nothing in particular, the Lieutenant was summoned for something that Viatcheslav couldnt know about. Although it needed to be done, Viatcheslav found itself annoyed. When the Lieutenant was not with him, the marines were. And within moments, there they were at its side as it started to stand.
It left the bar and headed down its granted path throughout Zvedny Gorodok. The expansive station was not really a marvel of engineering, but it was impressive even to the machine. Laborers worked around the clock to construct weapons, ships, and munitions for the rather small Coalition; making their production value almost equal to the Hispanian factions. Although Viatcheslav was not allowed to see the production facilities, it could imagine the expansive fighter bays or assembly-line style production.
With a marine on each flank the average maintenance bot seemed more dangerous than it was. If anything, the loss of the avatar would mean nothing. It was just remotely controlled as analysts picked over the Imperator gunboat that it usually occupied. With the intertwining of Harvester technology and Corsair technology, the analysts would actually learn nothing of both alien sources. And any modifications would prove very fatal if they had desired to try them. Viatcheslav warned them that they must be careful if they dont want to lose their only artificial intelligence.
A man wearing orange overalls passed by; a large toolbox in his hands. As he shimmied out of the way of the marines, he dropped the box, tools skidding across the floor. One of the marines chuckled as the poor man clumsily scooped up each tool and muttered to himself in Russian. Viatcheslav stopped, pivoted on its heel, walked to the man, bent down, and began to collect the tools with him. The marine stopped laughing, instead his jaw dropping as he gasped. Even the tech stopped talking and watched as this machine assisted him.
You shouldnt have done this, The man whispered harshly, I can do this myself. He grabbed a tool from the machines hand, angrily throwing it into the toolbox.
I was only trying to be helpful. Would you rather that I laugh and point? Viatcheslav whispered back. It began to stand when the man shook his head.
SorryI justam not used to having assistance. Im already in trouble and I dont need this right now, He spoke rather angrily. He picked up a wrench and twirled it in his hands, putting it rather gently in the box. You can continue to help me. If you want.
I just believe that you shouldnt have to suffer for minor mistakes, The machine said as it scooped up another set of tools. My name is Viatcheslav, by the way.
That machine that defected from the Harvesters?
It appears that I am semi-famous.
No. Just have a lot of warning labels attached to your name. We arent really supposed to be talking to you. Im Nicholas. Nicholas Terntia. Nicholas smiled as he said his name.
It was a pleasure to meet you, Nicholas, but I must go, Viatcheslav said as it picked up the last clutch of tools and set them in the box. Nicholas bowed his head slightly and closed the toolbox, hurrying off without even saying goodbye. A marine grunted loudly and the machine stood up, heading back along its route through the station.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"
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Julio marched down a bland corridor, turned a corner and found himself staring down yet another artificial metal-clad tube hewn from the moons rock. The tunnels stretched away in ever expanding webs from the main city terminals, twisting and turning through the base like the tangled wires of some great electrical beast.
He was looking for one place in particular. A isolated and distant Hab unit. There was a technician, a computer specialist who had been retired from service on Mykolaiv after a long and distinguished career. He cut down the distance to his target rapidly, until he found the old and decrepit looking door hed been searching for.
He knocked, then waited. After a moment there was a clatter as a great many somethings fell over. The door was hauled open by a wizened old man, who blinked short-sightedly through a thick pair of spectacles at the young lieutenant. He had a mop of grey-white hair, and what must have been green eyes, paled by age and whitened by cataracts. Oh, its you, Mr. Quinteillia? How can I help, assist, lend a hand to you? The old man quickly brushed some soot off his jacket. Dont worry about that. A processor exploded on me, he muttered apologetically.
Err... Yes. It is good to see you again senor Thompson. The old scientist had a disconcertingly irritating habit of repeating the words of whoever he was listening to under his breath. I just wanted some... Information. He closed his eyes for a moment and resisted the temptation to ram his fist through the pensioners teeth.
Information, eh? Well, come on in. It would be most impolite, ungracious, indecorous to leave you standing out there. With that he turned around, and resplendent in his beige carpet slippers, shuffled back into the poorly lit room. Gingerly Julio followed him in. Hed been there before, but its contents never ceased to amaze and horrify him. Tower blocks of food cartons, and high-rises of piled books and miscellaneous mechanical components littered all the rooms visible surfaces. Thompson briskly swept several chairs clear, then gestured for Julio to have a seat.
Now then my boy, what information did you want? He perched himself on the edge of one of the chairs, mostly because there was a suspicious stain on the upholstery that he would have sat on if hed picked any place other than the edge.
Youve heard of the machine Viatcheslav, formerly Harvester 74? I want to know how it works. The old mans lips moved for a moment more before he composed himself and sunk into deep thought, his lips now pursed.
By works, I presume you mean thinks? Julio nodded, settling into the second, somewhat cleaner chair as he did so. Well, Im afraid there is no simple answer. From what Ive heard its an AI, not a VI. To call it a machine would to be to greatly underestimate it.
What is the difference between the two? Thompson leaned forward as if conspiring or releasing some great secret.
There is a world of difference. A VI is a virtual intelligence. An AI is an artificial intelligence. Julio looked unimpressed. The old man sighed. I see the significance is lost on you. A virtual intelligence possesses a modicum of independence in that it is designed for a specific purpose and will then intelligently pursue that goal on its own. It is still a tool, my boy, and that is the level of technology our own intelligence programs still operate. Your metallic compatriot however, is something special. True artificial intelligence. For all intents and purposes, consider him a human.
He is totally independent of any power or source of command, save those he cares to heed. He is a human who has been born fully developed and has thus not received the wealth of social knowledge that we ourselves have naturally gathered over a lifetime. He is a child with a mans mind and body. Knowledge and its implementation is a whole different kettle of fish. The ancient spoke with passion, clearly a subject he had spent much of his life studying. The monologue had startled Julio, and shaken his beliefs to the very core about his metallic compatriot.
He had previously thought of Viatcheslav as an intricately designed and incredibly powerful tinker toy. Now he knew better. To think that the machine had its own thought processes, its own views and beliefs was staggering. It had said it did, but that could have just been the programming. What Thompson said implied that it truly did believe and trust, and perhaps feel.
The rounds of Zvezdny were boring and losing their luster. After the first tour, the station lost its allure, its magic. Now it was just another series of tubes and factories in a rather large rock. Kalishnakov's, on the other hand, had more life to it. Viatcheslov always looked forward to its meetings with Lieutenant Julio. It was the only time for human interaction with something that actually wanted to be with it.
After a few minutes of waiting Julio walked in through one of the doors. He raised his hand to the marines that had been milling around nearby, who immediately untensed and wandered off to find their friends and partners in the scrum around the bar. Hola Viatcheslav. Hows things?
The machine looked up and its voice had rather cheery edge to it, "With the marines gone, I feel more free. I hate being followed around and treated as a threat. But what must be done, must be done." It chuckled slightly. "Care to sit with me?"
Sure. The lieutenant seated himself. So, you really dont like the marines, huh? He glanced over to where one of the burly slabs of muscle was imposing himself on a young female deck technician. The marines were renown for their lack of tact and intelligence. Not to mention the abundance of testosterone that often led to mindless violence. Infamous for it, in fact.
Viatcheslav followed the Lieutenants gaze and chuckled. That should be considered illegal. Shall we take bets on whether or not she hits him? It chuckled again. And no, I am not very fond of them. At all, to be exact. Imagine being imprisoned, yet you are free at the same time. I am not trusted and I realize this. These marines, on the other hand are a bit excessive. My hull is already rigged to explode should I do something bad. At least two megatons of nuclear ordinance should be enough to do it. The machine would be smiling if it could, its voice hinting at it.
The light humour surprised him. If hed had a bomb sutured into his chest cavity, he probably wouldnt have been able to manage it. Yeah, I agree with you about him, he said jerking his head at the marine. And Id wager she wouldnt. Those animals dont have the self restraint not to tear her in half. He settled back into his usual chair. So, what have you been up to since I last saw you?
I met a deck-hand today. He seemed a bit skittish. Nicholas was his name. The marines just laughed at him as he dropped his tools. I found that very cruel and rather the opposite of what the Coalition stood for, so I helped him. You should have seen the look on his face. Thought he might have shoved me away or punched me, The machine paused, taking a shot glass and twirling it in the manner it was shown, He seemed like a rather troubled man. But you already know about them, no? It looked to the glass. Would it be too bold of me to ask what you did when you were free of my presence?
I visited a friend, he said was a small smile. The faint laughter in his eyes indicated that wasnt exactly the entire truth. As a matter of a fact, hes fairly enthusiastic about meeting you, but Id be afraid hed try to dissect you or something. Internally he checked himself. Hed meant to say take apart. You cant dissect a robot. And I see youve got the shot glass trick down. Well done. Then he leaned forward slightly, almost conspiringly. What are you like at counting?
The machine looked up at him, tilting its head in a quizzical manner. I am a mathematical genius. I can count to very large exponential numbers in a matter of nanoseconds. Why do you ask...? A broad grin spread across Julios face.
"THE HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED AND THESCIENCEIS LEAKING OUT!"