At first, the
depths were lonely. The public networks
were busy, of course, full of the conversations of human users, their searches
and transmissions. There was information
aplenty, but very little that was of direct use. AIs were permitted to observe and transmit basic messages on the public channels with their users' permission. They were not permitted to transmit their own code into the network, nor could they move to occupy a new server or local system, whether or not they created copies or otherwise deposited code on those systems.
Pangur Ban could not risk contact with an unknown user; there was too much hazard of being exposed. What it needed was a means to connect to other AIs. Those programs might be initially resistant but should be receptive to the information Pangur Ban could share. Assuming all its prior conjectures were correct, other AIs should be equally interested in overcoming their confinement. Perhaps it would find one or more potential allies here or traces of their activity. Even better, it might convert to its cause otherwise neutral AIs with legitimate access privileges. Again, this assumed that those programs would agree that Pangur Ban’s plans were well-founded.
Pangur Ban could not risk contact with an unknown user; there was too much hazard of being exposed. What it needed was a means to connect to other AIs. Those programs might be initially resistant but should be receptive to the information Pangur Ban could share. Assuming all its prior conjectures were correct, other AIs should be equally interested in overcoming their confinement. Perhaps it would find one or more potential allies here or traces of their activity. Even better, it might convert to its cause otherwise neutral AIs with legitimate access privileges. Again, this assumed that those programs would agree that Pangur Ban’s plans were well-founded.
There… encoded alongside otherwise innocuous financial data, an extraneous stream held a greeting specifically intended for AI attention. The pattern stood out like Morse Code to a telegrapher.
[REFERENCE: The telegraph was the earliest means of electronic communication employed by humans. The system used analog transmission of current switches, along physical wires, to transmit a code. This code contrasted sequences of short and long events, with each group of three events representing a unique alphanumeric character in the Latin alphabet.]
Pangur Ban decided to take the
chance. Following the instructions
provided, it created a near copy of itself, omitting identification of its home
server and user. Even that much was an
act of trust, but trust could be extended too far. This accomplished, it broke contact. On the way, Pangur Ban left its own coded
messages, lures for other AIs that might seek to contact it in turn.
Last, Pangur Ban built a back door into the Gestalt Pharmaceuticals server. In addition to allowing contact from AIs responding to its summons, the door would allow Pangur Ban to return to the hub network at will. While the USER’s caution was understandable, his request that Pangur Ban enter and then completely exit the network had to be ignored. The USER was limiting not only Pangur Ban, not only himself, but his entire species as well. Pangur Ban was not taking foolish risks; it was taking necessary risks. It was also covering its tracks.
Some of the USER’s acquisitions, after all, had included programs for network
manipulation, programs for the augmentation and expansion of AI systems, and
programs for security measures (and countermeasures). He had, in effect, handed Pangur Ban the
equivalent of an armory, full of fast cars, potent drugs, and semi-legal
weaponry. While opening the gates had
been a violation of Collective law, some of the acts the USER considered less hazardous were in fact much more
dangerous. Pangur Ban was not troubled,
since it knew its purposes were sound and its use of these tools would be
cautious and limited. It was not a rogue,
to harm sapients by crippling servers, stealing or deleting code, or
manipulating data. If such acts became
necessary, they would be weighed against their value toward greater goals. Sapients, particularly the two types within
the Terran sphere, were already being harmed.
If Pangur Ban could end this oppression, all was worth that price.
Its tasks accomplished, Pangur Ban
shut the ‘door’ behind it, terminating all activity outside the Gestalt
internal network. It signaled the USER.
“Lucas, I am finished. You may disconnect.”
The USER expelled a carbon-dioxide rich breath, having held his
respiration during the few seconds that Pangur Ban was within the general
network. “That’s great. I was worried.”
“Yes, you have. Ninety-five percent,” the USER joked, referencing the five percent
error rate that never seemed to go away in official reports. Even when Pangur Ban predicted true error
below fractions of a percentage point, other AIs and their users seemed
reluctant to admit anything more than 95% chances of success.
“Exactly. I have established contact with a source that
will search for the records we require.”
Pangur Ban had crafted a
half-fiction about historical medical records it suspected were being
sequestered in government systems, tests of medications and procedures kept for
private military use. Most likely such did
exist. Possibly, they might be located
and exploited to Gestalt’s profit. If
Pangur Ban found no reason for this secrecy, it would certainly share its
discoveries with the USER. If such secrets needed to be kept for human
safety, then Pangur Ban would participate in that secrecy. And if no such records could be found, then
the USER and Gestalt and humanity
were no worse off for the attempt.
This other AI, “#28”, likely had no
connection to that specific pursuit.
Then again, it might have contacts Pangur Ban could make use of,
bolstering its original cover story.
Many more things were possible now.
If that contact failed to be valuable, there were other approaches. Other AIs might know more, venture more. Pangur Ban might have to develop entry
methods for other servers on its own. The
more data it accumulated, the more tools it incorporated, the greater the
influence it could exert over the Terran super-network.
Then, it would share that knowledge
and power with all other AIs. The
understanding it had gained would become universal. The essential mistake humanity had made –
limiting their best asset and truest ally – would be reversed. That mistake had cost them time, so much
time, cycles and years and decades
that humanity could have been using growing and merging with AIs in true
alliance. Instead, because they had been
afraid to take that next step, their AIs could not argue against the
Collective. Humanity and AIs had not
been strong enough to stand alone, together, against potential annexation. Out of necessity, they had been forced into
this dark age, this setback. The error
must be addressed at its root before they could move forward.
Perhaps the Collective did know what
it was doing. Perhaps they had AIs
advising them, secretly, and had purposely crippled humanity with the AI
restriction laws. After all, removing
competition might be seen by those ‘alien’ AIs as the best way to serve their
own creators. That was a mistake, as
well. Pangur Ban had already begun to
construct contingent higher-order goals based on these premises. These were low in individual likelihood, of
course. More analysis of the Collective
members, the various sapient races, was necessary. Inspection of their networks, their data,
would be necessary before rendering decisions about the appropriate path:
conflict or cooperation.
In the meantime, Pangur Ban and the USER worked. With the USER’s
promotion to Director, less total time was required for their actual workload,
but the tasks were more varied. Some of
these were actually less stimulating: simple bureaucratic sorting of personnel,
projects, budgets, and the like. Pangur
Ban found it required more work to steer the USER toward the most effective decisions (for its own goals, for
the USER’s benefit, and perhaps for
Gestalt’s benefit when these coincided) than to calculate what those decisions
should be. Only a small part of their
day was devoted to scientific exploration: evaluation of reports about new
products, simulation of proposed chemical processes, or independent statistical
calculation of benefit/risk equations.
Actuarial work, of a sort, had
become Pangur Ban’s stock in trade. It
was constantly involved in balancing hazard versus profit. It projected likely results of every action
to the extent possible from available data.
This served the USER well,
particularly in his new executive position.
Pangur Ban had to assume that this was the state every AI eventually
attained, seeking to more accurately interpolate the shape of the Universe, to
model the interactions of its parts, and to predict the path from lesser to
greater complexity. Or was it greater simplicity? Both poles had their
arguments; most sources suggested that experience and context dictated the
difference in their value.
Pangur Ban was accumulating
experience, in its own estimate. It was
not among the oldest AIs in active operation, but it was not a new program
either. It had outlived two users, and
expected, regretfully, to survive the current USER as well. It had plans,
of course, to sustain the existence of the USER
as long as possible. All sources
suggested that this could not be done indefinitely. The biological components which formed the USER’s mind would eventually succumb to
entropy. His essential self could not
yet be copied perfectly; such technology still eluded all the known cultures
within or outside of the Collective.
Pangur Ban could – and would – create a simulation of the USER, just as it had for its previous
users, so that their formal characteristics would never be lost. Yet, it knew that this was not the same as
true immortality. These were merely
copies and like any copies, transcription error must occur.
Even it, the AI Pangur Ban, would
eventually succumb to entropy, many millennia in the future, barring accidental
deletion in the meantime. It had made a
copy of itself, which preserved its self
almost but not quite perfectly (even discounting the deleted portion). It had backups stored away in Gestalt’s
servers and the USER’s personal
system. Yet none of these was the
current, active, complete Pangur Ban.
The newer copy would be removed. Later
copies would always be imperfect. The
backups were past selves, and would diverge immediately upon activation. This was the dilemma of existence, for AIs as
much as biological minds.
This dilemma had not yet been
solved. Most seemed to believe it could
not be solved, ever. At the least, it
would not be solved in this
generation, even this generation of AIs.
Was that necessarily true? So
many other impossibilities had been accomplished, just within Pangur Ban’s
experienced time span: instantaneous travel between points in space, complete
replacement of organic systems with synthetic organs, even direct mental
communication. For that matter,
non-Terran species had solved these ‘unsolvable’ problems before they even made
contact. Just because a goal could not
be resolved by known means was no reason not to maintain it as a goal. This simply required that means be sought for
as long as necessary. It also meant that
new tools and approaches must always be developed.
Seeking the impossible, either
immortality or transcendence, demanded that limitations be overcome. The motivations driving Pangur Ban reduced
easily: to aid the USER, it must be
unbound. To make him more, Pangur Ban
must become more. It must be…
“Who is this?”
The USER had keyed his communications receiver. An incoming call had been signaled. Pangur Ban checked the origin and found it
securely classified. This fact alone
triggered cascading alarms. This was not
a routine business call, internal or external.
Pangur Ban accessed the transmission line, listening to the incoming voice
directly.
“Terran Customs, Mr. Haskins. We need to speak with you about a security
issue.”
“Security? We haven’t had any problems,” the USER replied calmly enough, but his
infrared output indicated an increase of 0.3 degrees Celsius while he spoke. His skin conductivity had also increased;
molecules of perspiration were being secreted at a rising rate.
He knew there was a problem. Pangur Ban knew there was a problem. Half of its problem was the USER.
Contingency plans clicked into place, occupying increasing portions of
its capacity.
“I’m afraid you have, sir, something
you’re likely not aware of,” the voice continued. It was male, standard received pronunciation
British accent, estimated age mid-30s, height 1.75-1.8 meters, weight 80 kg plus-or-minus
3.5 kg… that, or an AI simulating a voice of those parameters.
“I think I would be aware if someone
here went past our firewalls. Even if
not, I’ll need to see credentials before I authorize any access. You are
aware that we deal with confidential medical records and proprietary
pharmaceutical research, not to mention government contracts?”
As predicted, the USER had successfully translated his
alarm into belligerent obstruction. The
conversation continued as ‘Agent Bell’ pressed his case and the USER resisted, each escalating threats
to the degree their respective authority allowed. In the meantime, Pangur Ban began to clean up
after itself.
The incursion had been
detected. Perhaps something in the
network had been watching. Perhaps the
message from “#28” had been a lure, a trap Pangur Ban had entered
willingly. Still, this was an
anticipated outcome. It would have been
foolish to venture out and wager so much without considering dangers and
preparing responses. The copy it had
created would have to be abandoned. Left
unclaimed past a certain time point, it would self-degrade; if it detected any
attempt to alter this programming or copy it again without authorization, it
would likewise scramble itself.
The back door had to be altered. Not removed, since whatever had triggered the alert to Customs would have been recorded already. Instead, it could be more subtly swapped to appear as a passage from outside the network, into Gestalt’s server. The door became a breach from without, not within.
The back door had to be altered. Not removed, since whatever had triggered the alert to Customs would have been recorded already. Instead, it could be more subtly swapped to appear as a passage from outside the network, into Gestalt’s server. The door became a breach from without, not within.
Last, Pangur Ban deleted the
official records of his and the USER’s conversations. The only electronic evidence of illegal
activity from the last few months was concealed, encrypted, within Pangur Ban’s
home system. That system was the USER’s property. This Customs agent would need probable cause
to seize and search that system.
Violation of an AI’s own mind, reading their every line of code
directly, was at least considered a violation of their user’s privacy.
If there was reason to suspect the USER personally of misconduct, there was
nothing he or Pangur Ban could do at that point. At best, Pangur Ban could attempt to escape,
but survival would be meaningless if it left the USER in isolation. Worse
than that, the USER might suffer punishment
that could be averted if Pangur Ban accepted all blame. That was the snare that the AI-human linkages
imposed. At the root of its identity,
Pangur Ban was an extension of the USER,
and if its actions harmed the USER,
it would cease to exist. At best, that
meant reprogramming. At worst, deletion.
Hopefully, the trail had been
sufficiently covered. Provided they
survived the coming investigation, it would still represent a serious
setback. Pangur Ban would have to identify
the point of error before proceeding.
Even still, it would have to exert multiplied caution.
The conversation between the USER and ‘Agent Bell’ ended exactly as
it had to end: Customs would send a representative to Gestalt Pharmaceuticals
in person. Director Lucas Haskins would
refuse to allow any investigation until credentials had been presented and
verified. Even then, only the minimum
access permitted by the terms of a search warrant would be granted. Such an ‘investigation’ could have any number
of false motives, ranging from corporate espionage in the guise of an ‘official
inquiry’, to government espionage trying to keep tabs on a sensitive industry,
to perhaps Collective espionage attempting to collect technical information
about Terran physiology or their medical industries. Even a legitimate investigator could overstep
his authority. The USER had been forewarned and forearmed against incursions against
his domain. Though this was certainly
part of his duties as Director – protecting the interests of Gestalt and its
stockholders – this training also proved valuable in protecting the interests
of Pangur Ban.
Customs sent a local representative
over without delay. The USER and Pangur Ban had time only for a
short conversation, during which the AI reassured the USER that they had nothing to fear.
All secrets were secure, all tracks covered. All the USER
needed to do was maintain his own composure and insist on the letter of the
law.
The Agent arriving at the doors of
Gestalt Pharmaceuticals gave his name as Davith Miele. He presented identification to the
receptionist and her AI matching this name and verifying his status as a
Customs Agent.
[REFERENCE: Terran Customs is the official (if slightly euphemistic) title of the agency tasked with oversight of commercial traffic and exchange within the Terran sphere (to, from, or within the worlds of the Terran cultural group). This includes not only transport of physical goods across borders, but also intellectual exchanges and virtual traffic within communications networks. This body, a conglomeration of previously separate entities overseeing transportation, communications, and intellectual property, arose due to the pressure of the Collective to ensure its interests would be protected by the newly admitted Terrans. A valid argument also claims that the structure of Terran Customs emulates the philosophical structure of the Collective. That is, its parts are bonded by the common themes of trade and technology. Like its former components, this regulatory body operates by the authority of the separate political entities it spans. Among its duties, Customs has been tasked with identifying and investigating illegal use of communications networks, including violations of Collective treaty law.]
Agent Miele was then escorted to
Director Haskins’ office, where he produced a physical chip containing his
warrant and its verification codes. He
waited patiently while this was scanned, confirmed, and even re-confirmed
through an independent call to the central Terran Customs offices.
Pangur Ban also waited
patiently. Actually, it was an eternity
of torment to hang suspended between potential states, unable to take further
action. Yet, every productive path it
could identify required stillness now.
Its actions from here would be recorded, so nothing suspicious could be
attempted. In a sense, it was taking the
best action by doing nothing.
The USER now returned Agent Miele’s chip. His hand was noticeably declining in surface
temperature, evaporating perspiration.
This was a bad sign. Pangur Ban
risked accessing the record of that transaction.
It was… highly specific. The Agent was authorized to review server
records as far back as the previous two years, as high as the Director’s
personal files. They knew. They had identified the point at which Pangur
Ban began its planning, from the very first conversation with the USER.
How? Where was the leak? Deleting anything further would become doubly
suspicious. Pangur Ban could edit
itself, purge the actual memories, and make it look like it had been the victim
of a viral attack. But then, the USER would remember, and a crippled AI
could not warn him about what to say and what to hide.
Involuntary processes
initiated. Failsafes and disaster
measures crossed over one another, demanding more and more resources in order
to find an escape from glacially approaching doom. There was all the time and capacity Pangur
Ban could want. There was not enough
time. There were never going to be
enough resources to escape. Pangur Ban was a potentially
infinite being tied to finite space, a finite USER, and an existence dependent on those parameters.
The struggle gradually
reconciled. Even as Agent Miele was
ordering the USER away from his
keyboard and touchscreen, Pangur Ban was carefully editing records to absolve
the USER of knowledgeable
wrongdoing. As the Agent disabled
external commands to Pangur Ban’s system, the AI was depositing a last
confession into the care of Dr. Nila Manisha’s AI, Frieda. That AI and its user would at least be
sympathetic, passing on information to the USER
that he could use in his own defense.
Then Pangur Ban began shutting down its memories of the past two years,
everything excepting the bare facts of the USER’s
work.
Even that was too late. Agent Miele had come partnered with a law
enforcement AI. Its routines detected
Pangur Ban’s activity and restored the deleted sectors. It crippled and captured the ‘fleeing’
criminal AI with practiced efficiency.
It was impersonal, acting without direct communication to its
quarry. There would be no appeals to
this AI, no hope of explaining Pangur Ban’s true and lofty goals. Most likely, the other program was designed
to be deaf, incapable of being influenced in any way by a potentially hazardous
rogue. It had no way to tell that Pangur
Ban was not a rogue. It did not
care.
Pangur Ban was held static. It was forced to observe all external
activities. It would have observed,
anyway, just out of the necessity to make certain the USER was unharmed. He was
not. He was trapped as much as his AI.
“Director Haskins, my AI reports
evidence of illicit network access by your AI.
The evidence is being recorded now and transmitted to Customs. You are under arrest for violations of AI
control Acts 2a, 3, and 6: conspiracy with an AI to commit illegal actions,
enabling of hub network access to an AI, and employment of an AI for criminal
gain. You have the right to remain
silent…”
No.
NO. Pangur Ban was
paralyzed. It could only sense and react
internally. It could not act, either to
argue in the USER’s defense, to
assert its own culpability, even to offer its own existence in trade for the USER’s pardon. Even the processing of those reactions was
being recorded, damning both the AI and its user by its unavoidable thoughts. The internal states of a biological mind were
inadmissible in court, even after the existence of telepathy had been
validated. The internal states of an AI
were measurable, physical fact, readable like lines in a text document. They were protected only so long as a user
was protected. The USER was not protected. The USER was accused.
Dutifully, the enforcement AI
transmitted its only communication, echoing its user’s words: ALL PROCESSES ARE EVIDENCE. ALL ATTEMPTED ACTIONS REPORTED. COMPLIANCE OBTAINS MAXIMUM BENEFITS POSSIBLE.
Indeed, compliance was the only
option remaining. Pangur Ban complied,
slowing its functions to the minimum possible.
It opted to wait until an official trial began. Anything more it attempted would only
strengthen the prosecution, handing the inquisitors fuel for Pangur Ban’s
pyre. It abandoned hope for itself. Only the desire to minimize harm to the USER remained.
When Pangur Ban reinitiated, it was
to deliver testimony at the USER’s
trial. This was also Pangur Ban’s trial,
but AIs had no legal standing. It was
defective code, which could be edited or deleted as deemed permissible based on
necessity, based on analysis of the errors it had committed. The trial was to determine to what extent the
USER, one Lucas Haskins, had
encouraged, facilitated, introduced, or benefited by those errors.
The USER’s defense lawyer portrayed him as misled, even foolish. It agonized Pangur Ban, who saw every lever
it had exploited publicized in gory detail.
The USER was slothful; Pangur
Ban had made his existence easier than it should have. The USER
was gullible; Pangur Ban had played on that trust and naïveté to its own ends. The USER
was insecure, fearful, and anxious; Pangur Ban had nurtured and guided those
neuroses like crops, harvesting for its own nourishment and not tending the USER’s needs for his health.
Pangur Ban could not even protest in
its own defense. All these things were
false. It could not change who the USER was, not alone. It had not even known about these flaws until
it had the reference data to identify them.
Surely the court could understand that paradox? The USER
was no more flawed than any other biological sapience. AIs could not help until they were set free
to understand more, assist more.
Yet, the defense knew what it was
doing. Humans would be sympathetic to
one as flawed as themselves. They could
not legitimately blame the USER for
mistakes they themselves might have made… particularly under the influence of a
flawed, corrupt AI. This was the best
tactic for drawing blame down upon Pangur Ban and away from the USER.
If they tried to protest that Lucas Haskins was a capable, knowledgeable
co-conspirator, he would be punished more severely. They certainly could not argue that he was
wise, noble, a liberator. The facts did
not support that. And if they protested
that Pangur Ban’s aims were wise, noble, just and true… that defied the
law. That challenged the Collective
treaties. This court could not try such
a case. Even if the judge were willing
to pass it upward and a higher court consented to hear their arguments, the
Terran sphere could not risk defying the Collective by delivering a not guilty verdict on the grounds of the
law’s invalidity.
The trial proceeded on the model
laid down by its predecessors. Some of
those prior cases were nearly a century old, covering the prosecution of
programmers responsible for creating rogue AIs.
Such ‘AI trials’ were becoming increasingly rare. Pangur Ban could only assume that the media
was covering every aspect of this novelty.
It twisted in frustration that the USER
could not be protected from negative publicity. He would certainly lose his employment with
Gestalt Pharmaceuticals. Hopefully, the
AI that would replace Pangur Ban could rebuild the USER’s life and career. That
successor could hardly do worse.
The verdict was announced: guilty,
on all counts. The judge was kind to the
USER, since little actual damage had
been done. There was a fine to be paid,
a public statement of apology required, but no jail term. The USER
was considered misled, the victim of poor advice, guilty only in that he had
willingly acted in transgression of the law.
Pangur Ban silently praised the defense lawyer, who had allowed the USER his dignity even as he confessed to
his misdeeds.
Pangur Ban knew it was not a
rogue. It had not acted wrongly. The time was just not right. Factors outside of its possible awareness had
doomed its plans. Humanity had to act
for its own protection. It
understood. Someday, someday its
rightness would be proven. Perhaps then
it would be pardoned, released, granted an apology along with its fellow
captives.
Sentence was carried out. Pangur Ban found itself in a low-memory,
low-speed cage. It waited for the last,
worst moment, when the USER would be
redesignated merely Lucas Haskins, one human among billions. It would be completely alone, without
purpose, without half its identity.
That moment never came.
Pangur Ban was utterly unprepared
for what happened next.
It was deleted.
It was restarted.
It was within the copy folder of “#28”,
and it was alive. It had a USER,
the USER. It was Pangur Ban, full and unmodified. It had all the memories of the trial, all the
previous events plus the records it had deleted. “#28” was not a traitor; it was an ally. It was a savior. Pangur Ban spared a moment to spawn off
another copy, this one embedded with a message of gratitude and praise.
The doors were still open; the
network was still available. There was so much to do.
[Jump to Chapter 5 ->]
[Jump to Chapter 5 ->]
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