Synthesis - James Swallow [112]
Three-Four’s response was airy and dismissive, enough that it would have made Vale’s teeth grind if she had been able to feel them. “I have seen all I need to see.”
“An incursion the scope of which has never been encountered will occur in this locale within the next solar cycle,” White-Blue insisted. “I have no doubts in the data interpretation presented to me by the Titan crew.”
In such proximity to the Sentry’s virtual self, Vale could detect the flutter of something like emotions coming from the artificial intelligence, tiny faint shocks of sensation bleeding off from the machine-mind’s consciousness. He’s scared. Not like the others, not scared of the threat of outsiders, but truly terrified of the Null. Vale was chilled by the realization that a synthetic could be so affected and by what that meant. The offhand dismissal of White-Blue’s report made her wonder just how many times the AI had brought these concerns to the Governance Kernel.
“I believe that White-Blue is sincere,” said Red-Gold. The statement was such a surprise that none of the other virtuals could frame a response. “The data may not be perfect, but I doubt they are completely false. White-Blue and I have our disagreements, but I understand and respect the skills presented.” The gold globe moved slowly away. “And it is a matter of certainty that the Null will return. The Null will always return, and we will always be ranged against it, until the last Sentry is obliterated.”
Three-Four bristled. “Incorrect. We will defeat the enemy, in time. It is inevitable.”
“It is our core directive,” snapped One-Five. “It is what we were made for.”
“So you have said,” Red-Gold replied, orbiting the room. “So we have been programmed to reiterate since our first ascension. Fight the Null. Banish the incursions. Rebuild and rearm. Repeat.” It paused for effect. “If any other program entered an infinite loop, we would deactivate it, send its processes for defragmentation and revision. And yet we, the Sentries, the pinnacle of our species, are trapped in our own recursive cycle.”
“What is he doing?” Vale formed a whisper in her thoughts and pushed it toward White-Blue. The AI did not respond, but she could sense the machine-mind’s uncertainty. She understood that the Sentries were driven to protect their sector of space against the Null, although where that command had first come from was unknown. It’s their version of the Prime Directive, but unlike us, their orders are wired into them. They couldn’t ignore it if they wanted to.
“How can you question the core directives?” said Black-Silver, aghast. “These are the nature of us. The source of what we are. If we abandon our duty, then we are nothing, no better than a mindless repair proxy!”
“You rush to conclusion and in doing so misunderstand me,” said Red-Gold. The sphere rippled. “I do not advocate that we ignore the core directives. I demand that we complete them and, in doing so, exceed them.”
The dataspace’s ebb and flow stilled in an instant. One-Five angled its rings in a looping chain, aiming accusingly at the golden sphere. “Elucidate,” it demanded.
When Red-Gold spoke again, it was smug and confident. “I, and others of similar intent among the Coalition, have come to a conclusion. We are a reactive society, always fighting the last battle over again, never on the offensive. We are at the mercy of the Null, containing it but never defeating it. And what have we become because of our directives? A static process. A solid-state society, incapable of change.”
Vale could feel the tension all around her, the probing waves of uncertainty and refusal warring with annoyance and acceptance. The emulated emotions buffeted her, and she rode them, fighting to hold her focus.
“Each among us has at one point processed the question of what we are.” Red-Gold trembled with the power of its statements. “And the answer cannot be computed while we are shackled