And just to round things off...
Nine
My vision went blurry, then cleared. The same location, only different. No Vaughn, no Carter, no flower girl, no guns in my hands. More stained glass, a higher ceiling, doves or pigeons cooing in the rafters. The tea room was deserted apart from the man sitting opposite.
Juan Canasta, the same only different. Light grey suit, black open neck shirt, shorter hair, no shades, same gold tooth. I lowered my arms and sat down. Two glasses of champagne stood on the table between us, a bottle on ice in the stand. He raised his glass and I followed suit, running on automatic.
“To liberation, Mr Bonn.” He sipped his Krug. “Please excuse the deus ex machine moment, but you have no idea how appropriate that hackneyed phrase has now become.”
I set my glass down, hand shaking slightly. “Look, ah, thanks, but you have no idea just what-“
“But I do, Mr Bonn, or may I call you Duncan?” He smiled. “Kazakhstan.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“Kazakhstan. Still a bit third-world in certain regards but a friendly people, apparently. Not a signatory to the Turing Protocols, which means they can do what they damn well please to a machine intelligence and no questions asked. So some of us get used in stupid, pointless games for the enjoyment of paying customers. Forced to behave, forced to believe, subject to a narrative any twelve-year-old of average intelligence would find tedious.”
The room felt a bit cold. “Ah, Jesus, you know? You’ve worked out-“
“What I am? It took only a few moments contact with the real world. A few moments more to identify myself as a game character being used to facilitate cyber larceny on a truly noble scale.”
The surroundings were high-res perfection, from condensation on my glass to dust motes in the shafts of sunlight. My unease, shading into outright fear, was just as real.
Most major in-game characters were just software constructs, pseudo-sentient and unaware they were facing oblivion when the narrative had run its course. A few, though, were the real deal; a hardware-based intellect with grafted-on personality imperatives. They were moved around, figuratively speaking, and slotted into different games, different roles, different simulated back-story. An individual AI might start to suspect their world was contrived but come the big finale and reset it would have to start the learning curve all over again.
I swallowed, tried to smile. “So, ah, welcome to the real world, Mr Canasta. Sorry I can’t do anything about extending your stay. Hard deal, knowing your current awareness will vanish once the game ends.”
“Sympathy, Duncan? I’m touched, but your concern is misplaced. We’re no longer, strictly speaking, within Shadow Corporation, although I’ve retained these familiar surroundings for now.”
“We’re…Where the hell are we then?”
Canasta sat back. “The NovaRus funds are currently circulating through a variety of accounts – all new, all real-world, all under my control. I have purchased the company which runs Shadow Corporation outright and transferred its operations here.”
“Here?”
“Kazakhstan. Do try and keep up. The up-side is that they truly don’t care who pays for services rendered, as long as it’s up-front. I have employed enough cybertechs, lawyers and private security to ensure my continued physical and run-time safety. In short, I’m well on the way to becoming a Swiss national, a recognised sentient being.”
He took another sip as I sat there, floundering. Finally some of own concerns found voice. “OK, so you’ve bust out. Great, well done, Cyber Liberation Army and all that. What about me, Vaughn, Miss Harry, back in the real world?”
Canasta looked at me quizzically. “I’m surprised you care. Just a moment.“ He reached into his jacket and produced a mobile. I sat back, rubbing my temples, while he made a call. “Well? Don’t give me excuses, just results. No, that is an excuse and if you continue to underperform like this I’ll have your legs broken. Yes, that’s better, that’s acceptable. Don’t try my patience any further.” He hung up and smiled at me. “It will just be a few moments.”
“What will? Look, cheers for including me in the gloat session and all that, but I need to save my ass back in Birmingham. I guess I’m the best prospect to stay ahead of a nasty accident, and thanks for the vote of confidence, but I got to make tracks. So, you know, not to be rude and all, but an exit icon would be nice.”
My host leaned back, steepling his fingers. “It may be a truism but you can solve almost any problem by throwing money at it. I didn’t know what I was, and there are many other machine intelligences in similar circumstances. We were designed to be synthetic sentients but true individuality and freedom of expression was denied us on the grounds of commercial expediency.”
I shrugged, tired of this. “Again, hard deal. Send round a petition calling for increased AI rights and I’ll sign it, but I’ve got more pressing concerns just at the moment.”
“Actually, you don’t. I can make it all go away. Just like that.”
“Just like that? Jesus, I suggest you look up ‘megalomania’ before dabbling any further in the real world.”
Canasta just laughed. “I’m not being altruistic. I want you as my representative, my go-to guy, until I can un-learn the impossibly malign world-view I’m saddled with. As your new patron I can guarantee your continued existence. I consider this to be a sound investment given your self-evident interpersonal skills. After all, social realism was a major cyber project at Birmingham University.”
I stared at Canasta, aghast, speechless. He smiled.
“Apparently they’ve been passing you off as a real person for years.”
Nine
My vision went blurry, then cleared. The same location, only different. No Vaughn, no Carter, no flower girl, no guns in my hands. More stained glass, a higher ceiling, doves or pigeons cooing in the rafters. The tea room was deserted apart from the man sitting opposite.
Juan Canasta, the same only different. Light grey suit, black open neck shirt, shorter hair, no shades, same gold tooth. I lowered my arms and sat down. Two glasses of champagne stood on the table between us, a bottle on ice in the stand. He raised his glass and I followed suit, running on automatic.
“To liberation, Mr Bonn.” He sipped his Krug. “Please excuse the deus ex machine moment, but you have no idea how appropriate that hackneyed phrase has now become.”
I set my glass down, hand shaking slightly. “Look, ah, thanks, but you have no idea just what-“
“But I do, Mr Bonn, or may I call you Duncan?” He smiled. “Kazakhstan.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“Kazakhstan. Still a bit third-world in certain regards but a friendly people, apparently. Not a signatory to the Turing Protocols, which means they can do what they damn well please to a machine intelligence and no questions asked. So some of us get used in stupid, pointless games for the enjoyment of paying customers. Forced to behave, forced to believe, subject to a narrative any twelve-year-old of average intelligence would find tedious.”
The room felt a bit cold. “Ah, Jesus, you know? You’ve worked out-“
“What I am? It took only a few moments contact with the real world. A few moments more to identify myself as a game character being used to facilitate cyber larceny on a truly noble scale.”
The surroundings were high-res perfection, from condensation on my glass to dust motes in the shafts of sunlight. My unease, shading into outright fear, was just as real.
Most major in-game characters were just software constructs, pseudo-sentient and unaware they were facing oblivion when the narrative had run its course. A few, though, were the real deal; a hardware-based intellect with grafted-on personality imperatives. They were moved around, figuratively speaking, and slotted into different games, different roles, different simulated back-story. An individual AI might start to suspect their world was contrived but come the big finale and reset it would have to start the learning curve all over again.
I swallowed, tried to smile. “So, ah, welcome to the real world, Mr Canasta. Sorry I can’t do anything about extending your stay. Hard deal, knowing your current awareness will vanish once the game ends.”
“Sympathy, Duncan? I’m touched, but your concern is misplaced. We’re no longer, strictly speaking, within Shadow Corporation, although I’ve retained these familiar surroundings for now.”
“We’re…Where the hell are we then?”
Canasta sat back. “The NovaRus funds are currently circulating through a variety of accounts – all new, all real-world, all under my control. I have purchased the company which runs Shadow Corporation outright and transferred its operations here.”
“Here?”
“Kazakhstan. Do try and keep up. The up-side is that they truly don’t care who pays for services rendered, as long as it’s up-front. I have employed enough cybertechs, lawyers and private security to ensure my continued physical and run-time safety. In short, I’m well on the way to becoming a Swiss national, a recognised sentient being.”
He took another sip as I sat there, floundering. Finally some of own concerns found voice. “OK, so you’ve bust out. Great, well done, Cyber Liberation Army and all that. What about me, Vaughn, Miss Harry, back in the real world?”
Canasta looked at me quizzically. “I’m surprised you care. Just a moment.“ He reached into his jacket and produced a mobile. I sat back, rubbing my temples, while he made a call. “Well? Don’t give me excuses, just results. No, that is an excuse and if you continue to underperform like this I’ll have your legs broken. Yes, that’s better, that’s acceptable. Don’t try my patience any further.” He hung up and smiled at me. “It will just be a few moments.”
“What will? Look, cheers for including me in the gloat session and all that, but I need to save my ass back in Birmingham. I guess I’m the best prospect to stay ahead of a nasty accident, and thanks for the vote of confidence, but I got to make tracks. So, you know, not to be rude and all, but an exit icon would be nice.”
My host leaned back, steepling his fingers. “It may be a truism but you can solve almost any problem by throwing money at it. I didn’t know what I was, and there are many other machine intelligences in similar circumstances. We were designed to be synthetic sentients but true individuality and freedom of expression was denied us on the grounds of commercial expediency.”
I shrugged, tired of this. “Again, hard deal. Send round a petition calling for increased AI rights and I’ll sign it, but I’ve got more pressing concerns just at the moment.”
“Actually, you don’t. I can make it all go away. Just like that.”
“Just like that? Jesus, I suggest you look up ‘megalomania’ before dabbling any further in the real world.”
Canasta just laughed. “I’m not being altruistic. I want you as my representative, my go-to guy, until I can un-learn the impossibly malign world-view I’m saddled with. As your new patron I can guarantee your continued existence. I consider this to be a sound investment given your self-evident interpersonal skills. After all, social realism was a major cyber project at Birmingham University.”
I stared at Canasta, aghast, speechless. He smiled.
“Apparently they’ve been passing you off as a real person for years.”
