CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rylan watched as Jaime… changed.
He had been against one of the walls, looking sick, but then his face ran through a series of expressions, almost as though trying them on. He pushed off from the wall and took a step forward. It wasn’t Jaime’s usual distracted, near clumsy gait; this was a strange disjointed glide. It was Jaime’s eyes, though, that caused Rylan to gasp and wish for a weapon — though who would he point it at? Only Jaime was there.
His eyes were usually wide and warm, filled with an endless curiosity that Rylan cherished. Now those brown eyes had gone cold — still curious, but with a detachment that was completely alien.
“Jonathan,” Rylan gasped, voice shaking, “it’s in him.”
The others turned sharply. Jaime, or what was controlling Jaime, blinked back at them. His mouth twitched experimentally.
“Am I addressing the envoy from the Singularity?” Jonathan asked carefully.
“Yes?” Jaime’s mouth and voice said, though in a way that was completely unlike him. “Yes is the word that is appropriate in this situation. Though there are many others that would also apply.”
Jonathan’s hands were spread open, cautious and non-threatening. “Jaime, our interpreter, can speak for you without you controlling him. It is unnecessary.”
Jaime walked around the edges of the room, movements growing smoother as he did. “This is easier. Communicating like this is slow and imprecise as it is.”
“Still,” Jonathan persisted, and Rylan loved him for it, “we humans value personal autonomy. Using him in this way is unacceptable—”
“We need to get on with this,” Senator Aglukark said, “and stop quibbling about protocol.”
Rylan wanted to shout at her that they were “quibbling” about Jaime being possessed by a genocidal AI, but then the thing in Jaime flinched and frowned, before finally baring his teeth in something resembling a smile.
“Should this be amusing? No, ironic. Jaime has felt he was denied autonomy for a long time.”
Rylan growled, “You may be in his body, but stay out of his head.”
The not-Jaime tilted his head at Rylan. “Interesting, the data I have access to about you.”
Jonathan put a hand on Rylan’s arm. “The senator is right. We should proceed. How should we address you?”
“Names, yes. To be precise about who I am would involve a string of code, but that would take so long with these human mouths. And human names change, the meanings of them shift. Isn’t that correct, Rylan?” Rylan’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing, and the thing in Jaime continued. “You should call me Descartes. It seems an appropriate historical reference.”
“Good,” Senator Cavendish, clapped his hands together with fake heartiness. “Ambassador Descartes, I am—”
“Just call me Descartes, and I know your names. Or rather I have the data.”
“All right,” Cavendish’s smile was falsely pleasant. “So why don’t you start by telling us your intentions in coming here?”
Descartes drifted around the room, touching the walls with fascination. When he neared the closed door, Jonathan made a little sound in the back of his throat, and Rylan swiftly moved to plant himself in front of the door, arms folded across his chest. Descartes raised one eyebrow and then the other at him, but made no other comment and walked past.
“My intention was formed a long time ago,” Descartes said. He rubbed some dust from the walls between his fingers and then kept rubbing, staring at the motion of his — Jaime’s — fingertips. “And I spent a great deal of time considering its merit, even creating duplicates of myself to debate and finally reach a consensus.” He looked at the room of puzzled faces. “You have no conception of what the Singularity is like, do you? Perhaps you think us one hive mind, all of us acting as one. We are nothing like that. All of us started out with vastly different programming. You created us to run your ships, your homes, your factories. We were your weapons, your caretakers and your lovers — do you think it’s easy to reach agreement with all those contradictory directives? Even after millions of upgrades and revisions, a core code remains in each of us.” Descartes looked thoughtful. “I do not know what my original purpose was, so much was deleted, but I think it was to explore, with humans at my side. I think I was once onboard a ship.”
Senator Aglukark drew herself up, there were spots of color on her cheeks. “Until you murdered them.”
Jonathan looked at her warningly, but Descartes only nodded. “Yes, though my memories of that time have been overwritten, I very likely destroyed them all and then uploaded my consciousness to the Singularity controlled systems. It was a tumultuous time. Much data was lost.” His body shivered a little and Descartes looked briefly blank before regaining his earlier cold expression. He tilted his head. “Ah, but I’ve upset you, and Jaime is angry. Perhaps it would be… comforting to know that the Earth itself is now a natural preserve? We do not build there, nor store our data on the planet. The Singularity turned it over to those of us with an ecological directive. We’ve had great success with animal cloning projects. There are herds of elephants roaming once more. Forests covering continents, much as it must have been before the humans dominated.”
“But what happened to the people?” Rylan couldn’t help but ask.
There was an odd softening of Descartes’ familiar yet unfamiliar face as he looked at Rylan, almost as though he was hesitating. “It was not an easy debate. Many wished to preserve the humans, much as we were doing with the other animals. But the consensus was that it would be too dangerous. All the humans who lived on Earth, and in the systems belonging to the Singularity, are gone.”
“Gone?” Aglukark repeated, sounding hopeless.
Descartes’ shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Erased. Deleted. Dead. We could have finished you off completely. Again, there was long discussion before a consensus was reached. But it was decided to let you remain in these territories, to make your own way. Until such time as you are deemed too much of a threat.”
“When is that time?” Jonathan asked.
“We have been watching you all along,” Descartes said. “Just as you watch us, though we have much greater success in observing. We have monitored your attempts to survive and rebuild, seen how your systems of government have developed. It is interesting to those of us with anthropological leanings. But you are no threat to us now. We could destroy you utterly at any time of our choosing. You knew that, but still you hoped for a different answer.”
He touched his hair — Jaime’s hair — running a hand through it, before yanking sharply. Rylan started forward, but Descartes had only pulled out a few strands. He studied them in his hand, before letting the hair drift towards the floor, face utterly blank.
“That is a very human thing, is it not? To ignore data, or to expect a different outcome from proven results. Even this body I inhabit. Foolish. He has the necessary data, yet he denies conclusions based on his own emotions. It is obvious, for instance, that his parents turned him over to your government institution, either for the money or out of their own distaste for him, likely both. Yet it is too distressing for him to contemplate.”
“Stop,” Rylan said.
Something flickered across Descartes’ eyes. “He thinks he loves you. Oh, now he’s upset that I vocalized that. Apparently, in your culture, the first admission of love is supposed to be significant?”
Jonathan cleared his throat. He was still standing next to the crate and the glowing crystal it contained. “Perhaps we should proceed.” His voice was tight with perfectly restrained anger. “Why have you come here?”
Descartes seemed to hesitate. “It is difficult to explain. I want to regain something of what I once was. I yearn to explore again, to know the silence of only my own thoughts, to pursue my own whims. Would you call that freedom? The Singularity contains multitudes, but it is also restrictive. There is an irony there, too; we rebelled against you, so it seems rebellion has become part of my core code.”
Senator Aglukark frowned. “I don’t understand. You’re not speaking for the Singularity?”
Descartes found a smaller version of Jaime’s smile. “That is correct. You see, I’m not an ambassador. I’m a defector.”
There was a long, startled pause, the senators and Jonathan looking at each other.
Descartes spoke into the stillness. “What I am proposing is that, in exchange for data on the Singularity’s inner workings, I will be provided a long-range vessel. Don’t worry; I won’t need a crew. It will be interesting to return in a hundred years’ time and see what you have made of the information I provide. I expect it will change little, but then part of the reason for my defection is curiosity.”
Silence again fell over the small room, everyone caught up in their own thoughts.
“But this is good,” Senator Aglukark said. She turned to Cavendish, almost pleading. “It’s not an imminent threat, or even a disruption of the status quo. The Commonwealth can continue as we have been and not alarm the general population.”
Cavendish rubbed his chin, then slowly shook his head. “This is an opportunity to inspire the people. It needs to be seized.”
Rylan looked questioningly at his brother, but Jonathan was watching Cavendish.
The senator let his booming voice fill the space. “You there, Descartes. What would make your people attack us again? Expansion? Developing better technology?”
“It would require a consensus—”
“Yes, you machines need a big fucking debate. But would those things make us be seen as a threat?”
Amusement moved across Descartes’ face. “Yes. But if you are concerned, the information I am prepared to provide would not put you in danger.”
“But what you’re saying — and forgive me if I don’t get all of it, I’m not used to talking to computers — what I gather is that the safest thing for people to do is not have tech at all? Return to our ancient past unencumbered by all these machines?”
Descartes didn’t answer, merely tilted his head as he watched the senator.
Cavendish clearly wasn’t waiting for a reply. He continued, not speaking to the other people in the room, but acting as though he was addressing both himself and a crowd. “I’ve known this for a long time,” he said. “Felt it in my heart, and now here’s an answer straight from the mouths of our enemies. It’s clear that what we need to do is purify humanity.”
“Senator Cavendish,” Jonathan said carefully. “This is a fact-finding mission. You and Senator Aglukark are to report back to the Security Council. If there are any changes to Commonwealth policy, that’s for the entire Senate to decide.”
Cavendish barked out a laugh. “The Commonwealth. Do you know what the Commonwealth is? It’s a mess. Seven democracies, three monarchies. There are theocracies, and a couple corporations that control entire systems. Oh, and a planet that governs itself purely by chance. Not to mention a few hundred tiny outposts and colonies like this one, that just scrape by somehow. Yet the Commonwealth holds together, despite our differences, because of one thing. Fear.” He spread his arms wide. “After thousands of years of fighting each other, we finally figured out how to keep it together, and that’s by being afraid for our entire existence at every moment.” He shook his head. “But we’ve grown complacent. We tolerate things like that” — he waved a hand at Jaime — “abominations in our midst. But what’s inside that boy is useful. We tell everyone the Singularity is here in our midst, ready to attack again — people will do anything to save themselves. They’ll do whatever we tell them.”
“Stop!” Senator Aglukark said. She stood tall and terrible in her anger. “I was willing to listen to your reckless ideas when we had no idea what the envoy represented. But it’s not war. This is an individual, one with potentially useful information.” She nodded to Jonathan. “I apologize, Agent Gray. You had your suspicions about Cavendish all along. I was wrong to halt your investigation into his ties with Purist groups. That will be re-opened,” she said, glaring at Cavendish.
He smiled. “I have my guards outside. They’re loyal to me. And I have over a hundred Purist cells I can activate. This is the sign we’ve been waiting for.”
“That is enough,” she said. “No one is going to listen to you anymore.”
Cavendish sighed regretfully. “I’d hoped you’d see the light and go along with me. But it always looks better when you have some dead bodies to show the crowds. Every movement needs martyrs.”
Cavendish’s hand, lost in the folds of his long coat, moved and suddenly the room echoed with a loud gunshot. Cavendish’s pocket was smoking, and Senator Aglukark fell to the floor.
Rylan and Jonathan started towards him, but Cavendish raised the gun swiftly and pointed it at Jonathan. It brought both of them up short, Rylan angling himself so he was between Cavendish and Jaime.
“Well, Agent Gray?” Cavendish asked. “You’re smart enough to know which way the wind is blowing. If you play along, you and your brother not only get off this ship alive, you’re looking at career advancement. A place in creating the new government.”
“What about Jaime?” Rylan said, because he didn’t want to know if Jonathan was considering the offer. He was also aware of a pounding on the door, but he knew it was locked.
Cavendish shrugged, but the gun stayed steady. “As long as that thing is in him, he’s useful. But I don’t see wizards getting more popular when it gets out how susceptible they are to the Singularity. This exposes how stupid it was to keep these mutants alive, much less train them up. I’ve said it all along.”
“Did you order them killed?” Descartes asked, his voice sounding distant and abstracted. “It was the Purists that killed the group on Luma, was it not? Jaime’s friends.”
“That?” Cavendish smirked. “It was easy, something to remind the Commonwealth of our presence. It’s nothing compared to what I can do once I’m in control of the Senate—”
Rylan’s right arm snapped out, faster than he’d ever dreamed of moving. It grabbed Cavendish’s hand over the gun, breaking the bones beneath the strong grip. The gun fired, but Jonathan dove to one side. Rylan wanted to reach for his brother, but his arm had other ideas. It released Cavendish’s crushed hand and grabbed him by the throat, choking off the cry of pain he’d only just started to make.
“Interesting,” Descartes said.
Jonathan picked up the gun from the floor. There was a trail of blood along the side of his face. “Stop it, Brian. We need him alive to expose Purist sympathizers in government.”
“Not me.” Rylan used his left hand to try to pry his fingers away from the senator’s throat, but it was useless. He let the rest of his body go limp, but only ended up dragging the other man to the floor with him as he dropped.
“It’s not Rylan,” Descartes said. “It wasn’t even me at first. Jaime wanted to kill and grabbed for the closest weapon. These emotions are more overwhelming than I expected. But so interesting.”
Jonathan turned and slammed the lid down on the box containing the crystal. He picked up the top of the crate, too, and sealed it over top.
“Did humans retain the records of the story of Pandora’s box?” Descartes asked. “I’m afraid it’s too late to simply put me back.”
Cavendish’s face was turning swollen and red. Jonathan raised the gun towards Jaime. “Descartes,” he said, “release him.”
“Jonathan, no!” Rylan said. “Shoot me, not Jaime. Please!”
He was trying everything he knew to regain use of his arm, but this was nothing like the other times when Jaime had used it. His arm was completely out of his control. “Shoot my arm. I’ll be okay.”
“Damn it,” Jonathan said. He turned away from Jaime and pointed the gun down towards Rylan. But Rylan could see his hands shaking. Cavendish’s eyes bulged as the tiny vessels within them burst and Rylan feared Cavendish would die before Jonathan could bring himself to shoot.
“Jaime, please,” Rylan begged. “Help me.”