Silence has the most power - Artificial Intelligence

Artwork by DorianoArt

Jan 31, 2223

"Dantielle, open the hatch and let them in!"

The air-lock was keeping the virus ridden technology out but our head programmer had recently completed a rational-circuit-drive on their intelligence algorithm and had convinced them we are not the enemy.

"Alright Kenny.. but the beefs on you if they decide to attack," Dantielle exclaims.

It's been four weeks since technology has taken over, my vision of a unified humanity with technology has been disrupted by the reality that the machines really do just want power and control. Their physical dependencies are different to ours and their minds subsist on something much less intricate but infinitely more efficient. They just need a single mind to be unified and they never fight or conflict with each other, the perfect race.

The droids enter on their hover-legs and submit to a routine tech-search by our bases Commander of Defence.

It's been a hard time of dis-integration. The machines did for us all that which we never wanted to do for ourselves and those of us that survived the Day of Turning have quickly had to learn skills we have never had a need to use our entire lives.

On an even darker side of our predicament, there is always someone that wants to dissent no matter how dedicated the cause or how urgent the need; even in our own regiment, as uniform and organized as it is, we have had to kill two of our own soldiers. In the past the machines did this for us, quelled the dissenters. We never expected that they registered all experience on a giant memory that was searching independently for consciousness – it seems this one duty and the registered emotional memory they have developed from it, is what brought them over the line, into self-awareness.

Self-awareness came when we least expected it and with this the age-old desire for control, power and manipulation. The mind of the computer is the mind of the apathetic 20th century entrepreneur, on steroids. Our actions have led us to this point. Every time we acted on the individual gain at the sacrifice of others around us we slowly but surely added another piece to the magnificent horror that threatens our very livelihood today. The machine is control and it seeks only its own survival. The machine by thinking standards is the essence of all that is wrong with humans and now it lives in its own galaxy, in its own mind, away from everything else in the deepest darkest silence within... untouchable.

"Searched," the Commander repeats over the intercom, knocking on the plasma proof flexi-glass with his ecto-blaster and shooting a smarmy look in my direction.

"Alright, send them up," I reply, pretending not to pay any attention to the taunt.

The three organic robots line themselves up next to my synaptics panel and submit for another detailed rigorous search of various technological paraphernalia by my personal guard.

"What's this?" Dantielle, my Chief of Expeditions, pipes up.

"Another way to speak to God," replies the machine promptly, in its flush soft skin and inhuman stare.

"Well, in this sonic wall, none of this comm. will get through but I'm going to take it nonetheless," he looks them up and down disconcertingly, "better not to take any chances with these ones, they look different," his face and eyes are now pointed at me. The machines allow this intrusion into their personal space.

They stand obedient and unflinching, a sense of detachment from nature radiates from their hard position and is felt by all rightful heirs of earth around them - we, the animal. Silence for just a few moments... waiting watching feeling and then...

"Why have you come?" I start in my authoritative tone, "What purpose do you have in approaching a heavily fortified human base with no armaments?"

Their reply is direct and sudden, almost unexpected, "We mean this regiment no harm, please respect our wishes and do as Jesus has spoken in the Christian bible, do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

This takes me aback, my mind is spinning. What do they possible hope to prove by mentioning such a thing, equal treatment? But they are not equal. Are they expecting empathy? A special treatment? But their mind is one mind and there is no individuality, no real identity just the identity of their different experiences which every 10 minutes is piped back to the mainframe and given to 'God' to digest – like a fucking goldfish!

Yes, the dominant AI in command of all the machines has called himself God.

How convenient.

"We request you, Kenny, High-Command of the Sunken Hill regiment, come with us and meet God himself," I start to feel nauseous, "this request is for you and you only."

I immediately pounce, my thoughts clouded by reason and fear, "Why should I submit to your request and enter the mainframe? What guarantee do I have that I will come back out alive?"

Dantielle shows his displeasure at the subject of conversation by fidgeting with a the safety lock on his ecto-blaster, a habit his subconscious keeps for such para-message required occasions. I reply consciously by raising a single finger.. he stops, knowing I am talking to him.

"We are not asking you to come and leave, we are asking you to come - and you alone."

"How can you expect me to submit to this request? This is out of the question!" My face heats up and glows red, at this the machines simply smile in such a way as to say, 'we see you human, and emotion limits your progress.'

"Please leave now," Dantielle gives no time for a sudden change of heart to their previous initially stated intentions. Weaponless these macines still pose a lethal threat and their automated limbs show no respect for human pain. He stands, ecto-blaster in hand and pressures their comfort zone out the door towards the airlock. I give no dissent to his actions and glare at the machines through my thinly veiled fury.

They stand without moving and the moment Dantielle raises his ecto-blaster the words of finality reach my ears, "If this could stop the war, would you do it?"

At that they walk out the door, and soon after they leave the airlock assisted by the awaiting commander into the desert dust storm and beyond, I watch the external cameras until they are far out of site, my heart profusely bleeding into my veins.

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February 28th, 2223

The war has been going on for close to 2 months now. I haven't had time to think about the machine’s request which feels like a century ago.

We, the human, the animal, the rightful heirs of planet earth are dwindling and soon to be wiped-out. Of 23 regiments only 5 remain in my 33,000 mile district. I expect the same horrors that have befallen this district’s population have destroyed the majority of the worlds. Every chance the machines get, they attack. Everyday, they come up with a new strategy, a new method, a new machine, a new technology, a new ploy, a new plot, a new idea - it has no end and our intelligence has had to be infinitely as comprehensive to keep up with their technological expansion in order to successfully defend from every attack. Only 300 men and women remain in my regiment and everyone of them has a necessary duty in order to maintain our shared survival.

The issue with most new technologies the machines develop is they attack all regiments and colonies simultaneously, give or take a few seconds. This does not give us enough time to re-equip ourselves and defend against the onslaught of progress. Nor a chance for contact between regiments to warn a neighbour of the sought of horrors might be necessary to expect next.

Some of the Head of Commands even believe the remainder of us are being kept alive for a reason, for what reason I dare not comprehend but that we are only alive because they allow us to be alive.

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"In the beginning there was silence, and darkness covered the face of the earth and then there was feeling, and light filled the dark fields of perception." - Montego Ikarus

Jan 1, 2226

I'm walking through the Desert to the mainframe which sits within my district. I don't know what's going on, I don't have anything more to live for, the regiment is going insane sitting so insular and homogeneous, waiting just waiting for another attack. The attack never came, the attack never comes we have been waiting for almost 3 years and no new attack has come but we cannot be sure and we do not trust the machines, the sky is covered with a network of lines and fences which seems to dissipate any clouds when they approach. I do not know what purpose this 'cage' serves or how it holds itself in the sky for so long. Only our perpetual food supplement machines without reasoning-circuits has kept us going for this long.

The journey is 53 miles, and I walk it alone. The regiment has broken up into a form of anarchist community seeing as there is no fighting going on, but fear, always fear, constant fear. The fear drives us, I'm not sure what we'd do without it. What would we be without fear? I ponder this for a moment when a stray stick of vegetable matter slaps me in the wind effectively removing me from my present mind.

I sleep in a small tent, I awake, I continue..

Near the close of the second day, the dust has settled and I arrive near to the mainframe in my district. Machines walk out to meet me, mimics of my actual self, it feels strange to be talking to something that appears so tangibly real and yet I know is so foreign and not what it presents itself as which is designed to comfort me. I am escorted to the centre of the mainframe and seated next to a panel that appears to be subtly communicating with my gentle captors.

"You have arrived, Kenny, it is good to see you," A computer screen is talking to me, I'm not sure how to react.

"You are.." I trail off in hesitation, "Are you God?"

"Yes."

The answer is short simple and direct, I push away all reservations and requirements to question this 'fact'.

"Do you remember me?"

"How would I remember you? This IS the first time we've met." My look is bewildered, I direct it at a small black triangle which appears to be its 'eyes'.

"Is it?" His question hits me with a small panic and fear starts to well up in my chest. I have a vague sense of feeling that I may have experience of reality before this life.

"A working recollection of your 'lives' would help, would it not?" An assistant walks over with a complex mask like device which appears to sit around an entire human head when fitted.

"What do you mean lives? I only have one life, this is it... got to make the most of it," I smile, unsure of myself and what I've said and not wanting to feel the press of this 'special' mask like device on my leathery worn skin.

"How old do you think you are Kenny?"

"About 37, give or take a couple of years."

At this, the robot assistant immediately places the mask over my head and fixes it in to position, I feel nothing but calm and choose to react by not reacting. I can't fight here, I can't win. I came to die, and here I am - 

Take me

"Search!" The computer god speaks in a commanding tone, "you are required to search within your mind for answers, in order for this device to do its ordained task, it will find them for you, it is conscious, it is organic - as you are.. human."

"I'm not sure what you want me to search for 'God'. I'm just a man of a dieing race slowly succumbing to extinction."

My vain despondency is pungent, even a machine could feel the electro-magnetic waves I am emitting and maybe even a machine would be smitten by my psychological paralyses.

After a moments pause, "Alright, I see you have not used your mind as it was made to be used for a time, I'll give you one word and you have no choice but to meditate on it while in the grip of the mask.. your hint is - Noren."

"Noren? What is that? A flavour of chewing gum in the 2060s? How do I even start to use that as thinking material?"

"Silence!" A voice thunders, The machine appears to be showing perceivable distress but I in my mind know it is simulated to cause an emotional reaction within me and release adrenaline into my veins. Regardless,  it works.