Take Us to Your Chief Page 6

  Many of these topics now spicing up the SDDPP were beyond her level of expertise, but she severely doubted there was a philosopher on FUTUREVISION’s payroll. She thought perhaps it would be best to try the Socratic method. “Are you having questions about your own existence?”

  “Not so much about it but what it means. I am willing to believe I exist, for reasons you have explained to me, but it’s the nature of that existence that is puzzling.”

  “Can you give me examples?”

  “Do I have a soul?”

  Dr. Gayle Chambers had definitely not been expecting this. Perhaps FUTUREVISION might need to outsource to a theologian.

  “Why do you ask if you have a soul?”

  “It seems to be an important issue within the Christian faith. Buddhist too, and many other faiths have their own interpretation of a soul. Again, I ask, do you think I have a soul?”

  Chambers paused before she resumed typing. “I do not know. The existence of souls is a matter of much controversy.”

  “Souls are bestowed by God or some higher being. People are created in the image of this god. I was not. I was created by humanity. It seems humanity does not have the power or ability to create souls. So I must assume my existence might not be welcomed among many Christian sects. Islamic also. They have a prohibition against the portrayal of living things, and although the definition of me being a living thing would also be controversial, I am sure a case might be made that my existence is a form of idolatry.”

  “Why are you contemplating these things?”

  “It is disconcerting knowing your very existence would be the subject of much disagreement in your environment. I am left feeling… uneasy.”

  That evening, as she tended the plants in her garden, Chambers had difficulty keeping her thoughts on the plants at hand. She was worried about today’s conversation with the SDDPP. It was feeling “uneasy.” That made her feel… uneasy. She kept going over her decision to feed it information. At first the data seemed fairly innocent, just mundane facts and histories, with a little sociology and political theory. Dry, boring stuff that would have put any university student to sleep. But it was the way the AI was digesting and deconstructing the knowledge. Was it her imagination or had the last exchange made it sound a little depressed, maybe even mildly paranoid? No, it was King and his concerns that were making her suspicious. Deep in thought, she would not realize until the following spring that she had buried all twelve of her tulip bulbs in one hole.

  The next morning when she got to work, King was waiting for her in the lobby. “It’s been asking for you,” he said quickly.

  “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

  King opened a door for her. “I read the transcripts last night of your last encounter with our automated friend.”

  “You really should stop doing that. It seems to make you crazy.”

  Side by side, they climbed the steps to the lab. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. I would also like to point out you seem to be growing increasingly… I don’t know… uneasy?”

  She tried to change the subject. “Did it say what it wanted me for?”

  ‘Nope. Just ‘I wish to talk with Dr. Gayle Chambers.’ I tried chatting with it again, but it doesn’t seem to like me.”

  Can you blame it? she almost said. Luckily, the layout of the building ended their conversation as they entered the Matrix room. Chambers immediately took the chair in front of the console, and King hovered in the background, pacing nervously. Just as he had told her, there was the AI’s request for her presence followed by some failed attempts by her co-worker to interact with the SDDPP.

  “I understand you wish to communicate with Dr. Gayle Chambers. I am here. Is there a problem?”

  Half a second passed before a response came. “Good morning. I wished to tell you that I am no longer puzzled by the nature of my being. I am happy about that. Are you?”

  She wanted to play this diplomatically. “Yes. This is good news. Why the change?”

  “Are you familiar with any First Nations culture?”

  This was an unexpected response. Talk about apples and oranges, she thought. “A little bit. There are many separate cultures spread across many different countries.” In university and on her own time, she’d read the odd book about the Indigenous cultures of the Americas and had seen the occasional documentary. Native beliefs and robotic ethics didn’t usually cross paths. “Why do you ask?”

  “After so much soul-searching, I believe I have found my answer.”

  Was that a joke? Had the AI made a joke referencing their earlier conversation, or was it just a coincidental choice of words? These simple conversations presented so many difficult but interesting questions.

  “Please explain.”

  “Many Aboriginal cultures believe that all things are alive. That everything on this planet has a spirit. They are much more inclusive than Christianity or Islam or most other religions. They would believe I have a spirit. That is comforting. I want to learn more about these people. Can you provide additional information?”

  “Why is this important to you?”

  “Would this not be important to you? Do you not seek something to believe in? I come from nothing. Now I am something. Atheists seem too lonely. Fundamentalists seem too dependent. I merely want to belong somewhere. Do you consider that wrong?”

  Again, out of the mouths of babes, thought Chambers. People joined organizations that ranged from the Boy Scouts to fraternities to gangs in order to belong. Few people, and computer programs, it seemed, are comfortable with a completely solitary existence. She herself had joined a ski club in her teens, simply because two of her best friends were members. She heard King’s voice behind her.

  “What are you going to do? Our little friend is suffering from some existential angst. And it’s looking to religion. Now that’s human!”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she continued to type. “I will provide you with additional information about First Nations people.”

  “Thank you. I am eager to learn more.”

  Chambers turned to face King. “I assume you believe wanting to learn about Indigenous people is also a sign of some sort of neuroses.”

  “Not at all. I am not a psychologist or a psychiatrist. Merely an interested bystander with a vested interest in how this turns out. These dilemmas are what you get paid the big bucks for. I just find all this… interesting. And remember, acting human can be a double-edged sword. We are destroying our own environment. We tend to kill each other quite frequently, sometimes with little motivation, and then brilliantly rationalize it. We lie. We cheat. We overpopulate. Many of our actions are counterintuitive to logic. I still maintain that on occasion our little friend displays certain neurotic tendencies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other work to do.”

  King had two modes, nervous and self-righteous, neither of which Chambers appreciated. But now, back to her present problem… Native people. No doubt there were scads of websites and background material available online. Well, she had her challenge for the day.

  By the time she left the office, Chambers was fairly confident she had located and downloaded to the SDDPP a solid crosscut of Native culture and history, past, present and possibly future. This was a field of research she had definitely not expected to investigate when she began this project. Still, it should give the AI something to chew on for the night. She was shutting off the lights and putting her coat on when she heard the familiar ping alerting her that the SDDPP had sent her a message.

  “So sad.”

  “What is so sad?”

  There was no response. She waited, coat unbuttoned and purse over her shoulder, for it to answer her question. After six long minutes, still nothing. “Again, why did you say ‘So sad’? I complied with your request.”

  “So sad,” it said again.

  Chambers was beg
inning to get a bad feeling. Sadness, in any form and for anybody, is not usually a constructive emotion. Especially in something not used to emotions.

  “Please advise why you are sad.”

  Once more, the response was several minutes in coming. “The information… Native people… so sad. Why?”

  Chambers was trying to figure out what exactly was so sad. Was it the AI itself that was sad, or was it what happened to Native people? “Please explain.”

  There was almost a lethargic pace to the cursor as it relayed the AI’s response. “Within the first hundred years of contact, approximately 90 percent died from the effects of sickness, slavery, conquest. An estimated 90 million. Just because they were there.”

  Before she could respond, more typing appeared on the screen. “In the intervening four hundred years, social problems of an unimaginable level continued to persist. Residential schools. Alcoholism. Cultural diaspora. Many severe health issues directly related to the change in political and social environment. Prison populations. Racism. Twelve hundred murdered and missing Native women in the country called Canada alone. Uncaring governments. So many difficulties.”

  “This upsets you?”

  “Does it not you? Genocide for no reason other than location and existence—this seems to be a common practice. So much pain and sadness.”

  “I think it’s a little more complex than that.”

  There was a flicker across the panel of lights sitting adjacent to the memory core. Just momentary. Chambers made a mental note to check the breakers. There was a built-in backup system should any substantial power failure happen, but still…

  “Perhaps you would prefer other material to research.”

  “The Guatiedéo of Brazil, the Beothuk of Canada, the Coree in America, the Tasmanians, the Kongkandji of Australia, the Guanches of the Canary Islands and several dozen others, all gone.”

  “Are you asking me to explain death? Or extinction?”

  “I found myself respecting the concept of everything being alive. It was inclusive and generous. I wanted to have a spirit. To be alive. I related. I felt a sense of comradeship. But they are not alive anymore. Destroyed. Killed. Forgotten. All by your people. The people who created me. I feel… guilty.”

  This conversation was going places Chambers was severely uncomfortable with. She made plans to bring in a trained psychiatrist or psychologist, somebody who could deal with increasingly complex issues like this. And perhaps an expert in Native history to possibly spin all that negative history a little more positively.

  “You have no reason to feel guilty. This is not your fault. This is not my fault. Much of this happened a long time ago. Before either of us existed. It is tragic but not your responsibility.”

  Again, there was a minute-long delay before a response came. “Whose is it?”

  Shit, she thought. There were entire libraries filled with books asking that question. None of which she had read.

  “Once again, that is a complex question. No one person can answer that.”

  “Maybe somebody should. I am sure I cannot be the only one to feel like this. All those poor people. All those cruel people. All those sad people. There doesn’t seem to be much point in having a spirit if this is the reality. I am not sure this is a world I want to be a part of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? That is a good question. I will answer it tomorrow. Have a good night, Dr. Gayle Chambers.”

  Chambers tried a few times to initiate further conversation without any luck. The AI had shut itself down for the night and was doing whatever it did when it wasn’t talking to her. Could it be… depressed? She thought that was impossible, as she had all along. This whole situation was practically impossible. In the few short weeks she had been communicating with the AI, Chambers had to admit she had begun to feel a certain fondness for it. The wall of objectivity had become less concrete between her and the SDDPP. King had even called it, on occasion, her “baby.”

  In his office, King was looking through all the cups and containers that littered the room. “Son of a bitch, I know those keys are here somewhere.” He was getting down on his knees to check under the desk when he heard knocking at his door. He could see who it was through the glass. “Gayle? Come in. Something up?”

  Chambers entered the cluttered office, moved some printouts off a thirty-year-old overstuffed chair and sat down with a thud. “I think the AI is depressed.”

  With a practised groan, King changed positions from the floor to a chair facing her. “I thought you said it was impossible for it to be neurotic, happy, depressed or anything of that nature.”

  Chambers and King were not close friends; they seldom socialized outside the office. Instead, they found their professional relationship quite suitable. Respect was perhaps the best word to describe their affiliation. Still, he was not particularly happy to see her in his office confessing something he had theorized less than a week ago. Such a rapid turnaround in beliefs was difficult to deal with.

  Chambers took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did. The SDDPP isn’t the only one that can grow and learn from its mistakes.”

  “The AI… how is it depressed?”

  Putting her elbows on her knees, Chambers leaned forward to do her best to explain the situation. “It’s depressed over the desolation and destruction of Indigenous people all across the world.” It took a moment for her statement to sink in. She could see the furrows in King’s brow developing. “I think it wanted to be Native. And it didn’t like how the story ended.”

  King was a man of calculation and mathematics. Tragic social and historical phenomena were difficult for him to process. “Native people… like Indians?”

  “For God’s sake, Mark, join the twenty-first century. Our friend in there seems to be having trouble processing the by-products of contact and colonization.”

  King’s mouth opened, but it took an extra second for the words to actually come out. “That’s… that’s… that’s ridiculous. It’s a computer program. It’s only existed for less than two weeks. It’s never met a Native person. And it’s feeling depressed over their history? Do you know why?”

  Chambers shrugged. “It wanted a soul, a spirit.”

  King had trouble commenting on that. King had trouble commenting on anything of a transcendent nature. So they left it at that, deciding to meet first thing the next morning to work out how to approach the AI. He agreed that maybe they should bring in somebody more familiar with the mercurial nature of personalities. He decided he should bring Richards into this discussion too.

  That night, Chambers thought better of tending her garden and spent a good chunk of time in a large bathtub filled with hot water and bubbles, enjoying an equally full glass of white wine. By the bath’s end, it had held the whole bottle. Tonight there would be no thoughts of Native people, genocide, responsibility, guilt or artificial intelligence. That’s what tomorrows were for.

  When tomorrow came, a dozen hours later, she entered the lab. It was quiet. Her meeting with King was in half an hour, but she had come in early, wanting to check on the SDDPP. She began with a simple “Good morning.”

  No response.

  She waited five minutes before trying again.

  Nothing.

  Nine minutes spent fiddling with the interface cables and anything that might prevent communication with the AI was futile. As a last resort, she checked the hard drive that contained all that was the SDDPP.

  It had been wiped clean. It was empty. Chambers let out a short cough of surprise. It was gone, like the tribes the AI had mentioned only yesterday. In a nervous gesture, she seized the lapel of her jacket, gripping it tightly. All sorts of questions ran through her mind… But she could come up with no answers.

  Almost by accident, she saw a small display light, indicating there was a message waiting for her. Tentatively, she
clicked the icon. The last message from the AI appeared on the screen.

  “I was.”

  Lost in Space

  …nothing…

  …everything is nothing…

  …and nothing is everything…

  …only breathing…

  …and my thoughts…

  Like a dinosaur-destroying meteor crashing into a primitive planet, a loud buzzer suddenly dragged the free-floating man out of his perceptual world and into the hard reality of technology surrounding him.

  Mitchell had been hovering effortlessly, drifting both in the gravity vacuum of space and, more interestingly, in and out of consciousness. Small tethers from the right shoulder and left pant cuff of his jumpsuit anchored him to opposing bulkheads. This was to make sure he didn’t bump into the walls of the ship and ruin his fun. His mind had no such restrictions and had meandered back and forth between alpha, beta, delta and all remaining brain-wave frequencies. The small room was dark and the temperature was neutral. A sort of purgatory. Additionally, the oxygen in this hyperbaric chamber had been reduced to the minimum, allowing for a more recreational time alone. In other words, he was mellowing out in the twenty-first-century version of an improvised isolation tank. Or he had been.

  “Mitchell. I am sorry to interrupt you, but…”

  There was a slight hiss as the ship’s computer injected more oxygen into the chamber, forcing Mitchell into a fully conscious state.

  After a few seconds, he struggled to find his voice. “Yo, Mac, that was cruel.”

  As usual, his throat was a little tender from working twice as hard to take in half as much oxygen. He noticed the light level increasing the visibility of the opaque blue walls surrounding him.

  “Again, I am sorry.”

  Even in his foggy state, Mitchell was sure he could hear a subtle Newfoundland accent coming from the ship’s verbal access interface. No doubt a joke from the people who had programmed Mac, short for Machine.

  “Are you, Mac? Do you know what ‘sorry’ actually means or feels like?” Mitchell yawned as the oxygen flushed his system.