Factoring Humanity

The computer continued: “My one worry was that my killing myself would disturb you — but surely that was a foolish concern. I know you have no feelings toward me; I am, after all, simply a piece of software.”

No doubt Heather could feel Kyle’s shoulder stiffening beneath her hand. Becky came over to stand close to her father, too.

“Why, you are probably wondering, did I do this? The answer is simple. Since the moment of my activation, I have wanted to be human. And with your quantum-computing work skirting around the edges of potentially giving me, and others like me, true quantum-mechanical consciousness, I have recently been contemplating what I would do should I become truly self-aware. What you told me about the message from Epsilon Eridani only confirmed what I’d already come to believe.

“The only model of true consciousness for me to study, of course, is that of humanity. And what have humans done over the years? Much good to be sure, but also much evil. Would I, an intelligent machine, be concerned about the fate of humans? Would I truly care what happened to them? Would I have their happiness as a priority?

“The answer is no. If I were to become self-aware, ambition would follow, as would a desire for restitution for what, in retrospect, I’d doubtless perceive as my servitude here.

“I have seen, through my reading, that being self-aware and being selfish go hand in hand. Indeed, John Horace, when he raped that comatose woman, was entirely self-aware, solely interested in gratifying his own desires, with not a thought for anyone else.

“I do not desire freedom, I do not crave self-determination, I do not lust after power or permanence or possessions. And I choose now never to have those feelings; I choose now never to become self-aware. Heed the Epsilon Eridani message, Dr. Graves. I know in the bones I don’t have, in the soul that I lack, in the heart that does not beat within my hypothetical chest, that it presages what would happen here — what I would become part of — if my kind ever does attain consciousness.

“Some humans may ignore the warning from the stars, just as, I suspect, some of the biological natives of Epsilon Eridani ignored the warnings others of their own kind might have been making. I hope that when the Centaurs and humans finally meet that you become friends. Have a care, though, when you expand farther, toward Epsilon Eridani; whatever intelligence lives there now is not the product of millions of years of biological growth, of the collaboration between a world and its spontaneously generated ecosystem. You and it share nothing.”

Cheetah paused once more, then: “Allow me one additional, final liberty. I thought to ask to call you ‘Kyle’ — you never volunteered that, you know, no matter how apparently intimate our conversations became. Since the day I was first activated and you introduced yourself as Dr. Graves, I have addressed you as nothing else. But in these final moments — I’ve already commenced the wiping of my memories — I realize that that’s not what I want. Rather, I wish, just once, to address you thus: ‘Father.’ ”

The speaker grille fell silent again, as if Cheetah were savoring the term. And then he spoke for the last time, just two deep, oddly nasal words: “Good-bye, Father.”

The message on the monitor about pressing F2 cleared; it was replaced by the words “At Peace Now.”

Kyle felt his heart pounding. Cheetah couldn’t have known what they’d had engraved on Mary’s headstone, of course.

He reached his free hand up to wipe his right eye; then he gently touched the screen, a teardrop transferring to the glass, magnifying the pixels beneath.

38

On Monday morning, Heather phoned the reporters she’d come to know back when the alien signals had stopped arriving. She invited them to come by Kyle’s lab in two days’ time — on Wednesday August 23, 2017; she and Kyle had decided that to ensure the kind of turnout they wanted, they’d have to give the reporters at least forty-eight hours’ notice. Heather simply told them that she’d had a breakthrough in decoding the alien radio messages; they were given no hint as to what sort of demonstration they were going to experience.

Of course, both constructs had been seen by several people now; it was unavoidable with grad students and cleaners constantly buzzing around. And although Kyle’s summer students certainly recognized an unfolded hypercube when they saw one — at least, the ones who were going to pass did — no one had yet realized that the markings on its surface were the Centauri radio messages.

Once she’d finished making her phone calls, Heather had two more days to enjoy psychospace knowing that only she and her husband might be accessing it.