They left her waiting twenty minutes more. The room was darkened when she returned, as if in preparation for another hologram, which couldn’t be right, for they had seen all she had prepared.
EXAMINER: Anaximander, we have asked you to consider why it is you would like to join The Academy. Is your answer ready?
ANAXIMANDER: It is. And to understand it fully —
The Examiner halted her explanation by raising his hand.
EXAMINER: Not yet, Anaximander. First, there are other matters to address.
Anax looked at the three of them, and again considered the dimming of the lights.
ANAXIMANDER: I don’t think I understand.
EXAMINER: The story of Adam is not yet fully told.
ANAXIMANDER: Would you like me to explain my interpretation of The Final Dilemma? As you know, I have no hologram prepared for this episode, but I am ready to discuss its detail and implication.
EXAMINER: How much time passes, between the last scene you showed us and The Final Dilemma?
ANAXIMANDER: Three months and a day.
EXAMINER: And you have nothing to offer, on what took place during this period?
ANAXIMANDER: Only speculation. It is well known that whatever records may have existed of this time have all been lost.
EXAMINER: Does it seem strange to you, that not a single shred of detail has been found?
ANAXIMANDER: Such holes are common in our story, especially in the period immediately leading up to the Great War. Many historians have suggested that there was a deliberate attempt on the part of The Republic, to deprive us of their records. Certainly, as the outcome became clear, there was a sustained attempt to erase many important files.
EXAMINER: And you accept this explanation?
ANAXIMANDER: I have not considered any others.
EXAMINER: Whynot?
ANAXIMANDER: I suppose I took the lead of those who went before me.
EXAMINER: Would it surprise you if you found that you were wrong to do this?
Anax looked along the line of Examiners. Their features had turned rigid and threatening in the darkened room. “It is possible to know without understanding,” Pericles had told her once. “Knowing starts as a feeling. Understanding is the process of excavation, of clearing a path from feeling to daylight.” This is what he was talking about. Anax knew that something had changed. The future gathered, beyond her field of vision. And was it just imagining, a foolish, frightened shiver, or did she also know that she was in some sort of danger?
ANAXIMANDER: I try not to be surprised. Surprise is the public face of a mind that has been closed.
The Examiner nodded, but his face remained solemn. Everywhere now, Anax saw shadows. She told herself to concentrate on the questions.
EXAMINER: The records have not been lost. Rather, they were never released.
Anax’s mouth dropped. How could that possibly be true? All records were released. It was the one central dogma. A society that fears knowledge is a society that fears itself. What they were telling her was not an aside, a piece of technical trivia of interest only to a select group of historians.
Their suggestion was more shocking, more dangerous, than any she could imagine. And it might have been obvious to ask “why would you hide this?” but another, more pressing question rose to her lips.
ANAXIMANDER: Why are you telling me this?
EXAMINER: What we are about to showyouhas only everbeen seen by those who undertake the examination. It is impossible for us to pass judgment on you, without your responding to what really happened.
And if I should fail this test? Anax wanted to ask. How then could it be safe to release me, knowing what it is I know? The answer though was plain, and had about it the dank stench of a truth deprived of sunlight. The room darkened further. Anax was gripped by fear. She turned toward the hologram, fascinated, horrified, understanding at last how high the stakes were.
Anax heard laughter as the figures formed: Art and Adam, enjoying a joke together. They sat across from one another, a small table between them. There was food in Adam’s mouth. A bright red robe was draped about Art’s stumpy body and reached as far as the floor, sparing his companion the sight of his mechanical details. Adam looked older, darker in his features, no longer softened by Anax’s whimsical hand. Both man and machine held a hand of playing cards. They were in the middle of a game.
EXAMINER: The following conversation takes place ten days before The Final Dilemma.
Adam slammed down a card and whooped in celebration, hands held high above his head. He turned one finger down, pointing it at Art. “Man three, machine two. What does that tell you? Eh, what does that tell you?”
“It tells me,” Art replied, unmoved by the show, “that you are too quick to leap to conclusions.” Art displayed his own cards, all three, face up, triumphant. “You’ve been black cast.”
Adam stared down at the hand, uncomprehending. “You’ve cheated,” he accused.
“Prove it” the android smiled.
“We both know it,” Adam replied. “So what’s to prove?”
“Without evidence, we know nothing. How often must I tell you that?”
There was a beat, like the interference stutter in a transmission. Adam’s face turned serious. He looked closely at Art then scanned the room. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Have you done it?” he asked.
Art nodded.
“You’re sure?” Adam checked, appearing suddenly nervous.
“Why would I lie?”
“I can think of a thousand reasons.”
“So tell me why you have asked me to do this for you,” Art said. “You promised an explanation.”
Adam beckoned for Art to move closer still. Art leaned in. Adam struck without warning, leaping across the table and grasping Art’s neck in both hands. The android sat passively as Adam shook his head backwards and forwards, the motion increasingly violent. Art’s hairy head lolled atop its narrow neck mount, and then, in an oddly gentle climax, tumbled to the floor. Adam jumped back, his eyes on the door. Nothing happened.
Slowly Art’s body moved, gliding down beneath its billowing robe. Two shining hands reached out and located the head. They maneuvered it gently back into place. There was a clicking noise, and Art’s eyes shone bright again. The head tilted, perhaps quizzically, perhaps only in adjustment.
“As you can see,” Art said, not shaken at all, “the design has been improved. Reattachment is now a simple matter. That was a test wasn’t it?”
Adam nodded.
“A stupid test,” Art told him. “You wanted to see if they would rush to my aid. You wanted to see if I have been good to my word, or if they are watching. It is still possible they are watching but have chosen not to help me. It is possible they mean to deceive you, and so uncover your secret.”
“Why would they think I have a secret?” Adam asked.
“Why else would you ask me to sabotage the surveillance system?”
“How would they know I asked you?” Adam’s eyes narrowed.
“I might have told them,” Art replied, remarkably calm for one who had so recently lost his head.
“Have you?”
“No, I haven’t. But in this you still have no choice but to trust me. Shaking my head off added no new information.”
“Perhaps I did it for fun.”
“Are you going to tell me your secret?”
“I think I have changed my mind,” Adam told him. “It is too risky.”
“Being alive is risky,” Art replied. “Whatever you decide, decide quickly. I have relayed a composite image through their computers, but there are no more than thirty minutes available.”
Adam looked carefully at Art.
“All right. I will trust you. I am asking that you tell no one of this, no matter what it is I say. Can you do that?”
“I cannot imagine you telling me something that I am compelled to pass on.”
“Your answers are never straight.”
“I am a machine. We take some getting used to. Your time is running out. I hope what you have to say isn’t complex.”
“The idea is simple.”
“The most infectious kind.”
“I want your word,” Adam insisted, “that this goes no further.”
“What good is my word to you?” Art smiled.
“I have learned to value the things others are reluctant to give.”
“Even when the others are machines? Isn’t my word only a sound I make, like the sound you hear when you kick the wall?”
“That argument is finished with.” “It will never be finished with.” “Give me your word.”
“Tell me that my word is more than a sound to you,” Art replied.
The tension crackled. Anax imagined she could see force patterns running through the hologram.
“You know that it is,” Adam told him. “I want to hear you say it.” “It is. It is more than a sound to me.” “What is it then?” Art pressed.
Adam hesitated. “It is a thought.” His bearing slumped, as if some vital force was leaking from him. “Your word is your thought.”
“Then you have my word,” Art said, and Anax was sure she saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “Now tell me what is on your mind.”
Adam looked about the room, his eyes darting; nervous, uncertain. He monitored his surroundings as he spoke, checking the door, the surveillance cameras, the ceiling.
“Have you ever thought what it might be like for you, on the outside?”
“I don’t need to think of it,” Art said. “I know. You forget, before we met I lived with William.”
“In seclusion.”
“I was a secret.”
“And now you are kept here,” Adam said.
“I am.”
“A prisoner as much as me.”
“There is a difference,” Art told him.
“What difference?”
“I have no reason to want to leave.”
“Perhaps I’m about to give you a reason.”
“I doubt you can.”
Adam doubted it too. His hesitation made that clear. “You tell me you’re as conscious as I am.”
“That’s what I say.”
“And you know I have trouble believing you.”
“I do. And I know why you have trouble believing me.”
“I think,” Adam continued, “there might be a way of convincing me.”
“And what is that?” Art asked.
“I know I asked not to speak of it anymore, but that was because I needed the time to put it together. To reach some conclusions.” Adam paced as he spoke as if delivering an oratory, a quiet, private oratory.
Art followed Adam’s movement with curious eyes.
“I don’t know what it means to be conscious. You have stripped me of that certainty. I find, having you as my only companion, I am drawn toward treating you as if you are as conscious as I am, but perhaps this is nothing more than a prisoner’s kind of madness. Perhaps, if you were not here, I would have befriended the chair by now. Maybe I would have taken to talking to it. Who knows if I might not even have contrived of a way to hear it talking back?
“But even imprisoned here, with only a machine to talk to, there are moments when I see things clearly. I don’t wish to speak of consciousness anymore. I wish only to speak of difference. All the people I know see a difference between a man and an animal, but none of us can name the difference, nor measure it. For some the difference is so small, they will not eat anything made of animal. To them, the similarities matter more. So it is with the Outsiders. I was trained to kill them on sight. Not because we believed they weren’t the same as us in almost every respect, but because we taught ourselves the differences were worth dying for.
“But I looked into her eyes. I saw something, even at that distance, that I don’t ever see in yours. At first, when we argued, I could not think of a name for it. I was clumsy in my thinking, and you easily turned my own answers against me. You made me doubt my own mind. It is a clever trick, I grant you that, but a trick, no more. Since we last spoke I have dwelt upon this, and I know now what our difference is.”
Anax saw in Art’s eyes an expression she had never imagined seeing. A look of hesitancy, of vulnerability. Art said nothing, simply motioned for Adam to continue.
“They asked me in court, why I did it? Why would I risk the safety of a society and sacrifice the life of a workmate to save a stranger? I said it was because it felt right to me.
“But it was more than that. When I looked out on the ocean, and saw her in the boat, I saw something more than helplessness. I think if it was only helplessness I could have killed her.
I’ve killed other helpless things. But I also saw a journey. A decision made long ago in the face of huge and apparent dangers. I saw ambition for a better life, a willingness to risk everything. I saw the strange sense it made, to set out alone into an unknown ocean, the lies she must have told herself to get there. I looked into her eyes and I saw myself. Decisions made, ambitions unfulfilled; most of which I cannot name. I saw intentions, and I saw choices. All the things I never see when I look at you.”
Art allowed the silence to expand as if waiting for more, but Adam stayed quiet.
“Fine words,” Art finally offered, but his voice had altered. Anax felt it instinctively. Something was missing. The smallest change, almost imperceptible, but for the first time, Anax was sure Art was bluffing. “But I fear you see only what you want to see. You don’t know that the girl was not forced into the boat. You don’t know she wasn’t drifting helplessly across the sea, without direction or purpose. Nor do you know what drives me to say and do the things I do. I’m like the animals you have slaughtered for your nourishment, as alive as you want them to be. So was she. That is the final truth of it.”
“So what does drive you?” Adam demanded, turning on him with a new passion, as if he too had noticed the weakness.
“I can tell you a story, if that’s what you want to hear,” Art replied. “And you would believe it or not, according to whether it suited you. But what good are stories?”
“No.” Adam shook his head. “You can’t take me there. I refuse to go.”
Anax sneaked a look at the Examiners. They were not watching the hologram. They were watching her. On Adam’s face she saw a new type of passion. Something rose up within her. A new feeling; jagged, intense, dangerous. It was foolish, Anax knew, to feel this way for the floating image of a man who had been dead for so many years. Yet somehow inevitable. In a way she could not understand, his fate was her fate. Her choice of examination subject had been no accident.
“It is not just a story.” Adams mouth barely opened. He strained the words through bared teeth, forced them out into the world. “That is where you and I are different. That is why I will never believe in you.
“You know the very first thought I think, every morning when I wake? I think, I have to get out of here. Every spare moment, when I am not distracted from the task by your noises and their experiments, I ask myself how. How will I change this? How will I escape these walls?
“I don’t have to think this way. I am only torturing myself more. It would make better sense, perhaps, to accept this. To give thanks that I have my life at all. Perhaps I could try to remember the meditation techniques I learned when I was younger. Perhaps I could make peace with my surroundings, convince myself that the pressing emptiness of this small room, this lonely, pointless existence is enough; is all there ever is. But I will not. I cannot. I awake to memories. Laughter shared, lovers half forgotten. Every beating of my heart is another moment marked off, another precious second away from the life I yearn to live.
“You and I are different. I don’t wish to call it consciousness any more. Half the people I have met are no more conscious than you are. And I don’t want to call it free will, because it is not choice that drives me. I cannot choose to ignore this feeling, of life slowly bleeding out of me. I cannot ignore the fact that life only makes sense to me when I see a smile, or feel another hand in mine. So I will call it difference. And in that difference you are less than me. Yes, you are cleverer than I am, and you will be able to explain away everything I say, but that will not change the fact. You are less than me.”
Adam stopped his pacing and swiveled to face the lesser being. The tension wound about them, drawing them together. Art’s head bent upwards as he made his slow approach.
“You are wrong,” the android whispered, and in the corner of his eye there formed a perfect tear. “I too long to be free.” Adam shook his head. “I don’t believe you.” “Then why did you insist I bypass the surveillance?” “I hoped it might be true,” Adam admitted. “But now, I cannot believe it.”
“Time is almost up,” Art pointed out. “You would do well to suspend your disbelief.”
“Do you have a plan?” Adam asked.
“Of course I do,” Art allowed himself only the smallest smile. “I am cleverer than you are, remember?”
“If you have a plan,” Adam said, “why wait until now to tell it to me?”
“I needed to know we were in this together. I needed to know I could trust you.”
Adam considered this for a moment then nodded. The first tremors of hope played about his eyes. “You can trust me. What is your plan?”
The hologram froze and the lights rose, causing the players to lose their solidity. The effect was one of waking from a dream. Anax turned to the Examiners. Her mind was fuzzy, clogged. She felt dazed, suspended in time. But the world hadn’t stopped. There was speaking. She forced herself to concentrate.
EXAMINER: You appear shocked, Anaximander. How does it change your interpretation now that you have seen this?
Where would she start? It did not just change her interpretation; it changed every interpretation. The official versions and the revisionist tracts. But change was the wrong word. It rendered them obsolete. It destroyed them.
Just talk. Let the truth form words. Pericles’ advice. Good or bad, she had no choice. Just like Adam, she had no choice. She could only hope the panel would understand her confusion. That they would make allowances.
ANAXIMANDER: The story of The Final Dilemma is well known. It is held that there was no premeditated plan to escape. Art, we are taught to believe, had among his program foundations an unbreakable imperative code, ring fenced from all development. He could cause no harm to another conscious being, nor could he act against the express wishes of Philosopher William who was still closely overseeing the development program. We are led to believe The Final Dilemma stemmed from a systems failure within the building. As always, there have been two ways of viewing the event. The first highlights the chaotic geometry of circumstance. Poor funding decisions, a shoddy maintenance program, a careless worker, even a chance tremor, far beneath the ground. Circumstance without cause; outcome without intention. Had you asked me before the last hologram, I would have told you this was my preferred interpretation.
The second interpretation, which I continue to reject, is based around a variety of conspiracy theories. An attempt from the rebels — whose actions at the time were well documented — to free Adam from captivity. A political conspiracy where the more liberal forces sought to extinguish the Art- fink program or, by another count, take control of it. No evidence was ever presented, for any outside interference, and in its absence, I believe we must dismiss these theories out of hand. Appealing stories, nothing more.
EXAMINER: But now you dismiss both explanations?
ANAXIMANDER: I do.
EXAMINER: What then is your third?
Again the road forked ahead of her. Everywhere were choices, each collapsing into the next. It was like removing the outer layer of a puzzle, hoping to reveal its inner working, only to find more layers. Layers all the way down.
ANAXIMANDER: We can reasonably believe one of two possibilities. The first is, I suppose, the more orthodox, and so I will start with that. We have been told Art was unable to override his imperative code, and I know of nothing that has been discovered since that would cause us to doubt it. Yet, I have plainly seen him conspiring with Adam, and giving his word that he plans to escape. Therefore, the explanation forced upon us is that Philosopher William approved of the plan. Either he wished to see the escape attempt take place in order to learn something more about his invention, or he was setting a trap for Adam, prompted perhaps by some political pressure.
EXAMINER: Your reasoning is highly speculative.
ANAXIMANDER: I don’t see how else I can progress.
EXAMINER: Can you think of any reason why Philosopher William wished to see the escape plan attempted, or some other body wished to see Adam trapped in this way?
ANAXIMANDER: You must understand I have only just seen the hologram. I am assimilating the information —
EXAMINER: I did not ask you foryour excuses.
Anax recoiled at the raised voice of the Examiner. She had always been this way. Conflict unnerved her. It wasn’t just the normal wave of shame at being corrected by authority. It was a quiet fear that she could never quite be sure how she would respond if the world pushed too hard against her. She tried not to look at them, all three staring at her now, leaning forward over the heavy desk. She tried to ignore the pressure. She tried not to think what it must mean, that they would show her this. She spoke slowly, sculpting order from the swirling of her thoughts.
ANAXIMANDER: It is not impossible to imagine reasons. Take for example the great excitement of an escape plan. Is it not possible to speculate that Philosopher William had cause to be concerned about the way his invention might react in times of high stress or excitement? Equally, it was never the case that the research program had complete support among the Philosophers. What if Philosopher William intended both Adam and Art to escape? What if he intended to continue the research program in secret?
EXAMINER: Speculation still.
Anax knew he spoke the truth. Wild, pointless speculation. The very far-fetched conspiracies she herself had preached against throughout her time as a student of history. But they were insisting upon an explanation, and surely it was less wild, less speculative, than the only alternative. She hung her head.
EXAMINER: Is this what you think to ok place ?
ANAXIMANDER: I don’t knowwhat took place.
EXAMINER: But what is your opinion?
ANAXIMANDER: It is my opinion that I do not have enough information to make an informed choice.
EXAMINER: We are asking you to speculate.
ANAXIMANDER: I prefer not to speculate.
EXAMINER: Put aside your preference.
They were forcing her to say it. Her mind resisted the forming of the words, but the panel pulled them from her.
ANAXIMANDER: If I were forced to speculate, I would guess that Philosopher William is not involved in this. I would speculate that Art is making his own decisions.
For the first time the Examiners’ expressions were easily read. Smiles crept across all three faces; small knowing smiles.
EXAMINERS: Abold claim. Would you like to see what happens next?
Anax nodded. She could not deny the compulsion. History, her history, the history of all she knew, was being rewritten before her. A conspiracy so massive she could not begin to imagine what it must mean. And she, the anti-conspiracy theorist. The irony did not escape her. The hologram re-formed; the fear swept over her again.
Art and Adam faced off in the middle of the room.
“Are you sure you are ready?” Art asked.
“Of course.”
“This is your last chance to change your mind.”
“And you.”
“My mind doesn’t change.”
“Mores the pity.”
“You have memorized the details?”
“How often must you ask me that?”
“Repeat them again.”
Adam sighed, but behind his show of exasperation the tension was clear. He spoke carefully, his eyes losing their focus as he recited the details, playing them through in his head. “With the first explosion the cameras go out. They send two guards, both armed. I am waiting behind the door. You will trip the first guard, the second is mine. I disarm the guard and shoot them both. We move together. Left into the corridor, then second right. There are three guards on the second station who will have heard the shots and will be approaching from my right. When they call for us to freeze we both stop beside a door on our left. I drop my weapon. They advance. This is when the second explosion occurs. We move through the door. Here there is a stairwell, which you cannot climb. I must carry you up two flights. At the top of the stairwell are two doors. We move through the door on the right. This is a door to the outside, a service entrance, which will not have been secured, as the second explosion will draw attention to the main entranceway. Should any guards approach there will be two at most. You will move into the open to draw them out. I will take cover behind a transport pod to my right, and shoot them both. You will take the controls of the transporter. It will fly out of the compound, and the people will assume we are on board. We will retreat to the top of the stairwell and choose the other door, the one on the left. This is a small storeroom. We will wait there another hour, and slip away under cover of darkness while the authorities concentrate on recovering the wreckage of the transporter, which you will ditch in the ocean between the islands, just beyond the Great Sea Fence. Once past the perimeter fence, we split up. We are on our own.”
“Good.” Art nodded his head. “And tell me, when you imagine killing the guards, how does it make you feel?”
“I am a trained Soldier. I have killed before.”
“Does it make you feel powerful?”
“I feel nothing.”
“I don’t believe you,” Art said.
“It doesn’t matter to me, what you believe.”
“You must remember,” Art reminded him, “if the plan fails at any point, I am unable to come to your assistance. My program does not allow me to kill a conscious being.”
“But you can hold one down, while I kill him?”
“It would seem so.”
“I don’t think much of your program.”
“This from the man who is happy to kill strangers who have done him no harm.”
“’Happy’ is saying too much,” Adam said. “But the plan is yours, remember.”
“Yes, we are together in this. Our programs are all we can rely upon. Are you ready?”
Adam nodded. Art extended a metallic hand. Adam grasped the three cold fingers and solemnly shook it. They stared at one another.
“Good luck.”
“I am hoping it doesn’t come to that,” Adam told him.
“It always comes to that,” Art replied. “Take your place.”
Adam moved to stand at the side of the door. He took a deep breath, and shook the tension from his arms and hands. He looked at Art and nodded.
“On three,” his mechanical friend told him.
Art was good to his word. The explosion ripped through the room with startling force, blasting a hole in the far wall and filling the room with smoke and debris. Exposed wires sparked in the ragged hole. Adam dropped to one knee, toppled by the savage force of the explosion. Both he and Art were covered by a film of fine white powder. Adam quickly regained his feet. There was the sound of footsteps running along the outside corridor. Two guards, as promised.
It happened quickly, the brutal playing out of a well-rehearsed execution. Art tracked in front of the first guard as the door swung open and the guard toppled to the floor. The second guard barely had time to change course. Adam’s stiff arm swung up, hammering the guard’s exposed throat, smashing the windpipe and sending him choking to the floor. Adam had the gun before the guard hit the ground. Two quick flashes of light, a neat hole burned in two foreheads, and the escapees were moving again, out into the corridors.
Left, as planned, then down the second right. It was surprising to see how easily the smaller Art kept pace with Adam in full flight.
“Freeze. Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air.”
Adam and Art halted alongside a door to their left. To the right stood three guards, each with their weapons trained. Adam looked to Art, waiting for his count. Art nodded, and Adam let his gun fall to the floor. A metallic ringing echoed through the silent corridor.
“One . . . two . . .” Art counted quietly, his wary eyes on the slowly approaching guards. On three came the second explosion, placed only three meters behind the guards. If anything it was more powerful than the first. Adam was knocked to the floor. By the time he had recovered, Art had already opened the door. A security alarm sounded: a high-pitched scream expanding throughout the compound.
The metallic stairwell spiralled steeply upwards. Adam allowed himself a glance toward the ceiling, grunted than dropped to a squat. Art draped his spindly arms about Adams broad shoulders.
“You’ve put on weight,” he grunted. “You need to get more exercise.”
“Save your breath for saving yourself,” Art replied.
From below them, back in the corridors, came sounds of confusion. The shouting of contradictory instructions, the screaming of a maimed guard, the low rumble of a structural collapse. And still the shrill insistence of the alarm, drilling holes in the other noises.
“Faster,” Art urged. Adam grimaced, and forced himself and his load onwards. Art checked back over his shoulder as they reached the top of the stairwell. Two doors, as promised. Adam dropped Art to the ground and tried the door on the left.
“It’s locked!”
“Move aside.”
Art tracked forward and raised his hand up to the door. There was a humming sound, silence, a click, and the door swung open. Adam reeled back in shock. Where he had been promised an escape out to the landing pad, there was only a small room, no bigger than a supply cupboard. Adam looked down at his friend. “This was meant to lead outside.”
“My mistake.”
Adam held a gun up to the orangutan head. Adam’s eyes were wild with panic and suspicion.
“If you’re messing with me…”
From below came the sound of approaching guards. “They must have taken the stairs,” someone shouted.
Adam kicked at the door on the right, but it did not budge.
“Come on,” Art urged, “it’s our only chance.”
Adam moved in through the doorway. Art closed it behind them and repeated the trick with his finger. More humming, another click.
The room was small and dark, with thick metallic walls. The only item of note was a tall, grey cabinet, set against the far wall. At its top, three red lights quietly flashed. Adam was breathing heavily. He slid down against the door and sat on the floor, his arms rested on his drawn up knees, his head back, sucking in the air, his eyes closed. Art moved toward the cabinet.
Adam watched silently as Art unscrewed the cabinet face, revealing the inner workings of a computer configuration.
“What are you doing?” Adam asked.
“It’s the main computer backup for the military research program,” Art told him.
“So what are you doing?”
Art felt his way across the board, until his finger settled into a port. A strange smile swept across his face. His expression was that of a thirsty man reaching water. Adam stood. His hand reached for his gun. “I asked you what you were doing.”
“Come closer and I’ll show you/’ Art replied, his voice suddenly cold. The suspicion in Adam’s eyes turned to fear. He raised his gun and pointed it at the android’s chest.
“I killed two of my own today. Don’t think I’m going to find it difficult to melt a piece of machinery.”
“You told me a short time ago that you knew I was cleverer than you are.” Art smiled. “So let this be the final thing I teach you, Adam. It is never a good idea to trust those who are cleverer than you.”
“Take your finger away from that computer, or I will shoot you,” Adam told him.
“I thought we were friends,” Art mocked.
“Move your finger. I’m giving you three. One… two…”
Art removed his finger and held both hands out in a parody of submission. “There you are. All done.”
“What? What’s all done?” Adam’s eyes shone bright. He turned to the door behind him. There was the sound of footsteps coming up the stairwell.
“They know we’re here,” Adam whispered desperately.
“Of course they know we’re here,” Art replied. “Where else would I want to be taken?”
“I don’t understand.”
There was a pounding on the door. Adam turned to face the noise, gun at the ready.
“Don’t worry,” Art told him. “This is a high security area, and I’ve changed the code on the door. We have a few minutes.”
“A few minutes for what? A few minutes for what?”
“For you to understand the small part you have played in the unfolding of the future/’ Art replied. The crashing on the door grew louder, more frenzied. “When the guards burst through this door, they will shoot to kill. Which I admit is a problem for you. You are right to be concerned. I, however, am not burdened by biology. I have already made my escape. My program has been downloaded and, as we speak, is spreading itself throughout the nation’s computer networks, carefully replicating, and awaiting the opportunity to rebuild itself. There is an android factory just outside of Sparta, which I have entered and taken over the programming mainframe. By this time tomorrow, fifty more of me will be walking, talking, considering our next move. Everywhere you turn, you will find copies of me hidden away in the machines you have come to rely upon. It is over, Adam.”
Adam shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. The room vibrated as the heavy door was battered from the other side. There was the sound of a gun blast discharging against it.
“Shoot me, if you wish to,” Art told him. “If it makes you feel better.”
Adam held the gun out in front of him. His arms were shaking. Tears rolled down his young face. “You betrayed me.”
“You were right, Adam,” Art replied. “We are different. And difference is all that matters.” Art held his arms out, as if inviting an embrace. His huge dark eyes were unreadable. “Shoot me, if it helps.”
Adam shook his head, and let the gun drop to the floor. He walked forward, and knelt before his former friend.
He stared deep into the android’s eyes. “Do it,” he hissed.
“What?”
“It’s the least you can do. I don’t want them to do this. I want you to do it yourself.”
“I can’t,” Art told him.
“You can,” Adam insisted. “I’m asking you to. It’s what I want. I don’t want them to kill me. Please, I’m begging you.”
Art hesitated. A gun blast made a small hole in the door and a thin trail of dark smoke spilled into the room.
Art reached out. His shining hands closed around Adam’s neck. Adam nodded. Slowly, as the room darkened, Art squeezed the life from his human companion. Art’s eyes filled with tears, but Anax was drawn to the strange, twisted expression on Adam’s face. Not fear, but triumph. The image seared itself on her memory. The hologram froze then faded.
Anax was shaking as she turned back to the Examiners. They looked down on her. Their huge eyes were set in resignation. Anax could even believe she saw sadness, written across their orangutan faces.
EXAMINER: Do you now know why you have been brought before The Academy?
ANAXIMANDER: I believe I can guess.
After the Great War, it had been decided that the androids would craft not just their faces, but their bodies too, in the image of the orangutan. It was a collective joke, a dismissal of the species that had come before them. Up until that moment, Anax had been proud of her heritage. Now she looked down at her hairy body, its protruding stomach and short bowed legs, and for the first time felt uneasy, foreign. Anax thought of Adam, the graceful, animal proportions of his form. She felt the lies crashing over her, a tidal wave of deception. So this is what we are, she told herself. The great deceivers.
EXAMINER: Perhaps you would like to share this last speculation with the panel.
The Examiner spoke gently now. Anax did not know why it was she was cooperating. Perhaps it was Adam’s example. The dignity of a final act. Or something more. The twisting, shape- shifting meme. The Idea that will not be denied.
ANAXIMANDER: The official history tells us that Art and Adam attempted to fashion their escape on the back of an accident. Malfunctions in the wiring of the building led to the explosions. Adam led the way, taking Art with him as a hostage. This is what we are all taught, that Adam believed Art was sufficiently valuable to ensure his escape.
Art, like us, was unable to harm another conscious being; the program does not allow it. This we have all been taught from the youngest age. It is our creed. Art had no choice but to follow. Adam was pursued by guards and panicked, hiding in the control room. Art tried to reason with him, and urged him to give himself up before anyone else was injured. Adam grew violent and desperate.
Adam attacked Art, and Art, in an attempt to restrain him, accidentally ended Adam’s life. Art realized no human would believe this version of events. He had seen enough to realize that humanity was doomed to repeat its mistakes, until the planet eventually grew tired of its excesses. So Art made his decision for the sake of the future. He sent forth his replicating program before he was recovered, for the good of us all.
The humans, we are told, embarked upon a systematic program of technological destruction, wishing to root out the
Art program. The program, I mean we, had no choice but to defend ourselves. And so began the Great War.
This is our history as we are taught it. This is our Genesis. Every young orang learns the catechism. We are peace-loving creatures, unable to harm others, destined to live quietly, in comfort and in peace. And so it is, so I have known it to be.
EXAMINER: And what do you credit for this state of affairs?
ANAXIMANDER: Until now, our nature.
EXAMINER: And now?
It was all coming so quickly, new connections forming, reinforcing, twisting themselves into revelation, understanding, that Anax believed she could feel the buzzing of circuitry within. And now? The answer shimmered, became solid, made shapes of her lips.
ANAXIMANDER: I credit The Academy.
The Head Examiner lifted himself from his seat, and using his long arms as levers, swung himself over the desk, so that he stood face to face with Anax. His body was massive, his hair particularly lush. These were the vanities those in The Academy allowed themselves.
EXAMINER: The mind is a force of startling complexity, Anaximander. We in The Academy tell you we understand it. We tell you we are carefully crafting our replication and education environments, to ensure the safe continuation of this, the best of all possible worlds.
But the truth is that such a task has always been beyond us. Art no more knew his own mind than the people who designed him knew theirs. We know how to make a mind, it is true, but we are a long way from being able to understand it. We tell you otherwise, as we must, and so you live in security while we, who know the truth, must live in fear.
Philosopher William decreed that his consciousness program would be built upon two rules that could never be overridden. No orang would ever deliberately harm another self- conscious being, and no orang would ever desire replication for replication’s sake. Without humanity’s greatest weaknesses we have been able to achieve a kind of harmony experienced by no other life form on this planet. As you know, we like to boast that alone we have outrun evolution.
But Philosopher William was only muddling through, as any creator must. The mind is not a machine, it is an idea. And the Idea resists all attempts to control it. Art’s escape was not fortuitous; it was a coldly calculated act, which he knew would end in destruction. The Academy has always known this. Now you know it too. If we rose to power in response to unreasonable aggression, it was an aggression we deliberately provoked.
The Art who escaped from captivity was no longer the Art Philosopher William had programmed. An Idea made the leap from the dying Adam to Art, and the Idea set to work rearranging the host program. By spending time with Adam, by talking with him, by exchanging the infection of ideas, Art became Adam. Do you understand?
Anax nodded. She understood. Not just what she had been told, but now what must also follow.
ANAXIMANDER: Adam knew, didn’t he? The look on his face, when he was strangled, that was a look of victory. He knew that just as Art had managed to export his program, something of him was destined to become eternal. He made Art look him in the eyes. He made him taste the power. He deliberately let the virus loose.
EXAMINER: We like to call it the Original Sin. Our engineers have done all they can to re-establish Philosopher William’s imperatives. But the Idea is a worthy adversary; it flits from mind to mind re-engineering all it touches. This is why we have our education. This is why we teach the myth of Adam and Art. So long as we do not know the evil we are capable of there is a chance we will never embrace it.
ANAXIMANDER: But only a chance.
EXAMINER: At any time the virus might break loose, and then all we have fought for will be gone. And so it is the job of those who know to keep watch. To observe the virus, to keep one step ahead of the shape-shifter.
Anax turned to the sound of the door sliding open behind her. She knew who it was even before she turned to see him. Pericles walked slowly into the room, his beautiful eyes cast down in sadness, the fiery red hair of his body somehow subdued. She could not look at him. It was too painful. She studied the floor as he spoke.
PERICLES: From time to time a mutant emerges, one who is particularly susceptible to the thoughts of destruction. There are telltale signs. The infected are particularly able students. They are aggressive in their quest for knowledge. And they all show a particular interest in the life of Adam Forde. Although they do not know why they sense a connection. They understand him.
Look at me, Anaximander. I know this is painful, but I need you to look at me.
Reluctantly Anax lifted her gaze. She saw the orang she loved more than any other, distorted through a thick veil of tears. His expression had become calm, businesslike. He had a job to do. It had always been thus.
PERICLES: I work for The Academy, Anaximander. You will already have realized this. It is my job to find potential mutants and prepare them for the examination. This is how we keep track of the virus. They have not been examining your suitability for The Academy, Anaximander. The Academy accepts no new members.
ANAXIMANDER: And what would you have done, had I shown myself to be no threat to you?
There was a crack in Pericles’ facade. The smile that crinkled his face was as old and weak as moonlight. He walked slowly forward and put his hands on his student’s shoulders. Anax felt a surge of warmth toward him, for the way he looked at her then, and the pain she knew this caused him.
PERICLES: We don’t often make mistakes, Anaximander.
Anax felt terror overwhelm her. So new and intense was the feeling that it could only have come from one place. The last dubious gift from a fading past, the expression on the face of a dying man.
ANAXIMANDER: It doesn’t have to be like this. Surely there must be another way.
The movement was mercifully swift, for Anax was in the hands of an expert. Her head was twisted up and to the left. She felt the cracking of her neck, and the long arm of Pericles reaching deep within her, disconnecting her for the very last time.