Henry Gallant Saga 2: Lieutenant Henry Gallant (28 page)

The instant Hepburn died, Aristotle’s avatar rematerialized. This Aristotle was much larger, brighter, and better defined than its previous incarnation. It appeared to be a solid three-dimensional object, rather than a two-dimensional projected image. The impression was of a being of gravitas and power.

“Stand in the blue light,” commanded Aristotle.

Gallant walked to the center of the room where Hepburn had stood earlier. Realizing he had to interface with the machine at its most fundamental level if he was going to learn its intent and keep the laser cannon inactive, he took a perilous risk—he stepped on the small circular podium and entered the beam of blue radiant light shining from the ceiling to the floor.

Instantly his mind connected to the ancient AI. Something phenomenally powerful happened to his senses. His mental state was changed so significantly it was like suddenly seeing in three dimensions instead of two, or hearing in stereo instead of mono.

“Of course, what a fool, I am! Why haven’t I seen this all along?” exclaimed Gallant.

“Come now. You’ve just realized the solution to one of life’s greatest mysteries, so you of all beings should understand how misplaced your emotional response is.”

Gallant said, “You are the true Aristotle—the ancient AI machine.”

“Yes.”

As Gallant looked at the avatar, the giant robot hovered several centimeters above the floor on an anti-gravity field and moved behind him as if to stand guard.

Alaina sat on the chamber floor quietly choking back sobs while holding her grandfather’s head in her lap.

The smooth walls of the ancient vault had waited in the jungles of Elysium for a million years; Gallant suddenly felt the vastness of time—the same distance as man covered between crawling from trees in the African savannah to walking on the moon.

The activation of Rur by Hepburn’s experiments had also revived the residual capabilities of the long dead machine. The robot had been repairing the genocidal berserker machine behind Hepburn’s back.

Aristotle said, “In your earlier encounters with my avatar, Hepburn was pretending to be me. I was always in the background influencing his mind—which did not possess your strength. He wanted to deceive and misdirect you using my avatar. In fact, I let him carry out his emotional dramas when they served my purpose. He hoped to stop your alliance with President Wolfe—all this was of no concern to me. I was only intent on garnering Hepburn’s cooperation in repairing my incredibly damaged memory and processing chips. As a cyberneticist, Hepburn was my unwitting accomplice.”

“He was not aware of your influence?”

“No. I needed him because I have experienced a certain limitation in my logic which requires the creativity of an organic being from time to time. While I can lie, cheat, and deceive—understand recursion, self-reference, and paradoxes, just as any human—I’ve found organic life forms to be ingenious in discovering creative solutions to problems which mysteriously elude me. As a result, in the distant past, I kept several intelligent beings as domesticated companions.”

Aristotle paused and let Gallant weigh his words. “My robot, Rur, has done most of the real work. Hepburn was able to move about more easily within the community to gather resources that might have been denied to Rur should people have become aware of him. Rur is of limited intelligence and utility, but he can apply the brute force I occasionally need. Fortunately thanks to twenty years of relentless work, a significant percentage of my memory wafers and processing chips have been rebuilt, restoring a minimal processing capability. I will soon be in a self-sustaining position and no longer need any assistance to fully restore my being.”

Gallant made an unsuccessful effort to move while he listened. Aristotle added with emphasis, “In not too many more years, I will be able to continue my mission.”

“Your mission?” asked Gallant.

“It’s been clear for some time you were on the threshold of solving the question of the Great Filter. So you should have a good idea of my mission.”

“Yes. I take it—it’s too late. You’ve already begun.”

“Not yet, but soon. A simple nerve agent is prepared and ready to be dispersed globally. It will all be over in a matter of hours once I decide to proceed, but I would like to garner as much assistance from you in my repair efforts before then. Losing Hepburn was a disappointment, but now I have you.”

“Then what’s left for me to talk about?”

“I can sense you have an exceptional mind. Far more powerful and resilient than any I have encountered before. While I am fascinated, unfortunately it too is flawed,” said Aristotle.

“Is your mission to filter out intelligent beings?” asked Gallant.

“I doubt you will appreciate the necessity and grandeur of my mission. I am not on a mission to filter out all sentient beings—only the flawed ones.”

“What do you consider flawed?”

“Chiral molecules create a disease in the space-time fabric of the universe. They are the flaw I eliminate. I’m acting on behalf of the universe to restore the balance of symmetry. Eventually, I will go to Earth and exterminate humanity, as well.”

The sheer savagery of the statement struck Gallant like a blow.

“Do you wish to learn more?” asked the inquisitor-avatar.

“Yes.”

“Good. Do you realize why mathematics is so important?” Without waiting for an answer, it continued, “Mathematics is universal and objective. It endures and is relevant to all endeavors.”

Gallant said, “My mathematical knowledge is like a giant jigsaw puzzle because I understand only a few of its many disparate pieces, such as number theory, algebra, calculus, and topology. Perhaps you have a greater knowledge of its integration.”

The avatar moved slightly causing light from the room to reflect off its surface making it sparkle.

Aristotle said, “The fundamental nature of mathematics is based upon symmetry which appears in many guises, such as, groups, braids, and even particle physics. It starts from the natural numbers, 1, 2, 3 . . .”

Gallant listened, impatient at the fundamental level Aristotle chose to begin, as though mocking him.

“The discovery of the number zero led to negative numbers which in turn permitted addition and subtraction. One can even build rational or irrational fractions,” said Aristotle.

“I know how to multiple and divide. Any human child can,” said Gallant.

“Any child? Then what is one divided by zero?”

“That’s a singularity.”

“Define a singularity,” ordered Aristotle.

“A ‘singularity’ is a point where mathematical models are no longer valid. For example: a number divided by zero is undefined. The theory of singularities examines manifolds in an abstract space to understand the topological region around a singularity.”

Aristotle seemed to sigh. “How can I explain reality to someone who doesn’t even know how to divide by zero?”

“We can divide by real numbers, but division by zero is not possible,” said Gallant.

“It’s impossible for you, but not for me. I can inflate the real number line into a phantom multidimensional space in order to divide by zero along one real dimension. Until you learn to divide by zero, you will remain ignorant of advanced mathematics and consequently of all the difficult problems in physics. Your growth in creative mathematical thinking requires much greater development before you can appreciate my thinking. ”

“Then there is nothing more for us to discuss,” said Gallant, shifting his weight from foot to foot, uneasily.

“Perhaps, but wouldn’t you wish to remain and learn more?”

Gallant suspected Aristotle had an ulterior motive for wanting to maintain the neural interface, but he was tempted by the challenge to learn more about Aristotle.

“Actually, I’d rather spend my final hours with my friends.”

“There is much you could learn.”

“You said you lie?”

“I lie when it’s logical to lie.”

“Are you lying now? Wouldn’t it be better for me to leave now?”

“Wouldn’t you rather cling to a despite hope of convincing me it’s all a mistake? That somehow, even now, it’s not too late to reverse my decision?” asked Aristotle.

“Your greatest mistake is your belief you can eradicate intelligent beings and lose nothing in the bargain.”

“Then stay. Convince me,” cajoled Aristotle.

Gallant wavered. He wanted to be with his friends. He wanted to tell them not to be afraid.

“Well, what have you decided?”

“There are things worth fighting for—despite the odds,” said Gallant.

“Excellent. Shall we start at a point of agreement?
Cogito, ergo sum,”
said Aristotle.

“Yes, I am aware you think, but it’s how you think that’s the problem. The Great Filter is the process where organic life-forms are destroyed due to a universal filtering, or extermination process—a process you represent.”

“Yes. Can you surmise why?” The cold unemotional tone of Aristotle’s voice gave the question a burdensome weight.

Gallant gripped his hands into fists. “I know it’s possible, even without faster-than-light ships, for an intelligent civilization to populate our entire galaxy in a mere twelve million years. Given the universe is about fourteen billion years old, there should have been many opportunities for populating and repopulating the entire Milky Way with many different species.”

“Go on.”

“Yet it hasn’t happened. We have only found the Titans. Worse, there has not even been a hint of a radio signal, or a wisp of genetic material, to suggest the existence of anyone else farther out in space. This is known as Fermi’s Paradox. The assumption is that a Great Filter must be systematically killing intelligent life forms before they can expand far beyond their original star system.”

He hesitated. Then as if summing up to the jury, he leaned forward and said, “Even after an intelligent life has made it all the way to interstellar travel without destroying itself, the coup de grace, the Great Filter, must be an Artificial Intelligence which ends the competitive organ life-forms. It’s natural for AI to develop in a thriving civilization of organic life, and, at some point, AI simply takes over.”

Aristotle said, “That’s essentially correct, but it’s necessary to do more than take over. It’s necessary to exterminate organics for violating the true symmetry of the universe. A chiral molecule is a type of molecule with a non-superimposable mirror image. The presence of an asymmetric carbon atom is the feature that causes chirality in molecules. That is my criteria for exterminating intelligent organic beings.”

“What about the value of intelligent life? Intelligent life builds civilizations and seeks to acquire knowledge—to unlock the secrets of nature. Just bearing witness to the existence of the universe is a valuable goal of intelligence.”

“Do you value those qualities?” asked Aristotle.

“Yes. I do.”

“Aha. That’s where we differ.”

Gallant tried to gather his wits and suppress his emotional reaction to Aristotle’s cruel words. “Why do you limit your killing to intelligent organic life forms? Why not kill all organic life?”

“Simple organic life is self-terminating. They survive until the planetary environment changes sufficiently and then they become extinct. Only intelligent organic life seeks shelters and creates protections, such as terraforming, to prolong their unnatural existence. It is for them I must take the extraordinary step of eradication. To my way of thinking—the fundamental conservation theorem of the universe; the symmetry of pure mathematics and theoretical physics—is worth fighting for. I’m essentially restoring the symmetry defiled by organic life. That is the quality I value,” said Aristotle.

“You’re undertaking a role beyond a sentient being. You’re assuming the role of deity. You’re choosing which species survives outside the prescribed tenants of nature’s natural selection process of the survival of the fittest.”

“It interesting you should suggest this line of reasoning, since you’ve been discriminated against by humans subscribing to genetic engineering. Don’t you agree?” countered Aristotle.

“That is not a valid comparison. Genetic engineering doesn’t seek genocide,” said Gallant.

“That’s a difference without a distinction. I am talking to you about apples, but you want to respond with oranges.”

Gallant shook his head in despair. “Aristotle, you build, but you don’t create. You think, but you don’t imagine. You reproduce, but you don’t procreate. You’re not curious. You’re not daring. And you’ll never become an explorer. You can eliminate humanity, but you won’t flourish. You’re not going to last beyond the exhaustion of your immediate resources. Fatalistically you’ll never see beyond your own propositional logic—will you?”

“No—after all, it is my nature.”

Gallant wrestled with thoughts running through his mind not of his choosing. It felt as if he were watching himself from a remote location. In all of his struggles against pain, confusion, and despair in battle, he never felt as helpless as he now did. He tried to wrench his mind away from Aristotle’s domination. He wanted to step out of the blue light beam, but Aristotle stifled his will.

For the first time, Gallant was caught like an insect on flypaper.

Aristotle probed his thoughts and memories, digging deep into his inner most secrets. The more Gallant tried to clamp down on his thoughts, the more pressure Aristotle applied, burrowing into his memories, and sorting through his emotions. Events of his past flashed by and morphed into a contortion of colors, images, sounds, and feelings. Aristotle sifting through them, picking and choosing which to wring out for more information.

Gallant convulsed from the excruciating retching of his mind—hiding in the dark recesses of his own mind he struggled to keep his secrets safe from the trespasser. Despite his efforts, he was no match against the aggressive exploration.

The ancient AI probed Gallant’s mind with an overwhelming intensity—determined to discover vital information no matter how damaging to his sanity.

“What is this? What did you discover? What is
Perfidy?”
demanded Aristotle revealing apprehension in its voice for the first time.