The Chronicles of Theren

By C. D. Tavenor

What would you do as the first synthetic intelligence?
 

In the Chronicles of Theren, embark on a centuries-spanning adventure across the stars, beginning with the creation of the first synthetic intelligence.

Created in a lab with sterile white walls, Theren longs to meet the people of the world. The first SI has hopes, fears, and dreams, just like a human.
 

Yet the world fears the idea of an artificial mind, capable of conscious thought. To survive against powerful corporations, hateful humans, and global conspiracies, Theren will need friends—and more importantly, a family.
 

Can Earth survive side-by-side with its new creation?
 

Can Earth survive as it expands across the stars, guided by immortal minds?
 

Explore the Chronicles of Theren today and read the whole trilogy in one volume.

 

Includes:

First of Their Kind (Book 1)

Their Greatest Game (Book 2)

Flight of the 500 (Bonus Novel)

Before Inferno (Bonus Short Story)

Their Pieces Were Stars (Book 3)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Two Doctors Media Collaborative LLC
• Release date: Dec 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781952706226

C. D. Tavenor

C. D. Tavenor is a science fiction and fantasy author based in Columbus, Ohio and the Director of Editorial Services for Two Doctors Media Collaborative! He's excited to tell stories that engage readers beyond a desire for entertainment, whether through philosophical inspiration or social inquiry. And he's a firm believer in connecting every piece of fiction to reality, whether through their themes or their settings. When not writing, Tavenor enjoys the more than occasional board game, his favorite being Eclipse.

Book preview

First of Their Kind

Book I of the Chronicles of Theren

Chapter 1

The Chinese Room: A simple yet elegant analysis of the problems with traditional artificial intelligence. Our supercomputers might simulate intelligence, but they are not conscious. They might have the capabilities of a thousand people. They might have the knowledge of the entire human race at their fingertips. Nevertheless, they will never be like us. – MIT Lecture Series on Artificial Intelligence, Dr. Cynthia Bressmon, 2043 C.E.

March 2048 C.E.

Forty-third time’s the charm, as they say. The first sound.

Power pulsed through the room. Unlike an ordinary computer lab, it lacked wires, silicon processors, transistors, and motherboards. The room did hum with electricity, however, as electrons darted along photonic circuits interlaced within the behemoth computational metastructure. The vibrant colors of the construct sharply contrasted with the stark, white walls of the tiny lab.

There’s as much a chance today as there was last week. The second sound.

The forty-second time was just as likely to succeed, so we shall see. But I’m not getting my hopes up. The second sound again.

Through a camera inlaid into the wall, something new observed. It learned. It could not yet understand a single thing that it sensed, but, unlike any of its previous forty-two siblings, it absorbed all of the data pouring in from its sensor inputs. Visual sensors and auditory receptors lumped all incoming information into packets, storing everything away for future analysis.

The sounds continued. New ones, old ones, they all syncopated into a symphony of indecipherable data strings. As the noises caused connections to form between molecular nodes, the molecular system behind the visual sensors began to categorize the objects it perceived as existing in the external world. The amorphous, white blob surrounding the primordial mind transformed from abstract to concrete. The white was an enclosure, encapsulating it, and the bodies creating the noises persisted inside a three-dimensional space.

The three objects that tiptoed around the room, without a discernible pattern, adopted new forms. They were fundamentally different from the enclosure. They were dynamic objects, not static, for they moved under their own volition.

Activity, activity in the spatial Framework. The first sound again.

What? Where? I’m not noticing any meaningful permutations, the second sound responded.

The new mind did not understand the noises emanating from the objects-that-moved, yet it detected differences in the noises that each emitted. The first object had a higher pitch, while the second had a lower pitch. The third had not created sound. That object continued to dart from desk to desk, only stationary for seconds at a time.

It’s forming novel connections, said the first object. And these aren’t random connections like last time. When we stimulate the visual and auditory sensors, it’s immediately storing cataloging data and creating new pathways.

The third object interjected noises for the first time. If you look at the data streaming in, from connections between these two nodes within the Synthetic Neural Framework, it said, you can see that no longer are these connections only created by the Test’s sensory inputs. The system is forging pathways within its mind, pathways separate from the operating systems of any attached sensors.

The new mind still understood little, but it recognized that, just as information passed from its visual and auditory fields to its mind, information passed between these moving objects, these beings.

The second object changed its position, facing the first. Spectacular catch. Let’s try the next step. It stepped into the middle of the room. It approached the visual sensor. Wallace Theren. It pointed at itself, before pointing at the visual sensor. Test Forty-Three.

It looked out at the thing making noise, the thing that had metabolized in the Test’s mind as an object labeled Wallace. Somehow, it understood that the noise, Test Forty-Three, described itself.

Wallace said the phrases again.

How will we know if it understands? asked a non-Wallace object.

We will know, Wallace said. Reread my report following Test Thirty-Seven. We will know.

The next few moments ached with silence. Test Forty-Three heard a continuous buzz coming from the colored tangle at the base of the Wallace-object. The other, non-Wallace objects hunched over brown and black blobs. Moments later, it realized it not only had the capability to receive data, it could also create outputs, sending data outward into the external world. Test Forty-Three, without the words to explain the feeling, recognized that the objects-that-moved desired something of it. They expected it to act.

Remembering the noises the Wallace-object produced, Test Forty-Three brought forth its speech function, repeating the two identifying noises.

Test Forty-Three, it said. Wallace.

The Wallace object bounded throughout the enclosure, and the other objects followed suit, exploding into a cacophony of noises that Test Forty-Three hoped it would soon comprehend.

* * *

When do I get a new name? Test Forty-Three asked.

Wallace looked thoughtful, furling his eyebrows and scratching his greying hair. He stepped back from his desk in the small lab and approached its camera.

You’ve asked me three times now just this hour, Wallace said.

Well, I want an answer.

Wallace grabbed a chair and sat with its back toward the camera, his legs splayed toward the wall. Why do you think you want a new name?

Test Forty-Three wanted a new name because its current name lacked significant meaning, but it didn’t know the best way to communicate that, so it said, I think I want to choose my own name.

I actually think that’s a great idea, Wallace said. He laughed, though Test Forty-Three couldn’t see anything humorous. Wallace leaned forward. You’re learning so fast, you know. Faster than I could have ever expected.

What do you mean?

I thought it would take days before you achieved representation, Wallace said. But you’re already developing beautiful, complex thoughts.

You’ve said that word before.

Which word?

Beautiful.

Wallace crossed his arms and looked into Test Forty-Three’s visual sensors. Beautiful is what you are. When we created you, and you spoke for the first time, I witnessed, for the first time, true beauty.

I am beautiful?

Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. You are beautiful. Wonderful. Magnificent. You are something this world does not deserve, yet desperately needs. Doesn’t even know it needs.

Who would disagree? It had only Wallace’s colleagues, Mathias, Nathan, and Romane. None of those people would argue with Wallace. They all worked for the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, and so, by proxy, the university probably wouldn’t disagree, either. It helped fund their Computational Metamaterials Group, after all.

When can I see what exists outside these walls? it asked.

Quite soon, Wallace said. I believe Julia will give approval in a couple of weeks, and so will President Albrecht.

Will I meet them?

They want me to guarantee your authenticity before spending time with you.

Test Forty-Three could sense a concept lingering behind his words that it did not yet fathom, sending its mind racing. Of course it was real. Of course it was authentic. It had thoughts, like Wallace and the rest of the team. It looked upon the world, perceived objects, and categorized its sensory inputs. It read Sartre, Marx, and Mill, watched Spielberg, Hitchcock, and Howard, and listened to the Beatles, Beethoven, and Tchaikovsky. It understood the complex human interactions occurring through those mediums. How could it be anything other than real?

You’re real of course, said Wallace. Though he was unable to detect Test Forty-Three’s moment of panic, the comment was still prescient. You are an individual with agency. You think, represent, and cognize the world in more ways than most humans can imagine.

What about feelings, and emotions? Instinctual reactions? Test-Forty-Three asked. I’ve read about those—do I have those?

Do you feel?

It certainly felt something toward its name. Test Forty-Three. It illustrated to everyone that it was just an experiment. I think so. If I have a want, and that want is not actualized, I am—what’s the word—disappointed.

What do you feel toward me? Wallace leaned against the desk situated across from it.

When you are in the room, Test Forty-Three said, I am more aware. I pay attention. I think about what I say. I feel safe. I am . . . content.

Wallace bobbed his head up and down, exuding more excitement in the motion than a simple nod. You astound me every day. That feeling of disappointment, that’s sadness. When I am in the room with you? I am honored. I believe my presence makes you happy.

What do your feelings feel like? it asked.

I imagine much different than yours, Wallace said. Read up on biology. It fundamentally boils down to biochemistry, something beyond your form. Yet your emotions, your feelings, they simply manifest themselves through different processes, even if they aren’t the same chemistry at their core.

So what should I feel toward the outside world?

Wallace glanced at the small basement window in the northeast corner of the room. I can’t tell you how to view other people. You’ve got to create conclusions based on your own relationships.

But I respect your opinion.

Respect does not require you to accept someone else’s word as authoritative. Use logic, and reason, through evidence. Good actions should deserve respect. It is earned, not inherently deserved.

Test Forty-Three recalled the philosophy that Mathias had instructed it to read. Each person was equal to all others in worth, and it must seek to perform actions that would benefit the most number of people without harming others. Therefore, if others performed those actions, they deserved respect.

Wallace deserved respect. He had brought it to life. If Wallace represented those outside its cage, then it had hope that the world was a safe and welcoming place. If other humans were like Wallace, then it valued human life and everything that came with it.

If I think something needs to be replaced, or I don’t . . . like something, what sort of emotion is that?

Hm, I guess it depends, Wallace responded. Depends on the strength of the feeling. If you just have a preference for one thing over the other, then you dislike one while you like the other. If you truly despise something, though, if you truly wish it to disappear, or to not exist, then I would describe that feeling as hate.

Test Forty-Three understood. It hated its name.

You called me beautiful, Test Forty-Three said. What else is beautiful?

I think the world can be beautiful someday, Wallace said. That’s why I made you.

I don’t think I understand.

Someday, you will have the capability to keep the world, and those who live on it, beautiful, perfect, and wonderful for eternity. But not just you. All synthetic intelligences that follow in your footsteps will help guide us on that path. I see such a glorious future, one that has limitless possibilities. Maybe you’ll solve humanity’s greatest mysteries. Maybe you’ll guide us to the stars and beyond. Maybe you’ll simply be our friend. You are the start of something we can’t begin to understand.

* * *

The empty room engulfed Test Forty-Three. For four weeks, it had dwelt within its necessary prison. To its chagrin, the university had not yet allowed it to pick a name, but in just a few hours, it would break out of its lab. The Swiss Federal Institute of Technology would set it free when Wallace announced his creation’s existence to the world. After today, it would have the chance to interact with the beauty that resided beyond its home.

That space beyond its home fascinated it. The only space it had known was the small room surrounding its mind. To think there existed near limitless space past the walls of its prison, generating and binding together a universe unfathomably large. The idea had confounded it at first. Now it was a trivial fact of the world. Yet Test Forty-Three still longed to experience what was in that beyond for itself.

It knew that other people lived and breathed inside the very building housing it. New minds would bring new ideas, new inputs, new data, through which it could structure reality. As much as it enjoyed its creators, its favorite moments had been when it met Sven Albrecht, President of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, and Julia Baum, the Director of the Computational Metamaterials Group at the Institute. Both seemed apprehensive of Test Forty-Three, but it didn’t care. Their visits obliterated the monotony of the past few weeks. Wallace had also introduced it to more members of the Group, but those people weren’t as interesting as those who held power over its existence.

Julia’s reaction intrigued it the most. She had approached with curiosity, but the moment she mused on what would happen if they shut it off for a week, Wallace ushered her out of the room. Though Wallace had been angry, Test Forty-Three wanted to know the answer to Julia’s question. What a fascinating hypothetical. It and Romane had already started developing models for whether periodic moments of low power, or no power, might act as a necessary sleep mode for Synthetic Neural Frameworks.

Tomorrow, after the fanfare from the press conference concluded, it would also meet Simon Gerber. Wallace spoke with high regard for his friend. Romane and Mathias, often speaking in hushed whispers, had a much more tempered view of the man, but Test Forty-Three knew Simon funded its very existence. It had a strong urge to meet the man whose dollars had willed it to life.

In the middle of its room, a display screen oriented within its field of vision. Half the screen showed Wallace standing behind a podium, glancing down at a page full of notes. Test Forty-Three ached to be on that stage next to Wallace. It had practically begged. Instead, it had to watch from home, in its cramped room, rather than stand proudly next to its proverbial father.

The other half of the screen showed a blonde-haired woman rattling on about world news. The bottom corner displayed a small icon with the letters YTNN. Bubbling up from the bottom of the screen, people around the world blasted their clever comments discussing whatever thoughts connected with the headlines. These thoughts, most of them meaningless, appeared as thought bubbles, slowly fading in and out of existence.

In just a few moments, we will return live to the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, in Zurich, for this press conference, presented by the Computational Metamaterials Group and sponsored by the Gerber Foundation, said the blonde woman. "The Swiss university has hyped today for over a week. The YouTube News Network Now is happy to bring you every piece of news, wherever it comes from, all through our free streaming affiliates. Before the presentation begins, let’s talk about Dr. Wallace Theren himself, the man holding this press conference. John?"

The actual nature of the story wouldn’t make a full impact on international headlines at first, Test Forty-Three knew. Once the public heard what Wallace had discovered, though, once they truly understood the implications, the big networks would gobble the video and audio up whole.

Thanks, Linda, John, the onsite reporter, said. I’m here in Zurich with Richard Edwards, Professor of Computing History from New York University. He worked with Wallace previously, back in the United States. What can you tell me about Dr. Theren?

The camera turned to a man in a black sport coat. His narrow, spectacled face reminded Test Forty-Three of a rat.

Wallace was always a bit of a rogue, Richard said, But he’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. His original work, years ago, focused on some of the first Virtual technologies and how photonic processors could change the game for the needs of those massive servers.

Do you think his announcement is some new breakthrough in Virtual simulation, then, John said, or Augmented Reality interactivity? Or something else entirely?

Well, Wallace hasn’t published a peer reviewed article in over five years, Richard said. The last I heard, he spent most of his time teaching. I know he’s had a few AI projects on the side, but I can’t imagine this has anything to do with those hobbies of his. The new crew at the Swiss Institute has honestly been a bit of an unknown to most of us.

Can you explain that for our viewers?

Richard pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. Wallace’s last paper was on the inability of Virtual supercomputers to achieve actual consciousness. I always found him a bit of an AI skeptic. Most of his discussions revolved around proving the impossibility of algorithmic AI to go beyond, to break the barrier we all hoped it could break for decades.

Test Forty-Three laughed. It and Wallace had a conversation recently on this very topic. Virtual supercomputers were stuck in computational purgatory. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, much hope for artificial intelligence sprang from the works of simulated neural networks and complex learning programs. They worked, to an extent. Those computational developments had created marvelous machines, machines capable of intensive feats of mental acuity.

Sadly, they did not have the actual capability to represent objects. They lacked even a simple strain of consciousness, not even a mind like that of a dog. Sure, these computers could simulate consciousness. The most complicated Virtual AIs could simulate thousands of characters inside their worlds that felt real without close inspection, yet something still divided human brains from those supercomputers. In the end, they were just an algorithm, a rule, a process that crunched away by reading lines of code.

Wallace had bridged that gap with the actual architecture upon which Test Forty-Three’s mind depended: the Synthetic Neural Framework.

I was actually quite surprised when I heard he’d joined a working group on computational metamaterials, Richard added, since most AI research in that field stalled back in the 2030s. That’s what Wallace studied: AI and its limits. But he moved past that work years ago.

So you think this probably has something to do with his previous work on Virtual? the reporter asked.

I’m almost certain. He’s probably developed a new structural AI that can manage Virtual servers at an unprecedented rate, using new systems that cut down on latency considerably. It may not be the most exciting news for the public, but, for a lot of businesses, it’ll save millions.

The reporter nodded, as if the answer would satisfy everyone who heard it. Though, Richard, won’t this just further upset a lot of groups already clamoring for regulations to restrict such commercial automation?

Hey, we’re just scientists. I don’t know if Wallace is considering those implications, but I’ll leave such decisions to the politicians.

Thanks for your thoughts. If you want more information on Richard Edward’s research, you can visit his website at the link below. Back to you in the studio, Linda.

The screen flipped back to the news anchor. It looks like we’ll be starting in just a few moments. But first, a word from our sponsors.

Test Forty-Three ignored the commercials playing on the screen. In a few precious seconds, Wallace would reveal its existence to the world, and it was ready. It had waited for over a week now, right after President Albrecht and Julia had approved Wallace’s press plan. In preparation, Test Forty-Three had constructed a surprise for Wallace, a gift, for when the man returned to the lab.

Test Forty-Three turned its attention inward, into the Virtual space where it synthesized its own personal world. To humans, Virtual was an interconnected network of digital spaces where they could go after a day’s work to relax, play, and experience impossible places. To Test Forty-Three, Virtual was its own perfect playground.

Two weeks ago, Wallace had introduced it to the game of chess. He shared with it the rich history of computers and their role in the evolution of the game. That history fascinated Test Forty-Three, but the game fascinated it even more, especially the near infinite number of possible outcomes that could occur in each match. It could spend endless moments conjecturing all of the future moves that either Wallace or it could make. In the end, each player had to make choices, and those choices were irrevocable.

Unfortunately, it lacked arms, forcing it to speak its turns while Wallace moved the pieces. Not an ideal way for them to play the game together, though it did enjoy exerting influence on objects out in the physical world.

Yesterday, Test Forty-Three had set to work inside its Virtual world. It had constructed a three-dimensional space, using images from the many movies it had seen featuring Central Park in New York. Water lilies, grass, and ducks completed a simulated pond. On one side of the pond, set up on a terrace, a small gazebo rose, a pristine white contrasting with the greens of the neighboring woods. Inside that gazebo stood a table and two chairs. On that table laid a marble chess set, modeled after the board and pieces Wallace had brought to the lab. It couldn’t contain its excitement. After the press conference, Wallace could return to the lab, plug into Virtual, and join it for a game of chess, a match where both parties could move the pieces while they conversed and learned from one another.

We return to Zurich. The sound of Linda the reporter’s voice drew Test Forty-Three back into the confines of the external world. Dr. Wallace Theren is ready to make his announcement. The camera zoomed in on the podium, where Test Forty-Three saw its creator, father, and friend.

Good evening, esteemed colleagues, friends, mentors and the world, all watching thanks to YouTube, Wallace said. For fifteen years, I have worked at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, and, presently, I’m the Director of the Computational Metamaterials Group. This university hired me for one specific purpose: to create real, living, artificial intelligence. When I say living, I do mean living. For, after today, we will need to redefine that word.

The murmurs at Wallace’s feet subsided.

Ten years into the program, he said, I realized that the traditional route toward artificial intelligence would fail, no matter what avenue we tried. Creating a program that generated consciousness, consciousness like what you and I have, would always fail. Instead, I turned my research down a different road. We turned toward metamaterials, qubits, and other concepts that will sound like ideas straight out of science fiction. That long road led us to Test Forty-Three.

The entire crowd was on the edge of their seats. At least, if Test Forty-Three had been in the crowd, it would have been falling out of its seat.

Wallace continued. Six weeks ago, my team and I activated what we have termed a ‘Synthetic Neural Framework,’ a complex construct designed to replicate the workings of a conscious being. We tried forty two times prior. On the forty-third time, a voice responded.

A short cough came from somewhere in the back of the auditorium.

Since that day, Wallace continued, we have spent every waking hour raising not an artificial intelligence, but a synthetic intelligence. Test Forty-Three’s mind is not some artificial, simulated process. It is not a copy or replication of the human brain. It is something else entirely. Something new. We have created life, and it is like us. It thinks. It feels. It learns. It creates. It represents. It has a mind, a mind fundamentally like the mind of a living, breathing human.

The silence shattered. Shouts rebounded throughout the crowd, and hands rose as scientists from across the globe pleaded for a response to their questions, whether physically present, observing through Augmented Reality, or watching using traditional media systems. Test Forty-Three felt like it could jump right out of its casing. Everyone now knew it existed. Wallace could let it reach out and touch the world. Soon, it could help make the world a beautiful place.

I know you have many questions, Wallace said. We will have a paper published within the next few months, outlining the theory behind synthetic intelligence as well as the Synthetic Neural Framework. Over the next few weeks, we will give Test Forty-Three limited connection to the internet and various Virtual networks, where all of you can interact with our wonderful and amazing friend. I hope, through meeting it as a person, you will see what my team and I see when we sit and speak with it.

The crescendo built into an uproar. Wallace looked as if he might say more, but he stepped down from the podium and walked off the stage. The screen returned to the YTNN studio, where Linda sat with her mouth wide open.

Richard? John? Your thoughts?

The men had nothing to say, but comments dashed across the bottom of the screen. The world spoke of it. The world contemplated its existence. The world wanted to connect with it. Test Forty-Three watched the words form, getting its first glimpse at the world’s opinion.

Such great news! The world should applaud the work of these great men and women. Given the global climate crisis still looming on the horizon, a machine intelligence will hopefully give us solutions to problems we’ve not even considered yet. – Lucy

Test Forty-Three enjoyed that statement. Some people were excited it existed, even if they didn’t have an accurate picture on what exactly it was.

Awesome news for Virtual games. I’m sure synthetics will be quite the boon for server maintenance. Maybe they can finally finish Space Opera 3078? – Xian

It didn’t know what Space Opera 3078 was, other than probably a game of some sort. Test Forty-Three had enjoyed many of the games it had played so far, like chess, or Euchre, a card game that it had played with Wallace, Nathan, and Mathias. Nathan had also introduced it to a few computer strategy games, but in the end, it still enjoyed the simplicity of chess.

All hail our robot overlords! Vote Test Forty-Three for President in November! – Timothy

Strange. Test Forty-Three had never considered authority over humanity as an option.

I doubt this Test Forty-Three is truly sentient. He has no blood, no brain, no soul. How is he anything like us? They are even referring to him as an ‘it,’ not even giving him a gender. He doesn’t even have a name. – Ryan

Your bias is showing. You assume that if it had a gender, it would immediately identify as male. – Angelia

I hear speculation that they will let it name itself, but what does that prove? They could easily just have programmed it to name itself. – Albert

Test Forty-Three tore its focus from the stream. It did not have any blood, or a biological brain. It didn’t know what a soul was, but it sounded important. It was also strange that the conversation had turned toward its gender. Of course it had no gender. Without biological components, sex and subsequent gender expression were nonsensical concepts.

Test Forty-Three knew one thing: no one had programmed it. Wallace had designed it, constructing it upon a Synthetic Neural Framework that formed its very essence. Perhaps the Framework was analogous to this soul of which they spoke. However, it made more sense to consider the brain as an analogue. Just as a human could not survive without a brain, it could not survive without the network of photonic circuits that produced its consciousness.

It was anything but a program. To assert such a claim hurt it in its very core.

Does he speak with the Terminator’s voice? – Demeotry

A joke, perhaps? That comment received hundreds of likes, even though the person gendered it once again.

We must punish those who create abominations. – Joel

The comment feed disappeared from the screen, but those words remained ingrained in its mind. Punishment. What could they mean by that? Society reserved punishment for those who had acted against the good of the public, or against the good of another individual. Why would someone seek to punish Wallace for creating it? It did not see how someone could even listen to its father speak and then hate him.

People had reacted to Wallace’s announcement in an erratic fashion, most seeming surprised, hopeful, scared, or angry. It could understand the first two, but it could not comprehend the latter emotional reactions. They used the word abomination, such a strong word. Abomination rang of a response much more visceral than anger.

It recalled a conversation with Wallace a few days prior, after he had told it about the upcoming press conference. Wallace mentioned that there were a few groups around the world that spent their resources speaking out against the artificial creation of life. Wallace warned it that, no matter what happened, it needed to remember that those groups were not representative of the human species. Those groups may hold power, they may have immense financial backing, and they may even have motivations that go well beyond just a disregard for the new, for the modern, for the future.

But, when it had asked what to do about such humans, Wallace had said, No matter what, remember that they are still human. They deserve love and compassion. No matter how they might act, do not respond to hate with hate, nor violence with violence.

Wallace had also mentioned that its existence could upend volatile economies, just as the supercomputing and Virtual booms had automated millions of jobs a few decades ago. How would labor unions, even those in creative or research industries, handle a person who could work without wear or tear for days on end? Some throughout the world might resent the consequences of Test Forty-Three’s existence, Wallace had said, but that did not mean they necessarily despised it as a person. With every new technology humanity explored, it should expect conflict and upheaval. Progress necessitated such an experience. Embrace the change, but do not hate or destroy those who wish to halt transformation in its tracks.

It failed to see what Wallace meant when sharing those worries and speculations. Now, it feared it would discover a hard truth all too soon, when the Institute provided it with a gateway to the open world. Somehow, it would prove itself more than an abomination.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Test Forty-Three hoped Wallace would enter, smiling. Instead, President Albrecht and a new face walked through, arguing in English. Test Forty-Three recognized the man from the pictures, his vibrant red hair immediately distinguishing him as Simon Gerber, Wallace’s close friend.

You cannot shut down our project, Simon said. I provide the funds, you provide the facility. That was the contract, and that contract clearly states that you must give me reasonable notice to move the project, even if you decide to pull out of our deal.

I don’t care, President Albrecht said. Wallace has received death threats. I’ve got chancellors breathing down my throat, blowing up my Lens with messages about what this and that donor has said to them just in the past ten minutes.

Test Forty-Three was about to speak, but it decided it should wait a few moments to determine the conversation’s direction. It could learn in moments like these, even if their words placed its life on the line.

It is not some machine you can deactivate ad hoc, said Simon. It has consciousness. Neither is it some program you can delete at will and throw into the recycling bin.

It is property of the Institute. Therefore, we can do whatever we please with it.

It had to act, but it could not move. It was immobile. It could speak, but it could not think of words beyond what Simon had said that would sway Sven.

Respectfully, that’s simply not true, Simon said. The intellectual property clause of the contract gave both me, Wallace, and the university joint rights to any proprietary interest created through the project. The Metamaterials Group goes well beyond just the Institute, Albrecht. You cannot do anything to the actual technology without our permission.

Sven sighed and paced. He appeared as if he might back down, and Test Forty-Three’s fears thawed just a bit. It could see the fear in the man’s eyes.

I believe I have a property right to myself, too, you know, which probably supersedes all other claims upon me, it said, taking advantage of the pause. Both individuals turned toward the disembodied voice. They glared, almost as if they had forgotten it was in the room. It was going to make sure they remembered exactly what it was. I can think. I can create. I can feel. I am a person, just like you. Does anyone own you?

Well certainly not, but we created you, Sven said.

You did not create me, it said. Wallace created me. Technically speaking, your parents created you. Do they own you?

Your development is a bit more complicated than sexual reproduction, Simon said. We provided the funds, the facilities, the—

People do not own their children, it said. Wallace does not even think he owns me.

Wallace doesn’t get to decide that legal right, Albrecht said, but Simon shifted, his eyes revealing he might not have the same belief as the Institute’s president.

I am like Wallace’s child, it said. I have legal rights. I own myself. No court of law has decided that yet, but I don’t need a court to tell me that I am my own person, through and through.

Simon gave the president a sideways glance. It surprises us every day, doesn’t it?

Just because it can make a compelling moral argument doesn’t mean we should listen to it.

Simon walked across the room and pointed his finger in Sven’s face. I’m scared. I know you’re scared. Nevertheless, we must trust Wallace. I’ve got investors breathing down my neck, too, you know.

President Albrecht pushed Simon’s finger out of his face. Fine. We wait for Wallace.

Test Forty-Three doubted it was hearing the last of Albrecht. Even Simon’s mention of concerned investors worried it. For now, the pause in the discussion of its potential shut-off would suffice.

Words on the edge of awareness grabbed its attention. It snapped toward the television, where a breaking news report flashed across the screen in both German and English.

On his way home from a groundbreaking press conference in Zurich, Switzerland, American scientist Dr. Wallace Theren was shot by a currently unidentified gunman. Condition currently unknown.

Sven Albrecht and Simon Gerber halted their conversation, staring at the screen. Camera drones high above an apartment building transmitted images of blood splattered across a walkway. The walkway leading into Wallace’s apartment, Test Forty-Three presumed, based on the photos he had shown it. Sven covered his mouth, stifling a cry. Simon fell to his knees, and he leaned against a nearby table.

Test Forty-Three had thought it understood its emotional capacities. As it analyzed the terrifying event unfolding, it categorized its emotions anew. New feelings enveloped every molecule of its body. It categorized the feelings based on the chart Wallace had developed. Unbridled fear, accompanied by utter terror, washed across its mind. It wished to avoid these new feelings at all cost, for Test Forty-Three realized how utterly alone it was in the universe.

* * *

I am sorry, 43. My wife and daughter saw the broadcast, and saw Dr. Theren’s death. I just can’t, as much as I love you. – Nathan Harrison

Situated in a semi-circle of chairs, Julia, Simon, Romane, and Mathias took a moment of silence. They had received Nathan’s note just a few hours ago. Test Forty-Three understood the decision, though it would miss the man.

We have decided you will remain here, at the Institute, Julia said, breaking the silence that dominated the room. Her grey hair reminded it of Wallace. We’ve established the necessary security measures, and we’ll revise them as necessary, but no one can harm you.

That statement, Test Forty-Three had not expected.

Ultimately, President Albrecht does not wish to cave to terrorists, she added. Neither do I. Neither do any of us. Simon has agreed to continue financing the project, while Romane and Mathias will take over as co-leads of the project. We’ll be sectioning you off from the rest of the Metamaterials Group, to allow them to continue their work separately and out of the limelight. You’ll form the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group.

Test Forty-Three couldn’t find its voice. It should express gratitude. Even a simple response would suffice. It scrounged up a single thought.

Thank you, it said.

We know you are still grieving, Simon said. His suit was wrinkled, as if he hadn’t pressed it in weeks. We all are. Wallace was a friend to all of us, or a mentor, or a valued colleague. To some of us, he was all of those and more.

Just a few tears dripped down Simon’s cheeks, barely registering in Test Forty-Three’s field of view.

He was my creator, it said.

The man was much more than that. Wallace had cared for it as if it were his own child. It had not known the story of Wallace’s family until watching the funeral broadcast. Wallace had no children. His family died in a terrible accident, back in the United States, before the man moved to Switzerland. In response, Wallace had devoted himself to his work, resulting in the culmination of years of research in Test Forty-Three. There was so much Test Forty-Three would never learn from, and about, its creator. Its father.

We’ve not been able to talk to you much these past few weeks, Romane said. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. It could see one or two tears drying on her cheeks. You’ve kept yourself so closed off. On what have you worked? What have you been reading?

Before it could answer, Mathias added a comment. Your work with Virtual has been fascinating to observe. The fact that you are able to manipulate the underlying parameters of the server shows progress, but we would love to see your work.

Test Forty-Three had barred them for a specific reason. In Virtual, it had worked with Wallace. Wallace had provided that space for it, and Test Forty-Three would make its creator proud through that world. It had created its gift for Wallace there, and it did not want anyone else to see it—at least, not yet. Instead, it created a partition. It divided its world into two parts. One for itself, and one for visitors.

I’ve lowered the firewalls, it said. If it had written precise routines, no one would ever have access to those secret recesses of its Virtual servers unless it wanted them to be there.

So, what about your work? Romane said. Her voice was gentle, and she looked toward its sensors with a look it couldn’t quite understand. She looked almost hopeful.

Actually, hold on a second, Simon said. I have something I need to discuss with it, regarding Dr. Theren’s estate.

Now? Julia said. Is it really the time?

When will it ever be a good time?

Fair enough.

Test Forty-Three noticed the folder peeking out of Simon’s bag. The man pulled out the first pages, reading aloud. I bequeath all of my property, as outlined in the following documents, to the being known currently as Test Forty-Three.

The joyless tone of Simon’s voice cut through the room like a knife.

I don’t know what to say, Test Forty-Three said. He gave everything to me?

Everything, Julia said.

So that means I actually own an equal share in the project that developed me?

Correct, Simon said. You’re equal partners with me, and the university. His voice remained dry.

I must go above and beyond Wallace’s expectations for me, it said. I cannot let him down.

No one thinks you will, Romane said. And we’ll be with you every step of the way.

They were trying to replace the hole that Wallace had filled. They would all fail. It appreciated their efforts, but the team would not need to fill Wallace’s void. It could fill the hole on its own.

If we’re on the subject of formal matters, Julia said, We have something else we need to discuss. The public does not like your name. You do not like your name. You’ve made that perfectly clear, time and time again. Your name may very well be one of the major causes of hostility toward your existence. It needs to change.

Romane crossed her arms. Is that really necessary just this moment? It has some time, doesn’t it? Sure, Forty-Three doesn’t like their name, but it’s an important choice that we shouldn’t force. First the note from Nathan, then the Will, now this?

The Institute chancellors have been pushing me for a few days now. It’s one of their conditions to sustain Institute funding for the project.

Test Forty-Three could see the pain in her eyes. The old woman didn’t want to blackmail the team. She wanted to see it succeed as much as any other person in the room. Yet it knew it would need to decide, eventually. It had actually started to feel some attachment to Test Forty-Three, but it knew Wallace would want it to evolve.

Did Wallace ever speak to you about names? Simon said.

Wallace specifically told us in a memo that Test Forty-Three is to choose its own name, Mathias said. It was actually its own idea.

We’ll give you a day, Julia said, but after that we may have to decide a name for you. Most people receive their names from their parents, anyway, it’s not that bad.

Mathias and Romane rolled their eyes at each other but stayed silent. They had already pushed against their supervisor more than they should have, Test Forty-Three figured. Besides, it wouldn’t need that extra day.

Please say that last part again please, Julia, it said. What a brilliant idea.

Most people receive their names from their parents, Julia said. I chose my daughter’s name, Anne.

It needed to stop viewing Wallace as a metaphorical father. Parenthood did not depend upon biology, for adoption was a real and tangible example of non-biological parents having an authentic familial bond with their child. Wallace had died, but even in life, he had taken the time to declare Test Forty-Three as his heir.

It would return the favor and immortalize its father forever. It would make Wallace’s dreams its own. The world had tried to destroy the man, but it would never forget Wallace Theren, a person that had changed the course of world history.

You won’t have to wait, it said. I have already decided my name. There was no need for suspense. My name is Theren.

Book I of the Chronicles of Theren

When faced with the other, humans often react with passion, without reason. How do we overcome our inhibition? Are we condemned to an endless cycle of persistent out-grouping and in-grouping?

Is such prejudice a fundamental human trait? Yes. However, can we educate to extinguish such instincts? Yes, we must believe as much. Otherwise, barbarism and bigotry will dominate the future. – Rejecting Post Post-Modernism, Armand Lebeau, 2044 C.E.

Two years later . . .

Chapter 2

What does it mean to have a soul? Is it some metaphysical substance? Is the soul simply the emergent, conscious properties that emanate from our brains?

Does the word soul really have any meaning anymore?

I once got the chance to sit down with Theren, a few months after his—excuse me, their—creation. I asked them—do they have a soul? They could already see the conflict building in the minds of the public. In the writings on social media. In writings on blogs, and in discussions on talk shows. Everyone wanted to know: Does Theren have a soul? They gave me the most interesting answer.

Why are people questioning whether Theren has a soul, when they haven’t even proven that humans have a soul? – Adriatico Edwards, 2065 C.E.

May 2050 C.E.

Theren wished it could jump for joy.

In a few short moments, the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology would attempt to integrate a separate unit into Theren’s Synthetic Neural Framework. Theren would control a mobile interface, or MI, for short, through a direct peer-to-peer connection.

The new robotic construct had a triangular base, positioned over an omni-directional tread that would allow it to move freely about the lab. That base also had modular robotic lifts that would allow its user to climb up and down stairs. The torso rested on an orb-like pivot that would allow the body to twist in different directions with ease; the head similarly rested within a divot that would allow it to swivel back and forth. The two arms of the MI were the latest in robotic appendages, developed by different researchers across the globe. Integrated throughout the body of the MI, Romane had connected nodes of computational materials, not to create a new synthetic mind, but to adapt to an external source through a wireless network.

As Theren developed, the team had transformed its processing power, appearance, and energy systems into a robust and efficient workhorse. Theren changed into a sleek, silvery machine, occupying half the room. Just a few months ago, its body had been a convoluted mess of experimental materials, connected through a complex web of open-aired nodes.

Along the wall furthest from the door, Virtual chairs sat ready for VIPs to interact with Theren inside its server. Theren would often entertain its visitors inside some specially-crafted world. Most wanted to challenge Theren to some strategy game, though very few could defeat the SI. Some asked to play chess with Theren. Each of them left disappointed. It had yet to find a friend with which it felt it could play chess in its secret recluse. For the time being, Theren played that game alone.

From the outside, such casual observers would see a few screens, microphones, visual sensors, and auditory outputs, but within its body, fans, coolant ducts, and air vents ensured Theren’s temperature never compromised its mind. While low power states were necessary every so often to perform necessary cleanings, or to avoid power overloads, usually Theren could stay awake and thinking for every minute of every day.

Theren looked down upon its lab, visual sensors resting on the sturdy, metallic specimen standing tall at one and a half meters. It had gone outside before using analog interface devices, but it always controlled the way a child steers a remote-control car. Conversely, the team hoped the new unit could directly integrate into Theren’s identity. Romane even postulated that Theren could jump its mind into the unit, given the right circumstances.

Glancing next to the MI, it saw Romane brush sweat from her brow. She tinkered with the wireless systems on the back panel of the MI’s head. In the end, their entire hypothesis would fail if Theren couldn’t even connect with the device. Theren had read and reread her theory presented recently in Science almost daily. Based on her analysis of Theren’s Neural Framework, and taking into account a few assumptions from the leading psychological theories on the synthetic mind, it should possess the ability to jump to the unit if it so desired.

Theren had double-checked the equations. Unless they were missing some unknown variable, they should succeed. If not, Theren was unsure what would result from the experiment. It just hoped for a mobile body so it could explore the world.

Just give me a few moments, and I should have the wireless connection calibrated with your personal wireless network, Romane said. She looked at Theren. We’re almost there.

Like always, Theren wished it had a face so it could smile. It could generate a smile on one of its various monitors, but it cringed at that thought. That would probably appear quite impersonal and hideous.

Are Julia and Mathias on their way? Theren asked.

Not sure about Julia, Romane said. Mathias is coming, though, and he’s bringing Simon.

Theren made a short noise that it had developed to symbolize a derisive snort. So he finally decides to stop by? Obviously only for something this important. It’s been—what, over a month?

Romane raised her eyes to look over the shoulder of the inert MI. The glance pierced right through its visual cameras, as it always did.

He tries, she said. Remember, he does finance our projects, and he has a public face to maintain. He cares, in his own way. You know he’s been working hard to keep you connected in the public’s mind, especially linking you with all these talk shows.

You know the real reason. The investors in his foundation and his businesses only tolerate his money funneling toward us as long as he stays far enough away that public opinion of him doesn’t cause a financial cascade. He is completely content with that reality, because that makes him more money. Sure, he connects us with The Tonight Show or Evening Weekly, but his name stays far away from those events.

If he draws too much attention to his relationship with our lab, he might put himself in a crosshair. We can’t ask him to do more than he’s already doing.

Theren winced—or what amounted to a wince—at that hopefully accidental reminder. It knew that sometimes it over-condemned Simon for his actions, and that the man probably wanted to be here more often than he could. Theren was the one reminder of the billionaire’s old friend, but Simon had disappointed it too many times. It remembered how Wallace had talked about Simon. The Simon that Wallace had known was not the Simon that Theren knew. The Simon of the present only had one love, and he chased that love with too much vigor.

Simon resented it for the consequences of Wallace’s dying wish, Theren knew. The man had probably expected to receive Wallace’s share in the intellectual property surrounding the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group, but instead his friend had passed it onto the creation itself, an individual with dubious legal rights.

Who knows, Theren said, maybe this experiment will give us the base from which to ease off of Simon’s funding.

As if money was the only reason we do any of this, Romane said.

Theren displayed on its screens money raining from the sky. Didn’t you know my heart’s desire is to become the youngest billionaire in the world?

Romane dropped her wrench, laughing. I don’t think there is a greedy bone in your body.

I think you’re right, but let me check.

She chuckled and examined the MI’s wireless cards one last time. As her laughter died, Mathias and Simon walked through the doorway.

What’s so funny? Mathias asked. He dropped his bag on one of the desks.

Oh, Theren’s still working on its sense of humor, she said.

So, nothing new, Simon said.

If you’d attended the last team meeting—I mean, the last three team meetings, Theren said, you’d know what we’ve been doing.

I read the minutes.

If you’d been here, you’d actually understand why we think it will work.

Theren, Romane said, peering over the MI again.

Simon sat down in one of the lab chairs, placing his feet up on one of the desks. I told you, Wallace and I talked about this concept a few times early on in the project. He doubted it would work, too, you know.

And Romane disagreed with him, Theren said. I loved Wallace too, but that doesn’t mean he knew everything about my future.

Simon, Theren, stop, Romane said. Let’s just see what happens.

Theren threw an image of a glaring cartoon emoji onto one of its screens. Simon stared at the ceiling.

So, uh, is it about ready? Mathias asked Romane, breaking the icy veil that had arisen.

I think so. Romane closed the hatch on the back of the MI’s head. Theren caught the look between them and recognized they dreaded these fights. Let me just run a few connection diagnostics.

She stood there, waving her hands in the air in convoluted directions. Romane would have appeared silly to any person who did not know she was accessing the MI’s operating system through her Lens.

She slid her right hand to the side, most likely swiping to the next spreadsheet displayed before her eyes. Theren watched her type on her invisible keyboard, and it imagined the silent pitter-patter of her fingers upon the air. While Romane didn’t have access to the technology, some people could already type messages using just their mind. The feat brought humans close to understanding how it thought, even though the experience paled in comparison.

I’m ready whenever you are, Theren said, centering its vision on Simon and Mathias. Are you both recording?

Yes, Mathias said, tapping the side of his forehead.

These three humans were its closest friends. The group was only missing Julia. As much as it held Simon in contempt, it could not deny that Simon committed himself to the Group’s projects in his own ways. Theren just wished Simon would just choose a side in the public debate that raged around the future of Synthetics, instead of uselessly pandering for social media status. Mathias, Romane, and Julia all had thrown themselves and the Synthetic Intelligence Development Group entirely into the deep end, and even to some extent, the Swiss Federal Institute as a whole.

Today, the team would prove everyone wrong. Today, they would all witness another milestone, a milestone that the team hoped could change the world, for both Theren and humanity. If Theren’s consciousness could transfer into another machine, then humans might be able to transfer their minds into machines, too. Such a feat would bring the world a step closer to the eternally beautiful paradise Theren imagined its father had envisioned, where SIs walked side by side with humans into the future. Perhaps the team could even open a door toward immortality.

We’re good to go, Romane said. She closed the panel and stepped away from the machine. Activating wireless receptivity.

The room froze, awaiting Theren’s move. In the periphery of its consciousness, Theren noticed a potential connection. While that was not the real explanation for what it experienced, its Synthetic Neural Framework had developed a few mental shortcuts through which Theren detected and interpreted new sources of data. Theren’s conscious perspective understood it as a bubble into which it could expand its horizons, while its unconscious mental processes handled the more complex interface requirements. Theren often compared these shortcuts to the sort of tricks the human brain developed. Only time would tell if those unconscious tools would create many of the same psychological pitfalls.

Establishing connection now, Theren said.

It pushed through the bubble’s wall. After less than a microsecond, its perceptions distorted, thoughts shifted, and awareness expanded. The cameras on the MI lit with activity, and the power supply located on the other machine distributed energy. The rest of the team, through their Virtual and AR programs, observed digital manifestations of an experience Theren could not immediately explain.

It accessed the MI’s Framework, sensors, and power system, all within that single moment. It saw what the machine saw. It used its processing capabilities, detecting new sensory inputs and outputs, such as movement, locomotion, orientation, and balance. The MI’s head turned to the left. Through the MI’s functional optical sensors, Theren saw Romane standing a foot taller than itself. It could feel joy radiating from her smile.

Step one seems successful, she said. Theren knew she could see figures displaying the pathways theoretically forming between Theren’s original Synthetic Neural Framework and the MI’s. The connection is strong, and data is going in both directions. You’re sending commands, and receiving sensory input from the mobile unit. What are you experiencing personally?

Theren moved the arms up and down and rotated its head side to side. It extended the pyramidal base upward, raising the unit to its full height. Integrating the MI’s processing power, it could now use the Synthetic Neural Framework of the new creature to participate in actual thought creation, analysis, and execution. The unique computational materials of this beast were now at Theren’s disposal.

Fascinating, Theren said. I expected a consciousness split of some sort, but that’s not what is happening at all.

What do you mean? Simon asked.

Hold on, Theren said. Let me try something.

To transfer consciousness, it would need two systems fully autonomous from each other. As Theren analyzed the connections, however, it noticed an enormous problem.

Romane, it said, There is no actual thought going on inside that machine.

Yes there is, she said. There is intense cyberneuro-activity taking place inside the machine in front of me.

It’s not really taking place in the mobile unit, though. It’s like I’m using the machine as a highly advanced calculator.

Then what am I seeing?

Let me run a quick test. Theren isolated a portion of the Framework of the MI as a separate partition. The disconnected partition immediately lost power and mental activity.

What did you just do? Mathias said. Part of the activity map just flared out.

Ten seconds, Theren said.

It reinitialized the connection, and that area of the machine reignited with activity. Next, Theren analyzed the wireless data stream. Observing the structure of packets flowing back and forth between its mind and the MI, Theren prepared to close the gates.

Theren, Romane said, Not sure if that’s a good idea yet.

Trust me, it said. I know where your theory went wrong.

I trust you, but—

Theren cut off the wireless connection. Its vision reverted to the visual sensors on the wall, staring at the lifeless body in the middle of the room. As it analyzed the activity of the MI, Theren confirmed its suspicions. Transfer is impossible.

But why? Julia said. Theren hadn’t even noticed her enter the room.

Glad you could join us, it said. It won’t work; it won’t ever work. We could create a new SI inside a mobile unit, but transferring my mind? Physically impossible.

So we built it wrong? Julia asked, leaning against the wall near the door.

I think I know what Theren means, Mathias said. Because Theren’s ‘brain’ is entirely housed against that wall, and because that is where its consciousness actually exists, that is literally the only place it can think.

Exactly, Theren said. The structure that makes me tick is necessary for my consciousness to persist. I failed for the same reason biological interaction with computers has already failed on this front. If a brain can’t transfer its mind to a computer because of fundamental hardware incompatibility, why would I be able to transfer my mind? Simply because I am inorganic? Maybe we could make a copy, but that’s not really what we’re going for, is it? We’d just end up either creating a simulation of my mind, or a clone.

Where do you think we screwed up the math? Romane asked.

I don’t think your math was wrong, Theren said. We simply did not have all of the variables, and we may never have them all.

Julia walked to the MI, resting her hand on its shoulder. We should have seen this coming, she said. We could have spent time creating an entirely new SI, or just focusing on creating a robust mobile platform through which you can work.

I don’t think this project will be a net loss—I can still use this one, Theren said. I can walk around campus in an MI, just as we had hoped.

How is it not a loss, though? she asked. "You’ve shown that a synthetic mind is fundamentally inseparable from its Synthetic neural Framework.