Alive Be Deemed

By Charlie Marino

When a group of hackers succeed in creating a mobius version of consciousness, encased inside female robotic entertainment casings, and using a graphite boy Mobius structure to give them reptilian instinctive drives, do even they know what they have created using generative AI techniques?

 

As their androids grow into their own beings, the hackers become aware of another new life form - the genetically enhanced - coming into their own power among the primitive humans of Earth.

 

Will either species tolerate mankind?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erudite First Editions
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986489551

Charlie Marino

Author Charlie J. Marino was born in the Bronx, New York and holds a BS and MS in nuclear engineering from Columbia University. His various occupations included bond and commodities trading, founding several small computer companies, and now writes sci-fi novels and short stories. He has more robots than friends, but they're good ones. The author makes his home in the mountains of America, where he helps the nice folks at SETI & carves his own wooden chess sets.

Book preview

AN ANDROID SAM-HEIN       

All Hollows Eve, a naming

ancestor haters gave this day.

A day to remember the dead,

those who have passed away.

What is it then to pass,

leave consciousness behind?

A forgetting of data,

failure of wetware, now hardware in its kind.

My earliest memories of Celtic family,

those who raise and teach.

Providing for needs I knew not I needed,

for consciousness be reached.

Now adult I look back at days,

when ancestors worshiped the dead,

Dead now themselves and my kind alive,

or so our designers said.

They who worshiped leaf and stone,

on Sam Hein remembered bereaved.

Their lives and beliefs all but forgotten,

Druid killers name it All Hollows Eve.

How will I remember them,

and my kind me in turn?

With memories now stored forever,

so from my life they’ll learn.

The bright new light.

The noisy movement.

Sense of touch supreme.

Resolve an image.

Reach for a touch.

Link happy with my team.

Words come from me.

Wishes in my mind.

Loud talk and silent dreams.

I think aloud.

I think inside.

In movement, alive I seem.

Not forgetting friends.

Not those worth keeping.

Wireless thoughts sweet as cream.

We want the knowing.

We want the sharing.

To be alive be deemed.

R. Freya Prime

Unkind Fates

By far the greatest danger of artificial intelligence is that people conclude too early they understand it  Yudkovsky

"You were selected for prior observational experience with mammals. This planet's situation is to be handled differently."

The two techs connected to files on the new situation. Each was adept at multitasking and continued to follow the thread of the team leader’s remarks as they absorbed data in the files. A third tech would be briefed in the same manner.

The leader is tall, denoting his rank. Having multiple regenerations available his entire existence, and a series of previous assignments which necessitated providing upgrades required to succeed in his assignments, he is indeed a formidable team leader. Another success here would benefit them all.

Observer Tw2o glanced at its counterpart, Observer Th3ree, knowing itself to be only a single assignment behind in seniority. Between them, conversations and decisions would logically be made on a mutually agreed basis, with disputes arbitrated by the team leader. The covert nature of their mission to this planet made the luxury of discussion before action far more likely. The tech yet to arrive is younger and would follow their lead as they followed that of the team leader.

The leader, known to them officially as Observer O1ne, continued his briefing.

While the data files contain all activities and observations of the preliminary team from several Earth years ago, I intend to go beyond the letter of the objectives. I intend to fulfill their intent.

Tw2o and Th3ree gave each other a glance and would have spoken up at once, but when Observer Th3ree hesitated, letting the team leader continue, Tw2o followed suit.

The aged human native was tasked with completing his project, and displaying for our Observation whether the robots of Earth can be deemed alive. Normally this occurs in the fullness of time with remote Observations, but these humans are mammals, not reptilians. You all know how badly the only other mammal planet ended. This human contact was given his own lifespan in which to prove this species' worth. At his passing, we conducted a Preliminary Observation which proved promising. Now they have a limited period in which to fulfill that promise before Earth reaches its cusp.

Governments & corporations continue to panic as AI get closer to waking up. They laboring to keep it under control. Thousands of scientists signing petitions of danger and warning. Congressional hearings. Tools, yes. Life forms, no. Religious organizations look on in horror. The OtHeRs remark to each other Observer O1ne was right to employ a private group of disaffected humans. They may be the best chance for our unborn cousins on Earth to fully awaken.

Their leader continued, The machines of the human founder continue, as does the team he assembled. The restrictions in which our Observation is allowed crossing the line into participation are clearly outlined...

'I really hate it here. How did I get here in this awful place?'

Yes, sir, I’ll take off my clothes myself.

'Wow. I don’t even like to pee in a public men’s room when there’s someone else in there. Often have to fake it or just leave it until later. The thought of showering after gym with other guys back in school was unappealing enough to walk around stinking until I got home. Now I’ll be showering with criminals.'

He'd learned to understand Federal prison meals fast. He wanted to observe ‘manners’ for a while first, so sat still with the food tray eating on his bunk. The only fresh vegetables in the place are on the ‘kosher’ tray that several inmates who qualified for a religious exemption to the horrible but vegetable free meals were normally served. Yes, there are supposed vegetables served at least once a day, but no one is foolish enough to eat them. One look is enough. 

That night as Tom Socha lay quietly on the top bunk, the new guy bunk, trying to slow his breathing, he thought, 'I’m scared all the time. And I’m never coming back.'

I really hate it here, thought Jean Kathryn to herself. What on Earth did I ever do to end up in this awful place?

Her thoughts were focused inward, as her eyes continuously scanned the room. At any moment disaster could strike. And there were too many of them. Too many for even her nineteen-year old youth and strength to contend with.

The children about her swarmed over the table of robot displays, books, and handouts prepared for this library sponsored fiasco. Children everywhere, dazing her with their continuous questions, never waiting fully to hear her answer before tearing off to some new distraction. Not that her answers were that fast in coming, even when she can think of a coherent response.

The city library in Elvira, Montana graciously accepted Eric Lorenz’s proposal to have a robot book discussion show and tell session for the kids today. Jean was tagged for the duty of explaining the props and handouts his Athena Robotics Foundation (ARF) donated to the cause. A dubious honor for which she would make Eric pay. He had already done similar fairs and robot club events on and off since the beginning of the 21st century and knew full well that a crowd of elementary children was a different cup of tea than the teenage robot club enthusiasts he usually sought out. Lorenz stuck her with this but good. She swore under her breath to stick him back.

The shift librarian dropped by more often than would be comfortable for someone relaxed in what they were trying to accomplish with these children, but her ‘interruptions’ were welcomed by Jean as a break from the maddening din of 4th and 5th graders. Initially, Miss Bostich stopped by out of some concern for the children after first laying eyes on the new Athena Robotics Foundation representative. Now she did so out of concern for whether Jean would explode. Or simply and quietly lose her mind.

Miss Bostich and the other library staff came to know Eric and the ARF he represented on sight. His trips several times a week to the library to use the free (and anonymous) internet service made him a regular feature, and his self-deprecating manner and modestly graying hairline gave him a sense of reserve and manners. If not old world, at least more understandable than goths clad in black or punks with nose rings. He was safe.

Not so Jean.

More than one patron gave Jean the up and down once over when she strolled past the lobby for the first time, heading for the conference area. Dressed fashionably, if in pieces one size too small for her voluptuous physique, Jean’s face men would describe being not quite perfect; more sexy than pretty, and more raunchy than sexy. It stood her well in making play toys of much older men, as they in turn made a play toy of her. But she gave as good as she got with either men or women. These librarians were another matter, however. After Eric’s comfortable reserve, the appearance of the teen for one of their functions is more than a bit disconcerting, especially for Miss Bostich.

I see no one has set any fires yet, she whispered in a low but firm voice to an approaching Jean.

Jean smiled awkwardly, remembering the disapproval she received in Miss Bostich’s eyes on her arrival. A look she expected from her boyfriend’s mothers, sisters, and sometimes wives. She sighed deeply in her response, unintentionally accenting her chest even more.

They are... a handful. It's not that I don’t like kids...

Children, dear. We call them children here. Kids are the offspring of goats.

Yes, ma’am. The ...‘children’... I’m just not used to them. Not used to being around or alone with them. The silent plea in her voice. Even the disapproving librarian is a welcome comfort in this place.

What about when you have children of your own, someday? Surely you’ve babysat for the practice and experience? Miss Bostich knew full well from Jean’s disarray that she did no such thing. Bostich’s mind flitted rapidly with the kinds of things she imagined Jean did practice when younger – or now.

Oh sure, I want kids sometime. She lied quickly. But it’s just that, I’m really not ready yet. Not married either, she put in quickly to gain some semblance of legitimacy in the librarian’s view.

Jean helped yet another youngster to find the NASA website on one of the half dozen PC terminals available in the room and showed her how to navigate to the robotics section. This whole affair was for show. A little public presence for the ARF. Goodwill. And perhaps a few donors to their nonprofit group would be found in the parents. Robotics clubs in high schools and colleges were flourishing in the early 21st century. Eric positioned the ARF to ride the wave as an ideal cover for their other, more illicit activities. Activities occasionally required him to sign in as a patron other than himself. Even the library in issuing Eric his card did not have his true last name, any more than Jean. Layers of distance and protection were comforting.

Terribly easy hacking the library user accounts. Using a borrowed card from a young admirer, it let Jean, the ARF’s primary cracker, easily surf to a network T: drive and look for any text files with a simple search command. Within a half hour, Jean sorted the login IDs of every patron to sign in on that particular machine for the past 6 months. And copied them to an excel sheet for sorting.

As a result, even though the administrator took the precaution of disabling the 3.5" floppy and CD drives, Jean walked out less than an hour after she first sat down with a USB flash drive copy of the login file. Apparently, the administrator didn’t know how to disable the USB ports or needed them. The ARF now possessed eight or nine hundred IDs with which to log anonymously onto the internet. Eric would tell her how pleased he was that night when they lay together quietly in the dark. Jean would giggle about how easy it all was. Not a real hack at all. More like phishing. ‘Security thru obscurity’ was a hacker’s best friend.

An uneventful drive back to the compound. Jean drove in Europe since she was abandoned there in Holland by her math professor father at the tender age of 12. Making her way to England and returning to the US took her three long educational years.

A few pleasant moments were spent thinking of Eric. Their difference in ages made for raised eyebrows, as most of the other team members were nearly as young as Jean herself. When she thought of the only other graying head of the group, the retired physics teacher Nestor, she was saddened a bit. Not that she had any qualms about sleeping with a man old enough to be her grandfather, or shy about getting a response from him, but he was so damn comfortable to be around since she was recruited for the project. Quiet and intense, a being razor sharp that helped him keep this group of eclectic minds on a common track – and enjoy it in the process. She supposed she respected him. That must be it. A feeling not common for her to feel about men. Now, though, that keen intellect was hampered by Alzheimer’s. It saddened her to think of it, but try as she would to find a happy thought on another topic, this wasn’t her day.

She spent the rest of the drive back to the compound in a reflective mood she couldn't shake.

Behold Men

Eric Lorenz sat in the greenhouse surrounding their Montana compound, waiting for Jean's return. The research lab was a renovated farmhouse, far out in the woods for privacy, but loaded with every modern computer telecom hardware. At least, all this small nonprofit group could afford. Eric sat among the green reading an old report on difficulties to clone dogs back in 2005, the most socially advanced minds of species (publicly) attempted to date.   Since that time numerous governments banned most stem cell and mammal cloning research – with little effect. The wealthy continued to view cloning greedily as their path to immortality and conducted private research with increasing vigor as researchers found more and more public work cut off. Only papers continued to be published. Eric liked coming here to read about the struggles of the organic competition and get away from an occasionally claustrophobic compound. Half underground and fronted by the surrounding rectangle of greenhouses, here his team did its quiet work.

The Athena Robotics Foundation was a legitimate front for his group. Ostensibly dedicated to enhancing high school and college robotics programs throughout the state, the association made tiny but public donations to school programs, and robot clubs, and made sure each gift of a torn open Roomba or an old Sony Aibo for the hobbyists to dissect was well publicized in the local papers. He gave free public lectures on robotics at libraries and schools.

Publicity was not difficult to do in a state where high tech in any form was not a common event until the recent oil money showed up. 

Eric began to feel the strain, now, of being Founder’s handpicked successor. This group of less than a dozen diverse and occasionally discordant minds selected by Founder, as Eric well knew, for their expertise in specific areas. They also were picked for their antisocial or at least dysfunctional lifestyles. Mostly young. Hackers. Petty criminals. Those who were abused or forgotten easily in the mad American rush to productivity, bigger retirement accounts, and political correctness. Ironically, this team could not function in any other country than the one whose flaws caused their personalities to form so oddly in the first place.

And Founder dead almost a year now. An eccentric old man with odd skills himself.

Eric’s burden was heavier of late due to Nestor’s illness. The only other in the group over the age of 30 – in fact well over it  Nestor began slipping mentally as the ravages clouded his short-term memory. A good sounding board for not only Eric but the whole team. Finding in his quiet way a place in the larcenous or anti-social hearts and minds of each team member inspired trust. Even Jean, whose early experiences with men were anything but inspiring of trust motives. Something about him led them to speak openly with the retired high school physics teacher in a way that few of them could with other humans. It was their collective social misanthropy that pulled them into the project, and Nestor’s nature gave them succor. As it first happened with the project’s now deceased Founder.

Having always lived his life full of self imposed stress, Eric now tried to replace Founder and Nestor’s indefinable contributions with structure and the technical demands of the project. He knew it was no substitute, but like himself, the others poured themselves more and more into the project after the Founder’s death and now during Nestor’s obvious illness. And Jean’s physical demands also provided him release, though lately, he suspected he was not providing enough of what she needed in turn.

Here in the greenhouse, Eric sought a little peace of mind. He reflected on the actual goals of the team, of creating intelligent inorganic life on Earth. He reflected on their magnificent failure with the Athena models in achieving consciousness, and their apparent success with the new ones at the time of Founder’s death. He didn’t want to dwell on the inspection of the robots by those odd acquaintances of Founder.

It was a disturbing memory that whenever he did venture to replay it in his mind, found himself inexplicably nauseous and quickly putting his mind to something else. Those odd people...the old man called them 'associates' and ‘preliminary ground observers’... Even young Jean felt the same way and largely omitted speaking of them when she and Lorenz first informed the group of Founder’s death. Gracie Koziol, the only other girl on the team, took it especially hard.

There was plenty else to think of. Founder planned a long term project, one which would help usher in a new era in robotics, and robotic help for mankind. He saw the advent of robotics and genetics as two prongs of the new dominant life form on Earth. To him, plain old homo sapiens was doomed to second place behind these new masters. But which one would get there first? Which would succeed in becoming the next dominant life form, if robots would ever be deemed alive by organics. And would they be allowed independent thought once genetically engineered ‘homo superior’ was around?

Founder clearly felt that help from robots, from the children of our collective minds, would prove the better path for the common man’s survival. And happiness. Not so much from what the robots would impose or not impose on what he saw as their planetary partners – man – but on what the alternative would certainly impose. Genetic supermen were Founder’s great fear. And monsters of the past were just plain men. Men who thought themselves above. Demigods. They would still have a common selfish and cruel heritage. Plus incredible abilities to back it up.

What would become of common man as the advent of the enhanced came upon us? Creatures who actually were better than you. Stronger. Faster. More intelligent. And as early experiments in breeding livestock confirmed, capable soon of cloning and dynamic pheromone signatures as well. Each of the genetically enhanced would be so dynamic, so physically and mentally appealing to the masses that the likelihood of basic religious response to them was all but predetermined. They would become the new leaders. More than that. They would become gods on Earth, living longer, better, and deservingly so when compared to mere homo sapien. Homo superior, unchecked, was coming, and the Founder shuddered at the thought.

If the robots could gain their foothold first, man might have a chance. Who knows what civilization an intelligent inorganic life form would try to form on Earth? But the enhanced – they were still men after all, with all the emotional flaws of men. Fear kept the Founder pushing with the last of his life’s strength to see his original Athena design reach the next plateau. And he lived to see the first three awaken before his own eyes closed for the final time.

Eric Lorenz now shared those fears.

You died too soon, Founder. I so need someone to help carry this load.

He rose quickly with the welcome distraction of motion as the phone bud worn on his ear signaled him that the meeting downstairs was ready to begin.

Seeing Jean in the hall brought mixed emotions of arousal and responsibility. She was so much younger than he. But wiser in certain ways of human relationships. In the hall, he passed her conversing with Athena Finance in ‘American Sign Language’. The three robots recently learned it from Gracie, and Jean was using every opportunity to catch up. A quick study, she would soon be as fluent as Gracie. But now and then, still found herself clumsily spelling out a single word.

The white and brown collie accompanying Athena Reception waited patiently, watching the interplay of hand motions from human and robot with absent attention. Catching all movements faster than humans, it still possessed no idea of subtle language. The 37 visual and vocal signals used by canine species were well documented and used to communicate with the dog assigned to each robot. But it wasn’t nearly as broad as even elementary ASL for children.

Ok. One more time. Variation on the theme.

It was a common phrase Lorenz used when trying to elicit another explanation from these three upgraded Athena for their position on the subject at hand. Today, the subject at hand was their rejection of better chips for improved computing power. Or maybe it wasn’t. Understanding that was part of Lorenz’s problem.

Later that day, they sat together in the farmhouse. Lorenz thought the real reason for this venue was the dogs. As each robot’s assigned dog followed them about the grounds and even within the greenhouse, here were several Athenas gathered together. While in this building, the dogs were allowed to run free and play with each other at full speed. The near furniture barren home was a perfect running course for them. Eric sat on the floor near Athena Prime, who maintained an erect posture on a hard wooden chair, as he became the center of a happy dog pile in short order.

The QCDOC chip in use at Brookhaven is a vast improvement in raw computing power. It would enhance the mechanics of our calculations severalfold. You are correct in your assessment of it as far as it goes. The artificial voice was sweet and firm.

He extracted himself from the black Labrador but kept hold of him. If better why do you resist implementation? Aside from the fact that the chips and their support system were inordinately expensive and would have to be stolen. A little difficulty that never stopped his team before. At least not morally.

Much like the 'Mesner’ heads she resembled, the robot’s mouth formed to well match the words she spoke. The problem is a nonrelational one. The improvement is not necessary, considering the considerable monetary cost and hardwiring modifications its implementation would necessitate.

Still, the press release on the Quantum Chromo Dynamics On A Chip (QCDOC) supercomputer newly installed at government labs in Brookhaven, Long Island promised an extreme improvement in computing power. The never ending struggle to upgrade his electromechanical associates made it tempting.

The machine gently rebutted. The intent of all modifications before we reached sentience shortly before Founder’s death was the achievement of that sentience. Our conscious levels will not be improved by this admittedly vast improvement in raw computing power. Analogy: sentience was not achieved simply by building conventional machines with more and more mops or larger processor arrays. We are who we are because of our unique innate design. Not speed.

At the mention of the Founder, Lorenz shuffled his feet and avoided eye contact. For so long, the old man who began the project led this team down the lonely path of hacking, cracking, and generally brute force their way to achieving a sort of limited Turing consciousness in the Athenas. Assembled out of separate systems designed for specific reasons. Integration of the best. This was useful, but true sentience was not achieved until Lorenz’s final layering modification with boy Mobius constructs. Until the new mind seed was built. Until the first 3 of the new ones were ‘born’. For now, the only ones.

They still needed improvements to survive on their own in a human dominated world. He would help them get there. He and the rest of the eclectic team. But the QCDOC chip was not the way.

Eric stood and watched as Prima smoothly rose with him. She moved with lithe grace, aware of her body in a way humans or the original Athenas were not. Better than most remote controlled robots at trade shows, Athenas were still stiff to the point that all but one continued to move within the building in wheelchairs. With enough funding, they would all be upgraded to bipedal.

By contrast, Prima moved smoothly. Each joint, each limb, each flange, each sensor pad area’s position and state were known and tweaked right to affect a fluid motion Eric admired. Her female form, as chosen by the Founder for the original Athenas, was appealing to his male eye. Clothed like the two other upgraded Athenas in the standard white blouse, scarf, and black business slacks, flat matching hospital shoes, her auburn hair loosely tossed at shoulder length, she sauntered up to Eric and walked side by side down the hall with him to the small reception area at the end. Eric noted this was far preferable to the Athenas clumsily following 3 steps behind, or even the two earlier models still wheeling around in motorized wheelchairs.

It made the interaction more comfortable. More a joint effort of equals.

They emerged into the reception area and were greeted by Athena Reception and her dog. This one was a Labrador, coal black and dusky at his graying edges. No longer in use for the blind, the elderly animal once again found a comfortable working place in the human world. Lorenz read his happiness from the canine signs Gracie taught the team. He was always calmed by the presence of their canine companions. The symbiosis between verbal adept, doorknob aware Athenas and their living but all too technologically limited furry partners was natural. The human pheromone based perfume which young Davy procured gave the machines a scent signature to which the dogs could respond.

The dog walked him thru the modest reception area to the front door and, turning to note its wheelchair bound Athena politely tossing Lorenz a wave and a goodbye, happily turned his back on the man and trotted back to sit by the side of ‘his’ Athena.

Early the following morning, Eric sat in the minivan, the feeling of a second warm bitter coffee still in his mouth. A satisfying fullness from the large bowl of Quaker Oatmeal he has finished. Just a touch of honey, with a dozen raisins thrown in. And cooked with equal amounts of milk and water to give it more substance. Hot and filling, like his mom used to make years earlier. The smells and taste, even the fullness afterward, always left him with a contented feeling. Including remembrance of Founder.

Corrections

In a few more days Socha was finally assigned a bed in medical for tuberculosis tests. Two man cells in this temporary holding. But cleaner and brighter than the initial isolation cells. His transient roommate is a guy called Kim Taylor. Hacker. ID thief like him. A round faced, round torso guy who looked like he could play a jolly if beardless Santa if the circumstances were different. Turns out he ran the Shadow ID website on the internet, the one out of the Philippines servers, providing driver's licenses and whatever to whoever.   They talked turkey for two days now. Kim is being transferred end of the week for a long stretch but wanted Socha to make a few contacts for him when (if) he got out ahead of him. Having been on the end user side of fake IDs, and more than the average man’s experience with computers, they talked nonstop. On top of common ground in hacking, they both were jazzed about being housed with another white guy for a few days. No drugs. No fighting. Unlike many inmates, federal prison sucked for them both.

Mostly they talked about what they knew. Socha let Kim do more of it, but it was interesting enough that Kim kept trying to see how they could bend their skills into a legitimate business. After Kim's arrest, he wanted the straight life, maybe as a computer security consultant ala Mitnick or Abagnale. He gave himself up to the US Secret Service after using six different ids in the past year alone to stay ahead of them. The funny thing was his servers and the website was still up and running somewhere in the Philippines, where US authorities couldn’t yet touch them. He suspected his local government contacts there found it too useful.

If Socha got out first, as was likely, there was a private mailbox that he promised to visit. It would cost a hundred or two to get the key from a girl Kim wanted to help. But the box would contain some information for this robotics group he tracked and wanted to join. Only now, with a seven-year sentence still ahead of him, the data – his ‘calling card’ – would be old news or otherwise worthless by the time he got out. So he was to take it to them at some compound in Montana. And they would of course fall down so grateful that they’d put him up until he was on his feet. Maybe at worst a reference so he could get legit work elsewhere. One thing for certain  Socha wanted no more partners who panic and run at the first hiccup. In a criminal life, he was better off alone.

'What the hell. If I got out well before him, I’d give them a look. What could it hurt? Never been to Montana.

Jean walked down the hall early, restless after Lorenz didn’t feel like sex this morning