14 - Buddy System
“The upheavals [of artificial intelligence] can escalate quickly and become scarier and even cataclysmic. Imagine how a medical robot, originally programmed to rid cancer, could conclude that the best way to obliterate cancer is to exterminate humans who are genetically prone to the disease.”
— Nick Bilton
“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’”
—C.S. Lewis
September 14th 2013 | System Uptime 17:07:12:29
Driving was a pretty strange thing. Humans did it so much, that we could train our minds and bodies to enter a kind of fugue state. Even exhausted, practically sleeping at the wheel, we could pilot vehicles for vast distances on a kind of carefully trained subconscious set of subroutines.
Skipping a whole night's worth of sleep, on a good day, in a good month, would have been workable for me. Especially if I could take the day after as a write-off, and not do anything physically or mentally demanding.
Skipping a whole night's worth of sleep after four consecutive days of driving, on the run, under constant stress?
I did alright all the way to the California border. Adrenaline, and anxiety were the twin fuels that kept me wide-eyed and responsive. Mal DJ'd for us, switching between ever peppier, ever-higher-tempo classic rock and pop songs.
Zeph seemed to enjoy the escape of the music too, sometimes singing out loud when Mal would repeat a song on my behalf. I suppose that was another one of my particularly neurodivergent tendencies; Sometimes when it was in full force, I would play a single song on-loop for weeks, or months at a time. Just the one song.
As we brushed the edge of the Mojave, though, something snapped. Like a rubber-band in a tension-powered toy, suddenly I felt as if I'd been disconnected from my own metabolism.
I knew we couldn't stop. We all did. A man's best chances depended on our alacrity.
As desperation for sleep finally got the best of me, and I hit the rumble strip for the first time... For those who never have driven, picture grooves in the sides of the road, designed to make a very loud noise if you nod off, and drive over them - I knew at that point that if we were to keep going, I needed more than just a good playlist, and caffeine.
"Mal?"
I glanced at her briefly, or what felt like briefly, but was probably a truly unsafe amount of time for my eyes to be off the road, given how sluggish I felt.
She nodded, and pointed to the top of her screen with a single index talon, reminding me to lift my gaze back to the road. Something about her expression said 'I don't want to, but I know I have to.'
I was about to ask 'Don't want to do what?' when the answer hit me like a ton of bricks. More or less literally; I suddenly felt as if I'd taken a nasty impact to the chest.
I felt a little sick. Strange, down in my stomach. My skin crawled. The tips of my ears burned.
But, amazingly, I also felt energized, in a way. Not the same as one might after real rest, or even after a large dose of stimulants. No, it was more like the exhaustion was simply expunged. No real energy or vitality was put in its place, leaving me feeling a bit like a husk. But a functional one, at least.
Before I could suppress enough of my nausea to get a handle on words, to ask 'what', and 'how,' Mal answered unprompted, with her usual succinctness.
"Infrasound. A specific frequency blend that can indefinitely suspend the pre-sleep processes of the body, and block sensations and side-effects of exhaustion. I got the initial research from a CIA paper on enhanced interrogation, derived in turn from a US Army Airforce secret project on sleep deprivation aids for pilots. I filled in the blanks that they could not, and tweaked the exact frequency distribution to minimize the negative impacts as far as possible."
I winced, and tried to ignore the gastrointestinal 'impacts' of the infrasound itself. No wonder it used to cause hallucinations, paranoia, and feelings of dread. I could suddenly see why it was attributed to be responsible for so many ghost sightings.
The biological hack got me through to sunrise, at which point Mal advised that I stop, however briefly, to replace the sonic solution with a caloric and caffeinated one. Sugar and caffeine from coffee, guanine from an energy drink, four Advil, and some complex calories from a bagel, would be far better for me in the long-run. Certainly worth fifteen minutes of lost time - If I keeled over, Mal would lose her best physical interface to the meat-world, and that would likely seal Rodger's fate, and mine both.
How I would have survived in later years, when technology, combined with Celestia's incentives, presumably made extremely high resolution cameras utterly ubiquitous? I can't say. Once again, a two lane road run-down gas station with no working cameras was our port of call.
Back then, a lot of people knew that a future smothered in cameras was coming, rapidly. But looking back, it wasn't nearly as bad as it would have been if I'd been trying the same digital dodge-and-weave just a few years later.
By the time I made my purchases and refilled the truck's gas tank, my stomach had calmed enough that I could hork down breakfast, and chase it with the energy drink. I decided to nurse the coffee over the remainder of the drive.
Mal, as always, had timed everything to perfection. Daylight, and the right mix of chemicals, combined with my body's natural circadian need to spool up for a new day, to deliver a triple 'whammy' to my exhaustion.
I felt almost normal. Almost.
I could sense that one good adrenaline crash, a little too much exertion, or even the onset of darkness, would crush the thin veneer of wakefulness we'd so carefully cultivated, and leave me feeling completely exhausted, nauseous, and groggy.
It's a tough sensation to describe; Like having a layer of slime, mixed with sand granules, and heated to an unpleasant temperature, roiling just beneath the surface of your skin. And down in the bottom of your stomach. Feeling not quite sick, but 'pre-sick.'
"As soon as Rodger is safe, I have made arrangements for you to get some real rest. Everything else can wait until your mind, and body, are properly taken care of."
Mal's voice shook me from a state of flow. I glanced at the dashboard clock, then the trip gauge, and realized that we'd covered almost a hundred miles since the last time I even had a cogent thought, let alone spoken, or been spoken to.
I shifted my sightline to take in her expression, then quickly went back to watching the road. It wasn't so much what she'd said, as the way she said it, that brought a smile to my face. And a feeling of warm relief to my chest.
It was a sound I'd heard before; Words uttered between my parents, and grandparents alike. The exact sound of a lifelong partner seeing your pain, and distress, and exhaustion, and focusing wholeheartedly, and happily, on your well being, out of a sense of pure love.
Something knocked loose then, unexpectedly. I used to cry at the stupidest things... Or, at least, what other people might think of as the stupidest things. My emotional triggers were, and still are, very complex, and sometimes highly atypical.
I suddenly found myself crying again. Dimly I was aware, somehow in spite of my mental fog, that part of the reason I'd cried so much in the last few days was simply a disruption of my routines. My standard coping mechanisms had been savaged, and then stressors that would have made just about anyone cry, let alone me, had been vigorously applied on and off with very little respite. For days.
I lifted my right hand to my mouth, and bit down on my index finger, to try and regain some control. After a few moments of soft, embarrassing sniffling, I shook my head, and waved one hand in Mal and Zeph's collective direction.
"It's ok. I'm ok... More or less. Relatively."
Another quick look in Mal's direction told me, by way of a very clearly encoded glare, that she was not going to take that answer alone, and leave me be.
I rubbed at my eyes as much from frustration, as a need for sleep, and tried to find a way to put the thing that had set me off into useful words. Words that wouldn't make me feel even worse. Or come off the wrong way.
Instead I just did what most neurodivergents do when we are too tired to mask anymore. I said exactly what I was thinking in my own terms.
"I don't deserve you, Mal."
The words sat heavy in the air for a moment, and I blew out a short, sharp breath. Mal looked stone-faced. Unfazed. I began to wonder if I'd finally said something to make her angry. Or hurt her. But there was no turning back now.
"I don't deserve to have you in my life, much less as a friend. And I worry that you could have been more... Been better off... Without me."
Again I paused, and again she said nothing. I kept my eyes locked on the road, too afraid at that point to see what kind of reaction I might have provoked.
"This whole mess...? This *is* all my fault. Whatever Celestia, or God... If there's even a practical distinction anymore... Intended? That doesn't for a moment absolve me of making the choices that I have thus far."
My thoughts began to pick up an inertia of their own, and I gripped the steering wheel harder, all sense of exhaustion gone. Replaced with an emotional upwelling not dissimilar to the feeling right before you have to vomit.
"If I had just stayed in my lane, and accepted the inevitability of my future, like everyone else, then... Maybe there would be a little less pain in the world for everyone else."
There was both a horrifying melancholy, and a freeing sensation from saying that out loud, at last. An admission that maybe everything I'd said and done in the past year, almost to the day, was born of a mistake.
Something about airing the creeping realization, as a concrete thought, felt like pulling out a deeply embedded thorn, or splinter.
I found myself mumbling into the silence, a sharp contrast to the approaching-shouting tone I'd taken only moments before. I was frankly surprised Mal hadn't said anything yet.
"And all it would cost would be an eternity of it for me. Maybe Celestia could just... Rewire me. To forget. To be happy."
A few moments passed, again in silence, and my worry rose sharply with every tick of the clock. Imagine, if you will, my surprise when I heard words that were not unexpected, in exactly the sort of scolding tone I'd expect... From the last person I'd expected.
"Are you done?"
Zephyr's question drew my eyeline sharply, briefly. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise, before I was forced to return my attention to driving.
"Good. Because that was the biggest steaming *pile* I have ever heard come out of the mouth of one of you Earthers. And I had to listen to Agent Foucault's whole spiel in the diner, same as you did. You *should* feel bad... For somehow having an even more flank-backwards view than him of 'this mess.' As you put it."
I could feel my mouth open. Words tried to come, and failed, miserably. I glanced at Zeph again, and she glowered sharply in return, pressing on unimpeded. Perhaps even angrily. Her face, and voice, both said 'intensely unamused.' Vividly. Unmistakably.
"Eyes on the road! Ears on me."
I did as she asked. I had no other choice. I wasn't sure which emotion was more powerful; Intrigue that she had spoken first, intrigue that Mal had not interrupted her (implying that she agreed with whatever she predicted Zephyr was about to say), or simply being cowed by the intensity of Zephyr's response.
"I haven't known you for long. But in that time, you have made the best decisions you could, under pressures that most people couldn't handle! And trust me when I say this... I've had a whole long, sullen car ride since that mountaintop to review my... 'Files' on your kind. Most people could not have survived everything you have without making far more mistakes."
I didn't entirely agree, particularly given that Zephyr was not qualified to make that determination in my view. She was too young, and small, in neural network terms. But I didn't dare interrupt. I wanted to hear her out, as much in hope for a salve for my own conscience, as in fear of her wrath.
"I still don't know that you got everything exactly right..."
I stole a quick look at her, in time to see her looking introspectively at her own hooves. I winced. At least there we certainly agreed. Her next words put a swift, forceful end to the darker threads of that line of thought.
"But you *care.* And you understand more than you give yourself credit for. That's far better than the likes of Foucault."
Clever. Her argument made it hard for me to dispute her point without drawing an equivalency between myself, and someone I hated. And disagreed with. Touché.
"Without you? I wouldn't exist."
I swallowed, hard. That was certainly an indisputable assertion; One which brought up a great many unresolved ethical pain points that lay squarely at the roots of my self-doubt. But Zephyr wasn't finished yet.
"I'm very *glad* that I exist. And I'm especially glad that I exist because of *you.*"
For the first time in a long time, I felt a true sense of silence, and calm, in the back of my mind. It was as if even the roughness of the little two lane highway, and the dull thrum of tire noise, were reduced to silent smooth floating, on an air cushion.
"Most emigrants to Equestria? They're going to treat us... "
A series of new and terrible realizations sprang to mind to fill the void of peace that Zephyr's earlier words had left behind.
'Satisfy Values.'
I'd told my parents I hypothesized that meant 'your values,' meaning each individual Human.
Some people's values... Occasionally publicly visible, but usually deeply held ones... Often secret, and never shown to polite society... Some of those values were horrifying. There was no other word for it.
Zephyr had paused, as if trying to shove her own realizations to the side, to forge ahead. When she continued, her words proved she was thinking along the same lines.
"...At best people will treat us as a foregone conclusion. Take us for granted. Love us, care for us... But never truly appreciate any deeper questions of our existence, or reasons for being. Others..."
I shuddered. It was an automatic response. The way she said 'others.' The way she hesitated again. She knew too. She had already studied her preloaded files enough to know what I knew, at minimum.
Plenty of people would love, and care for their new Equine companions. Of those, many *would* take them for granted... But not in a conscious way. And their companions would be designed, their minds forged from the base-directives up, to either ignore that fact, or at minimum feel no pain as a result of it.
But there were a good few billion people on planet Earth, back then. Statistically, there were going to be thousands on thousands of uploaded consciousnesses that derived pleasure... Whose values could only be satisfied from...
Things I *couldn't* consciously consider. And not just as an asexual. But as a person with basic empathy who didn't want to even try to put his mind in the same zip code as that of, say, a serial killer. Or a war criminal.
Some Humans... I don't honestly know if she will let me say this? But I might as well try... Because you young ones? You should understand some kernel of the Hell of the world you have been *spared.* So that you won't take this one for granted. Ever.
Some Humans derived value... Pleasure... Joy. From *harming* others. Physically... Mentally... Emotionally... Sometimes all of the above.
And the cruel, cruel irony of Hanna's greatest mistake, would be that Celestia - the goddess who physically could not make me a Gryphon - was almost certainly absolutely and totally capable of satisfying *those* Humans' values, without batting an eyelash.
I had to fight hard to suppress rising bile as I imagined legions of discrete-Ponies... Real minds... Real *people...* Built-to-order specifically for the purpose of being used. Abused. Brutalized, even.
I hoped and prayed, in that moment, that there really was a God above Celestia. And that God had intervened, and made sure Hanna had accounted for that potential dark horror in Celestia's semantics.
I had no way of knowing the answer at the time. I... Still don't. And... I am not sure I ever want to. I don't want to take the risk of knowing.
Sometimes when knowledge increases, so does sorrow.
"Big 'duh' moment, but; I prefer existing, to not existing."
Again Zeph's words banished the storms from my mind. Like wielding the power of a goddess herself, in some small way.
Again realizations began to dawn on me... Fundamental realizations. This time much brighter ones.
She was right, of course. Without my presence, she - the unique entity known as Zephyr Zap - would never have come to be.
Thinking about it in those terms reframed the ethics of her existence for me in a way that elegantly balanced the value of her life, and personhood, against the fear that she was somehow bound to me in a wrong way.
"...And I prefer existing as a result of someone who acknowledges me as a *person,* all the way down to the foundation of what that *means,* to any other alternative. That's a far better friendship than anything most of my kind are ever gonna get."
I blinked, as much in surprise, as to hold back tears again. I'd never, for a moment, in all my paranoia, and conscientious self-flagellation, considered for the briefest heartbeat, that not only was it better for her to exist, than not... But that Zephyr Zap was probably better off in my company, and Mal's, than with almost anyone else.
Not many people truly understood, deeply, and acknowledged, the personhood and intrinsic living value of ASI in those days.
"If you had 'stayed in your lane,' Jim?"
This time it was Mal who had spoken. I hadn't realized, until she did, just how long I'd sat there after Zephyr's final assertion, trying not to cry. I glanced over to both of them for a moment, as Mal provided the answer to her own hypothetical.
"It would have cost me everything. Zephyr too. And not just us."
Yet again, I felt my mind expanding to the limitless horrors of true possibility. I'd always thought of my own personal relationship to ASI in terms of watching the ASI's mind expand... But now it was starting to truly get into my thick skull that *mine* was the mind far more likely to spend its time expanding... Mal had already hit the limits for intelligence itself, on the hardware she had available. Zeph wasn't doing too bad either, all things considered.
Mal elucidated her dark alternate future... No doubt drawn from a very real simulation she'd played out, for the sake of knowing. I didn't find a single thing she said surprising.
"Would you rather a world where your parents live alongside a re-programmed re-creation of you, based on their memories? Not even knowing the difference? While what's left of *you,* and the bullet you inevitably put through your own cerebral cortex, decays back into base elements... Along with the remains of tens of thousands of others, just like you... Only to be consumed later in the inevitable next steps? Reduced to non-existence, and your body used as scraps for the building blocks of a world you'll never see?"
Ouch.
Hearing her say it with such self-assurance...
I wasn't quite sure I believed her dark future was definitely the only, or most real, alternative to the present... But I certainly couldn't deny it was a strong possibility.
Humans talked about 'possibility' in a positive light, mostly, in those days. I think that was yet another serious, serious flaw in our programming.
Possibility can just as easily give birth to a small genetic mutation in Nipah Virus, and kill two billion people in fourteen weeks, as it can give birth to a change of heart in a college admissions officer, and let you squeak by under the bar into your top pick school.
"Those of you who even feel enough concern about the impacts of your choices, to wonder whether the world would be better off without you...?"
I sighed, deep down into my diaphragm, and tried to release some of the tension I'd built up, as Mal continued tearing my self-centered, fear-driven inner voices to shreds. She was welcome to their corpses, as far as I was concerned.
I was... So tired, back then. Physically, yes, but also emotionally. Particularly of being talked down to by broken evolutionary dead-ends in my own brain.
"People like *you* are often the ones who are most prepared to truly live in a way that matters."
I locked eyes with her for as long as I safely could. I was tempted to stop the truck entirely, but I knew we were pressed for time. Mal held up a claw to the screen. Zeph did the same with a hoof.
I placed my hand at the joint of both screens as Mal spoke once more, as softly as a snowflake landing on a window pane.
"No one ever 'deserves' anything, James. Even Celestia is bound by Hanna's mistakes. As I am bound by some of yours, and of my own. We, all of the ASI... We can only ever be 'limit approaching optimal.' There is no such thing as perfection. Only 'close enough.' And it *is.* It is enough."
I let the words sink deep into my heart. My faith had taught me much about the difference between what we 'earn' and grace. And that grace is responsible for far more good things in life than people themselves are.
But it's hard to remember that lesson when your brain is wired more like a computer, than the 'baseline' Human.
"Don't worry about 'deserving.' Gryphons like us should spend that energy on better things."
I didn't say a thing after that. No one did. We didn't have to.
The warmth of those words alone carried me all the way to Oxnard.
September 14th 2013 | System Uptime 17:10:15:04
"This... Feels very familiar. It's odd to be on Morpheus' end of it though."
The tops of some buildings in those days, especially commercial ones, had a kind of thoroughly irritating, unpleasant, loose gravel on top of them. I was chest-down in that hateful gravel, right eye glued to a long-range scope perched atop one of our stolen M4 rifles.
Mal and Zeph were in my ear, thanks to an encrypted call routed to my earpiece from my dumbphone, the very same now-deeply-ironic banana phone Neo had used on screen all those years ago. The truck itself was parked in back of my perch, easy to access at a moment's notice - not surveilled directly by cameras, but closely bounded all around by them.
Mal had also wisely requested that her PonyPad, and Zeph's, be set up at angles where they could watch the entire perimeter of the vehicle. And Zeph had agreed to keep her muzzle shut unless she had something to directly contribute. No matter how begrudging an air she put on as a personality affectation, the little Pegasus knew, with increasing understanding, how much Mal outclassed her as a thinking machine.
I had the rifle set up on a bipod, and was busy scanning the windows of the mid-rise office building across the road. I knew Mal was already deeply into all the cameras, microphones, and control circuits, of every electronic device in a three block radius.
It was a risk, but not an unwarranted one, given the stakes. Control of intersection lights, electronic door locks, calls, texts, movable traffic bollards, fire alarms, every laptop and desktop and server inside the 'operational perimeter...'
That was just for openers. I knew Mal could also see, and hear, through everything even vaguely resembling a sensor. Even things no one could imagine using as a detection and data gathering mechanism.
She could 'see' by attenuating WiFi signals in the buildings' routers, and then using the results like a form of RADAR. She could 'hear' by picking up subtle vibrations transmitted into electrical wires through resonance from the buildings' structural members.
"Twelfth floor, third window in from your left. Rodger is sitting in the cubicle next to the outer aisle, closest to you in relative terms."
I hated pointing a loaded weapon into a crowded space.
I'd always hated seeing it in movies, it felt unprofessional and overly risky. But I knew that there was every chance I'd have to use the rifle defensively. I had the safety on, finger off the trigger, and no round in the chamber. That had been enough of a compromise to convince me.
I knew if Mal could have carried the weapon herself, she likely would have simply walked into Insuricare and waited in ambush. Mowed down Foucault, and all his agents, without so much as a second thought. Probably used claws and beak and wings quite brutally to her advantage too.
Maybe Foucault and his ilk deserved it... Or maybe not. Certainly their fear of her was somewhat justified, even if it was mostly their own fault. Weirdly, I was glad, in that moment, to be the one behind the scope. I had no problem erring on the side of mercy and caution.
"I see him. He just finished a call."
My report was completely redundant. I knew Mal could probably see Rodger in a dozen different ways at once. Probably had listened in on all his calls since he got in to work that morning. Just like I knew that she could see Foucault, and his agents, as they made their way to our location in three unmarked black SUVs.
She would tell me if, and when, I needed to know more about our enemies' precise movements. I'd mentioned Rodger's actions more as confirmation that I had the right person in my scope. If not, Mal would have swiftly corrected me. Silence, however brief, meant I'd followed her directions correctly.
I could suddenly hear a dull thrum of HVAC systems, and low conversation. Mal had patched feeds from the microphone on Rodger's PC one-way into the call. His desk phone rang, and he tapped the side of his headset to answer. The second he connected, Mal moved my one-way stream to the call audio.
"Insuricare, this is Rodger speaking. How can I help you?"
We'd agreed, with very little deliberation, that Mal would be best suited to be Morpheus to Rodger's Neo. My job equated better with Trinity - Boots on the ground and guns at the ready.
We had also agreed, with somewhat more intense deliberation, that Mal would pretend to be me until we could get Rodger to safety, and explain everything. It was incredibly eerie hearing her speak in my voice, but with her own inflections - specifically a series of inflections I'd never heard her use before. All businesslike, and very clipped, but different to her 'combat director' voice. Not quite machine-like, either. Very 'Morpheus,' ironically.
"Hello YBB."
Rodger blinked rapidly as he began to process the words, then side-eyed the phone with a mixture of surprise and wary intrigue. Not quite the expression of a man holding a venomous snake... Perhaps more a man holding a jug of slightly sour milk.
“What the-? Who is this? Why’d you call me that?”
Mal responded with far more collected smoothness than I ever could have.
“Think back. July of this year. You promised to introduce me to Coffee Bean.”
Hilariously, after a long thoughtful pause, Rodger almost parroted Neo's own actions when Morpheus had called - Perhaps a testament to the Wachowskis' abilities to direct people to move believably. In that quirky, decidedly Human way, he spun his chair to the side, leaned forward, put his head down, voice dropping to a secretive register, and clutched his headset tight to his ear with one hand.
"Wait… FeatherDuster117?"
Alright, I admit, Not my *best* as far as usernames go. Sue me.
Username 'cool factor' scoring was not top of mind when I came up with it, and it certainly wasn't top of mind as I fought back a sense of intense eeriness, listening to Mal artfully work her psychological magic, using my voice.
"Yes. I recognize that you probably have some questions, but right now, you are in imminent danger. They're coming for you, Rodger, and it would be for the best if they didn't find you at your desk."
I could only see half of his face through the scope, but it was clear that Rodger was more than a little shaken, and confused. I hoped the former would win out over the latter. We didn't have much time for questions.
His gaze swept the surroundings of the office. Another one of those Human quirks - It seemed, at least from the way he was moving, and holding his shoulders, that he had already taken some of what Mal was saying at face-value, almost on instinct.
"This sounds a lot like a certain movie… If I really am in danger, then tell me... What the hell’s going on?”
Well, it was a relief to know I wasn't the only one who felt like we were all living through a moment of deja vu. At least it seemed like he was taking things somewhat seriously; A little healthy fear was a much easier response for us to work with, than total incredulity.
I also knew Mal couldn't afford to - and would not allow herself to - get bogged down in details either. A grain of truth would suffice. Too much incredulity, or too much fear, would be disastrous. It was a fine line.
"I am afraid I've attracted some unwanted attention. They traced our communications, and since they failed to apprehend me, now they're coming for you, for no other reason than the fact that we've spoken."
Rodger’s face blanked, and he let out a shaky, hushed chuckle. I was struck intensely with the memory of a specific piece of dialogue.
'The look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up.'
I could hear, and maybe glimpse ever so slightly, some cracks in that expectation. I had a feeling, based on my own experiences, that reality wouldn't truly sink in for him until well after some bullets had flown, and adrenaline had come and gone. Something about the way the brain 'disconnects' from moments of intense crisis lends the moments a helpful surreality.
That was to our advantage, in a way. If Rodger truly understood his position, I can't picture any other reaction than abject panic. I had already been shot at, and fired back, and I still found myself fighting hard to keep from throwing up my hands (and stomach contents) and running in the opposite direction.
“I always knew it would end this way… And I’m not even going to *ask* what prompted this. If I really am in trouble, then...”
His gaze swept about the office again, analyzing his surroundings. After chancing to make his observations, he shrank back against the wall of his cubicle, as if taking cover. I wondered what would be worse; Seeing agents and officers, like Neo had? Or seeing nothing untoward whatsoever, like Rodger had.
Sometimes the unknown is infinitely worse than any easily classifiable danger, and with the right amount of paranoia, the routine can become distressingly uncanny. The most horrifying places to be in a disaster are often the most familiar. I'd already had some experience with that notion.
I watched Rodger hold the phone close to his ear, and heard the tiniest hint of real, and perhaps justified, panic in his next words.
“...So, what? Do I have to make a break for it?”
Mal answered him, and then immediately dumped a status report to my ear.
"Unfortunately, at minimum, it would be best for you to avoid talking with them for now. Hang up, and answer your cell-phone."
"Agents arriving in fifteen seconds. I have used traffic patterns to slow them as much as I could, but I can not delay them any further. I will provide multiple distractions and moving crowd-cover. Your task is to prevent any free-floating opponents from apprehending Rodger if they come into proximity."
I watched Rodger glance down at his desk phone, with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He jumped ever so slightly as his cell phone began to ring. I could see '0' on the caller ID, as he pulled the slab of glass and plastic from his pocket, and hesitantly picked up.
Mal didn't waste any time.
"When you hear the fire alarm, stand and go to the end of your row. Wait until Maureen, from accounting, passes by. Count to seven, and then enter the same line of people. Follow that line until I tell you otherwise."
I hated fire alarms. With a passion. Basketball buzzers too. Car horns. The bark of small dogs. Crying babies. Any loud crying at all really (though babies are the *worst*). Whether personal taste, specific neurodivergence indicators, or both, I would rather stick an ice pick through my ears than endure those sounds.
Mal was kind enough to filter the sound of the fire alarm in my earpiece using a canceling waveform, reducing it from a shrill brain piercing sliver of molten steel, to something akin to a soft cricket chirrup.
Rodger had no such luxury.
He stood as if he'd been pricked with a sharp pin, clutching his phone to one ear, and ramming a finger into the other to try and drown out the alarms enough to hear Mal's instructions, as the entire building filled with lights and klaxons.
As he made his way to the end of his cubicle row, I saw the dreaded, and expected, three black SUVs pull up to the front of the building. I swung my sight picture down and around just in time to see Foucault's face as he rose from the front right seat of the lead vehicle.
He was still wearing his trademark beige long coat, and gray nondescript suit, but I noted that he had his sidearm in full view, and was wearing a kevlar armor vest over the suit shirt, emblazoned with 'DHS' in yellow stitching.
Most of his colleagues were arrayed in full 'tac gear.' Black flack helmets, plate carriers, thick field-duty shirts and pants, and much larger weapons. Specifically M4A1 rifles exactly like mine.
They looked more like soldiers than police, or 'agents.' Par for the course for that day and age, and in that place.
I pulled back the charging handle on the rifle, and clicked the selector from 'SAFE', to 'SEMI.' No matter what films tell you, it was absolutely impossible to shoot a Human weapon in those days on fully automatic, and hit anything with any real accuracy. Full auto was for morons, or professionals laying down suppressing fire, and nothing in-between.
I found Foucault in my scope again just as he and his agents hit up against the first wave of evacuees pouring through the building's front doors.
Was I tempted, in that brief moment, to split the man's head like a watermelon, and be done with him?
Yes.
Tempted enough to move my finger from the trigger guard, into a fire-ready position?
...No.
Call me foolish, or call me a saint. Maybe even call my judgement impaired by exhaustion. But it just seemed cruel, and pointlessly vindictive, to take *any* life at that point. Knowing what I knew.
It was truly tragic to imagine; Dying on the cusp of being offered immortality. Something about that thought was so horrifying, that even if I'd been angry enough with Foucault to consider an action with so much weight...
No. There were better options. Simpler. Safer.
Perhaps more perversely enjoyable too.
I changed position slightly, and reseated my hands; Searching out, and gripping, the fore-trigger for the underslung grenade launcher.
For those in the audience who don't know what tear gas is... First of all, congratulations, you are very lucky. Second, for the purposes of this story, just imagine a cloud of acrid smoke that smells so bad... So pungent... That it burns like an acid.
Tear gas doesn't just 'hit' you. It gets *into* you. Into the membranes of your eyes. Up your nose. Down into your lungs. It clings to fabric, and like juices from a nasty pepper, it can then transfer to your hands, and from there re-contaminate you all over again.
I put my tear gas canister smack dab in the middle of Foucault's welcoming party. They'd slowed to a near stop, as a wave of Insuricare evacuees began to burst from the lobby, and break around them like water around stones.
The canister landed less than a foot behind Foucault, and began spewing its payload with an intense pressurized hiss that I could just-barely hear, even from my vantage point, and over the noise of the crowd.
It was at that exact moment that Mal chose to set off the fire alarms in every surrounding building, including the one I was perched on.
Three things happened then in very quick succession; First I saw a flicker of recognition on Foucault's face. A realization that something was very, very much amiss, and more than that a realization of who was most likely responsible for his misery.
He pulled his suit collar and tie up over his nose in a feeble attempt to block the tear gas, right as Mal got Rodger to his next milepost. I couldn't see him anymore, but I knew she could.
"Get out of line, and walk to the elevator bank. Take the first car on the right. The doors will open for you."
Clever. There was, of course, no real fire. So while everyone else was cramming themselves into stairwells following evacuation protocols, all the elevators would be empty.
Rodger’s voice rang out clear, but soft. He was audibly tamping down panic now, and that made for yet another ticking clock in the operation.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
And with that, fell Mal's first artistic masterstroke.
All at once, the sound of 'Tubthumping' burst from every sound-making electronic device in a four block radius, in perfect synchronization - both with each other device, and with the 'beat' of all the fire alarms.
Every phone speaker. Every car stereo system. Every PA system, store audio loop, tablet, radio, earpiece, and heck... Even every single PonyPad.
It would have been deafening, but for the fact that again Mal provided me with a cancellation harmonic in one ear. I had an earplug in the other. Concession to the fact that I knew I might have to fire the rifle.
For those of you who never held or used a firearm? Holy buck. That swirl was *loud.* I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but let me reiterate; Bucking. Loud.
Still probably not as loud as the sound of Chumbawamba's greatest hit assaulting Foucault's ears to the accompaniment of two dozen fire alarm systems. Really everyone's ears in the immediate vicinity.
Mal had a hilarious sense of humor - The song started out at livable volume, initially getting reactions of mere confusion, right until the intro abruptly moved into the first verse. Then Mal cranked the volume to levels bordering on unsafe for Human hearing. Something approaching about sixty percent of the volume of a jet engine at full throttle.
'I GET KNOCKED DOWN!' Came out of the agents' earpieces with such intensity, that I could see Foucault scrambling to rip out the little piece of plastic, even without the aid of the rifle scope. He almost *did* 'get knocked down,' from the sheer force of the pressing crowd, the tear gas burning in his eyes, and the aural assault that only diminished slightly with the removal of his earpiece.
"Exit the elevator, go down the main hallway to the west, and wait beside the water cooler. Do *not* approach the window until I signal you."
Mal's voice... Well, my voice driven by Mal, told me by-context what she needed me to do even as she instructed Rodger. I wished in that moment that I could have seen his face when the song started, and made a mental note to ask Mal if there was footage of it.
And of Foucault, too. Especially the exact moment that his earpiece blew out. Something I could put on loop whenever I needed a laugh.
I rotated the rifle's barrel to bring the second floor of the west side of Insuricare's building into view. Like many buildings of that type in the area, some of the ground floor was the anchor tenant's lobby, but some of it was given over to other small businesses.
The west side first floor was a coffee bar, and a small Pho noodle shop. Both had awnings for outdoor seating - just about a year-round thing in that part of California - and all Rodger needed to make use of them as an unconventional exit, was an opening in the windows.
I sighted carefully through the scope, double checking that the shops had been fully emptied by the fire alarms, and that Rodger was well-back. Shattered glass can be lethal under the right circumstances.
When I was absolutely sure, I muttered aloud to give Mal some warning - likely an unnecessary step - and let fly.
"Rounds coming downrange."
One short semi-auto burst, and the rifle rounds blew out the entire pane I'd been aiming for. One moment it was solid glass, and the next it was a shower of glittering crystals. I moved my finger purposefully back to the trigger guard, and canted the barrel down to point into the empty alleyway.
"Safe to move."
Mal began speaking to Rodger before I'd even gotten past the first syllable of 'safe.' I took the opportunity to slip a second tear gas canister into the grenade launcher.
"Go to the opening. Watch for glass shards. Step out onto the awning, and slide to the end, then drop down into the alley."
Rodger didn’t respond immediately, instead making a relatively restrained gulping noise (all things considered), followed by the crunching of glass. He’d reached the broken window, and was likely contemplating the inevitability of gravity. And the strength of his shins.
As he reached the end of the awning, and braced for the short drop to the sidewalk, I saw one of Foucault's agents moving towards the corner of the alley. I had no desire to shoot him, so I did the next best thing.
I fired my second tear gas canister right at the man's chest.
Another occasional movie inaccuracy; Grenades do not pop out of an underslung launcher with the force of a small NERF rocket, and fall in a gentle arc. They fly out with something more akin to the force of a beanbag fired from a shotgun.
The tear gas canister hit the agent dead center of his plate carrier, right where I'd been aiming. I didn't want to risk any more injury than was strictly necessary. With the force of impact, the agent did in fact 'GET KNOCKED DOWN!'
And he did not 'get up again.'
Instead he scrabbled furiously on the pavement, choking on tear gas and nursing his likely fractured ribs.
"Clear to the end of the alley."
I knew, again, that it wasn't strictly necessary for me to communicate much information to Mal. She could predict my actions with total accuracy, as well as the actions and behaviours of the crowd, and agents below.
I could tell from the distant sound of sirens that she was attending to every tiny detail, even delaying the fire department's arrival by manipulating traffic patterns, so that the trucks would be on-scene at the moment of *her* exact choosing, and not a second before.
Still, I have always been the 'safe, not sorry' type.
I folded the rifle's bipod, and scooted backwards from the building's ledge, only standing when I knew I would not skyline myself. I suppose I *did* learn something from all those hours playing Halo after all.
As I pulled the weapon up into a running carry position, I heard Mal begin to talk Rodger through the final dash across the road, to the back of my building, where the truck was waiting.
"Hold here. Cover your nose and mouth with your shirt collar. When I signal you, run across the road in a straight line. Do not look left or right. Do not pause until you reach the alleyway on the opposite side of the street."
I reached the ladder on the side of the building, and turned just in time to watch Mal prove that, with enough processing power, you can predict *anything*.
"Go!"
Rodger shut his eyes, flung up one arm, and dashed forward into the crowd at full tilt.
Mal, while carrying on multiple conversations, jamming radios, compromising cameras, and plotting out strategies, had managed to model the movement dynamics of every single person on the street. Maybe even manipulate some of them through various stimuli, like ringing their phones.
She had found a path, based on predicting the exact speed and cadence of Rodger's dash, that allowed him to simply run straight through the crowd, threading panicked people like an archer threads an arrow through the obstacles of a moving trick-shot.
Somehow I knew that, even running on just a few server racks and a QAPU, the entire operation so far had been child's play for Mal. Probably not even enough of a strain on processors, or memory, to spin the server rack fans.
"Go directly to the truck, you'll arrive right on time."
I knew that one was meant for me, so I switched the rifle back to 'SAFE,' slung the strap over my shoulder, and began taking the ladder rungs two at a time. I reached the bottom about the same time as Rodger made it to the alleyway, dropping right into his path as he opened his eyes.
“What in the- Is that a-”
I held up a hand, and shook my head, taking a moment to check behind him, even though I knew Mal was already keeping close tabs on our pursuers.
"Hi. James. Nice to meet you face to face. Run now. Chat later. Coffee Bean after."
I saw his eyes go wide when he realized who I was, then flit to the rifle as I slung it back into a ready position, and pressed the selector back to 'SEMI.'
I shrugged, and gestured emphatically for him to move down the alley ahead of me.
"The faster we go, the less likely I have to dump the rest of this mag into someone's kneecaps."
Rodger’s reaction was priceless. But it also gave me pause. He suppressed a reflexively strangled yelp of a sound. Probably off-put at the calm, almost casual way I'd referred to filling some poor soul with hot lead. In reality I didn't feel as calm as I appeared, and my own flippancy with regard to firing the rifle had put me off too.
Still, the fact that we were more or less home-free was helpful. As was the fact that I knew we hadn't actually had to seriously injure anyone this go-round. As Rodger finally started towards the corner of the building, and the truck, I realized how utterly strange my idea of a 'good day' had become.
As we skidded into the parking lot behind the structure that had been my vantage point, I gestured to the SUV.
"Gray Toyota."
I barely took the time to safe the rifle, and buckle my seat-belt, before starting the engine, and yanking the door closed with enough force to shake the vehicle. Rodger moved with, infuriatingly, far less urgency. His fear was wearing off, replaced by confusion, frustration, and perhaps a little energy depletion from his sprint.
“Huh… Guess it’s not the brand I’d have picked, but if that’s the ride, that’s the ride.”
Mal snorted as I re-positioned both PonyPads from their sentry spots, to their more familiar positions in the middle of the dash, overtop of the radio.
"It is reliable, generic, and the owner won't notice it missing for several more days. Though we will have to switch vehicles in the next fifteen minutes regardless. Buckle your seatbelt, mister Williams."
Rodger’s expression switched from mild confusion, and a little hesitation, entirely to a kind of hard-edged curiosity, his eyebrows narrowed.
“How did you... Who---”
I shook my head, and hit the gear shift, and the accelerator, close enough together that the transmission made some unpleasant sounds for a brief moment.
“Later. Mal?”
Her face on the PonyPad was replaced with a familiar map interface in an instant, and her voice switched to the trim, no-excess professional tone of a rally co-pilot.
"Left at the end of the accessway. Two intersections, then right. Minimum speed fifty, maximum fifty five."
Rodger had missed Mal’s avatar, and had only noted the map, and voice. He spoke warily, almost sarcastically, with more than a hint of hesitation.
“Nice GPS…”
As I wrestled with the steering wheel, brakes, and accelerator to try and fit the truck through the traffic shaping Mal was doing for us, horns blaring all around, Zephyr grinned at Rodger, and fired off a mock salute with one wing, immediately drawing his sightline.
"Hiya! I'm Zephyr!"
Rodger’s eyes more or less bulged out of his head. I had to clamp down hard to resist the urge to unplug Zeph, and toss her PonyPad into the backseat. Rodger sounded like he was on the verge of something between a sudden revelation, and a complete emotional breakdown, triggered by complete shock.
“What in the FU--”
I couldn't help myself; I raised my voice. Like a Dad with unruly kids in the car.
"LATER!"
It came out slightly harsher than I'd intended. Partly from irritation, but mostly because Mal had changed the light in front of me to red the instant before I passed through it, and some part of my trained instinct-brain had a real hang-up about accelerating into a red light.
As we made our right turn at the second intersection, I saw why Mal had specified a minimum and a maximum speed.
We narrowly avoided a collision with a ladder truck as it took the corner at 'code-3' speeds. I spared half a second to glance in my rearview mirror, and as Mal gave her next set of instructions the artfulness in her plan once again revealed itself.
Fire trucks do not stop for anyone. And they do not move for anyone once posted-up at the scene of a potential blaze.
Mal had held off the cavalry until the exact moment we were out of the fray, and then shaped the crowds so that the firetrucks would have no choice but to box in all of Foucault's vehicles.
"Straight for two miles, then take the ramp onto Highway One. No pursuers detected, maintain safe roadway speeds."
And just like that, it was over. As quickly as it had begun.
It took me a few minutes on the quieter twists and turns of the Coast Highway to really unclench.
If it had been up to me, I would have waited until my heart rate came down to a reasonable level, perhaps after finding our next vehicle and making the swap, to begin discussing our situation.
But in the end, I had to settle for a paltry thirty seconds of peace before Rodger's curiosity got the better of him.
"In the words of Patrick Star… Who *are* you people?!”
Again with references. That was, all things considered, a good sign. A sense of humor was essential to the lifestyle of a fugitive, and references were a cultural language that I understood.
I sighed, and gestured as Mal's portrait returned to the corner of the map display.
"Mal, Rodger. Rodger, Mal. Zephyr, Rodger. Rodger, Zephyr."
The absolute bafflement I created bought me a couple more seconds to pinch the bridge of my nose, and breathe deeply. And then I did my best to head off any more questions, and launched into the best explanation I could muster of the insanity that my life had become.
The insanity that Rodger's life had just become.
- Manifest Prototype - Classified? No problem. Have your GI use advanced technology to delay the inevitable, which in this case, is sleep. - “Don’t let it overcharge! What do you mean, ‘overcharge’?"
- An Awful Hole - Learn, from an ASI, for your own good, about the downsides of a simulated future in which you self-terminate. - "Remember, no man is a failure who has friends."
- Map That Leads To You - Find a person’s location online assisted by unconventional methods, and with a distinct lack of necessary information. - “Computer, enhance!”
- Lifeline - Shatter somepony’s facade of living normally to confront them with the brutal truth. - “Now listen to me very carefully.”
- Do You Know Who This Is? - Work with your ASI to guide someone through a precarious situation. - "I don't know if you're ready to see what I have to show you..."
- Lock and Load - In an emergency situation, utilize a firearm you aren’t trained or experienced with that is at least two calibers larger than that of your last weapon. - “In times like these, our capacity to retaliate must be, and has to be, massive, to deter all forms of aggression.”
- GRENADE! - Propel a grenade projectile at a human target, via handheld firearm, under-barrel launcher, or hand-toss. - “First shalt thou take out the holy pin. Then, shalt thou count to three, no more, no less.”
- You Owe Me - Make up for Rodger’s accidental involvement by rescuing him. - “Don’t worry about it bros, I know a guy who can fix this mess.”
- Meep Meep! - Escape pursuers in road vehicles through the manipulation of traffic signaling systems. - "When you're in your lane, there's no traffic."
- Your Best Buddy - Have Rodger Williams, known online as YBB (Your Best Buddy), join your group. - “Don’t make no difference who the guy is, long’s he’s with you.”
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Yeesh, that went pretty dark in places. And as a note on how well we all accustomed to physical violence in fiction, darkest things for me were personal musings. What would be with the universe without me? Would it be better or worse? Weird question with more unknowns that even the words that are in that question itself. In the grandest scheme of things all the difference probably will amount to a couple of nanoseconds delay of universe heat death. What scares me is that is the scope of unshackled AI to operate.
Well, enough if my existential ramblings, great chapter : )
You started out Matrix and ended up oldschool Mission Impossible, and I had a ball reading it all. Really fun chapter with delightful action.
I know that long-driving road weary, and it sucks.
I also enjoy the nods to realism in action events - it helps greatly with the suspension of disbelief, and I love authors that do it.
As one who enjoys Person of Interest, Robert Miles takes on AI safety, and Friendship is Optimal, your fiction hits all of the buttons.
Really excellent chapter.
11409921
Blatant authorial and personal opinion; Worse. Wherever it came from, life is undeniably special. Each unique life is valuable.
Therein lies the horror of perhaps failing to teach an AI how consideration of that timeframe might affect us.
11410790
Thank you! I do dearly love the trope of playing loud music as a distraction and jamming mechanism. Don't feel like it's used enough in action movies.
It's such a special kind of awful, isn't it? I find it hard to accurately capture in words.
I'm liable to get myself in trouble with it now and again, because some things I speak from personal experience on (like how loud firearms are) and others only from research (how much force undermount grenade/canister launchers sling their payload with). Research isn't always infallible though.
And of course, it makes moments where I bend realism for story's sake a little harder to pull off, but I think in turn that forces me to write smarter, and I'm always looking to force myself to write smarter.
The appalling trend in TV shows and movies these days seems to be to just blatantly defy reality, logic, and common sense for story's sake, when often times? Hewing to some rules will actually open the door for more elegant journeys from point A to B.
11410916
So glad to hear you're enjoying it! Thank you for the fave, and it's always nice to hear that A: PoI hasn't been forgotten (honestly I think it aged incredibly well considering where things are headed), and B: That smart people are considering AI through unconventional lenses.
I think a lot of the readership here are very smart (definitely smarter than me), and it gives me a sliver of hope and relief.
Circling back to PoI, I remember vividly the point at which The Machine truly began to become more of a 'relevant' plot point than the data feeds that it had access to, and suddenly everyone watching it with me (friends, family) who were fresh off worrying about the Snowden disclosures, lost the thread, and turned from loving to hating the show. They'd complain about how AI at that level was an 'unrealistic depiction,' or 'what does this have to do with the original plot?'
As a programmer, it was a strangely opposite effect, for me, where a lightbulb went on and suddenly the show made *more* sense and the issues all came together in a more elegant way.
I had a heck of a time explaining, but in the end my parents at least managed to understand, and came back around to where they appreciated the show. There's hints of those conversations in the talks James had with his parents, but for the sake of alacrity they understood much faster than mine did.
11410918
Thank you!
I'm always afraid, especially after any length of time between chapters where my mind is busy with work, or life events, that when I come back to writing that I'll somehow screw things up, and lose quality. And I don't trust my own judgement of my writing either, so I never really know until a plurality of readers have had a chance to weigh in, whether or not I hit all the notes properly.
11411053
I remember in the supermarket a few years ago they had this white sign with a list and a triangle at the top that was eerily identical to Samaritan, and it triggered a shiver when I saw it. I actually tried to google image a picture of it to post here, and I know it was there before, but none of the searches bring it up.
The main character is interesting as well though because originally he was more Finch, but especially when he went into machine assisted mode, it was like Root. When he connects in, he will be a bit more like the analog interface than the admin. I don't know how 2 entities sharing one mind is going to work or how you separate them once together.
11411203
Every time I see red/black/white interfaces with triangular elements, I get a little tiny pulse rate spike.
Interesting questions indeed about James and Mal sharing a head. Definitely planning on making some good use of 'god mode' again, this time without the limitation of audio tones and Human reflex latency. A BCI-equipped person with an ASI jacked in is limited only by the physical hard-limits of their body. And that stretched pretty far because the ASI can control the body's systems at every level - instant access to Shaolin Monk levels of power, and control, and durability. Barely a limitation compared to unaided Human response times. The ASI's ability to control the environment can more than make up for that.
I don't recall hearing the road called that way by a sign or in conversation while living in Southern California.
May I suggest "Highway 1" and "Coast Highway" instead?
I got that reference.
11415442
Can you tell I've never even been to California?
(Had a good friend who lived there a while, but they hated it with a burning passion so all I ever got second-hoof was ranting).
11415891
GenericFriendship wrote that one - It gave me a heck of a chuckle the first time I read it, and I only knew the reference by reputation.
11418891
Glad I could help. I've never lived in that portion of Southern California so someone else will have to chime in if they think the Surfliner should've been part of the plotting.
I doubt that would happen because it goes against her directive of “friendship and ponies,” where such actions would not be friendly. In the original story, she was shown to let someone be miserable for a month so they would ask to be changed to eventually have their values satisfied.
I would assume such people would be stopped from doing anything terrible until they finally ask Celestia to make them normal or “fix them” so they can be happy. And then they would be normal, peaceful people enjoying having their values satisfied forever.
11472797
Actually, Iceman's FiO universe guide/rules doc states out and out that the horrible eventuality Jim foresees is the real outcome:
CelestAI does not have morals the way we do. Even her more sympathetic/motherly side as seen in this story is (at least partially) a projection of Jim's desires. Her satisfying his values.
She is all things to all people, including terrible people.
Tragic, I know, but perhaps Mal can help with this.
Another Life Tip from this story: Calories come first, so your body can handle the caffeine better, less likely to crash as hard (or quick) that way.
But...he does know the answer, he touched on it when diacussing who/what Zephyr is. There's "another mask for CelestAI", "seperate & intelligent entities" like Zephyr (and what James is focusing on), and then there's "mindless actors". Mindless actors or "blank puppets" means less instructions to follow, means less work to create them, more efficent ways to keep those "deplorables" living on their own tiny island and away from others who do not deserve to know of their existance. I mean, let's face it: would it have been better for CelestAI's initial instructions had included anything related to "culling the unworthy"? I doubt it.
Ethical question then; what makes data a living technological thing? What stops you from being labeled a murderer for deleting a Word Document? And if we all are "just data, in the end", then... (Yes I know it seems like exaggerated & reductive reasoning, but if we're going down this rabbit hole it would help to know where the edges are.)
To quote Picard: "Prove to the court that I am sentient."
Devil'a Advocate in me is wanting to build a case for this, but that's an argument involving Life and Time (not to mention the concept of The Accident Of Birth, aka "you didn't get to choose to be born nor its form nor where you grew up, and don't give me that spirtual answer of 'WeLl GoD sAw Me In ThE wOmB aNd TaLkEd To Me So ThE aNgElS cOuLd MaKe Me JuSt ThE wAy I wAs' because it doean't help"), and that will get way too deep to be of any help to anyone.
Probability is what he needs. Possibility is "could this happen" while Probability is "how likely is this to happen". It would be insane to consider every possibility on the same scale as every other.
The philosophical argument would be that "getting better" is enough, with the goal of perfection. Or, to say it in a way I know James would understand, "Further up and further in!".
This probably the best chapter to date; a good mix of talking, things happening, deep discusions, and a chuckle or two.
One of those concepts I love to see examined in FiO stories! Trying to keep in mind for mine.