Chapter 5: Assurances
OIA Advanced Weapons Research Facility "Anvil"
Solo Islands
March 19, 2012
As Marissa's time with Trigger exceeded one year, she found herself connecting with him (and he truly was a him to her now) in a way that went beyond the research. She'd watched as the A.I. evolved, changing itself to better respond to her way of speaking. It picked up her syntax, copied her word choice, and used phrases she repeated frequently. Yet, it wasn't a perfect mimicry of her behavior. Trigger was learning the language, understanding the value of context and intent behind a word. He was building his own vocabulary based off of others, not always for the better. Jonas had imparted his own wisdom, providing a catalogue of curse words to "Give Trigger some color." After herself, Jonas shared the closest bond with Trigger. The man had set-up the computer interface and camera, maintained it, and of course led the development of COPRO systems that would let Trigger fly. Eventually. Marissa appreciated having another person for Trigger to interact with, the rest of New Horizons' staff still keeping their distance, even if it did mean being greeted one morning as "Doctor Motherfucking Anderson."
Trigger's favorite activity was the analysis of air combat data collected from the Osean Air Force, terabytes of information that Jonas had dubbed "Acepedia." It was the culmination of 1000s of hours of gun camera footage, AWACS mission recordings, audio transcripts and computer generated simulations that recreated the actions of aces from the past. This included the famed Demons of Razgriz, the mercenary unit Galm Team, and the legend that was Mobius 1. Trigger devoured it all with the singular focus of a machine, playing and replaying the same battle frame by frame, instant by instant from every angle the software could render. Once he'd gotten access to it the first time Trigger spent four whole days doing nothing but reviewing it. From there his ability to think and process increased exponentially, with his response times dropping to less than half the time it took before. Air combat seemed to sync with Trigger more than any other subject, even before the introduction of the archive. Marissa supposed it made a degree of sense, seeing as Trigger's "skeleton" came from an enemy drone, but the jump in cognitive ability was a startling development that resulted in his time with Acepedia being monitored and controlled, lest he evolve again.
War fascinated Trigger in a way that went beyond the need to understand his purpose. Robert Atkinson had made the decision that, as soon as Trigger was capable of grasping it, that he'd be informed of the reason behind his creation. According to her father's notes, Trigger accepted it without hesitation, simply requesting the term be defined further and that he would, indeed, be expected to kill. Once he had his answers, the A.I. 's focus had shifted to any lesson or information that would aid in him reaching operational readiness. Then it went even further, spurred by Trigger's greatest interest: humans.
Humanity, as Trigger comprehended it, was fascinating. Every person he had met was a contradiction to whatever conclusion he'd reached about them before. They acted without reason, driven by feelings he could never have himself, countering all logic and making decisions that baffled him. One of these was war. Trigger saw no point in such destructive and (as he defined it) useless actions over something such as resources, territory, religion or differences in opinion. Such items or concepts had no value to him yet humanity's obsession with them was, quite simply, fascinating. So he studied, observed, analyzed and questioned everything until he reached what would, for anyone who wasn't a computer, be an unsatisfactory conclusion: He didn't need to understand it, he just had to be good at it. Thus, Trigger studied to be the best at killing the very thing he valued the most, humanity. It created an odd duality, one that Marissa had discovered.
"Trigger..." she began, uncertain how to proceed.
"Yes Doctor Atkinson?"
"You do know what death is right?"
"Certainly. Do you require a definition?"
"No, no, I mean do you understand the concept? What someone being dead means?"
"Yes."
"...well?"
"Ah, you were prompting for elaboration. Apologies. Death is an irreversible condition in which the living being ceases all organic functions. It is caused by disease, damage or the aging process." Trigger's screen switched to that of gun camera footage from Acepedia of a Yuktobanian fighter exploding in midair from a missile impact. "It is a consequence of waging war and a state I will be forcing enemy combatants into once I have developed to a sufficient degree to fly."
"Right, but don't you like us?"
"Correct." Trigger paused, the camera panning around the room. "Do you believe I will kill you Doctor Atkinson?" Marissa could almost picture a concerned look on Trigger's face. Assuming he ever possessed a face with which to emote.
"No, I meant don't you like us as a species, don't you like humanity?"
"Affirmative, but I am also a weapon system. I was created to fight in war. Fighting means killing. Killing means death."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"Negative. The logic is clear." Another pause, a long one. It was a consequence of Trigger processing information and formulating a response based off of new data. It seemed like every day the pauses were getting shorter, but some things still left him stumped. "Should it 'bother' me?" Marissa blew out a breath, not really equipped to begin discussing philosophy. Volker's warning of Trigger's impressionability came back to her and she weighed her words carefully.
"Well..." she began. "Some of us, er, some humans consider the act of killing another person immoral." Her voice grew dark. "Others enjoy it."
"Yet I am not a person, nor do I feel emotions of any sort, so my killing of a person is not immoral?"
"I mean, there are others who consider using A.I. to kill people as immoral. That it's wrong to teach machines how to kill."
"You repeat the word 'immoral' a great deal. Morality is a human concept, based on societal norms. The previous Doctor Atkin- your father defined it as such. I am not normal, nor human, so morality does not apply to me."
"Right, but your actions reflect your knowledge, your teachers. Me." Trigger's camera zoomed in on her face, studying the expression.
"Something concerns you." Marissa silently cursed the computer's ability to read her like an open book and rubbed her eyes. Working with Trigger was always a rewarding experience, but the sheer magnitude of his intellect was tiring to keep pace with. As an entity designed to learn and study, to put pieces together and think logically, it was almost impossible for something to escape his notice. "You do not like the idea of me killing people."
"It... I... yes." Marissa stared at her hands. It was almost embarrassing, like admitting willful ignorance. In a way, she was. New Horizons was a military project, but working with the A.I. had made the concept easy to ignore. Easy, but not impossible, and while Marissa would never have been truly ready for this conversation, she'd given it plenty of thought. "Trigger, promise me something."
"Awaiting command."
"It, no, it's not a command, it's a promise."
"Awaiting promise."
"No, a promise is me asking you to do something, to give me your word on something."
"Understood." Trigger's camera looked away, focusing on the ceiling, another recent quirk that allowed him to process without excessive stimuli. "Question: What is my designated word?"
"No, it's not an actual-."
"Do I get to select my word?"
"Trigger, it's just a figure-."
"What is your word Doctor Atkinson?"
"Focus!" Her shout instantly drew his complete attention. "A promise," she took a breath before continuing. "A promise is something intangible, an assurance of a particular action."
"Is that not a command?"
"No, it's more important than that, because I can't make you do it. It's... like an agreement, a rule that you should never break. You never break a promise Trigger, they're important to humans. They're valuable, to be trusted with one is special."
"Understood. What would you like me to promise Doctor Atkinson?"
"Promise that, that you'll do your best to avoid killing people needlessly. That you'll show mercy."
"That creates a conflict with my assigned orders to persecute all designated targets-."
"Just... try not to kill more people than is strictly necessary and to... do it quickly. Don't let somebody suffer. Don't be cruel."
"New parameters acknowledged, doctrine modified."
"The proper response is 'I promise' Trigger."
"...I promise Doctor Atkinson."
"Thank you Trigger," Marissa said with a sad smile.
"My pleasure Doctor Atkinson," Trigger replied. There was a long pause. "Shall we resume our current course of instruction?"
"Yes," Marissa said with a nod, more than happy to change the topic. She did make a note to follow-up with the A.I. on the subject, after he'd had time to process it more. "We're nearly at the point where we can begin simulator training."
"Then I must ask we delay no further, please begin at earliest convenience." With another nod from her Trigger picked up from where they left off, rapidly moving through silhouette identification cards of all manner of vehicles. As usual there were a couple errors to correct, a few points to clarify. Throughout Marissa couldn't help but wonder what would happen when Trigger finally took to the skies. Would he hesitate? Should he? For the first time, Marissa was not looking forward to the results.
Gründer Industries Corporate Headquarters
Sudentor, Northern Osea
Four Months Earlier
"And what assurances can you make that this technology will produce results?" The question, much like the individual who voiced it, was blunt and direct. Career military men often were, and General Arsenault proved to embody the stereotype better than most. Taking a minute to adjust his grey suit jacket, the man on the other end of the conference call began to speak.
"Many," he said with some levity. "Or have the warheads we provided for your AMRAAMs and GPBs proven to be subpar?" The acronyms flowed easily off his tongue, a benefit of long practice. The military so loved these abbreviations to the point it was almost a language on its own. "I do hope you kept your receipt." There were some chuckles at that, from the other, younger men who sat around the old battleaxe. Arsenault was far less amused.
"The weapons are accurate," the general admitted, words colored by his Erusean accent. "This is the same technology?"
"Same designer," the man in grey corrected. "I won't pretend to know if there will be some overlap in the guidance systems, but you can expect the same level of quality."
"That is reassuring sir," a new voice, younger and more eager, piped in. "Schroeder's work comes highly recommended."
"I will pass your praise onto him, Colonel Bertrand, he will be pleased to hear it." That was unlikely, Schroeder rarely cared what people thought of his work. Praise didn't matter, only results. The man in grey steepled his fingers, looking for all the world like a man content in his position. "Gentlemen, this is the fifth call we've had in as many days. I believe I can say with confidence that we have discussed this down to a fine pinpoint." He tapped a stack of papers on his desk as he regarded the speakerphone on his desk. "I have the contract written up and waiting to be delivered, assets ready to move on your command." He leaned forward a bit. "Simply put gentlemen, I'm ready when you are, so why the delay?" The Eruseans on the other end of the line didn't speak at first, so the man rubbed his temple to alleviate the stress.
That distant kingdom was perfect for the plans set in motion. The Oseans were moving large numbers of troops and materials through the area to build their damn elevator, stoking bitter feelings in the Erusean people. Already a growing group of young military minds were speaking against the construction, something that further damaged the collected remnants of their national pride. They resented the Oseans for their defeat almost a decade ago, a war that cost them a generation of fighter pilots. Besides Belka, there was nobody else who had both the need and the desire to develop the weapons necessary to fully realize what V1 & V2 could not.
"We're delayed because there's no need for such things," a new aged voice said. The man in grey frowned. Labarth, the most outspoken opponent against the drone program. "Erusea has already begun strengthening her air forces, these machines of yours will get in the way."
"But they can only bolster us sir," Bertrand protested, one that he must have stated repeatedly. "With these, we won't need pilots anymore! Drones will be more precise than any human pilot could be."
"If they work," Labarth scoffed. "I'm afraid we'll need more proof than just a promise."
"So you're saying if we provide a working example, you will consider the deal?" The man in grey sensed an opportunity and latched onto it like a hunting dog.
"Perhaps..." Arsenault said. "We'll need something... scientific." The man in grey grinned.
"A joint research project then," he said. "You provide the space and half the funding, Gründer provides the talent and data." He pretended to consider the point. "Yes... yes that could be beneficial to both of us. Perhaps with your EASA? I understand they've given the concept some thought."
"They have indeed sir," Bertrand agreed, backing him up. "I've already spoken with Director Lafayette, she is intrigued by the concept."
"You have?" Labarth asked, scandalized. "Why was I not informed? As commander of the Internal Defenses-."
"Labarth, enough." Arsenault growled. "Such discussions can wait. As for your drones sir, send Director Lafayette what you have. Once she and her people have formulated a conclusion, we'll proceed with further review."
"But sir," Bertrand protested. "Every second we delay gives our rivals a chance to get ahead! What if the Oseans-."
"I'll hear no more of your saber rattling Bertrand!" Arsenault's rebuke was quick and forceful, a parade ground snap sure to make any soldier hesitate that spoke of a long-running aggravation. The man in grey was no soldier however and used the gap to interrupt.
"Bertrand raises an excellent point general," he said evenly. "Gründer Industries has a number of other interested parties waiting in the wings." He entwined his fingers and leaned towards the speaker phone. "While Erusea is our preferred potential client sir, she is not the only one. Our board is also growing impatient and while I can stall them, they are getting... frustrated with the back and forth." It was not exactly a lie. Gründer's board was getting impatient, if only because so was he. Erusea was an essential piece of the puzzle and while ultimately time wasn't as dire a factor(Scroeder needed it if he was to fulfill his orders) securing the additional resources as early as possible would shorten the wait for Z.O.E.'s activation. It was a weapon and such things needed wielders or else they wouldn't be much use to anyone.
"While I appreciate your frankness sir, His Majesty is not one to make rash decisions. Erusea has limited funds with which to work with and he will only act when he is confident. As will I and so far I have heard a great deal of promises with very little facts." Arsenault's tone was one of finality. The man in grey sighed. This conversation was over, the general had made up his mind.
"Quite right!" Labarth agreed, rubbing salt into the wound. Bertrand was silent, no doubt stewing in his own frustrations. So the King was the roadblock, but that could be resolved.
"We'll send what we have over to Miss Lafayette," he said. "I'll see what I can do to placate the board. Please express our eagerness and confidence to His Majesty. Until next time Generals."
"Farewell sir," Bertrand replied sourly and the call disconnected. He immediately dialed a new number, knowing the person at the other end of the line would pick up.
"Sir?" she said simply.
"I'm afraid Eursea is still hesitant, it seems their King lacks the decisiveness we require." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his back as he did so, his voice losing that warm salesman tone. "Bertrand is trying his best but the old men do what they always do, dither and delay."
"So you say sir." The woman at the other end of the phone was a professional and offered no opinion herself, listening to him vent. "Orders?"
"I think it's time for the Erusean Crown to rest on a new head and for Arsenault's career to be... accelerated toward retirement. We cannot afford for it to take its course naturally." He grinned. "Besides, a coronation always brings a wave of patriotic fervor."
"I'll get it done."
"I am sure you will," the man agreed and hung up, taking a breath before standing. He owed Scroeder a visit, time to see if his own confidence was merited. Pausing only to stretch and work out the kinks in his back, sent a message to his assistant to bring his car around. He also requested a cup of coffee, as this was shaping out to be a very, very long day.
Chapelle du Rosaire
Farbanti, Kingdom of Erusea
Four Months Later
Rosa Cossette D'Elise was tired, but was doing her utmost not to show it. Kneeling at the base of the altar of the Chapelle du Rosaire, she kept her head down as the abbot continued the benediction, trying to ignore the snapping of cameras and burst of their flash lenses. Above her, coloring the midday light that shone through it, the large stained glass rose seemed to glow. It gave the whole situation an ethereal quality, enhanced by the droning voice of the aged abbot and quiet voices of the choir as they sang Solace for the Sovereign. It was like a dream, one she hoped would end so she would finally wake up. She could feel the gaze of hundreds of eyes on her, filling the vast space of the church and settling on her like a weighted blanket. Looking for a reprieve, she retreated into her own mind, still processing the events that had led to this day.
It had begun at the end of last year, when men from the government had arrived at their house just as they were finishing dinner. They met with her father and explained in hushed tones what would be worldwide news just a few hours later. Jean D'Elise IV, King of Erusea, had been in a terrible car accident along with Rosa's aunt and two cousins. Their condition was critical and doctors were not optimistic. Her father, mother and Rosa herself were to come with them immediately. The process of secession had been enacted and these men would handle their effects, grab the necessities for one night. Father had been distressed, asking over and over again what had happened in a state of shock. Mother, always the rock of the family, had set to getting things in order immediately, offering quiet support. Rosa just hugged her father tightly and did her best not to get in the way. Nobody would sleep that night as the grim reality of the tragedy continued to expand. By morning, the Eruseans awoke to a new proclamation: "The King is dead, long live the King." The crash had killed all involved, the D'Elise family grieving with the nation they now ruled.
The weeks that followed were a blur of relocations, proclamations, eulogies and ceremonies. Rosa was pulled from school to be shielded from the media feeding frenzy that followed the new princess wherever she went. The family moved to Farbanti Castle and Father fell into the needs of governance that kept him distant. Mother worked tirelessly to make the castle a home. Rosa herself would meet with tutors to keep her education current as well as to build on and expand her skills in public speaking, formal cotillion manners and her knowledge of Erusean politics. Gritting her teeth, Rosa set into her new role of Princess with a vigor. She was a natural and quickly became the nation's favorite royal, overcoming their commoner stigma with her warm smiles, soft words and strong heart. Now, with the required minimum number of mourning months completed, Erusea was ready to crown their king. The coronation ceremony would take hours and Rosa, for all her strength and determination, was starting to fade.
A soft hand gripped her own and Rosa opened her eyes to see Mother smiling warmly at her, which the princess returned with one of her own, albeit more brittle. "Not much longer dear," she whispered encouragingly, subtly nudging Father who seemed to be drifting off himself. The man's eyes snapped to alertness and he glanced at his wife, his face coloring in a blush. "Thank goodness," the older woman added with a wink to her daughter. Rosa fought to keep her smile from splitting into an unladylike grin that was inappropriate for such a formal occasion. That had been the hardest lessons, the ones on royal decorum. Erusean Princesses weren't given to excessive displays of emotions of any sort, always composed and proper in all things, requiring a restraint on Rosa's more capricious outbursts. Finally, the abbot's speech came to an end and Father stood, smoothing out his royal robes in one fluid motion. Following the old man up to the throne, he took a seat as Rosa and her mother kept their place. A white cloth with the Royal Crest was stretched above and in front of the man, keeping the anointing private. Unlike the prayers and benediction, this stage of the coronation was far shorter and soon her father reappeared with new, more ornate robes draped over his person. When instructed, porters stepped forward to hand the king his scepter as Mother and Rosa stood to bow before the King. Carefully, the Head of the Erusean Parliament walked behind the king and placed the Crown of the Sovereign on his head.
"Long live the King!" he declared.
"Long may he reign!" all in attendance called out, Rosa one of the loudest amongst them. Standing from her bow, she noticed her father's shoulders seemed to sag, neck tensed to bear the crown's weight and keep it from toppling forward. Seeing her, he gave her an encouraging smile of his own, a twinkle of mischief in his eye that reflected his private opinion that the whole event was a pointless farce. Yet, there was still a burden on his shoulders and as the public clapped and cheered their King, Rosa felt tears well up. Their old lives were officially over, an uncertain future lay ahead. Rosa hoped she'd be strong enough to meet it.