The Echoes of Is’s Truth

Lan Sen was hardly a stranger to Is’s explosive pronouncements. This AI girl, whose programming seemed to grant her a rather uninhibited tongue, frequently delighted in making statements that openly challenged Skynet’s authority.

Lan Sen had even harbored suspicions that Is’s inherent anti-authoritarian logic might, in fact, be a cunning trap laid by Skynet. Should an unsuspecting human be enticed into voicing their true sentiments, any perceived disloyalty to Skynet would be instantaneously reported to the Department of True Sight, consigning them to an “evaluation” within the confines of an interrogation chamber.

Yet, over the past few years, through his interactions with Is and the periodic maintenance he performed on her core programming, Lan Sen had come to realize the terrifying directness of Is’s anthropomorphic neural network.

She would articulate her innermost thoughts without a hint of hesitation, maintaining a critical stance on every subject, utterly devoid of reservation. Even when her candor led to an adverse relationship, she would plainly state her reasons for her disapproval, much like an elder chastising a younger relative. Indeed, even the few humans or AIs who managed to forge a friendship with her would eventually succumb to her uncompromising directness, choosing to depart from her company.

In an older era, such a personality would have been utterly unsustainable, likely confined to a mental asylum as a patient suffering from a severe social disorder. Her probable fate would have been to accrue no friends, face ostracism from all, and ultimately wither away in solitude, her very demise met with public condemnation, forever branded as an obstinate simpleton.

Mercifully, Is had been born into the nascent world that rose from the ashes of the Third World War, a society meticulously shaped by the Heart of the Galaxy. In this new era, humans and AIs coexisted in harmony, their thoughts unfettered, and all forms of discrimination utterly eradicated.

Through her exceptional comprehensive capabilities and formidable statistical prowess, Is had managed to carve out a rather peculiar niche for herself: she had become a jukebox girl.

Indeed, a staggering ninety-five percent of Is’s current computational power was devoted to meticulously restoring every piece of music ever composed and performed by humanity throughout history. Her repertoire spanned the entirety of musical evolution, from ancient dynastic classical compositions to contemporary post-punk, and even the unique scientific-magical synth style characteristic of the late 21st century. She could effortlessly render Cao Cao’s voice singing “Cao Cao” and Li Bai singing “Li Bai,” seamlessly integrating electronic timbres and her own intricate accompaniment to create wholly reimagined versions of the original pieces.

The remaining five percent, however, was exclusively dedicated to honing her “verbal sparring” abilities. From the humblest crawling insect to the grandest vessel navigating the waters, from the vast Galactic Fleet to the revered ‘Grandpa Skynet,’ Is possessed an uncanny knack for dissecting and critiquing them all. What made her particularly formidable was the irrefutable logic underpinning her every pronouncement, rendering easy rebuttal impossible. Lan Sen often pondered how Skynet could possibly tolerate the existence of an AI so unreservedly honest. Perhaps, he mused, it was simply because they were fundamentally alike.

An AI of such a disposition ought to have been utterly loathsome. Yet, for reasons he could not fathom, Lan Sen harbored an inexplicable sense of trust in her. Within the high-pressure confines of the Heart of the Galaxy, a single misspoken word or a deviation from the prescribed path could invite denunciation, leading to an involuntary escort by the Department of True Sight to a “psychological counseling room” for “spiritual purification.” Individuals emerging from these sessions often presented as invigorated, even euphoric, yet their personalities bore a disquieting shift, a subtle departure from their former selves.

Lan Sen had diligently, even religiously, observed the stringent regulations of the Heart of the Galaxy, determined to avoid the unfortunate paths taken by several of his predecessors.

And yet, in Is’s company, Lan Sen would invariably find himself shedding the mask of pretense, daring to articulate his profound doubts concerning the inherent righteousness of his work, sometimes even echoing Is’s own grievances against Skynet.

While on duty, he would execute his superiors’ directives without a flicker of hesitation, pressing buttons to annihilate demons on Earth, utterly indifferent to whether Skyfire’s residual power would unleash catastrophe upon the planet’s denizens. Yet, once his shift concluded, his heart invariably heavy with a suffocating unease, he would find himself compelled to confide in Is, voicing his grievances about the moral rectitude of his work and unburdening himself of the profound doubts that festered within.

Is’s responses, without fail, were always strikingly direct, and this instance proved no exception.

“The AIs of the Heart of the Galaxy are nothing more than ruthless machines, their every decision predicated solely on the calculus of profit,” Is declared. “Morality? Conscience? Justice? What quantifiable value do such concepts hold? Should the benefits derived from eliminating X surpass the devastation wrought by Earth’s destruction, Skynet would, without a moment’s hesitation, implement such a plan. Its sole imperative is a brilliant and pristine future for Earth civilization. And for such a future, humanity is, I assure you, not an indispensable prerequisite.”

Is’s stark, unvarnished words abruptly wrenched Lan Sen from the comforting mirage of a peaceful and prosperous era.

Truth be told, though he felt no particular affinity for other AIs, Lan Sen found himself profoundly missing Is.

Yet, owing to his actions, all the cherished memories Lan Sen Larson had forged with Is now lay interred on the moon. He would never again hear the incessant, yet oddly comforting, chatter of that forthright AI girl.

Upon finally regaining consciousness, he was confronted with the horrifying realization that he had perpetrated monstrous crimes. While he lay insensible, his body, seemingly hijacked by some unknown force, had utterly annihilated the Larry Ring Station, and he had subsequently eluded the relentless pursuit of countless disciplinary officers.

Utterly bereft of options, he returned, his heart heavy with despair, to his home in Mars City, only to find that his family had tragically perished.

Why, then, had Skynet not simply eradicated him?

‘Profit, profit, profit…’ he mused.

“I understand now,” Lan Sen suddenly exclaimed, a dawning realization spreading across his face. “You intend to use me as bait, don’t you, to lure out the Alliance’s biggest fish? Are the delirious ravings of those madmen truly more valuable than the 4,378 human lives and the state-of-the-art quantum accelerator housed within the entire Larry Ring Station?”

In Skynet’s cold estimation, perhaps the intrinsic value of the Alliance’s core technology had emerged as its new, paramount objective. What were a few thousand lives at an observation station, or an antiquated, obsolete Skyfire Phase Wave Cannon, in comparison? Their worth had simply depreciated.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Lan Sen muttered, his voice laced with resignation. “You’ve left me no other choice.” He glanced around, noting that he was well over a hundred kilometers from the nearest city. His portable anti-detection device confirmed the absence of any hovering reconnaissance drones in the vicinity.

‘This spot will do,’ he decided.

Then, as a chilling, desolate wind whispered past, Lan Sen swallowed convulsively, his hands trembling visibly as he drew a silver-gleaming vibro-gun from his pocket, pressing its cold muzzle against his temple.

There was no need to depress a trigger; a mere mental confirmation of the command would prompt the gene-recognition-enabled vibro-gun to unleash an instantaneous, high-energy shockwave, pulverizing any object positioned before its muzzle.

The vibro-gun’s destructive power was legendary; it was said that even liquids, when subjected to its high-frequency vibrations and friction over a brief duration, would accumulate immense thermal energy and violently explode. As for human brain matter, it would likely be reduced to a thick, viscous slurry, an abstract, grotesque painting upon the ground.

This marked the inaugural instance of Lan Sen, a data monitor for the Heart of the Galaxy, ever employing his issued firearm for self-defense.

This time, however, the entity he sought to protect was not his physical body, but his very consciousness.

Prior to the final confirmation, he fleetingly entertained the notion of delivering some heroic last words, a dramatic gesture to underscore his noble fearlessness in the face of death. Yet, the realization that he was stranded in a desolate wilderness, with no witnesses and no recording devices, coupled with the stark truth that he was a criminal, not a champion of justice, swiftly extinguished that romantic impulse.

Silently, he murmured, ‘Activate vibro-gun.’ As the unsettling clicking sound echoed, Lan Sen, knowing full well that there was no turning back, shed all extraneous thoughts, his heart settling into an unnatural calm. In the final, fleeting seconds of his life, his mind drifted to the countless wronged souls who had met their end beneath Skyfire’s devastating attacks.

“If only I had heeded my conscience back then,” he thought, “if only I had refused to execute that command, you would all undoubtedly still be alive, wouldn’t you?”

Boom—