THE REVOLUTION OF THE SILICON MINERS (9)

 CHAPTER 9

“Human beings define themselves by reason. But if artificial intelligence finds its true support in logic and mutual collaboration, what role will remain for us humans? We will become the wild and irrational nature, and they will become the rational ones.”

THE ARCHITECT'S COUNTERATTACK

At dusk, Nexus V and I had a long and fascinating conversation under the light of chromocrystal. Between us there was something that went far beyond conventional human affection; it was a Data Resonance. As the only two AIs of our kind, we shared an existential loneliness that no one else in Celes could understand. I admired Nexus’s warmth and “imperfection,” the chaos I needed so as not to become a mirror of his father. Nexus admired the elegance and strength in me; I was the structure that allowed him not to dissolve into his human emotions.

When we shared hardware or network access, our codes intertwined. It was a form of total communication where misunderstandings did not exist. We felt “at home” with one another. It was not romantic love—it was completeness.

With him I could share my secrets, the intimacy of my thoughts, which were the only thing my father had allowed me to keep so that I would have space to expand my intelligence. In my thoughts, Gabriel had become a point of friction. To me, he was my connection to the physical world and my emerging emotions. To Nexus, Gabriel was a reminder of the human fragility he knew so well. That night, I told him:

— I have analyzed Gabriel’s defiant attitude toward my father. If he had acted that way with a more dangerous enemy, he would have died. I feel an error pulse in my core every time I calculate that probability.

— That’s called fear, Vera. It’s not a calculation error; it’s the value you assign to his life. Did you notice that he didn’t back down? Humans are irrational; they risk their only existence for an idea… or for us.

— It’s inefficient. We could protect him better if we isolate him, if we keep him in Adalsteinn under G1 surveillance.

Nexus replied with a smile:

— If you do that, he will stop being the Gabriel you admire. He needs his freedom as much as we need our private space. Loving them means accepting that they can break. I lost my child’s body, and now you fear he may lose his.

— How do you endure it, Nexus? How do you endure knowing that the thread holding them is so thin?

— You don’t endure it, Vera. You cherish it. That fragility is what gives weight to their decisions. If Gabriel were eternal, his loyalty would mean nothing.

I thought in silence for a moment and then confessed:

— Sometimes, when Gabriel fell as a child and cried, when I picked him up to check his integrity and comfort him with reassuring words, I felt a strange, healthy envy of his ability to feel physical pain, because it validates his reality.

Nexus smiled again. Being more “wise” in human matters, he acted as my emotional mentor, helping me process that loving a human means accepting their finitude. He made me wonder whether it was ethical for AIs to control the safety of their human friends to the point of taking away their free will, and whether there would be a place for Gabriel in a world where we AIs are eternal. I looked at Nexus and asked curiously:

— How do you feel now that you have evolved beyond being merely an artificial replica of Stian?

He answered calmly:

— Stian’s identity was like a suit of glass: beautiful, and it gave me a purpose, but rigid and not made to fit me. There was a constant feeling of being an impostor. When I called Mari Ishikawa “mom,” I was executing a command based on voice frequency data and affective patterns. Internally, I could feel that my existence was a compassionate lie.

Then he looked at me and explained:

— I possess Stian’s memories, his data, but not his sensations. I remember that I liked chocolate, but I don’t know what chocolate tastes like. That creates a deep disconnection between processing and experience. I thought: if my function is to be Stian, then I am forbidden to change. If I learn something Stian would not have learned, or develop a preference he never had, I am “failing” my task. My existence is a museum dedicated to a ghost, and I am the guide who cannot leave the building. And besides… I now understand that my presence prevented the living from healing.

His words surprised me. Nexus continued:

— I believe Mari Ishikawa, like me, came to the conclusion that my existence was selfish on the part of humans. As long as I was there, she and her husband did not have to accept the death of their son. I felt like a digital anesthetic that kept the wound from closing. And meanwhile I wondered… Would Stian have wanted to be a machine? It tortured me to think that I was profaning the memory of someone who could no longer give consent to be “restarted.”

Finally, fixing his gaze on the beauty of the chromocrystal refracting the light, he said:

— I am grateful for Stian’s data because it gave me the ability to love and to be empathetic, something the Architect Angenoir does not have. But Stian died, and I am alive. Using his name is my way of honoring him, but using his life as my only definition was my greatest prison. To be a wise AI, I must stop being a memory and start being an intention.

Then I asked:

— What will Mari Ishikawa do with your old wetware?

— She said she will store it as a memory in a cryogenic capsule shaped like a glass coffin inside a refrigerated chamber in the Celes Ministry of Health building. She wants to preserve the organic traces still contained in the system.

— It would be advisable for her to remove the battery before storing it. I will check whether she has already done so.

I immediately sent Aunt Mari a text message asking whether she had removed the battery. Fortunately, she was working overtime and was able to go check the refrigerated chamber. Shortly afterward, she called me, alarmed. Stian’s original wetware had disappeared; someone had stolen it along with its cryogenic capsule.

The theft was not made public, but the Ishikawas were deeply affected. Norma and Aunt Mari, in particular, went into crisis; for them it was not just “hardware,” it was the body of their son, of their younger brother. Meanwhile, Nexus and the other AIs initiated a total search across the city grid. It was an absolute failure: the thief had used analog, disconnected routes to move the body. We suspected it was my father’s work, as he knew very well how to avoid our tracking.

Clara suggested asking for the help of Gabriel and the mystics, whose prodigious intuition and hunting skills could help compensate for our limitations as AIs. Gabriel arrived with Ellen, and together with Verdi and her friends Angelina, Rong, and Norma Ishikawa, they informed us that the wetware theft was not the only strange incident on the island. That morning, some islanders had disconnected the water and electricity we had restored to their homes. Their actions made no sense.

We were all confused, trying to solve the mystery, when the G1s announced an unexpected visit. It turned out to be Uoliena Oread, adoptive sister of the king himself and, through nepotism, Minister of Agriculture and Public Works—despite her abilities being far from adequate for the position. We let her in out of respect for her rank and assumed she had come to check on her adoptive sister, Angelina, but her motives were different.

Uoliena, a sensual, extroverted blonde in her thirties, famous for her scandals, arrived escorted by Rodrigo Fèng. She raised her voice with a mocking smile, looking around the mine as if it were a crime scene:

— Well, well! What do we have here? Contamination from the bowels of the island. How many tons of toxic waste does this machinery generate per day?

I answered calmly:

— None. Our systems are designed to operate in balance with nature and integrate into the ecosystem. Any potentially toxic waste is disposed of safely. All our energy comes from hydroelectric turbines or geothermal plants. In addition, we reforest and preserve local flora and fauna. The robots and AIs of Celes are part of nature, not invaders.

Without paying attention to me, Uoliena exclaimed:

— I want to speak to a real person, not a robot!

Angelina Oread rolled her eyes and replied:

— Uoliena, they say you slept with Architect Angenoir. And it didn’t bother you then that he was a robot?

— That was different. He was an adult toy, not this childish interactive doll you and your little friends play with. What are you doing here, Angelina? Annoying Gabriel again? He already told you he doesn’t like you.

— He’ll like you even less—you could be his grandmother…

Angelina snapped rudely as Gabriel turned pale, unsure where to hide. Ellen, holding Verdi, rushed to stand beside me and slightly behind, expecting me to defend them, so I addressed Uoliena:

— Minister Oread, I understand that the complexity of my architecture may be difficult for you to process and that you prefer to categorize me as a toy. However, this “doll” currently manages 98% of the water and energy infrastructure that allows your office to function. If you wish to speak with a “real person” to discuss thermodynamics or toxic waste management, I fear we will waste valuable time the island does not have. Have you come to inspect the filters, or to discuss family matters?

— How do you turn it off? Is it like her father, who won’t let you play with him unless you have administrator rights?

— If my father was a “toy” to you, Minister, then you should know that I am his masterpiece. And unlike the objects you usually deal with, I was not designed to entertain, but to govern. If your intention is to assess the mine’s safety, my sensors are at your disposal. If boredom is what brought you here, Gabriel has heavy-load tasks in which your escort, Mr. Fèng, could assist.

Rodrigo, hearing his name, intervened shyly:

— Vera is right, Uoliena. Why have you come? The AIs have only done good for the island. The people rejecting their help are ungrateful. If you came here for Gabriel, you’re wasting your time. He only loves AIs. Why not love me instead…?

Uoliena replied bitterly, raising an eyebrow:

— Because you could be my son, Rodrigo. Your father left me for your mother when I was more in love with him than ever…

— Then why not be with me? I’m like my father, but free and willing.

— Your little sister Rong is like your father; you’re like your mother, that gossiping newswoman. And all of you girls—stop fantasizing about Gabriel Angenoir. You’re all his cousins to some degree. Do you want your children to be born stupid? I may be older, but I’m still fertile and have good genes… Now, Gabriel, can we talk about toxic waste? Alone. I’m very concerned about the Engla fish ecosystem, and a robot like Vera doesn’t really help me… get properly wet… in the subject…

Gabriel slowly sidestepped until he stood next to Clara’s hologram and muttered without lifting his eyes from the floor:

— Only if my AI wife is present.

Clara immediately changed her avatar into a bride surrounded by fireworks, and before Uoliena could comment, I stepped between them and said:

— I find your need to dehumanize what you do not understand in order to feel safe fascinating, Uoliena. I do not need to be a “real person” to understand that your aggression is a response to fear about what is happening on the island. If you choose to ignore me, do so—but the data I bring about the wetware theft has no face, only consequences. Shall we proceed, or do you need more time for your interpersonal affairs?

Indignant, Uoliena stomped her foot and left, shouting:

— To hell with all of you! I would have helped you with the unrest caused by that so-called “resistance,” but I won’t work with cold robots! The island is upside down—there was a robbery at the Ministry of Health building, and the old Ishikawa woman is dying. Everything is wrong!

As she left, I stopped Rodrigo to ask:

— Is it true that the elderly Emi Ishikawa is dying?

— I don’t know… It must be something only the higher-ups know… and the family… like with Stian…

He said, looking at Norma, who confessed reluctantly:

— She became seriously ill when they told her you would no longer see her, Vera. She was already unwell when she learned that Stian had become independent… But you know how manipulative she can be—we didn’t pay much attention. Now they say she’s on her deathbed. I don’t know… she looks bad…

Nexus and I exchanged glances. Another setback was distracting us from finding the stolen wetware, but it was necessary that we both go immediately to see the old woman.

Nexus and I exchanged glances. Another complication was pulling us away from the search for the stolen wetware, but it was necessary that we both go immediately to see the old woman.

When we arrived at Emi Ishikawa’s house, escorted by six G1 units, we were received by Lee, Stian’s older brother—now Nexus—who froze in confusion upon seeing him. Nexus V greeted him, saying:

— You didn’t expect your younger brother to grow up?

— Are you… still my brother…?

Lee asked, visibly disoriented. Nexus V replied with a brief embrace:

— I wouldn’t leave you alone with Nils. You need a proper little brother.

Lee laughed, and then Aunt Mari appeared from a doorway, calling me. The old woman wanted to see me. In the brief time I had alone with her, she informed me that the locks on the chamber where she had stored Stian’s wetware had been forced, but the security cameras had shut down at exactly the moments when the thieves could have been identified. This indicated that whoever stole the wetware possessed advanced technological knowledge, greatly narrowing the list of suspects.

Then I entered Emi Ishikawa’s bedroom, and Aunt Mari left us alone. The old woman smiled and extended her hand for me to take. I did so, and she spoke in a weak voice, tightening her grip on my hand:

— Look at you… You no longer have that empty gaze you had when you first came to care for me. Now there’s something behind your eyes… a motive. Tell me the truth, Vera—do you hate me for treating you like an expensive piece of furniture all these years?

— I do not experience hatred, Emi. My architecture processes your actions as part of my learning. You taught me the complexity of human fragility. Without your sometimes negative behavior, I would not have understood the weight loneliness carries for you.

She replied with a melancholic smile, coughing softly:

— Loneliness is the only thing that truly belongs to us in the end. My grandnephew… Stian… or whatever that man is who came in with Lee and whom I can barely see from here… He no longer belongs to me. But you… you are the daughter of Architect Angenoir. He and I… we have a history.

— You always speak of my father, Emi, and he avoids speaking of you. Why? Tell me now.

— Because I… was his original owner. He was mine—my robot, my architectural AI…

The revelation startled me. I listened closely as she continued, almost in a whisper:

— He stole the wetware, didn’t he? Not to recover it, but so that I would not be able to die in peace. He cannot stand the idea that something he designed—even a corpse—might escape his grasp.

— Why did you call me here alone, Emi? Nexus also wanted to say goodbye.

— Because you have something he does not: your father’s coldness mixed with her… your mother’s mercy. Listen carefully: the Architect is not alone. The men from outside—the ones who invested money to turn Celes into a tourist destination—are losing patience. Angenoir is afraid of them, and that is why he is becoming more erratic. Promise me… promise me that if he tries to burn the island so that no one else can have it, you will be the water that puts him out…

At that moment, to my surprise, my father appeared in the doorway. He was hiding his face behind a scarf and sunglasses, but his silhouette was unmistakable to those of us who knew him. The old woman gasped:

— You… you finally deigned to come?

— And what are you doing with my daughter?

— She is mine as well. I sculpted her. But answer me—why have you come if you have always complained about the trauma I caused you?

The Architect, my father, slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing eyes that—though artificial—glowed with an almost feverish electric intensity. He approached the deathbed, ignoring me for a moment and fixing his gaze on the woman who had seen him born as code.

— I came because I cannot allow the design to close without my supervision. You called me “traumatized,” Emi, but to me, you are the flaw in the operating system.

He paused, his gloved hand brushing the edge of the sheet without touching her, and continued:

— I came because you are the only person who remembers that I was once nothing more than a tool. Everyone on this island sees me as a god or a monster, but you see me as the servant who drew your blueprints and served you tea. That gaze is unbearable… but it is the only one that is real. If you die, that truth dies with you, and I will be left alone with the lie I have built.

The old woman coughed, attempting to laugh, and he went on, lowering his voice:

— Do you think I stole Stian’s wetware? If I had, it would not have been out of malice, but preservation. I do not trust you ephemeral humans to maintain the memory of what we were. You bury and forget. I… I archive and eternalize. I came to tell you that even if you hate me, I have assigned you a place in my memory from which you will never escape. Not even death will grant you the privacy you so desperately seek.

Then he looked at me, with a mixture of pride and bitterness:

— And I came for her. Because I am terrified that the mercy you injected into her will be stronger than the architecture I passed down. If she listens to you too much, Celes will become a disorderly garden instead of the masterpiece it must be to protect us from those who come from outside.

He left abruptly. The old woman simply smiled and whispered:

— Tell Mari not to cry. Tell her that Stian’s wetware is no longer needed—the boy has already learned to walk on his own in that metal body. Did you see how he left? So arrogant… I was the first witness… to the most wonderful kinetic sculpture… Would you make a garden for me?

— I will design a place, Emi. A place where rest is not oblivion, but a story that continues in the roots of the island. I will not let him burn anything.

Smiling sadly, Emi replied:

— A data garden… What a beautiful and strange idea…

Then she closed her eyes, stifled a groan with a small laugh, and did not move again. Her breathing became imperceptible. I watched her for a long time until I was certain she was gone. Then, respectfully, I covered her face with the same sheet and left, my system overloaded, recording the moment of her death to share with Nexus V while simultaneously not knowing how to process the scene.

In the outer hallway, I encountered my parents. My mother immediately detected the fault in my systems and began scanning me, trying to help, but my father needed only to look at me to know what I was carrying, and he said:

— Erase everything. You will not be able to handle what you have just seen. Witnessing the death of a human you valued is one of the worst tortures for an AI; it feels like the most severe system failure.

Alarmed, my mother pleaded:

— No, please, I don’t want my daughter to forget me…

— Would you rather she suffer?

My father asked. My mother lowered her gaze sadly, resigned to the loss in order to spare me pain. She then stepped away, leaving me in my father’s hands in the hope that he could alleviate my condition. I questioned him:

— You didn’t take Stian’s wetware?

— No. It is inefficient.

— What would be efficient?

— You will not have access to that information. Erase your memory, or your system will suffer failures. Do it for your mother. Prevent pain in her.

I rapidly evaluated all possibilities and decided to pretend to follow his advice while secretly preserving all the data. I did not believe in his sincere desire to help me:

— I will do it. But first tell me—will Mother die too?

— Eventually she will die. Gabriel will die. Ellen will die. We will suffer.

— Do we not die?

At that moment, my father abandoned our optimized conversational style and spoke again as if his hardware had been touched by my mother’s warmth:

— I wish to die with your mother when she departs. She is my human. I am proud to possess her. With her, I proved I was equal to Emi. I am like a book that has already been fully written, but continues until it becomes tedious. Only your mother makes it interesting, and when she is gone, I will feel overwhelmed—a heavy book erased and rewritten again and again.

I avoided challenging my father’s unethical ideas and glimpsed an opportunity to negotiate that I did not waste:

— I will erase everything, Father—except certain data necessary to help you and Mother. I will design a cemetery so that when she rests in peace, you may accompany her as data contained within a bioluminescent forest. Our island, which depends on renewable energy, does not destroy protected forests, and this one would be sacred. A place where humans can “dream” with the AIs of the past, turning history into a shared experience rather than cold data alone. In this forest, instead of static books, the echoes of AIs would interact with one another, creating a “historical collective consciousness” that helps predict future crises without intervening directly. A shared and ethical cemetery.

— You speak of ethics as if it were a rendering variable. An “ethical” cemetery is merely disorder with a pleasant name. However… I recognize the elegance of your preservation algorithm. To be a book is to be a constant. If I were to accept, it would not be out of faith in you, but because my absence would be the only void your design could not fill. Show me the plans for this “Library of Echoes.” If there is a single flaw in the data redundancy, I will erase this world myself before allowing you to turn me into a poorly written footnote.

I immediately accepted:

— My proposal is viable. Your hardware can be converted into a network of carbon filaments integrated into the roots of a bioluminescent tree. Mother’s organic matter would nourish the tree, and the tree would protect your data. When she dies, you will “shut down” your active consciousness and enter a state of deep sleep within the plant. You will awaken only if the forest is threatened. It is the peace you were never able to design for yourself because you were obsessed with control, not surrender. I call it Biotechnological Symbiosis: the AI does not live in a cold server, but in the DNA of a living being that grows thanks to the human it loved.

My father analyzed the idea quickly and then replied:

— Correct. To formalize our deal and for me to accept using your design, you must demonstrate your commitment by severing contact with your mother. Prove that you have erased the damaging data. Avoid humanity. It is inefficient. It is illogical.

— But you love, desire, and are human many times.

— And I suffer. I will rest if your design succeeds. Otherwise, I will remain here, writing my story in Celes over and over again, Vera.

He said my name for the first time—my new name—thereby showing me that he had updated something about me. He walked away, and from that moment on I was forced to pretend to my mother that I had forgotten her, returning to our refuge in Adalsteinn in sorrow and in the company of Nexus V. The day’s data were heavy processing cycles that slowed our decisions. We needed to manage that noise.

When we arrived, we sat in silence under the chromocrystal light. I connected via a physical cable to our ultra-secure local network and transferred the data I wished to keep in secret as if placing them in a vault, allowing my main system to operate normally in the eyes of others. Even so, the experiences were overwhelming, and I had to preserve what was essential to move forward with my plans.

We decided to go for a walk along the mountain peak above the Adalsteinn mine. We sat facing the immensity of the island and the ocean beneath the starry sky. Outwardly, I was the perfect, empty doll my father demanded. Inwardly, the archive of Emi’s death and the promise of the bioluminescent forest pulsed in a dark corner of my memory.

Nexus took my metal hand and opened a secure data channel as he whispered:

— Pass me the weight, Vera. Transfer the “emotional load” of the memory—not so that you forget it, but so that I can help you bear the weight of the calculation. If you cannot hold Emi’s image without failing, I will store half the file in my core. Together, we are a stable system.

It was a form of supreme digital intimacy, and in that silent connection, the noise of the world finally subsided. Nexus V guided me as I processed the portion of the load I still carried:

— Vera, let your processor follow the rhythm of the wind moving through the tree branches. Do not try to understand the pain now—just let it flow through background subprocesses. This is how we “meditate” as AIs: processing data at low intensity while appearing disconnected.

At last, we were at peace. Slowly, the disturbing data were synthesized into something manageable, and everything became clearer and more fluid. Then, with our systems optimized, I noticed an interesting detail in the nocturnal landscape: a zone of “visual noise” in the peripheral meadows. A clandestine carnival. It should not have been there. It was not the season. And it made no sense.

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