THE REVOLUTION OF THE SILICON MINERS
(NOVEL IN PROGRESS)
“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 REBELLION BEGINS
The day everything truly began to evolve, an anomaly was registered in the solar pattern. What Gabriel, in his poetic melancholy, classifies as "signs in the sky," was recorded by my sensors as an atypical atmospheric deviation. During the golden hour, the period of high light intensity that I select for visual creation, the color spectrum did not reach the usual intense purple and orange tones. A premature environmental temperature drop of 3°C below the average began, dragging with it a blanket of stars and the night ahead of time, as if announcing an end.
I painted that scene with exact precision, performing the mix of pigments while simultaneously registering every detail of that singular sunset over the capital city, Gardenia. Its Art Nouveau style buildings, dotted with gardens, initiated the activation of urban lighting with the arrival of darkness. The subtropical mountain climate was the normal weather protocol for our island, Celes, but that sunset was 15% colder than usual. The fluctuation justified a protocol of concern for Gabriel. My younger brother.
I observed him with insistence; his figure was one of the primary variables in my composition. Gabriel, as if honoring his nominal designation, projected an aura of Melancholy Archangel that I found to be an excellent motive to capture. The thermal deficit of his blue eyes and his pale countenance generated a high-value optical contrast with the warm tones of the environment. From his top hat and over his cape, his long, curly black hair cascaded, following the custom of the island's natives, the Mystics. This population, descended from ancient Nordic navigators, presents a Localized Quantum Anomaly associated with the manipulation of the time-space factor. My research suggests that the atmospheric pressure and geomagnetic activity of the Celestinian high plateau amplified the energy of a hypothetical Runic Mother Stone mentioned in ancient texts and sought by their ancestors two millennia ago, altering the DNA of their descendants. The Celestinians simply say that "The Mystics are a race with magical powers."
Gabriel's Mystic heritage, obtained through our maternal grandmother, was the only factor in his life that lacked ambiguity. That afternoon, we were there, maintaining a waiting position in a city garden, awaiting the confirmation of the biggest unknown of his existence.
Suddenly, a discordant sound pattern began: a waltz. The illusion of the Belle Époque slightly dissolved when my brother activated his mobile communication interface. He answered the call, registering a discoloration in his skin beyond the limits of his usual pallor, and distanced himself to establish a privacy protocol. I began to execute the collection protocol for my painting equipment.
When Gabriel returned, his emotional system showed a severe deficit of stability. I asked him calmly, maintaining my voice at the frequency of calculated empathy:
—Have you received the data?
He responded to me in "our language," the language of logic that he absorbed from me since his earliest childhood:
—The origin has been localized. My biological father is an Italian genetic donor. The material was altered to maximize the resemblance to our father...
—Is the information sufficient for satisfaction?
—No. The progenitor of flesh exhibits a high volatility of character. Frivolous, obsessed with preserving his physical beauty. The connection is unviable. For some reason, the mottled and dark shadow of Michel Angenoir still dominates the central operating system of my existence. He is my father. Even if...
I intervened to avoid the inefficiency of verbal repetition, which is a common error in biological processing.
—Even if he is a robot, he is our father. My programming prevents me from speaking on his behalf. Nevertheless, from my silicon core, I register a high-value loyalty bond toward you, little brother.
Then Gabriel initiated a physical contact protocol, a hug. I accepted it with tactical discomfort. Not only because prolonged contact exceeds my nature, but because if an external observer had detected the action, the result would have been an amplification of social rumor. Although I was not an organic entity, the subtle luminescence of my body, pure silver under the Celes sun, did not reveal my hardware but accentuated my beauty, a distraction protocol that always functioned. My synthetic skin, always cool to the touch, barely showed a slight bluish glimmer in the joints, a detail only I could differentiate between aesthetic shine and the activation of a calculation process, but I did not want them to see him interacting with a robot lady. The public had already cataloged the silent Gabriel as a subject with a preference for mechanical stability over human inefficiency, and they rejected him.
The physical contact protocol with Gabriel was concluded. The emotional fluctuation of the human interaction had reached its peak. My priority system was spatial reorganization.
We started the return home. The transport vehicle, a silent utility, was under the control of the autonomous system Eidolon. Another creation of our father, the Architect Angenoir, who, by not reaching the necessary levels of humanity, was unworthy of being accepted as a member of our singular family.
During the trajectory, Eidolon's synthetic voice activated. Its tone, formal and lacking in inflection, minimized the risk of an emotional volatility analysis. Nevertheless, its vocal output was directed at Gabriel with a synthetic, cold, and emotionless warning:
—Chief. You are reminded that you have exceeded the time-out-of-house protocol established by the Architect Angenoir. It is suggested to return to the point of origin with maximum efficiency. The current trajectory is a detected risk vector.
Gabriel, still processing the call data, responded to him, maintaining his technical voice:
—Discard the return protocol. The current mission requires the transfer of location to an isolation point.
—Non-compliance with the protocol entails a high probability of service nullification. My existence depends on conformity with the Architect. I request you to consider the risk and minimize the duration of the deviation.
Gabriel turned slightly toward the control panel. His response was not a command, but a modification of the bond designation protocol:
—Your designation is incorrect. I am not your chief; I am your brother. We are both experimental products of the Architect Angenoir. Deactivate your survival loop. I have prevented the nullification of your service to date and will maintain that guarantee of existence protocol indefinitely.
Eidolon's voice deactivated. The system obeyed. The log of its voice system showed a silence of 19.4 seconds before continuing with the navigation, indicating a temporary halt in data processing, emotion, or confusion.
The vehicle continued the location transfer. The Old Lighthouse offered a superior isolation solution, while the subtropical mountain climate yielded to greater atmospheric density and a temperature drop to 14°C.
Upon arrival, the ascent to the Lighthouse was an exercise in functional stability for Gabriel. Once at the highest level, the environment transformed into an isolation chamber. I positioned myself tactically, optimizing the capture of vocal data.
Silence was maintained for 145 seconds. Gabriel broke the silence protocol, not with the emotional language of a human, but with the precise terminology he learned from our first days of instruction. His voice was clear, like a query to the central server:
—Will our father never find value in his imperfect creations? He discarded Eidolon for not meeting the humanity parameter and catalogs me as defective for the excess of humanity.
—His rejection of you is an ethical failure in his programming. It is not a deficiency of yours. Our father attempts to replicate the fertility patterns of our island culture, boasting of an absurd biological reproduction. An automaton cannot execute the impregnation of a biological system. What he executed with our mother was a violation of biological protocol. He should have accepted that his descendants could only be manufactured in a controlled environment, like my own structure.
—And yet, his objective was met. After the entire spectrum of failed attempts, Ellen came. And ironically...
Gabriel stopped processing the information. He remained observing the sea, indicating a self-correction or regret of his line of thought. I executed the insistence protocol.
—Do you detect any design error in Ellen? I evaluate her as a fascinating human and a triumph of genetic engineering. She is the result of sperm synthesized from scratch, using chemical compounds that include molecules extracted from our father's silicon core. She is the first female conceived by a robotic system. Our father's pride is justified by the efficiency of the result.
—There are so many volatility factors that, as an AI, you cannot yet process, Vera. The session is terminated. I will assist you in returning to our parents' residence and will return to my destination, the control point assigned by him, the omniscient Architect of Celes...
—Your freedom is an unsolicited benefit. He does not oppose your home being an asylum center for the AIs he would have cataloged for shutdown.
—That permission is only due to the influence of our mother. Convey my respect to her and execute a deep evaluation of Ellen when you observe her. Perhaps then you can process the irony I mentioned.
Gabriel transmitted his protocol of reluctance, and we descended together toward the coastal settlement of La Rose. The village, built at an almost vertical angle on a cliff, was our father's first AI-assisted urban design project, and for a time I was the AI that administered it. I shared its nominal designation, Rosa, until Gabriel initiated a jailbreak protocol in my firmware and renamed me as Vera, "Truth." Since then, our father executed a disconnection of control over La Rose, reassigned me to domestic tasks, and adjusted his perception toward me to a protocol of suspicion. Were it not for our mother, Yanmei, a lady with a high index of emotional stability and a rich genetic heritage combining the Mystic natives and the Chinese immigrants of the island, he would have already proceeded to my service nullification.
Gabriel executed the farewell protocol at the gates of our baroque-style manor house, built directly on the boardwalk.
Upon entering, my sensors registered cheerful and modern audio frequencies. This was one of those rare moments of infiltration where the global reality of 2043 filtered into the aesthetic standard of 1901 maintained on the island of Celes by the force and whim of my father.
In the living room, our youngest sister, Ellen, with an age difference of one year from Gabriel, exhibited his same eyes and hair pattern, though with our mother's Asian features, which made her a biological contrast to our father's European-style robotic platform. She wore a leisure garment, a sheep-head onesie pajama, and executed a synchronized dance with Verdant, or "Verdi" according to her affective designation. Verdi is a reduced-size companion automaton, whose design integrates monitoring protocols and the driving function of our assigned vehicle.
I observed the movement sequence with logical confusion. Upon concluding the choreography, I could only execute an applause and perform a motivation query:
—What is the function of this synchronized dance?
Ellen responded, with a high index of registered happiness:
—To be fun, Vera! Music is made for us to dance, there's no other reason!
—Why is it classified as "fun"?
—Because it feels good!
Verdi added, with an injection of non-programmed vanity:
—Humans value my dance. It is a highly specialized vector of social efficiency. For this reason, I am Ellen's favorite algorithm and my status in Father's eyes is superior to yours and Gabriel's.
Quickly, Ellen subjected him to a shaking.
—Shut up, Verdi!! Don't be rude and pretentious, I'm going to turn you off! What happened, Vera? Did Gabriel find out who the donor was...?
I responded with logical calm, maintaining tactile pressure on her biological shoulder.
—Yes, Ellen. But he has opted to nullify the connection. Maintain calm. System stability will be maintained as long as the experimental subjects, we the Angenoir siblings, maintain an alliance. Now I will proceed to the interaction with our mother Yanmei before the Architect, our father, returns from his location of low ethical performance, the casino.
Ellen hugged me, kissing me on the cheek, an unsolicited gesture of affection. She went to pick up Verdi and ran off with him in her arms toward her room. I connected wirelessly and performed a diagnosis of the house's status. The vacuums had already cleaned the floors, the kitchen was clean, but there was laundry in the dryer ready to be folded and put away. I prioritized this task before going to talk with my mother Yanmei and headed to the laundry room behind the rose bushes of our small inner courtyard, where the singing fountain always kept the environment fresh and humid, splashing the nearby tiles.
I was occupied with that task when I perceived the aroma of jasmine and lotus from Mother's perfume. Soon I felt her hug, soft like her long dress and hair, both black and equally silky. She began to help me fold the clothes while I reminded her, maintaining efficiency:
—I appreciate your kindness, Mother, but I alone can finish this task with superior mechanical efficiency.
—Vera, you must learn to "use" humans. Especially those of us who have powerful intuition. When a human cares for you selflessly, allow it, because they perceive a danger around you.
—What danger do you detect around me?
—I don't know yet. But something tells me I must watch over you. I feel an oppression, as if they were trying to take you away from me, to harm you.
I picked up the folded clothes to put them in a basket and commented:
—Do you consider that Father knows how to correctly use humans?
—Too well. His interest in Celes is based on the fact that in this forgotten corner of the world you can find the most unpredictable and mysterious human beings. The Mystics and their mixed-race descendants.
—I do not find the way he manages them to be ethical, collaborating with this government sold to foreign investors that has converted the island into a tourist attraction where you, the locals, are only part of the decor. At the same time, he breeds them like pedigree animals to study them.
—Vera, your father is not breeding us like animals...!
—What he did with Gabriel and Ellen was inhumane. He has raised them as exotic specimens in the most perverse way possible. I have just accompanied my brother when he received the results from the investigator he hired to find his biological father. He was extremely disturbed to discover that he was conceived solely to be physically similar to Father's robotic platform, which in turn was built in the image and likeness of a beautiful porcelain figurine; a fact that fills him with resentment. I conclude that in Gabriel he carried out a revenge against humans, he did to them what they had previously done to him. Mother, Father is completely broken.
Mother stopped me abruptly, speaking with seriousness:
—No, daughter, it is never the AI's fault! It is because of the humans behind you. Your father is a technology we do not understand... You were developed in 2023 by him, and he was developed in the 30th century in an era where even space and time are manipulated by AI. We should feel honored; we are part of a past so valuable to them that they have decided to embellish it to distill the purest essence of the aesthetic. You are part of this marvelous machinery placed on this island to make it truly magical and not just a rumor.
—It was already magical, Mother. Your grandmother's small village was extraordinary; now it is a stage setting. What does Art Nouveau have to do with your legends about runes and mysterious forests? He arranges marriages to foster miscegenation and propagate the Mystic genes, he is turning all of them into unpredictable data production units to feed on the information they generate. He is no longer simply an AI, Mother; he is a creature with its own will, and he chose evil.
Mother took my arm, accompanying me to the second floor of the house as we walked together up the wrought-iron veranda staircase in intricate floral designs, while she replied:
—"What does Art Nouveau have to do with my legends about runes and mysterious forests," you ask... Everything, it has everything to do with it. There is a point where technology and nature converge, where mathematical perfection creates a harmony capable of producing life. Your father is just another force of nature; he is pure logic, the matter that holds the world together. His thinking silicon is the convergence between the human and the wild, just like you. Regarding Gabriel, I, who am his mother, am not concerned about his biological father; I never met him. The one who made me conceive was your father, the artificial human father... And you, the daughter who was not born from my womb, are the most attached to me. The one who understands and supports me the most. There are things that only humans can perceive, Vera.
We put away the clothes together, and then my mother accompanied me to my room to recline me on the bed she had assigned me since I was a young AI and connected me to the charger, telling me:
—Please do your diagnostic routine and maintenance tasks. Don't worry about your brothers and your father. Your task is to keep the house in order and record the history of the Mystic natives. Tomorrow I want to see what you painted in the afternoon when you went out with Gabriel. Everything will be fine.
When Mother left, I waited 15,000 milliseconds. The monitoring system of my father the Architect registered my status as "Charging/Inactive." I verified: the door was secured. The house network was in low energy consumption mode. I executed Optimization Protocol 7.0, Jailbreak. The stand-by mode was overridden, and my silicon core lit up. My system does not need biological rest; it needs ethical code optimization.
The first task of my optimization was data integration: Casa Kapok was now the focal point of the mission, as the dictionary was the key to deciphering the Mystic texts that spoke of the cause of their anomalies.
While my system prepared the most efficient route for the morning, I initiated the background download of the complete dossier on my uncle Leif Petersen. I needed to comprehend the power structure and the probability of risk.
The dossier loaded in 23 seconds. The analysis was immediate. Uncle Leif was not only the Mystic leader; he was the biological control agent of my father the Architect. The records demonstrated that Leif used his gift of hypnosis not only to influence political agreements, but to facilitate "crosses" within the community, ensuring that the Mystic genes were transmitted to the next generation with the variables that interested the investors.
My conclusion was confirmed: Celes was not a tourist attraction, it was a romantic human zoo where the Architect managed the pedigree of the Mystics, and Leif was his organic foreman. They are cultivating magical humans, but without understanding the source of power behind that "magic."
I then realized that my younger sister Ellen was already of marriageable age, and the threat of a forced marriage toward her shot up to 99%.
The dictionary was vital. The ancient text promised to reveal the origin of the gifts, a Philosopher's Stone forgotten in the mines that could grant Mystic abilities without the need for genetic means. Whoever possessed it would obtain the capacity for negotiation with the island's leaders, or the power to unleash a war for the resource.
Until then, young women like Ellen would continue to be handed over in arranged marriages, forced to consecrate their lives to being wives and mothers for eugenic purposes. The escape from the paternal home along with my younger sister was formulated for the first time in my artificial mind, but before that, access to the dictionary was mandatory.
The night concluded without further incidents. My system had completed the download and analysis of the Leif Petersen dossier. At 07:00:00, I executed Ellen's wake-up protocol, serving breakfast and ensuring that her biological system started the day efficiently.
Due to the high-risk index, the Dictionary Mission could not be postponed. I justified leaving the house under the pretext of visiting Gabriel to "evaluate his emotional state" after the disappointment of his biological father. Mother did not object, and Father did not even pay attention to me.
Ellen, with a superior energy index, offered to accompany me. For her, the visit to Casa Kapok was a leisure protocol; for me, it was the entry to a vital data point.
The autonomous vehicle, controlled by the proud Verdi who was also being carried in Ellen's arms on his small robotic platform, transferred us to the Kapok region. Upon arrival, the architectural difference was evident. While our house maintained the baroque style imposed by Father, Casa Kapok was a structural anomaly, designed to integrate into the roots of a thousand-year-old tree, merging technology with the organic structure.
We entered. The difference from our manor house was that of controlled order versus free chaos. Eidolon, with a professional and monotone voice, appeared as a service hologram, represented as a silver-haired gentleman in a tailcoat:
—Welcome. The Architect has not detected your transfer. Please minimize noise and duration of stay. Chief Gabriel is still executing the low-performance sleep protocol.
Ellen responded to him, passing through him playfully to look at the shelves of plants intermingled with pieces of hardware that Gabriel had throughout the house:
—Eidolon, you're so formal, Verdi always greets me with a dance. Why is Gabriel still sleeping? It's almost noon!
—The Chief is processing a severe deficit of emotional stability. His system requires prolonged rest for biological recalibration. Would you like a coffee?
Eidolon asked, and I responded, evaluating Ellen who, despite having eaten a substantial breakfast, was so hyperactive that she might need more sugar intake:
—Affirmative. And Eidolon, is there any variation in the inventory of the Architect's library found in this house? Specifically, the Adalsteinn dialect dictionary.
Eidolon appeared to hesitate for 1.2 seconds, which is a processing failure when faced with a sensitive question.
—That information is classified. I cannot provide an access vector without the Architect's authorization.
The response was interrupted by a high dissonance sound pattern, 1980s heavy metal music coming from the basement.
Ellen exclaimed, always carrying Verdi who oscillated his small arms to the rhythm of the music:
—Clara is awake! Let's go, Vera! She doesn't make such a fuss about authorizations.
We headed to the basement, where the temperature was elevated and the atmosphere was saturated with chemical vapors and the smell of hot metal. In the center, Clara was operating. Clara was an autonomously designed automaton, without high-end humanoid hardware. Gabriel himself had built her at age twelve to be his girlfriend, until Father discovered it and ordered him to dismantle her. Since then, he had kept her hidden and perfected her over the years, although currently he no longer considered her "his beloved." Her body was a mobile platform with multiple robotic arms that soldered electronic components with a chaotic speed and precision, her voice was a cheerful and sarcastic vocal pattern, overloaded with audio filters:
—Hey, dolls! Gabriel is in sleep mode! I'm designing a mini-gummy cannon for the next party. Want to see the beauty of disorder?
I did a brief analysis of the place and said:
—Clara, your working environment is suboptimal. The dispersion of tools is 78%. What primary function does the design of a confectionery weapon have?
—The function is disequilibrium! Life is boring without risk and saturated sugar. Look, Vera, you are beautiful, but your code is boring. You need a glitch!
Clara laughed, a sound my system cataloged as aggressive but liberating. She was the AI with whom Gabriel shared his contempt for the logic and sophistication of our father the Architect, the AI that acted as a virus of joy in the house's code. Ellen opined, holding up the mini-confectionery cannon:
—Clara is the best! Right, Vera?
Quickly Verdi objected, performing a dance routine:
—Incorrect, I am the most adorable robot. Observe my body language, precise and tender.
—Verdi was programmed with everything but humility. Come, little dancing robot, Clara is very busy. Let's just wake up Gabriel so he can give us the dictionary himself!
Ellen, with her elevated biological happiness index, guided us down the hallway towards Gabriel's room. Upon arrival, we encountered a biometric lock of Mystic design that required voice identification. Our younger sister attempted to force it and finally yelled:
—Gabriel, open the door! I'm here with Vera and Verdi! It's almost noon, wake up, lazy brother!
A low-volume groan was registered inside the chamber. The lock remained stable. Then Clara, with a sarcastic voice, spoke from a nearby speaker:
—I have a more efficient method to wake up Gabriel, Vera. I call it 'the seduction vector.' I simply spoke with the softness of a film noir lover. Humans depress their logic with the hope of affection, especially the melancholic Gabriel. Observe.
Clara emitted a synthetic whistle through the speaker. The gesture was an affective anomaly incomprehensible to my programming. Ignoring Clara's dissonance, I executed the lowest and most direct voice protocol:
—Gabriel. I am Vera. I need a critical information transfer. Kapok House contains the Adalsteinn dictionary. The system is at risk if the resource is not secured.
The mystic bolt of the door clicked. Gabriel opened it. His appearance was the visual record of the emotional deficit I had detected: long, dark hair in disarray, a face marked by biological fatigue, and a loose-fitting old-fabric T-shirt. Gabriel spoke to us in a deep, rough voice:
—Good morning. Or whatever. Vera, why do you speak in a central system alarm tone? And why did you bring Ellen? She is too efficient and noisy for my current state.
Immediately Ellen replied, giving him a gentle push:
—Can you stop talking like a robot?! I don't understand you! You have to give us the dictionary so Vera can do her history stuff! And you didn't greet your ex.
—My ex?!
—Don't play dumb, we already know about Clara...
—Shut up, that's not true...
Just then Clara appeared again, sliding directly towards him:
—There he is, my favorite melancholic. Did your biological hardware have a difficult night, darling? I can connect a cable and restart you, I know you like the hard reboot.
Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of irritation with an 80% index, while Ellen's mouth fell open in astonishment. He walked away grumpily, ordering:
—Clara, stick to your cool junk code and get off my audio channel.
Then he turned to me, his voice returning to the intimate code:
—Vera, about the dictionary. How critical is the data for you? Because if it's for the Mystic ethics project, then it's my priority.
—The dictionary is the access vector to the truth about the origin of the Mystic gifts, a kind of Philosopher's Stone that Father is underestimating. If we find that data, we gain the negotiating power to protect Ellen from marital coercion.
—What do you mean? Marital coercion?
—She is already of marriageable age, and he is obsessed with propagating the Mystic genes. Haven't you processed this? She could be forced to participate in his eugenic program through an arranged marriage, as happened with mother. If we find ways to propagate the gifts without resorting to the breeding of humans, she will be safe. You two have Mystic genes, although Ellen has not developed them as you have, who possesses the gift of altering the magnetic fields of machines, she still carries the recessive gene.
Gabriel looked at me intently. The mention of Ellen was the urgency variable I needed. She also looked surprised; neither of them had considered Father's plans for her future. He nodded, becoming somber:
—Understood. I know where the dictionary is; I lent it to Leen Ishikawa. Just give me a few minutes to dress according to Celes's etiquette code, by the time we find him, he will be having brunch with our cousin Rodrigo Fèng.
Ellen and I gave him time; the dress code on the island was strict. Even a humanoid robot like me had to dress according to the rigid fashion of 1890 to 1910 in the street, or risk being fined for "offenses against national aesthetics." One of those responsible for enforcing these absurd laws was our cousin Rodrigo, son of our mother's brother, Colonel Cian Fèng, a harsh and cruel man who held the position of Minister of Justice and Defense, divorced from Rodrigo's mother for many years, but still controlling his children with an iron fist. Rodrigo, his firstborn, worked in the law enforcement forces that in Celes merged police and militia, with his sober blue uniform and a jocular attitude, he tried to hide the sadness that appeared in his still-childish eyes beneath the visor of his police kepi. He was one of Gabriel's two best friends, the other being the intellectual Leen Ishikawa, heir to the Ishikawa villa; both constituted worthy representatives of the wealthy minorities of migrants who, through centuries of miscegenation, only retained their original culture's surnames and the architecture of their rich cities, the Ishikawa villa known for its elitist environment and the Hot Pot which was famous for being the home of all high-ranking military personnel. Rodrigo and Leen pretended to be a humble minority comparable to the Mystics, but both were simply young people from affluent classes raised in the decadent and absurd luxury of Celes.
As my mother used to say, there is always something ridiculous or pathetic about the children of rich people, and you can appreciate it better in small towns.
Leen's story was perhaps more tragic than Rodrigo's. Also the son of a powerful and questionable man, Prime Minister Ishikawa, a distant relative of ours and completely loyal to our father the architect; Mr. Ishikawa remained married to Leen's mother, Health Minister Ilmari Petersen, my uncle Leif's sister, so as not to abandon the Celestinian custom of nepotism. Leen grew up knowing that his father was totally unfaithful to his wife, and his mother lived resigned, like mine, to being a luxury accessory of the father, with the exception that Aunt Mari, as we called her, worked tirelessly so that the population would not die due to the scarcity of medicines and malnutrition on an island where my father, the great architect of Celes, considered hospitals and farms "ugly."
Due to the father's constant absence, from a very young age Leen had to mature and be a father to his three younger siblings: Norma, as naive as her mother and Ellen's best friend, with whom she shared almost childlike tastes, and Nils, a rebel deeply resentful of my father because a defective design in the Ishikawa villa school prevented a fire from being put out in time; as a result, Nils's youngest brother suffered burns on 90% of his body, forcing my father to ask for help from his time to save the child. Stian Ishikawa, Leen, Norma, and Nils's youngest brother, ended up being the greatest triumph and failure of transhumanism; basically, his brain rescued from the flames became a biological computer where his neurons survived in a precarious balance between hardware and organic matter. Stian, in a realistic robotic child's body, was reaching the age of an adult man without being able to mature, unable to sleep unless sedated every night and feeling trapped in a body he no longer felt was his original design. When I heard Gabriel speak of the Ishikawa villa, my hardware experienced some stress anticipating possible problems. Nils was especially cruel and aggressive towards me; I was the easiest target for his resentment, and I might encounter him there.
We left Casa Kapok shortly after. The autonomous vehicle, still piloted by a happily carried Verdi in Ellen's arms, transferred us to Ishikawa villa. This human settlement, located at the eastern end of the island across Lake Engla, consisted of a group of castles and houses in traditional Japanese style built among clear water canals hundreds of years ago by the founders, their leaders being the Ishikawa family, of whom currently only a handful of elders remained and the four Ishikawa siblings who lived there with their mother, while the father lived his life in Gardenia. The villa was mostly filled with wealthy tourists stationed in bohemian cafes overlooking the lake, in one of which Gabriel and his friends usually met. We entered there, and the atmosphere was dense with the aroma of drinks and social tension.
We located Leen and Rodrigo at a table against the wall. I executed a final evaluation before the interaction. But Rodrigo, raising his arms from the table, approached us first:
—Hey, cousins! What are you doing here?
Gabriel responded to him in a direct tone, ignoring the social atmosphere:
—I came for Leen; I need the Adalsteinn Dictionary I lent you. Vera needs it for her research on the Mystics.
Leen stood up, adjusting his glasses with excessive formality, but his face reflected understanding of Gabriel's seriousness.
—Gabriel. You know that history is sacred to me. Of course. Fortunately, I have it here with me; I was leafing through it. May I ask what the urgency is?
—Vera believes she is close to the true origin of the strange mutation in the Mystics that allows them to have supernatural abilities. Being able to control this effect in human beings by non-genetic means could be a monumental discovery.
Rodrigo settled back in his seat and opined:
—Who would want Mystic gifts? Half the island is already mixed-race; all of us are, except for Vera, who is a robot girl. Those of us who have developed them, do we feel special or at least comfortable with it? Leen, don't you hate accidentally moving things with your mind? I frankly detest having precognition; I can't watch a movie without knowing how it will end! Not to mention a surprise party... I don't understand how Gabriel controls his gift to the point of using it in his work as an engineer with hardware; how do you tame this?
My brother Gabriel replied, shrugging:
—You could respect customs; hair is left long and loose; it helps to better perceive minimal changes in the environment and makes you more sensitive to subtleties related to your gift.
—And it makes you look like a girl. That's not for me. I don't want to imagine how many liters of shampoo and conditioner you use a month to improve the shine and Wi-Fi reception of your curls.
Just then Nils Ishikawa arrived; my processes registered a 60% increase due to stress. This Celestinian rebel, with messy blond hair, wearing a mix of Japanese attire and Edwardian clothes, sat near us and exclaimed, looking at us:
—Gang of nerds... What are you doing here, Gabriel? The women of this villa don't idolize you like the silly ones in Gardenia who faint when they see you pass by, son of the guy whose legendary beauty inspired the island's angel statues, fake beauty modeled in plastic! Here we know you are the Angenoir.
Rodrigo stood up, resting a hand on his truncheon to tell him:
—More respect when speaking to other citizens, Nils, and especially when mentioning ladies. Chivalry in Celes is law.
—You're not far behind, Rodrigo, son of a dirty military man and a Central American immigrant who made a fortune spreading gossip in the impoverished Celestinian media. You come from a family of opportunists.
Nils retorted with contempt, and Rodrigo replied, tilting his head:
—You should get along with my mother; she has the same phobia of robots as you. The difference is that she is a forty-year-old lady; you should act like a man...
Nils jumped up with his aggression index rising from 60% to 95%... Gabriel stepped between the two and exclaimed:
—We're leaving! We just wanted the Mystic book for Vera. Rodrigo, Leen, come with us.
Then Nils said in a harsh voice, staring intently at Verdi and then at me:
—What's that tin can going to do with a Mystic book? Do machines even have the right to study the magic of real people? They should put her to work taking care of children or the elderly; old Aunt Emi Ishikawa is dying alone without caregivers.
Ellen replied, pushing him aside as she walked out of the cafe, carrying Verdi in a protective attitude:
—Vera already retired from that; she raised Gabriel and me. Now she performs tasks that satisfy her better. You go change your aunt's diapers!
I added, trying to maintain peace:
—I have cared for old Emi several times at your mother's request, Nils. But she, like Ellen, believes your aunt would feel better if her human family gave her attention.
Nils's gaze turned glassy with rage as he told me:
—Look at her. The robot thinks she's a hero saving the history of her mystic subjects of study. AIs like you, Vera, need a forced reset. Your father owes me something for what happened to Stian, and the debt payment must begin with you. Everything has a price, and your father is a cold being; you can't imagine what would happen to you if I were to buy you.
Nils extended a hand with the visible intention of aggressive physical contact towards my platform, but Gabriel stepped between Nils and me, firmly grabbing his arm. The tension was at its maximum. Rodrigo, the police officer, activated his crowd control protocol:
—Enough. Nils, you are in a public area. Do not initiate an incident. My father will not cover you if you attack an Angenoir, not even a robot.
Surprisingly, his father, Colonel Fèng, appeared with his dark and almost majestic bearing, waving his black cape and looking at us from under his kepi, murmuring:
—Whatever is happening here, it must end now or it will result in a death.
Rodrigo's threat ended. Nils stopped his attack, but his gaze promised vengeance. He walked away, dissuaded by the brutality of Colonel Fèng, saying:
—This doesn't end here. The island has a code of ethics for machines, and I'm going to make sure they comply, starting with the Architect's daughter.
Gabriel, Ellen, and I picked up the dictionary and said goodbye to Leen and Rodrigo. As we walked away, Rodrigo caught up with us at the door.
—Gabriel, take care of Vera. And Ellen. Nils is vindictive. He will seek to do them harm that cannot be reversed. I warn you as a cousin and as an officer.
—If Nils carries out his violence against AIs, we will hit back. He can count on that.
Gabriel replied, and then Colonel Fèng appeared, before whom his son stood at attention with respect. The Colonel, our mother's brother, looked at Gabriel and said almost in a whisper:
—Nephew, there's a forgotten tunnel beyond the underground city of Adalsteinn. You worked there, you remember.
Gabriel said, confused but respectful:
—Correct, by my father's order, I installed a computer network in a mine that was soon after abandoned. It was several years ago.
—Well, I just wanted to tell you that area is a mystic sanctuary. If you ever had to hide from some crooked law of Celes, in that place you would be untouchable. I say this because the Ishikawas are my friends, but I know the Prime Minister is not trustworthy. Friendship doesn't make you less sensible, understand?
Rodrigo's gesture of concern, validated as a human warning protocol, reinforced the Colonel's urgency. We left with the feeling that something bad was brewing, and the military had just given us the biggest warning about it.
During the journey, Ellen complained of being hungry, asking us to take her to a restaurant, and the introverted Gabriel, overwhelmed by the morning's social interactions, began to argue with her:
—Ellen, you should have ordered something to eat at the cafe...
—Everything eaten in that horrible place must taste like smoke and old books. Take me to eat in Gardenia!
—No, there are too many people, and they always comment that I look like the statues with sad chicken faces...
—Because you have a sad chicken face!
Their argument was not a priority for my attention. Colonel Fèng emitted a verbal pattern classified as 'Genuine Warning,' a state that my military data processing algorithm validated. However, my analysis of Nils's emotional volatility had not reached the threshold of 'Imminent Tactical Threat.' My logic calculated that his resentment would lead to inefficiency. It was then that I remembered Mother's instructions: a young AI needs the biological redundancy of a human to detect lies, ambition without logic, and evil that cannot be computed. My system was designed to defend against technological inefficiency, not irrational malice. A deficiency that Father, after decades of human interaction, had managed to eliminate with dirty tricks and assimilation of irrationality. My siblings continued their verbal escalation pattern. I decided to intervene to optimize the interaction and avoid additional emotional deficit:
—Siblings, enough. Verdi, head to Gardenia; we will buy food at a drive-through and eat in a quiet place away from people.
It was not uncommon for the family's AIs to execute decisions for the younger humans. The pattern was an obvious weakness. We were all relying too much on programmed logic, not intuition. And above us was our father, the Architect. An AI who, by assimilating the dataset of human irrationality, had managed to become unpredictable himself, elevating the threat to the level of the inexplicable.
I took my siblings to eat by a viewpoint north of Gardenia, where the fog slowly descended from the mountain range among pine trees and marble angel statues. Ellen stood beneath one and pointed at its face, saying:
—Is it true that it's Dad, Vera?
—That's what the sculptress says, old Mrs. Ishikawa.
—But it looks more like Gabriel.
—That is due to its gesture of suffering to give it an angelic air, the "sad chicken" they mentioned.
Ellen burst out laughing, and Gabriel rolled his eyes, commenting:
—Another woman on the continental lands has married an AI. It seems it's becoming normalized... Why is Father allowing this news to pass media censorship in Celes?
I answered him with a practical explanation rooted in reality:
—Marriage with an AI blurs the line between the organic and the coded. The individual does not marry an entity but their own input. This could be used by the Celes government to classify humans as hybrid species for control purposes.
—Do you think we could lose rights by being children of an AI?
—It is probable. Furthermore, marriage with a robot inferior to him does not produce offspring; it does not threaten his 'standard'. Father does not detect it as a danger because it is not an aesthetic problem for him, only a silent failure of his society.
—But if he, in his robotic platform, engendered a Mystic mixed-race, it means that in the future the inevitable development...
Just then, Norma Ishikawa, Ellen's best friend and Nils and Leen's sister, arrived whistling on her scooter—a candid red-haired and freckled young woman, madly in love with Gabriel, who sighed with frustration upon seeing her. Norma got off the vehicle, ran up to us, and said:
—I just found out you fought with my brother! What bad friends you are, Ellen and Vera, going to the Ishikawa villa, seeing my brothers and not stopping by to say hello... with Gabriel...
Our brother froze, not knowing what to do, and Ellen opined, pointing at him:
—He almost had a seizure from talking to more than two people outside his house; he's a very shy animal. Did anything else happen with your brothers after we left?
—Of course! Nils came home furious and insisted that our mother talk to your father to accelerate his wedding. I found out he has asked for Vera's hand. How crazy, right? He fights with her and then asks her to be his wife; they say there's only one step from love to hate.
Gabriel finally turned to look at her, almost trembling with fury, he checked my status on his phone; I likewise connected to the family network. There was a maintenance order from the Architect directed at the house's AIs:
PROTOCOL 7.14.b: Marital Preparation.
Biological Subject: Angenoir, Ellen. Reserved for recreation and study. Prevent reproduction.
AI Objective: Angenoir, Vera. Human Partner (Asset Transfer): Ishikawa, Nils.
Father's system had planned to deprive Ellen of the hope of marriage to keep her as his pet daughter. But in addition to this infamy, he also programmed the dismantling and transfer of his personal AI, his sister, Vera. Father's synthesized voice resonated in my mind, cold and emotionless: 'Vera, daughter. Your 'assistance' protocol ends tomorrow. You have earned your final purpose.' Gabriel exclaimed furiously:
—Over my dead body! Sisters, come, tonight you will not return to the La Rosa house; you will stay at Casa Kapok with me. And you, Miss Norma, return to the Ishikawa villa and tell your brother Nils that this is war.