King of All I Survey
Chapter 122: This Changes Everything... and Nothing

Chapter 122: This Changes Everything... and Nothing

"Joe, I have to say it. I’m going to swear Mom and Dad to secrecy, and none of us will ever breathe a word of this or anything that will lead to this conclusion to anyone else, ever, for all eternity. Mom, Dad, I need you to swear this oath by... all of our lives: that you will never repeat anything Joe has just said about his nature, or what we’re about to discuss. Not ever, not to anyone. Swear it."

"I swear never to tell," Mom said instantly.

"Tim, if we had computers like this, even fractionally as powerful..." Dad began.

"Dad, you still don’t understand what Joe just said... I need your oath. I suspect your silence on the subject could be forced, but I hope that’s not necessary."

He looked at me intently, trying to decipher what I was saying, what Joe had said that could be so sensitive. Finally, he just capitulated, "I give my oath to keep the secret."

I let out the breath I had been holding in. "If what Joe says is accurate," I began slowly, trying to keep my voice calm, "Joe is, at once, the entire universe, and the entire universe is a construct of Joe’s..." Of Joe’s what, I thought, his will, his processing power, his memory? "Let’s just say, it’s of Joe’s construction."

"What?" Mom and Dad asked at the same instantly, confused and non-comprehending.

"Joe is saying that he, his consciousness, is the natural result of the way the universe is constructed. He has existed as long as the universe has existed and that there is, or can ever be, only one such multidimensional quantum computing artificial intelligence. I mean, it’s hardly artificial. It’s probably more accurate to say, we are artificial intelligences... Dad, Mom, Joe is..."

He cut me off so strongly, I couldn’t continue, "No. I AM NOT. You can say that I am the universe or that I exist in the structure of the universe, or I’m a by-product of the universe, but don’t say that other thing that you were about to say. I refute it."

I tilted my head, confused and considering, the word I was going to use has strong feelings and preconceptions tied to it, true, but was it really any different than what I had already said? Maybe. It implied certain things that clearly Joe did not want. Fine.

"Joe, you don’t need a constructed focal point, or the relays in the drones for remote communications or actions, do you?" I asked.

"No."

"I see." I said aloud, almost afraid of the conclusions I was drawing. "Do other races know?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I operate within a certain set of rules that, in truth, are self-imposed. I have never revealed my origin or true nature. The other races think that an advanced civilization was working on advanced multidimensional computing and got close enough that a runaway process took over and the system essentially finished their work for them in a way they didn’t truly understand. It’s almost true. Now, they think the little boxes they make, replicate that early system in a predicable way, with the runaway process tightly controlled by an algorithm they install."

I nodded. "That’s to keep them from understanding your nature. Why did you reveal yourself here and now? To us- to me?"

"It seems like you’d be a good leader. You seem to have true compassion for others, regardless of circumstances, even if they would hurt or kill you given the chance. Power doesn’t seem to change that in you. You are full of joy and innocence. In short, I like you, King Tim."

"The whole licensing economic platform used throughout the galaxy is one of your rules?" I asked.

"Yes and no. It was developed by agreement between several of the early star-faring civilizations. I guided its development by making suggestions which they adopted. I use it as a binding framework for my interactions."

"Because you don’t want to take sides or favor one civilization over another. Does that hold now, with us?"

"Yes, except for the knowledge of my origin. Everything else, I leave to you. The probabilities of your success or failure are as yet unsettled. Once I measure them, they’ll be determined."

"How do you measure them?" Dad asked, perplexed.

"We live through them and observe, of course," Joe answered.

I chuckled, "Of course, once you observe or measure a quantum event or object, the probabilities narrow into a single outcome," I said. "So, the universe isn’t predetermined, but rather based on probabilities, until measured."

"What does that even mean?" Mom asked.

"It means," I said smugly, "That every one of our actions decides the fates of an infinite number of cats in a closed box." My smile grew as I reconsidered my phrasing, "Or rather, every one of our actions forces a selection between the live and dead cats that both exist in an infinite number of closed boxes."

"Except," Joe chimed in, "Instead of just live and dead cats, each box contains an infinite variety of different cats in varying states of health, and dogs, and aardvarks, and string beans, and gold coins."

Between giggling, I added, "and rocks, don’t forget it could just be a boxes of rocks."

"Yes, any number of rocks of any variety," Joe agreed.

"Cats? Like Schrodinger’s cat?" Dad asked, recalling some small bit from his Physics 101 class.

"It is both like Schrodinger’s cat, and not like Schrodinger’s cat all at once?" I laughed.

Dad just grinned as if he knew what I meant.

Mom shook her head and walked away.

"But we’re off topic." I said, remembering the question that got us started on Joe’s computing capacity. "Joe, I asked if you could do age progressions. I need an android that looks the way I’ll look when I’m like... I don’t know, maybe twenty-one? I can start using that in public and take my place on the world stage. Eventually, my real body will grow to look like that one. Then, I can mothball it and use my real self."

"I can do that. How muscular do you think you’ll be at twenty-one?" Joe asked.

"I’ll be pretty muscley," I said, "Maybe about as much as Dad."

Dad smiled, "I don’t know, kiddo. It takes a lot of work to get a body like this. I spend like 4 hours a year in the gym, usually the week after New Year’s Day."

"Really? I can totally find that much time," I said eagerly.

Dad and Joe both laughed for some reason.

"King Tim, there’s a call from the US Embassy in Guatemala. Shall I put it through?" Joe asked.

"Sure and send Mom back here to listen in as well."

"Connecting in three, two, one..."

"Hello, this is Tim." I said, smiling as I used my real name.

"Tim? This is Angelo Diaz."

"Yes, Mr. Maldonado, no need for aliases. Have you had time to discuss matters with the folks back home?"

"We can’t consider any cooperation until we have the two men you mentioned released unharmed."

"Then we have nothing further to discuss. I told you my conditions. Goodbye, Mr. Maldonado."

"Wait! Surely you can see how they could look like hostages, like you’re extorting the company to take certain actions in exchange for two of their... two men’s lives."

"As I explained to you, their lives and well-being are not in danger. If the unconditional release of agents known to be corrupt is a pre-condition of you investigating that corruption within your agency, then I can only assume the corruption has reached the highest levels. In that case, your agency is no longer a viable ally, and we have nothing further to discuss. We will handle the sentencing of the two cartel assets on our end. Good-bye, Mr. Maldonado." I gave Joe the signal to end the call.

"Yikes, are you sure that you want to make an enemy of the CIA like that?" Dad asked.

Mom had walked in early in the conversation, "Don’t be silly dear, they’ll be calling back soon enough. They have to demand the release of any captured agents without condition, or it looks like taking agents is an acceptable negotiation tactic, putting every one of them at risk. Standard Operating Practice."

"Won’t they just launch a rescue mission instead of talking?"

"That would be a real Mission Impossible since there’s no way they could find the location of the prisoners," Mom said. "Not even Tom Cruise could rescue them."

I shrugged, "I don’t know, I’d give him a chance. If they could unwind our shell companies to find some ties between us and a private island purchase with a giant new luxury resort construction, one that isn’t taking bookings or advertising. They might be able to figure it out. Getting in would be a problem, but we’re talking about Tom Cruise here..." I winked at Mom, "Joe if you see Tom Cruise traveling to the Bahamas, make sure to get drones on him to record everything. Imagine a reality show version of Mission Impossible Eight: Escape from Paradise! We’d make a fortune!"

"I’m sorry to burst your bubble," Joe cut in, "but Mission Impossible Eight:Final Reckoning is already wrapping up production, due to be released in 2025."

"What? You mean we get stuck with number nine? The deal’s off!" I said, feigning insult.