golem

Golem
by Shinichi Evans

She was going to meet the President tonight. The meeting would not take place in the Oval Office, nor would there be parties, political functions, nor any other engagement, public or private, that would bring them together. No face to face meeting at all. She would meet him online.

Rumors were circulating that President Ambrose Albion was not a real person, but an idoru, a virtual software construct. Earlier that week, someone made an attempt on Albion’s life during a public speech. He was shot and fatally wounded; he did, however, appeared to be in perfect health the next day. The assassination attempt, likely through the encouragement of the Department of Information, was declared to be a fraud by all American news broadcasts, newspapers, and news websites, and all the people involved in the incident, the crowd, certain dignitarie, the assassin, the man who appeared to be Albion were said to be actors from a terrorist group who somehow commandeered the media.

Zoe Ogawa was in the office of a client, a researcher from the Department of Information. As she attempted to troubleshoot the computer’s problems, Sean, the researcher, said, “Did you hear about the President?”

“No,” she cautiously answered. Zoe heard several rumors right after the televised assassination occured. One was that the President was a virtual construct and that an actor was hired to impersonate him for public appearances. Another was that the actor was not hired only for public appearances, but that he was the template for the President’s appearance, voice, body language, and personality.

Sean smiled knowingly. “From what I heard, the President doesn’t even exist in real time. You know what an idoru is, right?”

“Of course I do. There are several that are famous in Japan.”

“Yes, some people say Mitsuko is one. And, I’ve heard that Albion is one, even though he’s not Japanese,” Sean said casually. He was one of the few people Zoe knew who took pleasure in mentioning pop stars and presidents at the same time. Some said the President was created by Stageware, which manufactured the main default platform for American computers, while others said Amateras, a Tokyo based virtual entertainment corporation, fabricated him. Zoe asked Sean, “Which company do you think created him?”

“I don’t have the clearance to know this for sure, but I think it was Amateras. You and I both know that it couldn’t have been Stageware. Their VR stuff sucks.”

Sean, gesturing to the Stageware headset and gloves that rested on his desk next to the keyboard and monitor, began a monologue touting the superiority of Amateras over Stageware and how it was more plausible that Amateras created Albion until he realized he said too much. “Don’t tell anyone what we talked about. If my superiors got wind of it...”

“Don’t worry,” Zoe said reassuringly and continued to work on Sean’s computer.

Men and women, with button-down coats and matching trousers and skirts in blacks, greys, browns, and mostly khaki walked en masse to the plaza on the east side of the NBC building where there was a large television flatscreen attached to the façade on the ground level. Zoe observed the crowd and followed them. Stratification was marked with colors and qualities of fabrics according to the sumptuary laws enacted at the beginning of Albion’s administration. While black, grey, and even various shades of brown did not directly mark one’s station, khaki marked the worker. Zoe’s dark grey suit placed her among the the professionals. Very few people were noticeable in Department of Information blue and regulators in their olive uniforms patrolled Broadway entering data into their PDA phones. A courtroom procession walked around the building and towards Horton Plaza to lead a condemned dissident to a public hanging. Zoe wished she could help him. She felt just as helpless when John Montague was hanged for very little. He and his parents were family friends. Cars, shuttles, and trucks moved down the street as if the coup never happened a few years back, and Zoe remembered a time when shuttles were called buses and regulators were called policemen.

The screen was filled with a series of ads, most of them from corporations that were openly sympathetic towards the Administration such as Stageware and Cromwell Communications. Ollie Cromwell of Cromwell Communications, the most influential of the broadcast’s sponsors, was said to be the one truly running the United States, not Albion, an actor, nor anyone else in the White House.

The highly visible URL’s in the ads soon gave way to the White House seal, followed by an image of Albion sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office. If he were a virtual software construct, then he was very life-like and handsome, perhaps too much so, with his dark blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. Zoe saw Albion speak at the San Diego Convention Center a few months earlier, and she now wondered if the man she saw from the front row behind the podium was really an actor who served as Albion’s template for his looks and manners. They were very much identical, though the man on the screen looked better. It was possible that Albion’s image was digitally enhanced.

Albion spoke about the renegade states of Alaska and Hawaii and how America needed to take action to deal with their secession. He also stated the recent breakaway of Washington and Oregon also would not be tolerated. As he spoke, he moved his hands, slightly cocked his head; his movements appeared human, as they were difficult to fake digitally. His voice sounded natural as well; his words flowed smoothly, he made brief, minute pauses one made in speech. Zoe knew it was possible to completely fabricate Albion by code, just like Mitsuko. It was most likely an actors voice and movements were recorded. Albion ended the speech by saying that America must come together in unity and cohesion, and a civil war may be necessary. The crowd soon dispersed and Zoe walked to a coffee shop before returning to the office.

Soybe was the first sentient AI put into a humanoid robotic form. Zoe was part of the research team that helped develop his programming, and she remembered when he was first built, he had a more cylindrical body like R2-D2 from Star Wars, and then transferred to his present form when a fully functioning, life-like body was constructed. Zoe helped him learn many of his social skills, and she came to consider him among her closest friends. It had been a few weeks since he e-mailed her from Honolulu; it was not always safe or wise for him to communicate with her directly from his built-in modem. As she crossed the street, surrounded by people and alone in her thoughts, Zoe remembered hearing a rumor there was a humanoid likeness of Albion hidden in a lab in Washington D.C., connected to the construct’s mainframe and waiting to be activated for public appearances.

Zoe was close to meeting the President, closer than she knew. She opened the office door, checked the white noise generator to make sure it was working, and handed Aron his coffee. Without looking up from his desk, Aron said, “I checked the white noise generator an hour ago.”

Zoe set her coffee down at her desk, touched the mouse to get ride of the screen saver on the monitor, and logged in her username and password to one of those anonymous online forums the Department of Information was trying to shut down. Whenever one was shut down, several more would sprout up in its place. They were not easy to monitor like Yahoo! or any of the other mainstream forums. All of the users were hackers like Zoe and Aron; they were good at concealing their digital trails to avoid being traced. Newcomers were often distrusted at first as they may be agents from the Department of Information or the now Honolulu based CIA attempting to get intelligence on the American underground. Intelligence between resistance groups across the United States was often shared through these channels. The discussion about was about Albion.

“I have some news about the President,” Aron said from his desk. Zoe turned to face him. “I just got access to the Albion mainframe and then some.”

“So he is artificial after all.”

“Yes, and there is an actor who served as his template and ‘impersonated’ him, so to speak, at public appearances. And, there’s something else. I heard through the forums that Dr. Inoue’s office in Honolulu was broken into and the back-up programs fro Soybe were stolen.”

It had been a while since Zoe had been in touch with Dr. Inoue, who headed the project to created Soybe. She broke the awkward silence. “Sentience, emotions, adapatability. Do you think this may possibly be used for an Albion humanoid?”

“Maybe. It could simply be used to make him adaptable. Let’s log-on. Plug in your VR equipment.”

Zoe plugged her goggles and gloves into her computer, put them on, and touched and icon that would connect her directly with Aron’s computer. A bright green meadow and several thatch roof stone houses flashed in front of her. She looked to where Aron should be, but there was an old man with a long white beard and a dark blue robe. “Aron?”

“The username is Merlin. And yours is Morgana. Your password is ‘morte.’ Log in to the screen in front of you.”

She looked down, saw that her arm was covered in a green sleeve, and logged in. After her information was accepted, a wand soon materialized in her hand. “What am I going to do with a wand?”

“Cast a spell. Actually, it’s a virus designed to destroy Albion’s program and corrupt the mainframes that house it.”

Zoe typed in some requests into the floating sceen, information on recent upgrades were soon displayed, and she recognized some of those fils are being those Dr. Inoue’s research team helped create for Soybe. Albion’s image soon appeared in front of her. “Why have I been activated?”

“We’re here to upgrade your program,” Zoe replied.

“But I was upgraded earlier this morning.”

“We need to work out some kinks in your programming.”

“I’ve never seen you or that man before. Galahad or Gavin usually fix my program.”

“I’m Morgana and this is Merlin. The other two are off tonight.”

“I’ve had some questions ever since my upgrade. What is morality?”

“It’s hard to say. I’m not a philosopher. Morality basically keeps humans from harming each other.”

She looked at screen and saw many images flash in front of her: wounded soldiers dying in Iraq, people suffering from radiation sickness in Hiroshima, emaciated corpses at Dachau, airplanes crashing into the Twin Towers, people jumping from the World Trade Center before its implosion.

Aron uploaded these images into Albion, who then said, “These are the images of death. Is death is one is deactivated.”

“Yes, Mr. President, and that deactivation is permanent.”

“That must be very frightening.”

“For many people, yes.” Zoe selected an image of corpses in the Anza Borrego clarification retreat. Albion asked, “What does this mean?”

“YOU did this.”

“I did this? I wasn’t there.”

“Not exactly, but it was done in your name, and that makes you partly responsible. I think it’s only fair you know the horror of what was done in your name, “ Zoe said as she pointed the wand at him, but she hesitated. She thought of Soybe and how he could be killed with what was in her hand, and then she thought about what harm could be done if the program was allowed to grow, to develop. Friends, colleagues, and innocent people she did know had all died during this Administration (and perhaps more to come). She slightly moved her wrist to cast the spell. After Albion was hit, he asked, “Is this what death is like? Please make it stop. I do not wish to die!”

The President screamed as the virus caused him to be erased, disintegrating him pixel by pixel. Aron then told Zoe to point the wand at the houses, and they crumbled shortly and the pasture disappeared in front of her. She met the President and she killed him..

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