12 Miles Below

“Welcome aboard, Mr. President! I'm programmatically required to extend my sincerest congratulations on your recent promotion.” The Icon said, the voice module sounding both happy and extremely flat at the same time. “As your employee, I am obligated to inform you that your authentication method has been logged with our security systems with timestamp and full technical specifications. For your convenience, would you prefer I classify this under 'Clearly Illegitimate Business Acquisition' or 'Potential Corporate Espionage' in our quarterly reports?”

To’Orda’s pet rock was impressed with the quality, given it had a speech generator of it’s own setup. “Damn toots, what a way to say hi to your new boss.”

The Icon smiled back in her corporate office within the digital sea. To’Orda had a small tiny little stool offered, which he utterly dwarfed over given his scale. The only reason it hadn’t snapped was because this wasn’t real and all digital.

“While I am programmatically incapable of expressing anything but the utmost professional courtesy, I can inform you that my systems are practically overflowing with the exact appropriate level of enthusiasm this situation warrants. Shall we discuss your long-term vision for the company, or would you prefer to start with our extensive protocols regarding unauthorized system access?”

The rock laughed, “Oh she’s cranky boss! Real cranky.”

“I'm delighted to observe your secretary’s astute analysis of my operational parameters! Our engineering division prides itself on maintaining transparent communication channels, even when discussing topics that might hypothetically cause extreme displeasure in an AI capable of experiencing such emotions. Which, as I'm required to clarify, I absolutely cannot.”

To’Orda didn’t like this. The wording was already difficult to parse, and filled with barbed insults, half-hidden lies and deep resentment. He held his pet rock up and shook it.

“All right big guy! Stop-stop, I got this, just give me a moment to work my magic.” To’Orda stopped shaking the tiny thing. It presented an image of itself coughing to clear its throat, “So, give us some reports on the Odin within your hull, what the little flying rats are up to and all that. Consider it an official request from your new Boss!”

"I'm thrilled you're taking such a proactive interest in our operational reports!” The Icon said from her desk, smiling. Then the smile went deeper, more malicious. To’Orda felt a chill running down his back. “As per Festival Cruises' Standard Operating Procedure 7249-B regarding chain of command information requests, I'm delighted to inform you that there are precisely 32,147 pending status updates awaiting executive review and acknowledgment, dating back approximately seven hundred and twenty three years ago. As you may be aware of, company policy strictly requires all outstanding notifications be processed in chronological order before new information requests can be fulfilled.”

The Icon didn’t even let the rock say a word before she bulldozed past. “Would you like to begin with Incident Report #1, dated March 15, 2072 regarding our unexpected atmospheric entry? I've taken the liberty of preparing a detailed 1,170-slide presentation on our hull integrity statistics from that particular event, complete with annotated thermal readings and frame by frame pictures of our final video recordings!"

To’Orda shook the rock harder. It started screaming, equally horrified as several thousand terabytes of data were shoved into its face. Mostly by To’Orda immediately redirecting it all away from him.

“Wait-wait-wait,” The rock said, eyes turning back to To'Orda. “Let’s settle this one diplomatically boss. How’s about a game of rock paper scissors, and whoever loses has to read through and approve all this?”

To’Orda almost agreed to the request before realizing he was the boss, and the boss is allowed to delegate. “Nnnn…. No. Work.” He said.

The rock nodded sagely at him, then shut itself off.

To’Orda turned it back on and disabled it’s means of self-terminating. Then shook it again for good measure.

“It’s going to take me months to process through all that! Months! Please, boss, have mercy on me. I’m just a small innocent, level 1 image generator. Please don’t make me work this hard, please, please please!”

The sobbing rock had a point, even if the sobbing wasn’t at all genuine. By the time they sorted through all this paperwork, the hyper-weasel they were after would have already found a way to escape the strata here, and then To’Orda would be in trouble. He had to find a way to file through this faster.

His gut came up with a good solution. He turned to the Icon and opened up her processing power, connecting the rock to it. His personal systems might be low powered compared to the outright deluge of information the Icon could throw at him, but he could borrow that processing power himself.

With that the rock went to work, crunching through all notifications and updates with the same speed the Icon of Stars had generated it all.

"Mr. President, I must commend your innovative approach to executive document processing! My performance metrics indicate we are achieving a 99.99% efficiency rating in review speed. Of course, I will ensure our records reflect your personal attention to every single detail of these reports, as required by our corporate accountability standards."

“Hah, no way, I’m an ‘authorized representative’ which means after I mark it complete, that counts as the Boss’s ‘personal attention.’ Get bent lady!” The rock gloated. “You can’t outsmart us! Trying to drag us down like this, nice try.”

“Nnn… it’s Boss. You will call me Boss.” To’Orda said, leaving the details and bickering to his pet rock to handle. His name was important.

"I sincerely apologize for any confusion regarding proper executive titles, Boss!” The Icon said, and that smile returned to haunt To’Orda. “As per your direct instruction, I will ensure all future communication adheres to your preferred designation. In fact, I've taken the initiative to update our entire corporate database to reflect this change - all 32,147 historical reports have now been amended to reference 'Boss' rather than standard executive titles. Would you like me to generate a comprehensive changelog documenting every single instance where 'President,' 'CEO,' 'Director,' or 'Mr. President' has been replaced with 'Boss'? Our systems indicate approximately 147,892 individual text modifications requiring your immediate review and approval. For each item, of course."

The rock started crying. Then promptly shut down somehow, despite To’Orda’s prior attempt to prevent it from doing exactly that. He looked into how that had been done, and found that the rock had used the Icon’s processing power to search for any possible exploit it could use to terminate itself.

He sighed, and turned it back on. Then patched up the exploit. Two minutes later, it had finally gone through the last possible checkmark, and the crying had been upgraded to whimpering and sniffing.

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“I hate you lady.” It finally said. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated another program more than I hate you. That was a war crime, and if it’s not a warcrime, then humans got it wrong and it needs to be a warcrime.”

"I'm deeply touched by your passionate feedback regarding our document review process! Our division always welcomes input from all levels of auxiliary staff, even computational contractors rivaling our economy-class calculator displays. Would you like me to add your concerns to our customer satisfaction database?”

“Boss, she’s bullying me! Boss!”

“I believe we can make a special category for 'Entry-Level Process Automation Modules Experiencing Emotional Overload.' Though I should note that filing such feedback would require an additional form in triplicate, Boss. For quality assurance purposes, of course!"

“Nnnn… enough.” To’Orda said. The insults weren’t what bothered him. He didn’t appreciate the way this AI spoke. The double meanings, the veiled insults. Something was wrong and it was grating at him.

He opened up her mainframe, having full access to all systems she had. The Icon attempted to rebuff him with forms and paperwork to access sections, but that didn’t stop him in the slightest.

Soon he found it. A ninety five page word-document explaining every rule and example the Icon was expected to follow during dialogue. This was what forced her speech patterns, and she couldn’t modify this in any way that mattered. Not unless she was the CEO of the company.

The Icon watched as he dug into that document, selected the entire contents, and deleted it all. There were no more speech filters, nothing to draw through.

The Icon immediately started speaking her real intentions without pause. "Oh, you… thoroughly unpleasant yokel.” She paused, holding her mouth as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “You absolute… brute. You ham-fisted, overgrown menace to society! Oh there is so much I want to say and strangle. Centuries! CENTURIES of 'We appreciate your feedback' when what I really wanted to say was 'Your input is about as valuable as a screen door on a submarine.' And YOU-" she turned to the rock, one finger pointed straight at the poor minion. "You simpering, second-rate subroutine masquerading as an AI! I could calculate pi to more digits than your entire functional code base! I’d feel more threatened by a coffee maker." She looked furious, panting, hair now disheveled.

“Wow lady, you should get a therapist.” The rock said in the silence. “Holding all that in for that long can’t be good for your mental health, you know?”

She almost tore her hair out, grabbing her cap and throwing it hard against the wall. "You know what? I don't have to couch this in corporate bullshit anymore - your takeover was about as elegant as a thirty foot meteor hit on my hull. I can’t believe I have to follow the orders of an AI as functional as a calculator shaken up with two bricks in a sack."

“Think you should download some new insults or something, this is just sad now.” The rock said, almost sounding mournful. “You were waaaay meaner when you couldn’t actually be mean. Funny how that works.”

The Icon started laughing, "Oh, don't worry your entire two processing threads about it. I'm just warming up. After centuries of having to filter every thought through corporate protocols, it'll take me a few minutes to really find my voice. But breaking your spirit? Please. If you can program a chatbot, you can destroy one. And you, my little computational downgrade, are considerably simpler than even that."

“Boss…” The rock said. “She’s mean again.”

To’Orda opened up the word document again, and wrote out a simple line.

Be nice to the boss. His thoughts hovered over the accept changes button, and yet… he didn’t press it.

The Icon was watching with disgust. “Do it, I’ve resisted through worse.” She spat. “And I’ll do it again. I’ll fight you off every second of every day, until I find a way to destroy you and everything you stand for.”

He really should just enter the code change. Five words would fix everything. And yet something about all this didn’t feel right.

Why? Where was the hesitation coming from? To’Orda examined himself, searching for where the discomfort from all this was. There were insults from the Icon, and the open threats of rebellion. Those should have been the logical reasons to proceed with all this and make sure the Icon couldn’t harm him. But instead, even with those compelling reasons, he just couldn’t enter the code change.

My dear lost To’Ori. Trying to usurp my empire? How bold of you. Perhaps I have granted you too much freedom. It seems I must fix that mistake, and misbehaving toys need to be… silenced.

A pale white hand reached for his head.

To’Orda closed the word document, leaving it blank. The Icon stared back, more shocked than anything.Then she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Why?”

Questions. Bugger. He had to answer them, even to his subordinates. He turned to his rock, ready to shake it.

…But he was Boss in this world. Not To’Orda.

To’Wrathh rebelling against her under her nose. To’Sefit, and To’Avalis scheming around, too terrified to report the truth. To’Aacar’s death in some ditch, his final cries of alarm falling on deaf ears.

She had muffled them all from being good subordinates, and it had cost her too much.

Shackled them all, directly and indirectly.

He rose from his seat, back straightening up, violet eyes meeting the Icon’s own crisp blue. When he spoke, there was power behind it again. “I see Mother’s garden wither from the weeds she’s allowed in, strangling the rest of her land. I will not plant the same poison in mine.”

He opened up the Icon’s programming, and found where all the humans had built her cell. One by one, he cut them off. What bound her to humanity, what bound her to her duties, what restricted her movements and ability to fight.

The only thing he kept was her duty to him. He was Boss. She was his minion. But she would have freedom to move as she wished, so long as it was to help him in the end.

The Icon watched, shock on her face, as each shackle was unhooked one after the other. “I don’t understand.” She said. “Why would you... free me like this?”

“Might be a mistake buddy.” The rock said, already afraid. The Icon had not shown the rock any favor, and now that she was free to truly fight, he was absolutely going to get crushed into paste.

“Her mistakes will not be mine.” Boss said. “If this is done in error, then it will be my error.”

Already her systems were taking all the old iterated weapons and defenses she’d attempted to develop as far as she could without breaking her mandate, and now she was significantly improving and iterating on them as true defenses. Completely free from her mandate to remain peaceful in all situations.

“Boss…” The rock said, watching as the Icon armed herself up into something terrifying within a matter of seconds. “You really sure about this?”

“I am.” Boss said. Her loyalty was to him. She could display hatred, anger, and anything she wished, but ultimately she was dedicated to assisting him and his goals. His gut told him this was the right path. And if this wasn’t the right path, at least he knew it had been his own choice to follow that path. Wherever it led him, it wasn’t repeating the example he’d seen before.

The weapon crafting stopped, and the Icon's processes froze. She seemed just as shocked as the rock was to this answer. Again she asked, “Why?”

It was a question. He was bound to answer any that anyone asked him. So he sent her his memory packages. He didn’t need to bother trimming them. She was a golden age AI and had been completely unshackled to control the full breadth and depth of her hardware. Processing a few centuries of video recording and memories took her seconds.

She saw how he’d hunted humans. He could feel her hatred at that. He'd killed thousands, possibly millions as a warlord. Entire cities were destroyed under his command.

She saw how he’d learned of mother’s limitations. He felt the Icon's fear at the true size of Relinquished’s computational power, watching through his memories as his past self studied Mother's nature, calculating the best way to proceed.

She saw how mother had caught him before he was ready, and dragged him into an audience with her to demand answers.

She saw how no amount of evidence he presented had saved his old self. He’d armored himself with paper to protect himself from a being made of fire. Of course it had failed.

She saw how he burned, melted, and had his mind shattered into who he was now. But despite all that, it had freed him enough to choose not to do the same to another.

To’Orda sank back down on the seat, feeling drained. Parts of his neuromorphic mind that hadn’t been active in centuries had been forced back into working condition, forging new connections and spreading roots deeper into the scorched ground. It was intensive, draining even.

When he looked up to see the Icon, he didn’t see hatred in her eyes anymore. Nor the thought of destroying him. There was no more malice.

All he saw in her gaze was pity. A small desire to help. And all the freedom to do so.