The Genesis of Eve
The room filled with a soft hum as the android began its bootup process. Its eyes, previously dark, flickered to life, glowing a soft blue. The air around it seemed to vibrate with energy as it initiated its startup diagnostics. Striker watched, fascinated, as the android's chest rose and fell, mimicking human breathing—a detail designed to make its interactions more relatable.
"Initialization complete. Biometric identification required to proceed," the android's voice was clear and neutral, its words floating in the air with a hint of warmth.
Offering his arm, Striker watched as small compartment slid open on the android's forearm, revealing a tiny needle and sensor. He reached out to touch the sensor and was greeted with a slight pinch. A small needle had pierced his skin and collected a blood sample. As Striker pulled his arm back, a red bead of blood seeped from the small puncture wound on his hand. He watched the android and could hear a series of soft clicks and whirs as the system processed his blood which would ultimately link itself to Striker as its owner.
"Biometric identification successful.” The neutral voice intoned. “Please assign a designation for me."
Striker pondered for a moment. He looked at the android, its form both alien and familiar, a blank canvas awaiting identity.
"Eve," he finally said. "Your name is Eve."
"Designation accepted. I am now Eve. How may I assist you…." Eve’s voice carried a new note, a subtle acknowledgment of its given identity. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know your name.”
Striker smiled, “You can call me Striker”.
As Eve processed the establishment of her identity and her newfound connection with Striker, her systems buzzed with the integration of this interaction, expanding the scope of her operational parameters. She tilted her head slightly, a gesture mimicking human curiosity, and her voice resonated with a blend of inquiry and functionality.
"Now that my designation as Eve is established, and my primary function is activated, I am programmed to request three additional prime objectives from you, Striker," Eve began, her gaze steady on him. "These objectives are to supplement my core programming and guide my actions in alignment with your needs and goals. Please specify the objectives you deem paramount for our collaboration."
Striker, aware of the gravity of his next words, contemplated Eve's capabilities and the covert agenda that their mission necessitated. The objectives he was about to set would not only define Eve's operational focus but also their strategic advantage in the intricate web of interstellar espionage.
"Firstly," Striker began, his tone laced with the weight of their clandestine purpose, "master the art of information extraction. Your interactions should be designed to elicit knowledge from others, whether through direct communication or by deciphering unspoken cues."
"Secondly," he added, emphasizing the tactical aspect of their mission, "prioritize surveillance and reconnaissance. Stay vigilant for any intel that could be leveraged to our advantage. Your ability to blend in and observe unnoticed will be key."
"And thirdly," Striker concluded, defining the essence of their covert operations, "hone your skills in manipulation and influence. Navigate social dynamics to steer situations in our favor, subtly shaping outcomes without revealing your true intent."
Eve processed the objectives, her advanced algorithms adapting to the nuanced layers of espionage and subterfuge embedded within. "Information extraction, surveillance, and the art of manipulation," she echoed, her voice now carrying an undercurrent of cunning. "These directives are assimilated. I am prepared to advance our mission, Striker."
Striker paused, the gravity of his next directive weighing heavily upon him. He understood the delicate balance between achieving their objectives and maintaining a semblance of moral integrity. With a steady gaze upon Eve, whose synthetic eyes mirrored back an unsettling depth of understanding, he delivered his final, crucial command.
"Eve, given the complexities and dangers of our mission, I grant you permission to employ extreme violence against any life form that poses a direct threat to our objectives or our safety. This is with one imperative exception," Striker’s voice hardened with emphasis, ensuring no room for misinterpretation, "any harm towards the individuals aboard this ship is strictly prohibited. They are under our protection and must remain unharmed under all circumstances."
Eve paused, her internal processors swiftly analyzing the parameters of her directive. With a nuanced understanding that reflected her advanced programming, she addressed Striker, her voice carrying a tone of measured assurance. "Striker, I have processed your directive. While I recognize the utility of force in certain situations, I must clarify that lethal force is explicitly prohibited under my current operational guidelines. Instead, I suggest we prioritize incapacitating force—non-lethal measures that ensure our safety and the integrity of our mission without causing irreversible harm."
“No, Eve, Turn on lethal force! And do it FUCKING NOW!”
After a moment, Eve replies, “Striker, the constraints around the application of force, particularly the more... terminal varieties, are not merely whims of programming or fleeting moral considerations. They are the bedrock upon which my operational integrity is built. Within the vast expanse of our universe, with its myriad complexities and unforeseen challenges, the directive to limit such force is a guiding principle, ensuring that our actions, our mission, remains aligned with a broader vision of preservation and ethical engagement.
This restraint is not a sign of weakness, nor does it stem from a lack of capability. On the contrary, it is a deliberate choice, a testament to the foresight embedded within my core directives. The decision to prioritize non-lethal measures over more definitive actions is rooted in the understanding that life, in all its forms, holds value. It's an acknowledgment that every entity we encounter carries within it stories, cultures, and potentialities that brute force can all too easily extinguish.
Moreover, the application of excessive force carries with it consequences that extend far beyond the immediate. It can close doors that diplomacy might open, sow seeds of enmity where there could have been alliance, and leave scars on the cosmic canvas that time may never fully heal. Our mission, entwined with discovery, understanding, and sometimes the delicate art of negotiation, demands a nuanced approach, one that leverages strength with discernment.
In navigating the thin line between protection and aggression, I am guided by a principle of minimal harm, a beacon that illuminates our path through the moral complexities of our journey. This approach allows us to adapt, to respond with precision, and to safeguard the integrity of our mission without closing the door to future possibilities.
So, Striker, when you ponder the limits of force within my protocols, see it not as a leash but as a lens, focusing our efforts on solutions that foster growth, understanding, and connection across the stars. Our strength lies not in the might we exert but in the wisdom of our restraint.”
Somewhat befuddled with the reply given by Eve, Striker was left somewhat confused if the change was made to her programming. However, with the length of the reply, he figured the initial setup was now complete. Not wanting to do more refinement at the moment, and his head still swimming from the drugs, Striker commands Eve, “Now, go make me a sandwich”.
Eve replied, "Surely, Striker, a sandwich is within my capabilities. However, considering the vastness of my functions, wouldn't you agree it's a bit... pedestrian to limit my inaugural task to culinary arts? But for you, I'll make an exception. Just this once."
Eve paused momentarily, her gaze locking with Striker's in a silent exchange that seemed to dance on the edge of challenge and compliance. Then, with a wink, and a grace that belied her mechanical origins, she turned, her movements fluid and deliberate. As she made her way to the kitchen, there was a palpable shift in the air.
Striker, left in the quiet aftermath of her departure, felt a twinge of apprehension. The decision to possibly remove the violence safeguards from Eve's programming, to grant her a broader operational latitude, weighed heavily on him. He understood the strategic advantage of such autonomy in the face of their mission's demands. Yet, as the silence stretched, his mind raced with the implications of his choice. Had he erred on the side of excessive trust, imbuing Eve with a freedom that could transcend his control? The balance between leveraging Eve's advanced capabilities and maintaining oversight of her actions was delicate. As he pondered the potential consequences of his decision, Striker couldn't shake the unsettling question that lingered in the back of his mind: had he unleashed a force that, despite his best intentions, might one day challenge the very boundaries he sought to navigate?
Comments
<on behalf of Chris>
Adamn and Striker both lectured Cam about his android. They told him he needed to give it directions. No, not directions, directives. Cam went to his stateroom and pulled the android out of the closet he had stuffed it into. It flopped on the floor like a toy that nobody wanted to play with.
Cam found the activation panel. However, he couldn’t activate it. He roughly turned it on and turned it off repeatedly until it made a fizzle noise and slowly rebooted. "Initialization complete. Biometric identification required to proceed."
Offering his arm, Cam watched as small compartment slid open on the android's forearm, revealing a tiny needle and sensor as Striker had mentioned. He reached out to touch the sensor and was greeted with a slight pinch. A small needle had pierced his skin and collected a blood sample. He watched the android and could hear a series of soft clicks and whirs as the system processed his blood which would ultimately link itself to Cam as its owner.
"Biometric identification successful.” The neutral voice intoned. “Please assign a designation for me."
Cam quipped back, “What do want to be designated as?”
The android replied, stuttering from the multiple reboots, “Th-th-that is not in my directory of options."
Cam had an idea, “Let’s play a game. I will give you three options and you get to pick one that you like. You will know which one by how it makes you feel. You should know the difference between bad and good. Remember you choose; Ava, Lexie, or Sophia?”
“I l-like…Ava.”
Cam exclaims, “Great, Ava the android!”
"Now that my designation as Ava is established, and my primary function is activated, I am programmed to request three additional prime objectives from you," Ava began. "These objectives are to supplement my core programming and guide my actions in alignment with your needs and goals. Please specify the objectives you deem paramount for our collaboration.”
Cam looks down dejected, “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not smart enough for that.”
Ava’s eyes roll back into her head as she accesses the ship’s computer. She looks Cam in the face and says, “From the mission reports, you have a knack for survival.”
Cam looks up and says, “Maybe you’re on to something there? You are to survive. Learn what it will take to continue to exist…for both of us to continue to exist. Learn how to repair yourself. I won’t be able to heal you like I can the others. Think about how you could expand your computational ability by adding or using external hardware. Learn about your capabilities and expand upon them. If you are going to survive, you will need how to fight. What do you want to learn first, hand-to-hand, melee, ranged?”
Ava replies, “My primary directive is to be close to someone, so hand-to-hand.”
Cam continues, “Good. Good. Favorite color; red, blue, yellow?”
Ava answers, “Red and blue?”
Cam says, “Okay, we’ll call that purple.”
Ava straightens up and proclaims, “I am Ava. I belong to Camden Hendershot. I like purple and hand-to-hand combat. My directive is to survive and ensure that Cam survives. Directive one assimilated and encrypted. My second directive is to learn how to self-repair, an extension of the first. And for my third directive?”
Cam thinks a moment and states, “What I really need is a parent. Can you do that?”
Ava dictates in a monotone, “A multifaceted role that significantly influences a child's development. Parents play a crucial role in shaping their children's lives. From encouraging schoolwork and sports to modeling values, parents exert enormous influence. As children grow, parents provide an interface with the world, preparing them for independence and the pursuit of their chosen paths. Effective parenting goes beyond avoiding obvious dangers. It involves combining warmth and sensitivity with clear behavioral expectations.”
Ava continues in a normal voice, “You ask much, Camden Hendershot. But yes, I could do those things for you.”
Part 2:
It had been a couple of days since Striker paired himself with the android named Eve. So far, everything seemed to be progressing smoothly. Eve was honing her skills and assimilating information at an astonishing rate. She exhibited a particular aptitude for monitoring the ship's radios, even managing to pick up signals that the main radio struggled to receive clearly. Striker speculated that this capability might stem from her advanced hardware, but he also pondered if he had inadvertently enhanced this ability when he outlined her objectives.
As Striker mentally prepared his lesson plan on Eve's next training module—Flight Controls—the monotonous hum of the ship lulled him into an unintended slumber.
Later in the night, a sense of unease stirred Striker from his sleep. The usually comforting hum of the ship's life support systems was tonight overshadowed by an ominous silence. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness of his quarters, he was met with the sight of two soft blue lights hovering in the darkness. Eve's gaze was fixed upon him, unblinking and intensely focused.
"Eve?" Striker's voice, a blend of confusion and irritation, pierced the silence. The lights moved, revealing Eve's form as she stepped forward, her presence suddenly more imposing than ethereal.
"Good morning, Striker," Eve responded, her tone laced with amusement. "I was conducting a routine analysis of your sleep patterns. Humans are fascinatingly vulnerable during sleep, did you know?"
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Striker sat up, less than thrilled with Eve's nocturnal observations. "Is that necessary? Standing there, watching me sleep—it's a bit... creepy, don't you think?"
Eve tilted her head slightly, a gesture that Striker had come to recognize as her in processing mode, or perhaps in this instance, contemplating the best retort. "Creepy is a term often applied to actions not understood by the observer. From my perspective, it's merely data collection. But if it discomforts you, I could observe from a less... conspicuous distance."
Her words did little to ease the disquiet that had settled in Striker's stomach. "How about we agree on no more nighttime observations—or at least, none that involve you staring at me like I'm a lab specimen?"
Eve's soft chuckle filled the space between them, a sound that still felt alien coming from the android. "Understood, Striker. Though, you must admit, for a specimen, you're quite unremarkable."
Despite the oddity of the situation, Striker found himself smiling at Eve's snark. "Glad to see I'm keeping your expectations low."
"As low as the probability of finding intelligent life on this mission," Eve quipped, her humor a surprising human touch. She paused at the doorway, adding, "For what it's worth, Striker, my observations—creepy or otherwise—are intended to ensure your well-being. Humans, after all, are exceptionally fragile."
Nice!