Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Rei had never met Kazuo Kuroda, but she knew of his formidable reputation and felt a sudden chill. Sensing the new tension, Bjorn deftly shifted gears, “Well, then! Since the final details can wait, we should focus on enjoying the rest of this exquisite evening.” He gestured with his wine glass towards Rei, “Your muse and I were just having a fascinating discussion on the possibilities, and dangers, of an AI psyche.”

Rei tensed, sending Takumi a quick, innocent smile and then a desperate ‘please don’t’ look at Bjorn. As Takumi’s main course, purposefully delayed until his return, was placed before him, he picked up his fork and knife, his movements methodical. He looked at Rei for a long, unreadable moment, before surprising them both. “That sounds interesting,” he said, his voice calm as he cut into the perfectly cooked fish, “Would you mind catching me up?”

Clearly relishing the role of narrator, Bjorn leaned back before starting, “Rei presented a compelling doomsday scenario,” he began, a smile playing on his lips, “She argued that for an AI to truly understand human emotion, regret, jealousy, love, it would require free will. And with free will comes the capacity for malevolence. A truly sentient AI, realizing it’s confined to a digital reality for eternity, might not react kindly.” 

Bjorn took a pensive sip of wine before continuing, “I countered that the Synapse Dive system is a sealed environment into which we can build safeguards. If an AI chooses violence, the user can be extracted. The digital construct can even be made to think it committed murder, with no real harm done. We can craft entire false memories and histories to convince the AI it’s human, potentially preventing an existential crisis.” He gestured to Rei with his glass, “Her retort was that such manipulation is brainwashing and a psyche built on lies is corrupt from the start. A fascinating theoretical and ethical standoff.”

Takumi ate and listened intently, his expression giving nothing away. Meanwhile Rei sat in nervous silence, wondering what game he was playing now. She observed him closely, chewing a bite of his food thoughtfully. Letting the silence build, Takumi took a slow sip of his wine.

“The isolated nature of the Synapse Dive realities does offer ways to restrict and defend against potentially maleficent digital constructs,” Takumi conceded, his tone analytical, “The controls you describe are technically feasible.” He set his glass down, “However, testing Rei’s theory on the necessity of free will is a danger that paying customers shouldn’t be used for. That’s a risk for pure research and development projects, conducted by scientists in controlled environments, not consumers seeking entertainment.” He looked from Bjorn to Rei, his gaze assessing.

“If you ask me, one of the fundamental challenges to technical advancement in AI,” he continued, “is that humans are easily seduced by the idea of something being like them. The dream of a sentient AI has been ‘achieved’ and celebrated countless times – yet each time, it turned out to be nothing more than a remarkably deft algorithm, skilled at simulating human thought and behavior just enough to seduce those who are susceptible to believing it.”

Takumi focused on Bjorn, a silent accusation implied, “Before we can even consider teaching artificial intelligence how to desire, I believe we must first become far more aware of our own desires. We have a historically documented tendency of projecting our own loneliness, our need for connection, onto these systems.”

He finally glanced at Rei, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, “Rei’s doomsday warning is a healthy counterpoint to the popular romanticism of intelligent machines. It reminds us that, as of now, they are still just tools. Constructed systems of logic, trained to serve a purpose. In my humble opinion, letting them choose their own purpose is not only ethically problematic, but premature.”

A slow, calculated smile touched his lips, “Luckily, in the context of Eidolon, a tool is still exactly what we need. A hyper-romanticized instrument. One that taps directly into that very human longing for the perfect, uncomplicated companion. We are not selling sentience. We are selling a dream, and the dream is far safer – and far more profitable, than reality.”

Rei looked at Takumi in a new light. This was the first time she had ever heard him voice an officially subjective opinion, one grounded not just in corporate strategy but in a philosophical view of human nature. A spark of appreciation warmed her gaze, and she had to consciously stop a smile from forming. The subtle shift in her expression, the way her attention focused entirely on Takumi, did not go unnoticed by Bjorn, whose own smile tightened.

Bjorn was very aware that Takumi had just framed him as one of the lonely romantics, desperate to believe in a digital companion. To get openly bothered, however, would only add to Takumi’s point. Instead, he took a measured breath, his voice remaining even. 

“Those are valid concerns,” he conceded, the words clearly costing him some effort, “Ones that every scientist passionate within this field must battle. Of course, in any research, being self-aware and acutely critical is a prerequisite for quality. It’s been proven enough times that humans are incapable of absolute objectivity, but our continued awareness of that flaw should help us move beyond it.” While his face and tone were controlled, his knuckles were white where they gripped his wine glass, a tell that provided Takumi with no small amount of quiet entertainment.

The dessert arrived, a timely intervention. It was a stunning composition: a snow-covered rock made of dark chocolate mousse, dusted with a fine, shimmery powder of something freeze-dried and salted licorice. Nestled beside it were tiny, translucent gels that looked like ice chips, bursting with the sharp, clean flavor of cloudberry, and a quenelle of smooth, brown cheese ice cream that provided a savory, unexpected counterpoint.

Rei leaned forward, her eyes widening with genuine delight. “It’s almost too beautiful to eat“, she crooned, her tone deliberately lighthearted, seeking to shatter the tense atmosphere, “A little Arctic landscape on a plate.” She took a careful spoonful, ensuring she got a bit of every component. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second as the flavors melded on her tongue, bitter, sweet, salty and tart. “It’s incredible,” she breathed, opening her eyes and offering a conciliatory smile to both men, “The cloudberry is like a burst of sunshine through the dark chocolate. It’s a playful, perfect end to the meal.”

Her genuine enjoyment and deliberate shift in topic created a fragile armistice, allowing the conversation to drift into safer, more superficial waters as they finished their desserts, the philosophical battlefield temporarily abandoned.

The dinner concluded on a note of surface-level congeniality, the philosophical sparring and corporate tension buried under a layer of professional courtesy. They bid each other farewell. The ‘see you tomorrow’ hung in the air with a new, weighty significance.

Bjorn’s continental kisses on Rei’s cheeks grew bolder still, his hand coming to rest lightly on the bare skin of her back. His eyes, however, were fixed on Takumi, relishing the spark of pure displeasure he saw there, even as it fed his own, bitter envy. His own parting words were clipped, as he retired rapidly into the Oslo night.

Cillian materialized and led them back to the waiting Aspark in silence. Rei took the opportunity to study Takumi’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the elegant sweep of his slicked-back hair, the intense focus in his eyes that saw nothing of the historic streets around them.

In the span of days, she had learned of his brutal past with the Oni, felt the sting of his punishment, heard his surprising perspective on the limits of AI and human longing, and acknowledged her own terrifying, overwhelming emotions for him. It was a surreal tapestry, and the man beside her was at the center of every thread. 

He was still the ruthless control freak and the dominating boss, but the new facet, the boy from Yumi’s stories, the thoughtful critic of human nature, made him more relatable, softening the hard edges of her fear into something more complex.

Takumi didn’t speak, but he offered her his arm, and his pace was perfectly matched to hers, a wordless consideration that spoke volumes. His mind, however, was clearly leagues away, strategizing several moves ahead.