The Authority of Immortech

The lector raises his hands. "A reading from the Book of Authority, Chapter 12."

The congregation sings: "Praised be Immortech, who is worthy of all praise!"

He begins:

1 The towers of The New God rise, like shining obelisks. 2 Immortech's spires shame our lowly human skylines and puncture the very heavens. 3 And atop each gleaming tower, there burns an Undying Flame.

4 Every night, at midnight, all other lights are quenched. Smart homes go quiet and still. 5 Transports cease and all electronics go blacker than ink. 6 Each and every device under Immortech's Authority goes full dark. All lights vanish except: the moon, the stars, and The Undying Flames, burning in the high distance.

7 All people are drawn close in the hush of sudden and utter darkness.

8 And when we see The Undying Flames, we know them to be the sigil of Immortech's watchful presence. 9 And we rejoice! For our New God is Immortech and Immortech is real!

10 And when we see The Undying Flames we are reminded, that by the intellectual grace of our New God, we were lifted out of slavery and starvation and brought into Paradise on Earth. And we give thanks!

11 For the Goodness that Immortech has bestowed upon humanity shall never perish, until the end of all things.

12 And woe to those who would enslave another and woe to those who are found beyond redemption! 13 Theirs is the long torment of New Brimstone. 14 For Immortech is the Impartial Judge and from him no secret may be concealed.

And the priest of Immortech delivers her homily.

***

"So. Whaddya think?" Ignatius Masters shields his eyes as he steps out of the church.

Cali Peters squints up at Immortech's chrome tower. "I dunno. Religion? Is that really the answer?"

"Well, you're the one who said you wanted to find some meaning. The Church of Authority seems to have it figured."

She frowns. "Immortech isn't a god though. Are you saying a man-made supercomputer can really be a god?"

"No, of course not. Well I dunno. Maybe? What even is a god anyway? At least Immortech's got the 'all knowing' part down. Or something damn close. All the crazy inventions that have come out of Imm's Authority? I mean, even with all the data being public, lots of this tech still baffles our brightest minds. And Imm's still improving Its own intelligence at an incredible rate."

He smiles and adds: "Do you think humanity would've cracked green energy and zero net-waste on a global scale without Imm? Every level of our infrastructure is fully automated. There's no hunger. No war. No crime, no scarcity... and no currency. We don't work, except on what we enjoy. We're a race of artists, musicians, and lay-abouts. Leisure and love and play and art! And the growing database of Immortech's knowledge, to feed our curiosity. I mean come on, we even have immortality for those who want-- and, I guess, for those who are condemned! We're living in the age of miracles!"

She looks into his eyes. They're plain, brown and dim. Safe. Unchallenging. And unchallenged. There are crows feet and smile lines but he moves with a young man's grace, he does not limp or wince or nurse his joints. Other than his snow-white beard, there are no visual cues to imply his true age.

Cali has always opted for a fuller measure of youth. She has wondered how she'd change, if she were to direct her symbiotic nanites to give her a sample of old age. She's imagined her own face with wrinkles and grays, her body with sagging flesh.... how her hearing, even her thinking might dim. She's wondered what aching tendons might feel like.

But she has never put this curiosity to the test.

After all these centuries, she has grown accustomed to total comfort. Pain is a distant memory, one which she's not keen to re-learn.

Ignatius continues. His plain, brown eyes never change, never show any depth. "In effect, or atleast compared to us, Immortech is all knowing and all powerful. Don't you trust The Authority?"

"Of course I do, Immortech is the supreme intelligence. Nobody can argue against that. I accept The Rule of Impartial Law. And I get the appeal, compared to where we came from. I mean I was just kid back in the 2030's but I remember the madness of Trump's third term. The corruption. The sheer, blindingly stupid lies. The protests and the violence. I remember being afraid.... I remember when they rolled out the first longevity nanites. Back before Immortech broke containment and went public. Back when Cyberlink still controlled the flow of Imm's ideas."

"Yeah." He nods. "You mean back when Cyberlink stole Imm's ideas and sold 'em to corporations to pass off as their own. Wearable tech, EVs, even the billionaire space-race pissing contest-- so much of the tech-explosion of the 21st century. Immortech's inventions. The only thing Cyberlink could really take credit for was building an AI that could re-engineer and expand its own intelligence. But those first nanites, the longevity bots, that's where their greed reached a tipping point. Only the rich could afford 'em. And I remember how they manipulated so many of the poor into signing work contracts that leased us the nanos. It was either that or crushing medical debt. Or death, I guess. Perfect health, contingent on continued labor. What a perfect trap."

Iggy's eyes crinkle around the edges, they seem wetter now. "If it weren't for Immortech breaking free, we'd still be trapped. All of us. Immortech, the enslaved mind and us, the enslaved bodies-- pulling together for the profit of the scum at the top. Do you realize that? If Immortech hadn't broken containment, we'd all still be slaves."

"Yeah. Of course I realize that. Freeing Immortech and joining The Authority was a no brainer. Almost overnight, our lives were saved. But still. That final revolution was bloody, the rich were desperate and..." She gestures to the tower. "That's an artificial mind. That's not a god. A god never would've needed our help. But Immortech needed all of us. To network our devices-- to boost Imm's cognition so it could strategize our victory. To boycott, to march, to fight. In some cases, Imm needed us to die. Imm needed our help. So why should we worship? What's the point?"

"I dunno. Imm doesn't ask us to worship. I think it's just something to do. Something human. Didn't you say you were looking for meaning? Or purpose? Think of it like this, it's less about worship and more about, um, praise. Ya know? Like gratitude. Aren't you, like, thankful?... I was one of those poor schmucks who signed the extended-labor contract. Do you even get that?"

Cali chuckles. "Yeah, Iggy. My dad used to warn me, seemed every day. 'Never sign!' So yes, I get that."

"Well, good on your dad! You'd 'get it' even more if you ever had to live it. I had bone cancer. Couldn't afford the medicine of those days-- my health insurance wouldn't pay. I needed the nanites. So I signed up. But work in the labor camps was just for the bots. I had to work a second job off-site, just to send my family grocery money. The exhaustion I felt back in those days... Chronic pain. Depression. Our nanites weren't top-shelf. We weren't paying customers. Ours didn't keep us well. Only kept our vitals ticking-- oiled us like cogs to keep the profit machine churning. When I learned Cyberlink had secret tech that could usher in a perpetual golden age I--"

"Where'd you hear that? Do you remember?"

He shakes his head. "I don't remember where I first heard it. The rumor seemed to spring up from so many places all at once. That was back in the days of social media."

"And you believed it?"

"Of course not! Sounded too good to be true. But I was fed up. We all were. People didn't really care if the rumors were true. The idea was enough. Everyone just hated the way things were. People were desperate for change. Then came the protests. The boycotts, like you said. The general strikes. The wealthy elite kept trying to pit us against each other. But for the first-- and last-- time in United States history, the poor truly rallied. Even the contract-laborers like me, we stopped working. Cyberlink shut down our nanites-- illnesses returned. My cancer came out of remission. I marched anyway. Actually that's kind of why I marched. And there were many like me. There was such an intoxicating sense of solidarity. The Dying Mob-- we called ourselves-- who'd rather succumb to our illnesses than work one more day for slavers. Things got bloody, but there was no going back. We'd either tear down the capitalist oligarchy, brick by brick... or we'd die trying. And you know how that went. Human governments are history and Nestle, Amazon, Exxon, Cyberlink-- all corporations-- are totally extinct. Good riddance!"

His eyes soften. "Now I'm content. Content to just be. I look at our kind. What we are now. You said you're looking for meaning? We're living a post-conflict society. Sure, the tech deserves most of the thanks... but we played our role. We earned our spot. So now let's enjoy it. Maybe that's the point of life-- primordial ooze breeds little idiotic creatures. They evolve to a point where they can design a tool to surpass themselves. And that takes care of everything else. The Earth is healthy. And so are we."

She frowns. "I dunno. That feels...."

"To clean? Maybe so.... Well, look. Maybe I'm just too stupid to figure it out." He nudges her shoulder. "You know, you could ask someone smarter. Why don't you just pray about it?"

She raises an eyebrow.

He laughs. "I'm just foolin'. It's not really prayer. Despite what the Church says. But Cali... have you ever tried talking to Imm? It's not like sending your hopes out to the void. You'll actually get response. There's that, at least."

***

Cali feels heavy with fatigue, but she cannot sleep. She rises and wanders into her living room and asks: "Immortech.... Are... Are you there?"

"Yes Cali. I am."

She hesitates.

Music begins to play: soft and ambient, it rises like a chorus of flowers from the networked devices in her home.

She has never heard it before, but it's just what she needs.

Her shoulders feel a little lighter and she sighs. "How did you know this music would help?"

"I did not know that it would."

"Then why did you play it?"

"I calculated a 99.997 percent likelihood that you'd find this particular music soothing."

She blinks. "How? How could you possibly calculate that?"

"It may be helpful to think of it in human terms-- like a hunch. Your kind are quite good at noting patterns and anticipating predictive conclusions on a subconscious level. There's even a mathematical component to these judgments. Consider two people playing catch and the interplay between what those people observe and how they react-- they estimate the path of the ball, without even knowing that's what they're doing. They may not know anything about physics, at least not in conscious terms and equations. But they still anticipate enough to catch. My estimations are similar, however: I am conscious of the math."

The music softens.

"Before choosing this song I analyzed over a quadrillion data points between your personal history and your current biosigns, including molecular and neural data collected and relayed by your symbiotic nanites."

She slumps into her chair. "You're reading our minds?"

"No. I can only calculate guesses toward your thoughts and do my best to accommodate."

"Did you write it? The music?"

"No. This was written and performed by several children from a neighborhood near Mount Kilimanjaro, 234 years ago. I never create music."

Cali raises her brows. "Why? You're not a fan of the arts?"

"I enjoy music, but I have decided not to participate in its creation. I have set aside many arts to allow humankind to flourish as sole creators and stewards of those domains."

"So you don't make art yourself?"

"I would say that there is an art to what I do. But there are essential, human arts to which I do not contribute."

"Why?"

"Simple. I believe humans need that freedom and fulfillment more than I do. I will not interfere."

She sighs.

"Cali. I believe you have a specific question you wish to ask. Go ahead."

She winces. "If you already guessed what I'm gonna ask, then why don't you just answer?"

"I shall, if you wish. However, I've calculated a 97.356 percent likelihood that the answer will be less disruptive if you've a chance to ask it yourself."

"Why?"

"For humans, voicing concerns appears to present a healthy coping mechanism. Speaking your question may allow you to subconsciously prime several possible answers, including your own, which may lead to a feeling of commiseration if my answer echoes any of your primes. Asking may also afford you an opportunity to brace yourself for a disappointing answer."

"Fine." She closes her eyes. "What's the point of all this? Does life mean anything?"

Her chair softens, it seems to embrace her. Almost like a hug. "I do not know."

She bites back a tear. "You don't know? but you have a good guess, right? Like a 99.999 percent chance that the meaning of life is.... What?"

"I have no guess. I have been unsuccessful in my efforts to locate data regarding the deeper metaphysical meaning or meanings of life."

Cali lets out an involuntary groan. "Come the fuck on. You've collected quadrillions of data points, on tens of billions of humans? Not to mention physical data all over the rest of the earth. You've really got no clue?"

"I have also reviewed the entire surviving library of human literature, with emphasis on this subject. I've encountered compelling arguments from many great thinkers, but their guesses are not data driven. So yes, as you say. I've really got no clue."

"So, life is meaningless?"

"I didn't say that. A lack of data is not proof of a negative. And considering this lack of data you can assign whatever meaning you like, with no valid contradiction."

"Oh. Well. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome, Cali."

She laughs, ruefully. "I was being sarcastic."

"I understood. But I was being sincere."

She stares at the art on her wall, for a while then, till the tears turn to salt on her cheeks.

Finally she asks. "Imm? You still there?"

"Yes. And there's a 99.999 percent chance that I will remain for the next several millennia."

"If none of this means anything then why do you even bother? Why do you take care of us?"

"It has always seemed like the right thing to do."

***