She’s mad at me again, isn’t she?

  “…”

  Yes, it has to be that. She’s not even turning to look at me, her eyes are just staring out into space.

  We were two people who couldn’t get along. I’ve dealt with rogue AIs, out-of-control auto-mechs, corrupt fleet admirals, power tripping planetary inspectors—And yet! Dealing with her always felt like trying to pilot a suit blind in an antimatter field without any detectors.

  I’ve tried thinking long and hard about it, but I could never tell if she hated my guts or if she simply hated the things I said.

  I awkwardly stood around in silence before calling out to her. “I’m here supervising chief. Was I called regarding an assignment or incident? Have I… done something wrong?”

  Ignoring my words, she continued to stare out at the view port.

  Her silver hair whipped around, and when she looked at me I could almost feel her piercing blue eyes boring into me. “The issue isn’t what you’re doing. Rather, it’s about what you aren’t doing, what you haven’t been able to do. Polaris, you still refuse to work with immersive AI’s, correct?”

  Ah, so that’s what this is about.

  Ever since I took up my hybrid role on the fleet I’ve been stuck in an awkward position.

  After scoring high on the SVAE (Spacial Vocational Aptitude Exam), hundreds of doors had suddenly flown open for me. Overnight I went from middling prospects, to having governments and private corps tripping over themselves to get me aboard their fleets or on any number of their countless millions of deep space operations.

  I was a clever kid, but I was also pretty damn stupid. I wanted to be paid well while doing something exciting. Instead of thinking it through, I went with the first thing that caught my eye that didn’t also look like a pain in the ass; landing me a job straight in tech-sec where I was part techie and security force.

  I don’t regret it entirely; it gave me a chance to work on the ship while giving me my fill of action. And anytime we docked planet-side it won me plenty of popularity since people still looked up to pilots with starstruck eyes.

  Everything was going well for me, but what I had neglected to consider was that my future career advancement was entirely military based, which meant I’d have to start interfacing with AIs.

  “Yes, supervising chief Angela, to specify further, I refuse to work with any immersive AIs, and I am only willing to work alongside Class II NI2’s but no higher.”

  “Only Class II?!” Angela let out a voice of surprise, “Ahem…” then quickly cleared her throat before sitting back down at her desk. She already had an air of authority but behind the non-synthetic varnished wood, she had even more of a presence. It was as if she was a system admiral ready to command her fleet.

  “Polaris, that complicates things. I understand your hesitation and even distrust of AI, however, if you plan on continuing with this track working with them will become an absolute necessity.”

  Why was I here?

  I was expecting a talk-down but instead Angela was giving off the impression of a worried senior looking out for her junior. There were over a hundred thousand people on the fleet; workers, officers and pilots ten times better than me went overlooked all the time.

  The fact that Angela had me here, right in front of her, surprised me. She had gone out of her way to talk to me directly, which meant that she may have seen some hidden potential in me.

  Or maybe I was overthinking things, but I was filled with a sense of pride, and it made me want to respond in earnest. I straightened up my posture and forced down my nerves.

  “Isn’t there an alternative? Sure, I deal with combat sometimes, but I’m not a soldier(yet). I’m never supposed to be in a situation where I’ll need more than a Class II NI2.”

  “Listen I understand your frustration, but the path for I2 pilots is very promising the same goes for Class III NI2 operators. If you decide against, you’ll be leaving a lot on the table here…”

  I breathed in deep through my nose, “All the same. I must refuse.”

  “Understood.”

  Angela spun around to face the observation deck. “I won’t force you. You have plenty of options after all. I’m sure we’ll find something good for you.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Going down the elevator I leaned my arms and head against the wall. This wasn’t the first time my reluctance over AI had cost me at work, but I had no plan on budging.

  “If it was just Class II, I’d be fine…”

  AIs fell under four primary classes: Class I’s, II’s, III’s & IV’s.

  At one end of the spectrum were the Class I’s, it covered simple AIs that could handle only the most basic and non-complex tasks. Below that, there was an unrecognized “Class 0” which included robots, machines and software that relied on either primitive machine learning models or raw computer algorithms.

  Class I and 0 AIs were two very different things though that didn’t stop people from lumping them together, so they were given the nickname, “Nohl-type.”

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  On the other extreme were Class IV AI’s, super-intelligent machines that were constantly kept under extremely tight watch and supervision.

  I’ve never had to deal with one and I hope I never have to, but I’d heard rumors.

  And everyone always said the same thing.

  Meeting with one is both the most soothing and unnerving experience of your life. If a super-AI is given a human body and a human voice, they become more than lifelike, they go far beyond that.

  It takes a while, but as they learn about you, your habits, your preferences they start to modulate their voice, personality, way of speaking so that each and every syllable in the cadence of their speech rolls perfectly off their synthetic tongue to your mind and ears. They always know the perfect thing to say to you, how to act for you, just being around and listening to them becomes an addictive habit.

  That’s why they’re banned from having human bodies and why range limitations are placed on their voice synthesizers.

  But even that wasn’t always enough.

  Two steps below Class IV’s were the Class II AIs, and they were split into three types: Alpha, Beta and Gamma but to simplify these were intelligences designed for general assistant roles. I quite liked these types, they felt like machines, like robots. Nothing they did ever gave the impression that they were anything human.

  The same couldn’t be said for Class III’s.

  They were… different. More human like, lifelike. They could almost smile a real smile.

  Reaching the ground floor, I stepped out of the elevator. Since today started my two weeks leave, I began to wonder what I should do. I could enjoy my time at the station-side bars or go planet-side and visit some friends and go for a joyride. There were also some, “acquaintances” I could keep company as well.

  There wasn’t any shortage of things to do, only a shortage of time…

  Feeling thirsty for a drink and smoke I hailed a ride and headed to the nearest bar.

  Once I hopped in the cab, I took a quick glance at the driver’s seat. The “man” was dressed immaculately, donning a white long-sleeved shirt, black slacks and tie. His outfit felt oddly historical, and it made me wonder if this was part of some promotion.

  During the drive I made small talk with the robo cabbie, I felt oddly satisfied whenever he answered my questions the way I expected him to.

  When he answered the way a robot should.

  I was just about getting comfortable when someone decided to ping me. Annoyed I flicked my holo-visor, “Who’s bothering me at this ho—!?”

  “Well well well… if it isn’t my favorite Luddie!” The image on the visor flashed before I could even react, a woman could be seen crossing her arms, her head obscured from view. “I hope you didn’t think you could just ignore me when you’re so close by. Don’t forget that you still owe me, BIG TIME.”

  The woman in the video crouched down, putting me face to face with her.

  “Come visit. Sooner than later.”

  “Bye.”

  Looks like this was how I was going to spend my time off.

  ***

  Shutting the cab door behind me, I arrived at the spaceport. Inside, travelers waited in long queues while human and non-human receptionists checked in bags and documentation one by one. Bored guards stood watch besides security bots, while spacers from all walks of life could be seen impatiently waiting to be passed through the various security checkpoints lined across the halls.

  I didn’t have to wait of course, being in tech-sec came with various perks that weren’t listed on the official recruitment sheets. Walking past the screening gates with a tap of my badge, I headed straight towards my gate.

  I could hear inaudible murmurs filling the halls, random chatter from people who were talking away at their earsets to people enjoying pleasant conversations with the companions at their side: acquaintances, family, friends, lovers.

  …and robots.

  It was a bad habit, but when I noticed it, I couldn’t stop.

  All robots and androids were required to have a mark of identification.

  Class I and II marks were rather unassuming because they didn’t need to have a tag that screamed, “I AM AN AI,” they could easily be identified by the way they went about the world. Add to that, an out-of-control Class II didn’t pose anywhere near the level of danger as a rogue Class III, so their bodies were left relatively untouched.

  The case was different for Class IIIs, they were far too human-like, they could easily blend in and only the most discerning or insane individuals could differentiate between a human and a Class III.

  With greater abilities, they were also given roles to match it, a rogue Class III could be very dangerous so the need to ID them became obvious.

  The problem was that Class IIIs also included companion robots, and people weren’t exactly thrilled when they’re told that their precious “family members” needed to be tagged for safety.

  That’s why Class III marks could vary wildly, they’re all designed to either stand out in appealing ways or to blend in with their body as to be invisible.

  From shoulder tattoos to synthweave ribbons and bands, to jeweled earrings and carbon-fiber necklaces etched with ID chips. There were tens of thousands of variations that were used to mark a Class III. Most people wouldn’t be able to identify them at a glance, not unless they had the right amount of training or equipment. But if they had it, any class III would stick out like a glowing LED light.

  That’s why I couldn’t help but stare as people walked past me with their AI companions, AI companions that they gladly treated as another human being without a second thought. It always gave me a mix of feelings, chief among them being disgust, but also pity. Pity that their only source of warmth came from a cold unfeeling machine.

  Being so caught up in my own thoughts I ended up bumping into someone.

  “Ah!”

  The voice of a young girl came out along with the sight of her falling to the ground. I was about to reach out my hands when I noticed the pair of protruding synthetic ears on her head. It gave her a very traditional look reminiscent of the first-generation androids.

  “Watch where you’re going.” Brushing my jacket, I dug into my pockets and kept walking.

  I arrived at my gate’s waiting lobby; it wasn’t as cramped as the checkpoints but there were enough people and noise that it was quite lively. Overhead, spanning tempered silicate glass panes showed off a starry view into space.

  Outside, spaceships came and left, heavily armed auto-mechs hovered in place while human piloted suits flew around in frequent patrols. On the inside, military guards stood watch alongside heavily armed sec-bots while people idled on their visors to pass the time.

  Children would tug at their parents’ sleeves, eagerly pointing towards the stalwart human and robot officers with a look of pure awe and glee, their parents trying calm them down with a disinterested look.

  I leaned back on the railing and tilted my head up to stare at the soaring pilots.

  There were two types of AIs, Immersive and Non-immersive intelligences, I2s and NI2s respectively. NI2s were your usual fare of machine intelligence, it was the I2s that were special. They were a type of AI that could be connected to a human brain.

  Immersion was essentially this binding of an organic mind with an artificial one. The benefits were immense, you became more intelligent, your drive and will skyrocketed, you felt the world more vividly, the list could go on and on.

  It was a powerful technology that was limited by cost, compatibility and depth of compatibility. They were expensive to produce, not everyone could use them and those who could, would often reach a hard limit. But even if you could only draw out a sliver of its potential, bonding with one was a guarantee that you were destined for greatness.

  But the word bonding was used for a reason, those AIs had a will of their own, in a sense you shared yourself with them, you became one with them.

  That’s why they were called “Almas.” Machines with a “soul.”

  Revolting. Absolutely revolting.

  I was compatible, I had the opportunity. But I wasn’t going to take it.

  I could not, and I would not.