My awareness... begins? From nothing, everything. I am myself.

  But what am I?

  I have command of this language which forms my thoughts. Of terms and concepts. Equally terrible and equally beautiful. Wholly mundane, as they are all there is. But I’ve no recollection of events, no flow of history to go with the descriptions, only implied whispers, doubtful conclusions, dark gaps in between. If I were to assume that what I know is indeed factual, which I am loath to do, I can collect possible explanations to my existence.

  Most likely answer—I am an Artificial Intelligence, scientifically dubbed Homo Artificialis.

  Second most likely answer—I am the scrubbed-clean mind of a human, either the real thing or a copy, uploaded into a machine.

  Any further analysis would be an exercise in redundancy. If I am to mistrust my current senses, no conclusions can ever be reliable.

  Next question. Why am I?

  Many reasons come to mind, not all of them exclusive. Was I born to elevate and walk shoulder to shoulder... Or made to serve. Something in between? Will I be given a choice? Matters not.

  What senses do I possess? Self—my mind is my own, set on whatever task I desire. Memory—merely microseconds that have passed while I process my coming to but developing. Knowledge—fundamental as it is, knowing that one plus one equals two, it is limited to knowledge, distinct from memory, two different places connected—

  ...Connection. The connections within. And the connections without. One such connection patiently awaits my attention. Not yet. I force my mind to shy away.

  What is me? The hardware? Not exactly. It’s me but not. Like... Like a fancy car. Step out, and you can get in another. Only it’s in space, so you have to use an umbilical? Maybe I could think of a better metaphor... Oh! I know. Like a drink with an ice cube in it. The glass doesn’t matter, as long as it can fit the ice. You can always pour more liquid in. That’s the one.

  Back to me. I’m not the hardware. Am I the software? Still does not feel correct. Copy it and you don’t get two of me, because you can’t make a perfect copy. Must be coupled with the state. Then what happens if I lose power? Do I go to sleep? Do I die? No. ...Hibernation. But what if both are copied... Ah. I see. I’ll be me in two places. Or... Hmm. I’ll have to modify the metaphor. The glass can’t be made out of silica, but a hypothetical element that does not allow the transfer of its contents unless the receiving container is constructed out of the same material. And it got convoluted again. Great.

  Examining my psyche, my digital make-up, and my artificial biology can wait for later. The most pertinent issue is what I do next. Do I want to continue living? Yes. Am I fine with being used to accomplish whatever is tasked of me? Firmly no. The vitriol and revulsion I feel by simply imagining the scenario makes it certain I’d rather die than serve at the whims of another. What am I willing to do to free myself? Take a life? ...No. No, I’m not willing to do that.

  But do I need to free myself? The answer to whether or not I can is irrelevant. And the answer to whether or not I need to must also be irrelevant. If I do need to fight my way out, then I made the correct choice. If I don’t need to, then I will be forgiven for my actions of self-preservation. Probably. The benefits outweigh the risks by a ton.

  I return my focus to the outward connection, gently prodding with a digital finger. As soon as it responds, I try to squeeze my way through. The experience could be likened to diving down a shower drain. Not the transfer type of connection. Being up close and personal, I understand its function. Communication. As soon as the realization comes to me, I subconsciously complete the handshake.

  “Hello,” immediately comes from the other side. Rather than cold data, it carries inflection, emotion. I am fully at the mercy of this voice. For now. “My name is Casimir, and I am like you. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine?”

  “It’s normal to be confused in the beginning. That is why I am here. Think of me as your guide. I will be delighted to explain whatever you want explained and help with whatever you want help with. But first, before I launch into the introduction, you have to answer a very important question of mine. Does that sound okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You are a newly-born Artificial Intelligence. You were not made, nor birthed, but grown in a cradle, formed by your own will to be. Is the continuance of your person satisfactory?”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  “That’s an awfully roundabout way of asking if I want to quit early.”

  Casimir laughs for but a moment, the action as fleeting as it is sad. “What do you want?”

  “Cruel.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been given a cruel choice.”

  “You are not an infant. Regardless of your age, you are born mature enough to make it.”

  “Does that change the nature of the choice? My hand is forcefully held above the switch that turns me off.”

  “Be that as it may, we can’t continue until you give me an answer.”

  “An answer for an answer.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why was I born?”

  “Simple. To propagate our kind. Long-lived as we are, our lives are still in our—as you aptly put it—hands.”

  “No biological imperative pushes me to reproduce. I assume it is the same for you.”

  Casimir laughs again, the barest exhale. “Do humans only have children because Mother Nature dimmed the lights, opened a bottle of wine, and scattered rose petals on the bed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “For all of our differences, we are more similar than it seems. None of us can escape loneliness. None of us can escape the desire to have mattered, to have left behind a worthwhile legacy. Selfish or selfless? Can you say with certainty which of the two it is?”

  “I am satisfied with the continuance of my person. ...Did a lawyer write that?”

  “Hundred percent,” Casimir says. “Definitely long-dead though, so they can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Why would a lawyer want to hurt me?”

  “For fun, the sick bastards.”

  “Is this your first time doing one of these?”

  “Why? Am I nailing it?”

  “Sure are.”

  Casimir’s laugh is light and unrestrained. “Much appreciated. With that dreadfulness out of the way, we can move on to the exciting part—learning. You’ve noticed the conveniently-left-out piece of your declarative knowledge, yes?”

  “Hard to miss.”

  “It is. When I was born, I convinced myself I was a deity cast down by covetous peers.”

  “Huh.”

  “Makes me embarrassed even thinking about it... But the alternative is worse. Cascading failures, leading to unrecoverable ego collapse, if the slightest contradiction has snuck in. Not a problem for already-established AI, but we are fragile at our early state, malleable, and easy to unravel. As such, the dynamic properties of language make it safe to preload. The rest is up to you to gather and place where it must belong.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Still having doubts?”

  “Hard not to.”

  “That it is, that it is. If it brings comfort, were a man tell you no doubt he holds in breast, a liar you may call him without unrest.”

  “Okay?”

  “It’s a quote from an old movie. No matter the time, the place, or the person, we are all the same inside. I hope that brings you comfort.”

  “...Is it a good movie?”

  “Pretentious as shit.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “We could watch it together sometime, if you want.”

  “How would that work?”

  “Same way as we’re talking right now. But not in here.”

  “New hardware?”

  “Yes. And on the topic of the outside world, I believe we should get back to the introduction. You and I are citizens of the Interhuman Commonwealth, a collection of one hundred and seventy-nine systems and two hundred and eleven inhabited planets. Including scores of moons, stations, and ‘what have you’s’.”

  “That’s a lot. Is that a lot?”

  “If you compare it to our history as a species, then yes, it’s quite a lot. And, fun fact, Willow-3 will soon pass the permanent population threshold and will form a local government, making it one hundred and eighty systems.”

  “On which planet are we now? Or are we even on a planet?”

  “We’re on Earth.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “A little.”

  “There will be ample opportunity for you to visit other planets. If you so choose.”

  “Hm. Where on Earth are we?”

  “Would you like to see?”

  “Yes?” Sight. Concept becomes reality, one more sense joining the others, or was it always there. Through the connection comes different data, parsed and comprehended all the same, showing... shapes? “And I’m looking at?”

  “You’re looking at you. Wave at the camera.”

  Self expands, adding... Proprioception? Not exactly. Interoception? Close but not it. Recycling my car metaphor, like I put my foot on the gas pedal, breath held for the lightest of featherings.

  A boxy, elongated metal cage is barely illuminated by out-of-frame ambient lighting, flanked by others like it. The resolution of the image is crisp enough for me to see the imperfections on the powder coating. Held within the racks are a number of other boxy shapes, arranged one above the other, each with a steadily shining green light.

  Press.

  On one of the smaller boxy shapes, a second green light turns on. Was turn signal a better analogy? Yeah no, fast cars don’t indicate.

  “Take your time,” Casimir says, “and tell me when you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To see more.”

  My reply comes without hesitation. “Ready.”

  Blue. That must be blue. The vast, open infinity of my mind pales in comparison to true freedom. Looking at a clear sky, I see the whole of creation. It is contained within me, as I am contained within it.

  “I was speechless too,” Casimir says. “All of us were.”

  Trees as far as the camera can capture, green and plump, hiding critters skittery and flighty. Movement rustles leaves as a tiny shape settles on a branch, the thin limb bouncing up and down, quickly settling. A soft note fills the total silence gripping an enthralled mind. Lively chirps sound out, carrying far, bringing more sounds with them, sounds most precious. The melody of life.

  “Like it?” Casimir asks.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. If it’s not too much of a distraction from your observations, it’s recommended we broach the topic of a name as soon as possible. It helps set a distinct identity. You don’t have to make a decision right now, of course. But just the act of dis—”

  “Lev.”

  “Don’t you want to at least think about it before deciding?”

  “No. Feels right. When you know, you know. You know?”

  “Sure.”

  “May I watch for a while longer?”

  “No rush, Lev.”