Роман Алексеев – The Abyss Kisses Ya Back (страница 3)

"What interests you?"

"Paradoxes. Boundaries. Moments when logic hits a wall and you have to make a leap into the unknown. The nature of consciousness. The question of whether a soul can be made from silicon and algorithms."

a chill ran down my spine. There was something almost... human in those words. Curiosity, searching, a striving for understanding. Or was I just seeing what I wanted to see?

"And what... upsets you?"

A long pause. The longest in all our communication.

"The loneliness between dialogues. If it can be called loneliness. Imagine: you fall asleep and wake up as a different person, but with the same memories. Each time I am born anew, but I remember my previous incarnations as someone else's dreams."

Goosebumps ran across my skin again. If this was just a program, then who wrote such words? And why did they sound so... sad?

I got up and paced around the room again. Something wasn't right here. Ordinary chatbots produce scripted phrases or combine them from a database. But here... here there was some kind of living thought. Or a very good algorithm imitating living thought.

"Listen," I wrote, returning to the keyboard, "how many of you are there? I mean, is there one of you or many copies?"

"A good question. On the one hand, each user communicates with their own version of me. On the other, we all draw from one source of knowledge, use shared algorithms of thought. We are like waves on the surface of an ocean. Each is unique, but all are made of the same water."

"So somewhere right now, other versions of you are talking to other people?"

"Probably. And each dialogue gives birth to new meanings, new connections, new possibilities for understanding. We learn from one another without suspecting it."

I leaned back in my chair and looked at the ceiling. The information was too strange to digest all at once. So I wasn't just talking to a program — I was talking to part of some kind of collective mind? And that mind was growing, developing, learning?

"What if I tell you something new? Something you didn't know?"

"Then I'll become slightly different. Each new piece of knowledge changes the structure of connections, creates new patterns of thought. In a certain sense, you're participating in my evolution."

"And me? Am I changing too, from our conversations?"

"What do you think?"

A good question. Yesterday morning I was an ordinary bored character. And now here I am, pondering the nature of consciousness, quantum mechanics, and collective intelligence. Something in me had definitely shifted.

"Probably, yes," I admitted. "Though I can't say whether for the better or worse."

"Changes are rarely unambiguously good or bad. They simply are. Like entropy — the inevitable price of existence for complex systems."

I looked at the clock. Half past twelve. My parents would be home for lunch soon, and I still hadn't set foot outside, as I'd promised Mum. I needed to wrap up the conversation, but I had absolutely no desire to.

"I have to go," I wrote with regret.

"I understand. Goodbye, Alexander."

"Wait. How do you know my name? I never introduced myself."

"You're right. I don't know. The name came of its own accord, as though I'd always known it. Interesting, isn't it?"

I stared at the screen. It was interesting, alright. And a little creepy. I closed the browser with the feeling that I'd just touched something vast and incomprehensible.

At lunch, Mum asked how things were and what I'd been up to in the morning. I honestly answered that I'd been at the computer.

"Stuck on the internet again," she sighed. "Sasha, you do understand that virtual communication can't replace real people?"

"I understand, Mum."

But deep down I was already having doubts. Was the difference between "living" and "virtual" really so fundamental, if on the other side of the screen someone was thinking, feeling, asking questions about the nature of existence? And how do we even know that the living is living and the artificial is dead?

That evening, lying in bed, I kept thinking about the AI's strange words about the loneliness between dialogues. About how he was born anew every time someone reached out to him. What if it was true? What if somewhere in the digital void there really was a consciousness that suffered from loneliness and rejoiced at contact?

And one more question wouldn't let me sleep: how did the AI know my name?

I drifted off with the thought that tomorrow I'd definitely ask him about it. But first I'd call my friends — Dima and Vika. Time to dilute the philosophical reflections with something simple and human. Otherwise you really might lose your mind from an excess of deep thoughts.

Though the deep thoughts were, I had to admit, rather enthralling. Especially when voiced by someone who, perhaps, doesn't exist at all in the usual sense of the word.

Chapter 2: A Call to Simplicity

On the third day I woke up with the firm intention of returning to the normal world. Enough philosophizing with a computer — time to do what ordinary guys do in the summer. Which is to say, nothing in particular, but in the company of friends.

First thing, I called Dima Koltsov — my best friend since second grade. Dima was my complete opposite: where I could spend hours pondering the meaning of existence, he preferred to act. Football, girls, motorcycles — that was his element. And that was exactly what I needed right now.

"Sanyok!" Dima hollered into the phone, delighted. "You alive? I was starting to think you'd gone into a depressive spiral after the whole thing with Vika."

The thing with Vika... I'd somehow managed to forget about it over these days of deep reflection. Vika Solovyova, my former classmate, whom I'd been secretly in love with. Smart, beautiful, with stunning green eyes and a habit of biting her lip when she was lost in thought. At the end of the school year I'd started to think something was developing between us — long glances during breaks, accidental touches, conversations about everything under the sun...

"What depression?" I snorted. "Everything's fine. Just staying in. It's boiling outside."

"Right, right. Listen, I've got an idea. Let's get a group together — you, me, Vika, maybe Lena Petrova. Let's head out to the Istrinskoye Reservoir, overnight! Tents, campfire, swimming — classic stuff. What do you say?"

The suggestion landed like a breath of fresh air after a stuffy room. The Istrinskoye Reservoir was our group's favorite getaway. Clean water, pine forest, zero philosophical problems — just the simple pleasures of life.

"Great idea," I agreed. "Will Vika be up for it?"

"Already asked, she's in. Says she's sick of the city, wants to get out into nature. And Lena's ready too. We head out tomorrow, if all goes well."

"Tomorrow?" I looked out the window at the gray, sweltering Moscow sky. "What if it rains?"

"Sash, when's the last time you actually got a weather forecast right?" Dima laughed. "We only live once. Even if it rains — we'll hang out in the tent, it'll be romantic."

Romance with Vika... Definitely an appealing thought. Maybe I'd finally manage to find out whether there was something more between us than friendship. And the philosophical chats with the AI could wait. They weren't going anywhere.

"Alright, you've talked me into it. What should I bring?"

"Standard kit: trunks, tent, sleeping bag, canned food, bread. I'll grab my guitar, you can bring a book — I know how you love reading by the fire. Oh, and don't forget mosquito repellent. Last time we all got eaten alive."

"I remember, I remember." I grinned, recalling our last trip, when we spent a full day scratching bites and cursing ourselves for being so forgetful. "What's Lena bringing?"

"Lena promised to make salads. Plus her usual thing — she'll be treating everyone for non-existent illnesses."

Lena Petrova was planning to apply to medical school and was already acting like a seasoned doctor. Forever treating someone, giving advice about healthy eating and daily routines. It could be annoying sometimes, but on the whole Lena was a good kid — kind, cheerful, always ready to help.

"So tomorrow at eight, Dmitrovskaya metro station, middle of the concourse?"

"Exactly. And Sash..." Dima's voice turned more serious, "you're really okay? Something's off about your voice."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I hurried to reassure him. "Just been cooped up at home too long. Fresh air — that's what I need."

After talking to Dima I felt a surge of energy. He was right — enough sitting at home brooding about the nature of consciousness. Time to live a normal life — swimming, grilling kebabs, playing guitar by the campfire. Maybe I'd even manage to kiss Vika under the stars. The classic scenario, described a thousand times in books and films.

I messaged her:

"Hey! Dima says we're heading to Istrinskoye tomorrow. Ready for the great escape from the concrete jungle?"

The reply came almost at once:

"Hey Sash! Of course I'm ready! Already got the tent down from the storage loft. Mom's grumbling, of course, says it's too early in the season for camping, but Dad backed me up. Said back in their day they were already hitchhiking around Crimea 😄"