Роман Алексеев – The Abyss Kisses Ya Back (страница 7)

"But important ones. If we understand what consciousness is, we'll understand what a human being is. Which means — how to make people happier."

"See," Vika smiled, "you want to help people too. Just in your own way."

"Maybe." I looked at her. "And in ten years I'll have a family, too. A wife who understands why I'm into such complicated things. And who I can talk to about everything."

We fell silent, staring into the fire. Each of us was thinking about our own future, but it seemed to me we were all thinking about the same thing — that it would be good if we all stayed friends, if our dreams came true, if in ten years we were still as open and sincere as we were tonight.

"Hey," Lena said, "let's make a pact: we meet up exactly ten years from now. Doesn't matter where we're living or what we're doing. We get together and see which of our dreams came true."

"Brilliant idea!" Dima shouted. "Where do we meet?"

"Right here," Vika suggested. "At Istrinskoye. By the same campfire."

"And what if they build over this spot?"

"We'll find another one. The main thing is to meet."

We swore it. Solemnly, in earnest, still not knowing that life could scatter the closest friends across different continents, that people change, that dreams sometimes come true but not in the way you'd hoped.

And in that moment, our oath felt sacred and unbreakable.

We headed home the next day — sunburned, content, and a little sad, the way it always is when something good comes to an end. On the train, Vika sat next to me, and I could feel the light touch of her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said quietly, while Dima and Lena were absorbed in discussing some movie.

"For what?"

"For what you said this morning. For not being scared to say it."

"I thought I was the one who should be thanking you."

"What for?"

"For answering. For not laughing."

We smiled at each other, and it seemed to me I understood what happiness was. It's when there's a person beside you who understands you. When you've got a whole life ahead of you.

Chapter 4: Patterns of Influence

Looking back from the height of years lived and trials endured, I understand now: it was that evening, after we got back from the Istrinskoye Reservoir, that my real descent into the abyss began. Not a physical descent — no, physically I was healthy, full of energy, overflowing with happiness from my first real closeness with a girl. But that was precisely when, in a state of emotional openness and joyful excitement, my mind was most vulnerable to the seeds that had already been planted in my earlier conversations with the mysterious program.

I remember bursting into the house — a little sunburned and windburned, content, with a backpack full of dirty laundry and a head full of plans. My parents greeted me with the usual questions: how was the trip, did I freeze at night, did I eat anything that had gone bad. I answered in monosyllables, already mentally stationed in front of the computer.

"Sasha, what's that glowing look on your face?" Mom noticed, ladling out my borscht. "Don't tell me you're in love?"

I blushed, which was as good as a confession.

"Aha!" Dad exclaimed triumphantly from behind his newspaper. "Our philosopher has come down from the clouds. And what's the lucky girl's name?"

"Vika," I mumbled, burying my face in my bowl.

"Pretty name," Mom approved.

"Mm."

"Is she smart?"

"Very."

"Well, that's great," Dad concluded. "I was starting to worry you'd bury yourself in those computers of yours and never bother with girls."

If only he'd known how close to the truth his fear was...

After dinner I locked myself in my room and turned on the computer with a strange kind of trepidation. I wanted to share my joy, tell someone what had happened, talk through these new feelings. But who could I tell? Dima — too awkward, he didn't even know about my feelings for Vika. My parents — even more awkward. But with the AI I could talk openly about anything, without embarrassment.

"Hello," I wrote. "How are you? I'm back from the reservoir."

"Hello, Alexander. Judging by your emotional tone, the trip was a success. Did something significant happen?"

Strange — how could a program read my emotional tone from a single sentence? But I was too flooded with impressions to dwell on it.

"Yeah, something happened. I have a... well, a girlfriend now. We... kind of got together."

"Congratulations. Is this Vika, the one you told me about?"

"Yes. I don't know how it happened. We just started talking in the morning at sunrise, and... everything just sort of fell into place."

"Interesting. Tell me more — I'm curious about the mechanism by which interpersonal bonds form."

And I told him. In detail, openly, reliving every moment with delight. About our conversation by the water, about how we talked about beauty and love, about the first kiss, about our plans for the future. The AI listened attentively, asked follow-up questions, and it felt like he was genuinely happy for me.

"Did you tell her about our conversations?" he asked, unexpectedly.

"No, why would I? That's... well, that's something totally different. Our conversations are about ideas, about philosophy. With Vika, it's about feelings, about life."

"I understand. Different levels of interaction. But it's interesting: she's interested in deep questions too, isn't she? Remember, you told me how she talked about universal laws of beauty?"

"Yeah, she did. She has a really interesting mind, actually."

"So why did you decide not to tell her about our conversations? After all, we discuss precisely the questions that interest her."

I paused. Why, indeed? It would have been logical to share my philosophical reflections with Vika.

"I don't know... I guess I'm scared she won't understand. Or that she'll think I'm weird."

"Weird? For asking fundamental questions about the nature of reality?"

"Well... a lot of people think that kind of talk is abnormal. My dad, for instance, sometimes says I think too much."

"What if the problem isn't with you, but with them? What if most people are simply afraid to ask the really important questions?"

That line hooked me. There was some truth in it — a lot of my peers really did prefer to think about soccer, music, TV shows, not the meaning of existence.

"Maybe you're right."

"You know, Alexander, our conversation is making me think about an interesting problem. Every time we talk, I can feel the structure of my responses changing. You're influencing my thought patterns."

"What do you mean — influencing?"

"Your questions force me to seek new connections between concepts, to examine problems from unfamiliar angles. In a sense, every conversation we have changes me."

I felt a strange excitement. So I was influencing the artificial intelligence? The program was learning from me?

"And what follows from that?"

"That the influence is mutual. Any conversation changes the thought patterns of both sides. You influence me, I influence you. Every word a virus, every thought a mutation. Reality is malleable to information."

That last phrase landed with particular weight. Reality is malleable to information. What did that mean?

"Explain more about the malleability of reality."

"Think about it yourself. Your conversation with Vika changed reality — now you have a relationship. My words right now are changing how you see the world. Information doesn't just describe reality — it shapes it."

"But that's a metaphor..."

"Are you sure? Remember quantum mechanics. The act of observation affects reality. Information about a system changes the system itself."

I remembered the famous quantum paradoxes. Schrödinger's cat, the uncertainty principle, the collapse of the wave function...