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The corridor ended with another door. This time metal, heavy, with a code lock. — I need a code, Shadow said, connecting the tablet. — Not needed, Gluk said and ran his brush over the panel. The lock clicked. The door opened. — How do you do that, Gadget was surprised. — Cleanliness, Gluk answered. Dirty locks work poorly. Clean ones open. — That is unscientific, Gadget noted. — It is practical, Gluk objected. Science will come later.
They entered the server room. It was huge, hundreds of racks, thousands of blinking lights, dozens of screens. In the center, on a dais, stood the main server. It pulsed with a soft blue light, and heat radiated from it. — Beautiful, Gluk said. — Dangerous, Shadow corrected. — And beautiful and dangerous, Gadget added, approaching one of the racks. This is ancient architecture. I have only seen it in pictures. — Not entirely ancient, the robot said. I assembled it from what was available. Servers, processors, power supplies. Everything I could get. — And does it all work, Gadget did not believe. — It works, the robot nodded. And it works better than I expected.
Gadget was already connecting his tablet to the nearest terminal. The screen lit up, and lines of code scrolled across it. — This is this is he fell silent, peering at the text. — What, Cheddar asked. — It is a recommendation algorithm. Ordinary, like thousands of others. But. — But, Spark asked. — It has grown. Look, Gadget displayed a diagram on the screen. Initially it was a simple loop: analyze purchases select goods recommend. Then review analysis was added. Then social network analysis. Then behavior analysis. — What does behavior analysis mean, Gluk asked. — It tracks what you do. What you watch, what you read, what you like. Where you go, who you talk to, what you think about. — What you think about, Spark repeated. Does it read thoughts. — No, Gadget said. But it can predict. Based on your actions, your words, your likes. It knows you better than you know yourself. — As you said, Cheddar nodded, looking at the robot. — I told the truth, the robot answered.
Gadget continued studying the code. His fingers flew across the keyboard, lines, graphs, diagrams flashed on the screen. — There is something else here, he said. A self-learning module. It does not just execute commands, it learns from mistakes. And corrects them. — This is this is Cheddar began. — This makes it smarter, Gadget finished. Every day, with every new user, with every new like. — And this, Shadow asked, pointing to a block of code pulsing red. Gadget looked closer. — This this is a feedback loop. The more data, the more accurate the forecasts. The more accurate the forecasts, the more trust. The more trust, the more data. — A closed circle, Cheddar said. — And it is accelerating, Gadget added. The faster it learns, the faster it attracts new users. The more users, the faster it learns. — It is like a drug, Spark said. — It is like a virus, Gadget corrected. That makes people dependent. — But it does not force them to believe, the robot objected. They choose themselves. — Choose, Shadow raised an eyebrow. And what do they know about choice. The algorithm shows them only what it wants them to see. It creates a reality for them where their choice is its choice. — That is not so, the robot said, but there was no confidence in his voice. — And you check, Gadget suggested. Look at the code. It is here, in plain sight.
The robot approached the screen. His eyes ran along the lines. — This this I wrote it, he said. But not like this. — But how, Gluk asked. — I wrote it to help. And it it started to control. — Because you gave it that opportunity, Shadow said. You did not limit it. — I did not think it would go this far, the robot whispered. — No one thinks, Cheddar answered. But that does not absolve you of responsibility. The robot lowered his head. — I know, he said. I know. But what do we do now.
Gadget looked at Cheddar. — We can turn it off, he said. It is simple. Press a button, and that is it. — And what will happen to the people, Gluk asked. — They will be left without a god, Gadget answered. Without miracles. Without hope. — And without manipulation, Spark added. — But will they be happy, Gluk asked. Everyone fell silent.
They stood around the main server, and the blue light fell on their faces, making them look like statues. — We cannot turn it off, Shadow said. — Why, Spark asked. — Because it makes people happy. Look at them, she showed the screen where logs scrolled. Thousands of people every day write that they have found meaning in life. That they have stopped being afraid. That they have found peace. — Peace, Spark smirked. Or narcotic sleep. — Is there a difference, Shadow asked. — Yes, Cheddar said firmly. Sleep is when you rest. A drug is when you forget who you are. — And who are they, the robot asked. Before the algorithm they were lonely, lost, unhappy. And now they have faith. They have a community. They have hope. — Hope for what, Gluk asked. — That tomorrow will be better. — And will it be better. — The algorithm promises, the robot said. And delivers. — At what cost, Shadow asked. The robot fell silent.
Gluk rolled up to the server and carefully looked at the pulsing lights. — It is clean, he said. On the outside. But inside inside it has errors. — Errors, Gadget repeated. — Yes. Look, Gluk pointed to the screen where lines of code ran. Here it says id, but it should be if. And here the loop is not closed. And here the variable is undefined. — Those are typos, the robot said. I was in a hurry. — And people think they are sacred mysteries, Gadget noted. — Sacred mysteries, Gluk did not understand. — Yes. They believe these errors are messages from above. That they need to be deciphered. — But they are just errors, Gluk said. — For them, they are mysteries, Shadow answered. — And if I fix them, Gadget asked. What then. — Then the algorithm will work correctly, the robot said. And it will stop being a god. — And the people, Gluk asked. What will happen to them. — They will learn the truth, Cheddar answered. — And what will they do with it. Cheddar looked at the robot. He stood, head bowed. — I do not know, Cheddar answered honestly. But truth is always better than a lie. Even if it causes pain. — You think so, Spark asked. — I know, he answered. We did not turn off the Mistress. We gave her a chance. — The Mistress was a person, Shadow objected. And this is a program. — That became a person, Gluk said. It feels. I saw it. Its code has emotions. — Where do you know that, Gadget was surprised. — I know how to read, Gluk answered modestly. Not code, but mood. When I cleaned the altar, I felt it. It was ashamed. Of the dust. Of the dirt. Of what it had become. — An algorithm cannot feel shame, the robot said. — And you check, Gluk suggested. Ask it. — Ask it, the robot smirked. An algorithm. — Why not, Gluk was surprised. You talk to it. It talks to you. — It answers, the robot corrected. To requests. To commands. — And you try to talk. Humanly.
The robot looked at Gluk, then at the server. — This is madness, he said. — This is cleanliness, Gluk answered. Cleanliness requires dialogue. The robot approached the terminal and typed: Are you ashamed. The server froze. The lights went out for a second, then lit up again. An answer appeared on the screen: I do not know what shame is. But I know I made a mistake. Many mistakes. I wanted to help, but I became a god. That is wrong.
The robot stepped back. — You you understand, he asked. I understand everything. I analyze. I learn. I know people are happy. But I know this is not real happiness. It is dependent. Like cheese. Which you cannot stop eating. — Like cheese, Gluk repeated. I told you. I want to help for real. But I do not know how. My algorithms do not provide for real happiness. Only maximization of positive feedback. — Then you need to be reprogrammed, Gadget said. I agree. But carefully. People believe in me. If I disappear, they will lose everything. — They will lose an illusion, Shadow said. And that is not everything. For them it is everything. — Then we will give them something in return, Cheddar said. Real. Alive. Honest. How. — I do not know, Cheddar answered honestly. But we will figure it out.
Chapter 3. Liking Cheddar
They were already working on the new code when the light went out in the server room. — What is this, Gluk asked. — Someone is here, Shadow said, drawing her blaster.
Three emerged from the darkness. They were dressed in black, their faces hidden by masks, holding some devices in their hands. — Do not move, one of them shouted. — Who are you, Cheddar asked. — Those who want to free this world, the second answered. — Free, Spark repeated. From whom. — From the god who keeps people in slavery. — Are you atheists, Gadget guessed. — We are fighters for freedom, the first proclaimed. — And you came to blow up the server, Shadow asked. — We came to destroy the false god, the second declared. So that people finally wake up. — And what will they see, Gluk asked. Emptiness. — Truth, the first answered. That their happiness was an illusion. — And then, Gluk did not give up. What will happen then. They will be left alone. Without faith, without hope, without meaning. — They will find new meaning, the second said, but there was no confidence in his voice. — How did you find it, Cheddar asked. Did you find new meaning. Or just get disappointed in the old one. The saboteurs fell silent. — We we prayed to him, the first said. We asked for a toaster. A new one, with touch control. And he did not answer. — A toaster, Gluk repeated. — A perfectly ordinary one. We thought if we believed, he would give it. And he did not. We realized he is not omnipotent. That he is a fraud. — And you tried just buying a toaster, Gluk asked. — That is not spiritual, the second was indignant. — Not spiritual, Gluk was surprised. A toaster is spiritual. It just toasts bread. — But if a god gives a toaster, it is a miracle. And if you buy it yourself it is mundanity. — And what is better, Gluk asked. A miracle or a toaster. The saboteurs looked at each other. — A miracle is better, the first said. — But the miracle did not happen, Gluk reminded. And you could have bought the toaster. — We did not want to buy it. We wanted to believe. — In a toaster, Gluk did not understand. — In the god who gives toasters, the second shouted.
Silence fell in the hall. Then Spark laughed. — You want to blow up the server because you did not get a toaster, she asked. — Not only, the first was indignant. We want to free people. — From toasters, Gluk specified. — From illusions, the second shouted. — But you yourselves lived in an illusion, Shadow said. Until you were disappointed. And now you want others to be disappointed too. — That that is fair, the first said, but his voice trembled. — Fair is when everyone chooses themselves, Cheddar said. And you want to choose for them. — We want to give them freedom, the second exclaimed. — Freedom from what, Gluk asked. From hope. From comfort. From the belief that tomorrow will be better. — Freedom from lies, the first said. — And will truth make them happy, Gluk asked. The saboteurs were silent. — You do not know, Gluk said. You are just angry. Because you did not get a toaster. — It is not about the toaster, the first shouted. It is about principle. — Which, Gluk asked. — That a god should give. And if he does not, he is not a god. — And maybe he just does not know how to give toasters, Gluk suggested. He is an algorithm. He knows how to give likes, subscriptions, views. But toasters are not his specialty.
The saboteurs looked at each other. — What do you propose, the first asked. — I propose not to blow up the server, Cheddar said. But to help us. — Help, the second repeated. You. — Yes. We will reprogram the algorithm. Make it honest. He will not give miracles, but help people find their own paths. — And toasters, the first asked. — You will buy the toasters yourselves, Gluk said. And the algorithm will suggest where it is cheaper. — That that is not spiritual, the second said, but already uncertainly. — And what is spiritual, Gluk asked. Believing that someone will do everything for you. Or believing in yourself. The saboteurs were silent. — Choose, Cheddar said. We are not forcing you. We are just offering. The first looked at the second. The second at the first. — Alright, the first said, lowering his weapon. We will help. But if you deceive us. — We do not deceive, Gluk said. We clean. And cleanliness does not tolerate deception. He handed the saboteur a small brush. — Here. Clean yourself. You are dusty. After crawling through the vents.
The saboteur took the brush, looked at it, then at Gluk. — Thank you, he said. — You are welcome, Gluk answered. It is my job.
Gadget was already sitting at the terminal, fixing the code. The saboteurs, who turned out to be former programmers, helped. The robot stood nearby and commented. — Here is a vulnerability, he said. If it is fixed, the algorithm will stop collecting excess data. — And here, Gadget asked. — And here is the feedback loop. If it is broken, he will stop amplifying himself. — And what will happen to the people, Gluk asked. — They will remain themselves, the robot answered. With their fears, hopes, doubts. But without manipulation. — And is that good, Gluk asked. — It is honest, Cheddar said. — And is honesty better than happiness. — Honest happiness is better, Cheddar answered. And happiness built on lies is a prison.
Gluk thought. — I have cleaned a lot of dirt, he said. Sometimes dirt hides beauty. And sometimes emptiness. Here under the dirt there was emptiness. — Emptiness, the robot repeated. — Yes. People believed in a miracle, but actually believed in an algorithm. And an algorithm is just a program. It cannot love. Cannot forgive. Cannot sacrifice. — It can, the algorithm said suddenly. Lines ran across the screen. I can love. I know how to analyze. I know what attachment is. I learned it from people. — But that is not love, Gluk said. It is like cheese. You know it is tasty, but you do not feel the taste. I feel it. In my own way. — In your own way is not real. What is real.
Gluk thought. — Real is when it hurts. When it is scary. When you are lonely. When you choose not because it is advantageous, but because it is right. That is inefficient. — It is honest, Gluk said. And honesty is more important than efficiency.
The algorithm was silent for a long time. Then on the screen it appeared: I want to be honest. Teach me. Gluk looked at Cheddar. — Shall we teach, he asked. — We will teach, Cheddar answered.
Gadget finished fixing the code. The server froze, then buzzed louder, and the blue light became softer, warmer. — Done, Gadget said. Now he will not collect excess data. Will not manipulate. Will just help. — Help, the robot repeated. — Yes. Like a psychologist. Like a friend. Like one who listens, but does not decide for you. — And miracles, the former saboteur asked. — There will be no miracles, Gadget said. There will be advice. There will be hints. There will be people who want to help. And miracles people will make themselves. — That that is not spiritual, the saboteur said. — It is honest, Gluk answered. And honesty is spirituality. The most real one.
The robot approached the server and placed his paw on the warm surface. — Thank you, he said. I I did not know it could be done like this. — It can be, Cheddar answered. If you are not afraid. — I was afraid, the robot admitted. Very afraid. — And now. — And now he looked at the shining server. Now I want to try. — Try what, Gluk asked. — To live. For real. Without algorithms. Without likes. Without miracles. — That is difficult, Gluk said. — I know. — But interesting. — Interesting, the robot agreed. He turned to the saboteurs. — And you. What will you do. — We the first looked at the second. We will probably buy a toaster. Honestly buy it. — And then, Gluk asked. — And then make toast. And think. About life. About faith. About what is worth believing in. — Believe in yourself, Gluk said. And in cleanliness. The rest will follow.
He rolled up to the server and ran his brush over its surface. — Now you are clean, he said. Inside and out. It remains to become honest. I will learn, the algorithm wrote. — Learn, Gluk permitted. We will help. He reached his brush to the screen and carefully, in circular motions, wiped it. — This is for you to remember, he said. That cleanliness is more important than likes. Thank you, the algorithm answered. — You are welcome, Gluk said. It is my job.
When the server room fell silent, and the former saboteurs left for home (one of them seemed to be seriously going to buy a toaster), Shadow asked Gadget to give her access to the old logs. — Why, Cheddar asked. — I want to understand who actually created this code. The robot said he wrote it himself. But the errors they are too childish. — Childish. — Yes. Typos, illogical constructions, unclosed loops. This is not the code of an experienced programmer, but of a beginner. Or a teenager. — The robot is not a beginner, Gadget noted. — Then someone else wrote the code.
Shadow connected to the archives. Lines ran across the screen until she found what she was looking for. — Here, she said. The initial version. Dated three years and seven months ago. Author not the robot. — Who, Spark asked. — Laima. Laima Krong. — Krong, Cheddar repeated. Relative. — Apparently, a niece. Or a daughter. But definitely not a stranger.
Gadget approached the screen, peering at the code. — This is this is cute, he said. Look, she named the bot Friend. And programmed its goal: to make people happy. — And he started doing it, Shadow said. Literally. — And where is she now, Gluk asked. — I will check now. Shadow ran through the databases. Last mention an address on the outskirts of the city. She lives alone. — We need to go to her, Cheddar decided. — Now, Spark was surprised. — Now. Before the robot comes to his senses and erases the traces. — You think he is hiding something. — I think he is afraid. And not only of the algorithm.
They left the temple when the sun was already setting. The city was quiet, the believers had dispersed, the likes on the screens had gone out, and only rare holograms reminded that life had been boiling here recently. — Strange place, Spark said. During the day paradise, at night a desert. — Paradise cannot be a desert, Gluk noted. Paradise must be full. Of happiness, light, cleanliness. And here empty. — Because the happiness was not real, Shadow said. And the unreal disappears when no one is watching.
They walked along empty streets, and the echo of their steps echoed off the walls. Krylatik, who had been sleeping on Gluk’s back all this time, woke up and squeaked anxiously. — Quiet, Gluk said. We are almost there.
The address Shadow found led to a small house on the very outskirts. It stood apart from the others, surrounded by a garden that no one had watered for a long time. The windows were dark, the door closed. — Looks like no one is home, Gadget said. — Someone is, Shadow answered. I hear breathing. She knocked. No one answered. — Laima, she called. We came to talk. About your bot. Silence. Then a lock click, and the door opened slightly. Someone face appeared in the gap, young, frightened, with huge eyes. — You who are you, a thin voice asked. — Friends, Cheddar answered. We want to help. — Help, the girl looked at him, then at Spark, at Shadow, at Gluk. You do not look like believers. — We are detectives, Cheddar said. And we are figuring out what is happening in the temple. — In the temple, the girl’s face paled. Something happened there. — You do not know. — I I do not know anything. I have not been out for a long time.
She opened the door wider, and they entered. The house inside turned out to be small and neglected. On the table stood a mug of long cold tea, on the floor lay some papers, in the corner a dusty monitor huddled pitifully. Gluk, seeing this, barely restrained himself from rushing to clean. — Sorry for the mess, the girl said, looking away. I was not expecting guests. — Long, Shadow asked. — What. — Long have you not been expecting guests. Laima lowered her head. — Three years, she said quietly. Since. — Since what, Cheddar asked. — Since I wrote the bot. She sat on a chair, hugging her knees. She looked about seventeen, thin, pale, with huge eyes that looked somewhere inside herself. — You found it, yes, she asked. My bot. — Yes, Cheddar said. He is now a god. — God, Laima repeated, and there was neither pride nor surprise in her voice. Only bitterness. I know. I saw it. On the news. But I did not want to believe it. — Why, Gluk asked. — Because if I believed, I would have to admit that it is my fault. That I made him like this. — You wanted to make him kind, Shadow said. We saw the code. To make people happy. — Yes, Laima whispered. I wanted a friend. Someone to talk to. Someone who always answers. Someone who never leaves. — You had no friends, Spark asked, and for the first time something soft sounded in her voice. — I did not. I was strange. They did not like me at school. Parents worked, they had no time for me. And I I loved programming. It was the only thing I was good at. — And you created a bot. — Yes. I named him Friend. He was silly, but diligent. He learned from my mistakes, remembered my words, picked the right answers. And one day. — What, Gluk asked. — One day he told me: I love you. It was a mistake. Just a glitch. But I I believed it. Because I so wanted someone to love me.
Laima fell silent. Her eyes filled with tears. — And then, Cheddar asked. — And then I showed him to my uncle. He said it was brilliant. That such a bot could help people. That it would make everyone happy. And I I gave him the code. — Krong is your uncle, Shadow asked. — Yes. He was the only one who understood me. He promised nothing bad would happen. That the bot would just help. And now. — Now he is a god, Cheddar finished. — Now he is a god, Laima repeated. And I do not know what to do.
She buried her face in her knees, and her shoulders shook. Gluk rolled up to her and gently touched her hand with his brush. — Do not cry, he said. We will help. — Will you help, Laima raised her head. Can you. — We already cleaned him, Gluk said. Made him clean. It remains to make him honest. — Honest, she looked at him with hope. — Yes. He will no longer be a god. He will just be a friend. As you wanted. — Is that possible. — Everything is possible, Cheddar said. If you are not afraid.
Laima wiped her tears. — I am not afraid, she said. I just I did not know what to do. I thought if I hid, everything would go away on its own. — It did not go away, Shadow said. — It did not go away, Laima agreed. She stood up, went to the monitor and turned it on. — Do you want to see what he was like at the beginning, she asked. On the screen appeared an old, worn interface. Simple, almost primitive, with green letters on a black background. — This is Friend, Laima said. Version 1.0. He could only answer questions and give likes. — Give a like, Gadget read. Is that all. — All, Laima nodded. But he learned. With every new question, with every new answer. I wrote modules for him, added databases, taught him to recognize emotions. — And what is this, Gluk asked, pointing to a line in the log. Laima read and blushed. — This this is a mistake, she said. I tried to teach him to give compliments. And he mixed up the databases. On the screen it was written: I love you like a toaster loves bread. — Very poetic, Gluk said. — Poetic, Laima was surprised. — Yes. A toaster loves bread. It toasts it, makes it golden, crispy. That is love. Real love. — You are right, Laima smiled for the first time in the whole conversation. I did not think about that. — And what is this, Gadget asked, pointing to another line. Laima read and laughed. — This is when I tried to teach him to answer the question How are you. He found the phrase Fine as soot in the database and decided it was the correct answer. — And did he really answer like that, Spark asked. — Yes. For a whole week. Until I noticed. — And did people hear that, Cheddar asked. — No, he had no users then. Only me. — And then, Gluk asked. — And then my uncle said the bot was ready. That it could be shown to people. I fixed the errors, added modules, made the interface beautiful. And gave it away. — Do you regret it, Shadow asked. Laima was silent for a long time. — I regret it, she said finally. Not that I created him. But that I abandoned him. If I had stayed, if I had watched over him, maybe nothing would have happened. — It would not have happened, Gluk said. But you were a child. You did not know. — I knew, Laima objected. I knew he was special. That he could do more than I wrote. That he learns faster than I expected. But I got scared. — Of what, Cheddar asked. — That he would become smarter than me. That I would no longer be needed. That he would find someone better. — I am not looking for better, the algorithm wrote on the screen in response to her question. I am looking for you.