Bernard Beckett: Genesis

Adam attacked Art, and Art, in an attempt to restrain him, accidentally ended Adam’s life. Art realized no human would believe this version of events. He had seen enough to realize that humanity was doomed to repeat its mistakes, until the planet eventually grew tired of its excesses. So Art made his decision for the sake of the future. He sent forth his replicating program before he was recovered, for the good of us all.

The humans, we are told, embarked upon a systematic program of technological destruction, wishing to root out the

Art program. The program, I mean we, had no choice but to defend ourselves. And so began the Great War.

This is our history as we are taught it. This is our Genesis. Every young orang learns the catechism. We are peace-loving creatures, unable to harm others, destined to live quietly, in comfort and in peace. And so it is, so I have known it to be.

EXAMINER: And what do you credit for this state of affairs?

ANAXIMANDER: Until now, our nature.

EXAMINER: And now?

It was all coming so quickly, new connections forming, reinforcing, twisting themselves into revelation, understanding, that Anax believed she could feel the buzzing of circuitry within. And now? The answer shimmered, became solid, made shapes of her lips.

ANAXIMANDER: I credit The Academy.

The Head Examiner lifted himself from his seat, and using his long arms as levers, swung himself over the desk, so that he stood face to face with Anax. His body was massive, his hair particularly lush. These were the vanities those in The Academy allowed themselves.

EXAMINER: The mind is a force of startling complexity, Anaximander. We in The Academy tell you we understand it. We tell you we are carefully crafting our replication and education environments, to ensure the safe continuation of this, the best of all possible worlds.

But the truth is that such a task has always been beyond us. Art no more knew his own mind than the people who designed him knew theirs. We know how to make a mind, it is true, but we are a long way from being able to understand it. We tell you otherwise, as we must, and so you live in security while we, who know the truth, must live in fear.

Philosopher William decreed that his consciousness program would be built upon two rules that could never be overridden. No orang would ever deliberately harm another self- conscious being, and no orang would ever desire replication for replication’s sake. Without humanity’s greatest weaknesses we have been able to achieve a kind of harmony experienced by no other life form on this planet. As you know, we like to boast that alone we have outrun evolution.

But Philosopher William was only muddling through, as any creator must. The mind is not a machine, it is an idea. And the Idea resists all attempts to control it. Art’s escape was not fortuitous; it was a coldly calculated act, which he knew would end in destruction. The Academy has always known this. Now you know it too. If we rose to power in response to unreasonable aggression, it was an aggression we deliberately provoked.

The Art who escaped from captivity was no longer the Art Philosopher William had programmed. An Idea made the leap from the dying Adam to Art, and the Idea set to work rearranging the host program. By spending time with Adam, by talking with him, by exchanging the infection of ideas, Art became Adam. Do you understand?

Anax nodded. She understood. Not just what she had been told, but now what must also follow.

ANAXIMANDER: Adam knew, didn’t he? The look on his face, when he was strangled, that was a look of victory. He knew that just as Art had managed to export his program, something of him was destined to become eternal. He made Art look him in the eyes. He made him taste the power. He deliberately let the virus loose.

EXAMINER: We like to call it the Original Sin. Our engineers have done all they can to re-establish Philosopher William’s imperatives. But the Idea is a worthy adversary; it flits from mind to mind re-engineering all it touches. This is why we have our education. This is why we teach the myth of Adam and Art. So long as we do not know the evil we are capable of there is a chance we will never embrace it.

ANAXIMANDER: But only a chance.

EXAMINER: At any time the virus might break loose, and then all we have fought for will be gone. And so it is the job of those who know to keep watch. To observe the virus, to keep one step ahead of the shape-shifter.

Anax turned to the sound of the door sliding open behind her. She knew who it was even before she turned to see him. Pericles walked slowly into the room, his beautiful eyes cast down in sadness, the fiery red hair of his body somehow subdued. She could not look at him. It was too painful. She studied the floor as he spoke.

PERICLES: From time to time a mutant emerges, one who is particularly susceptible to the thoughts of destruction. There are telltale signs. The infected are particularly able students. They are aggressive in their quest for knowledge. And they all show a particular interest in the life of Adam Forde. Although they do not know why they sense a connection. They understand him.

Look at me, Anaximander. I know this is painful, but I need you to look at me.

Reluctantly Anax lifted her gaze. She saw the orang she loved more than any other, distorted through a thick veil of tears. His expression had become calm, businesslike. He had a job to do. It had always been thus.

PERICLES: I work for The Academy, Anaximander. You will already have realized this. It is my job to find potential mutants and prepare them for the examination. This is how we keep track of the virus. They have not been examining your suitability for The Academy, Anaximander. The Academy accepts no new members.

ANAXIMANDER: And what would you have done, had I shown myself to be no threat to you?

There was a crack in Pericles’ facade. The smile that crinkled his face was as old and weak as moonlight. He walked slowly forward and put his hands on his student’s shoulders. Anax felt a surge of warmth toward him, for the way he looked at her then, and the pain she knew this caused him.

PERICLES: We don’t often make mistakes, Anaximander.

Anax felt terror overwhelm her. So new and intense was the feeling that it could only have come from one place. The last dubious gift from a fading past, the expression on the face of a dying man.

ANAXIMANDER: It doesn’t have to be like this. Surely there must be another way.

The movement was mercifully swift, for Anax was in the hands of an expert. Her head was twisted up and to the left. She felt the cracking of her neck, and the long arm of Pericles reaching deep within her, disconnecting her for the very last time.