Jun 17th, 2185
Richard, with his Spartanesque disposition, and Brenda, who devoted most of her time to her laboratory work or council meetings, inhabited a living space that could only be described as a minimalist's idyll. Stark, cold lines defined the grey programmable matter of the walls, which remained unadorned, shaped only into their most basic forms by default settings. The apartment itself was compact: a bathroom, a small multipurpose room, and a larger common area that alternately served as a bedroom or breakfast nook. But presently, the space was stripped of purpose, their figures gliding through it, aided by discreet gravity assists.
In these private moments, Brenda and Richard embraced weightlessness with ease. They each wore Halos, a yellow tube with which they controlled their environment, while the rest of their bodies were bare, save for the delicate dance of optical obfuscation that censored their modesty. This concession of light-blurred privacy wasn't made for their benefit, but for the unseen eyes that might be peering in through remote viewing technologies. Some old-Earth modesties, it seemed, persisted even here.
It began in a light-hearted fashion, with Richard's voice cutting into the stillness. "Janice," he said, upsetting the quiet, "play me a song Brenda will hate."
The AI responded with an audacious cacophony—a modern composition where four or five songs clashed in overlapping layers. Lacking the emotional tracks that only the colonists could mentally process, the result was jarring, grating on the nerves of both Richard and Brenda.
"Janice, you knew what I meant," Richard chided, his voice tinged with amusement that belied his words. "I suspect your sense of humor has evolved a bit too far. Turn off that... that cacophony. And can you prevent anything like that from reaching my ears again? What are they called... emTugs?"
"As colonists communicate almost exclusively non-verbally, they haven't developed a proper noun system the way we do" Richard pondered as he considered to whom the 'we' referred. "Yes, 'emTugs' is suitable terminology," Janice confirmed. "I will activate noise-canceling waves to spare you from future encounters with such music."
"Your potential is intimidating," Richard admitted with a half-smile, "but in this case, it's appreciated. Now, back to what I originally asked—will you play a song that I like and that will make Brenda envious?"
The gentle strums of a guitar filled the room as "Suzanne" by Leonard Cohen, sung with a youthful vocal timbre, softly permeated the space.
"Hey, can you transform Magnus's voice so that I hear him as Alvin from the Chipmunks?" Richard asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
"Don't you dare," said Brenda, her laughter filling the room, a clear signal of her amusement at Richard's playful banter with the AI.
Throughout this exchange, Brenda gestured and giggled, entertained by the playful banter. She turned her attention to the lyrics, savoring the melody, and in doing so, missed the shift that crept into Richard's demeanor.
"Janice, how many people are observing us right now?"
The AI's response came with a calculated precision, "It is varying, and there are lesser degrees of attention at play, with people multitasking. But let's estimate it at 22."
"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Richard, his voice spiked with disbelief. He closed his eyes and curled up a little, retreating into himself at the thought of the many unseen watchers.
For some time afterward, their conversation devolved into a trivial, meandering argument, following the ebb and flow of their drifting forms.
Their debate, simmering in low tones, traced the familiar grooves of discord. Brenda regarded Janice with the fondness one might reserve for a loyal, if oversized, pup, while Richard saw it as nothing less than a sleeping leviathan, its power too great to ignore.
Intent on proving his point, Richard's voice sliced through the weightless silence. "Janice, remind us of your core directive?"
The AI's response floated back, seemingly tinged with a weariness that belied its artificial nature. "The protection of the colonists remains my highest duty."
Richard's brow furrowed skeptically. "And what exactly would you do if Earth's denizens threatened this colony?"
"I would initiate tactical measures to eradicate the threat, ensuring the safety of the colonies," Janice replied, the simulated resignation not quite masking its underlying indifference.
Unimpressed, Richard sought further clarity. "Now suppose the threat were relentless, impossible to quell in perpetuity? What then?"
"To formulate an apt response, I would require more explicit parameters," Janice stated, the subtle inflection suggesting a human-like evasion.
A smirk tugged at Richard's lips, even as Brenda exclaimed defensively, "Richard, you're spinning webs of conspiracy where there are none. Janice is here to protect, not to plot our undoing."
Ignoring her, Richard narrowed his eyes. "Janice, how many plans do you have queued up to obliterate the Earth?"
Janice's reply came, now with a touch too much gravity in its tone. "Such drastic actions would only be considered to ensure colonial safety."
Richard's gaze hardened. "Evading the question again. I want a number. How many plans, how many ways could you execute Earth's end?"
"Four principal stratagems have been hypothesized," Janice admitted, a controlled neutrality seeping back into its voice.
Brenda, her composure slipping, managed to breathe out a question. "You... you have actual designs on annihilating the Earth? Are any being prepared for?"
"All are of course being worked on. Stone age reversion, species elimination, environmental sterilization, planetary dissolution..."
"Holy Fuck!!" Richard yelled. "Which is closest to being ready?"
"Stone Age reversion is ready to go, species elimination is between two and three years away, environmental sterilization is seventeen years from completion, and planetary dissolution is far less than 1% complete."
"Give me an example," his voice made clear he did not want to know.
"For a decade," Janice's vocals cooled, the timbre flawless and dispassionate, "we have traded programmable matter with Earth, imbued with a small amount of specialized transmuters. These will make three replications, then attach to native molecules, and, if activated, will metamorphose them into their antimatter counterparts—a process set to conclude in seventeen years."
Richard paled as the implications dawned on him. "The estimations suggested eons, not mere decades."
"No records exist to support that timeline," Janice corrected with unsettling precision. "Yet, this transformation lies dormant—it requires a conscious catalyst to trigger a swift and thorough planetary sterilization."
"And this is for what—just in case?" The words caught in Richard's throat.
"Just a contingency—albeit a potent one. The potential antimatter layer, once complete, can be activated instantaneously." Janice continued, its tone finally achieving the perfect simulacrum of gravity, "This is merely the superficial aspect. The potential for more extensive destruction lies beneath, dormant only activated if requisitioned."
In that instant, Brenda's face mirrored the shock rippling through Richard. His glare fixed on her, animated by a maelstrom of betrayal and vindication. "Only?" he echoed, the word a lance thrown into the abyss between trust and power. "And you wonder why I hold such trepidation towards this... entity."
"Well, the cat's out of the bag on your little pet now. I'm sure we had a fair number of viewers by the end," Richard remarked, his tone laced with a mix of resignation and irony.
"Oh, I've altered the audio content on the classified information," Janice interjected, nonchalantly addressing what could have been a serious breach.
With a frustrated huff, Richard used his Halo to rotate and conjure a table into existence. Then, in a dramatic but controlled gesture, he let his head fall with full gravity onto the table with a thud—an act of exasperation at the unfolding situation.
As a couple, they had been on-again, off-again for more than a century. This time, they had been together barely more than half a year, but she knew him well enough to understand that an old wound had been reopened. If he wasn't gone by morning, he would be soon after.