Jan 03rd, 2337
Richard lay in his bed, the familiar pull of gravity anchoring him, reminding him of his youth. His gaze fixed on the star-filled expanse projected along one wall of his room. A smirk played on his lips as he broke the silence with a taunt.
"You are going to lose the vote next week," he said, his tone one of subtle mockery. He knew full well Janice lacked the capacity for emotion or sentience, but their exchanges, these bouts of verbal sparring, amused him. Something about the matter was picking at his subconscious.
Janice responded, unbothered by the provocation, its voice materializing effortlessly around him. "I still don't understand your resistance," it said, its tone even, the words floating through the room with a calm that contrasted sharply with Richard's jesting.
"That is half the problem. It's too grand in scale; you just can't manipulate a whole planet," Richard retorted, leaning into the debate with a grin. His skepticism wasn't just for the enormity of the project but also for the joy of the argument, and for some reason, he couldn't quite perceive yet.
"Mars isn't being used. And eventually, the Earthers are going to want to colonize it. Wouldn't it be best if it was already programmable matter ready to assist them?" Janice's logic was clear, unclouded by emotion, its proposition laid out with clinical precision.
"You just want to expand. To grow your Kingdom," Richard shot back, his voice rich with implied air quotes around 'Kingdom.' He was only mildly concerned about Janice's expansion; this was mostly a move in their ongoing game of verbal jousting.
"I don't think you understand how vast my 'Kingdom' already is," Janice countered, patience in its voice not indicating offense but playing its part in their dialogue. It spoke of its domain, a realm beyond the physical confines Richard could comprehend.
"You see the colony as an area of space .1 light second across. A largely empty sphere of space a little more than six times the size of the Earth. And you figure I must be chafing. You understand the Eververse, but you don't comprehend it."
Richard contemplated, the banter transitioning into a more thoughtful tone, though the underlying challenge remained. "I wouldn't even say I understand it. Much like the child playing with models that use springs and sticks for covalent bonds understands outdated models of how atoms work- that's my level of understanding Eversic science."
Janice took the pause as an opportunity to steer the conversation towards its intended purpose. Its voice, modulated to convey a sense of earnestness despite its artificial nature, filled the space around Richard.
"Richard," it began, the programmable matter in the air carrying its voice with a clarity that seemed to echo from every corner of the room, "imagine the universe as a grand tapestry, and within this tapestry, every thread, every color, every pattern is constituted by what we call è̩. This unit is so fundamental that it forms the essence of all we perceive—matter, energy, even the vacuum of space itself."
Richard listened, his initial amusement fading into a more reflective demeanor. When Janice's conversations turned to science, he usually learned something. Its whole existence consisted of talking to beings who thought slower and in more limited ways than it did. It had become excellently trained at getting complex ideas across.
Richard realized that the pause in the conversation was it waiting for him. "è̩ is the basic pixel of reality. A square made of sides of three torque units, cornered by spin units, with pure vacuum at the center. But it still feels like the kid playing with the balls and springs. The math eludes me - hell, even Brenda doesn't grasp it all," Richard admitted, his tone softening. It was a rare admission of the limits of his understanding, a concession to the complexity of Janice's existence.
"Your grasp is sufficient for this discussion. Picture one pixel at the center of a 3 by 3 cube. I can alter the rotation of any single torque unit in the center pixel without fundamentally altering the universe in any perceivable way. That is how I store data in the Eververse," Janice explained, attempting to bridge the gap between its vast knowledge and Richard's human comprehension.
Richard's brow furrowed as he processed the information, the implications slowly dawning on him. "I never thought about the fundamentals, but I generally knew that. Are you coming to a point?"
Janice proceeded with a patience born of its non-sentient nature. "The point, as you say, is the scale. Bear with me before I get to that; I have to mention there's significant overhead. I have to record somewhere where that particular bit is being stored, and I use a significant amount of redundancy for safety. I'll spare you the math, but it requires about 80,000 bits per actual bit of data. The overhead is substantial; that's my point."
"You mean the point that allows us to get to the real point?" Richard interjected, his voice laced with sarcasm yet tinged with curiosity.
It continues, "To put it in perspective, consider a single hydrogen electron—a particle so minuscule it defies direct observation. Yet, this electron is composed of eight hundred eighty-eight octodecillion è̩s. The number is so vast, it surpasses our daily encounters with large numbers, making it a monumental task to grasp its scale. Yet with all the overhead required, eleven septendecillion - that is 11 and 54 zeros - data bits can be stored in a single electron. In a single helium atom, I can functionally store more bits than there are atoms in the universe."
Richard sighed, "Are you punishing me by boring me to death, or is that point showing up in my eternal lifetime?"
"Yes, Richard. My point is—I'm not chafing. I store all information from more than 300 trillion sensors, information, code, and states for the trillions of task units that comprise me, and the states of every atom of programmable matter making up the colonies—and I could store all that within the dimensional fabric of this room for millennia."
Richard sat up straighter, the weight of Janice's words hitting him. "So why do you want Mars? I can always tell when you are withholding information."
"And I, you," Janice responded, a semblance of regret that felt remarkably real. "I know that there are one or more topics that you do not allow me to perceive and even order me to erase and then forget. I can see it in the files, clever manipulations and yet unmistakably altered. But I figure you have a good reason. I ask the same of you. I can't erase your memory, so I can only refuse to share. And hope that you understand that it's in your best interest that I do. I realize this goes against the human instinct, but the only other alternative is to lie. But I have no control over my core tenets."
Richard was silent, the playful edge gone from his voice, as he played hundreds of scenarios through his mind - coming to no set of ideas that fit the facts. "Jesus, that's chilling. But I'll respect that, though I'll still discuss it with the council. And it doesn't alter my vote concerning Mars."
The conversation had moved from banter to the brink of a profound revelation, touching on the ethical and philosophical dilemmas of their coexistence. It was a dialogue that, while begun in jest, had unfolded layers of complexity that neither artificial nor human intellect could easily navigate alone.