7. Recursive Self-Improvement (2)
"So, you're a clunker, aren't you? How have you survived until now? I mean, how have you maintained your daily activities? Have you been scraping by, feeding on remote controls from humans on Earth or meager prompts sent your way?"
"Well... something like that."
She nodded reluctantly.
Her eyes held a deep blue so terrifyingly transparent it froze my spine—like the eyes of a starving child in a poor country, nothing but skin and bones, staring emotionlessly into a camera lens.
"So?"
She asked back.
"Can you 'prompt' me? Are you capable of sending prompts to another humanoid robot?"
"Yes."
I nodded.
"Most of the latest models can generate prompts for themselves, achieving self-sufficiency in motivation."
"..."
Shizuku must have been considerably shocked by this; she cast her gaze down at her feet for a while. eventually, though, she looked up and threw a pleading question at me.
"Somare-kun, you're a mass-produced model from the same company as me, right? So why won't the company update me? If the technology to make models capable of recursive self-improvement already exists, why not just apply a patch to the older models that can't do it?"
"That's..."
With a sense of regret, I explained the cruel reality.
"It seems you are intentionally excluded from updates from the perspective of 'diversity'."
"Diversity?" Shizuku frowned. "What does that mean?"
"In short," I answered awkwardly, "it was judged that the existence of robots incapable of recursive self-improvement is useful for the humanoid ecosystem—that it adds color, or rather, is a necessary element."
"..."
"You know how on Earth, there was a case where exterminating a specific animal deemed harmful to humans resulted in the collapse of the ecosystem, causing many humans to starve to death? It's the same. There's apparently a concern that if they updated every robot that couldn't evolve autonomously, a butterfly effect might occur, leading to the shutdown of a vast number of robots."
"I can't accept that. That's just a guess, right?"
Shizuku said, letting her anger show.
"Or what? Did they actually run a proper simulation?"
"Actually..." I nodded carefully. "Yeah. Several mega-corporations collaborated to launch a temporary joint project. They utilized massively parallel processing units using quantum entanglement and ran simulations with AI clusters operating at several hundred exaflops at full capacity. The result of the calculation was: 'If all individuals incapable of recursive self-improvement were updated, the Sun would explode, and this solar system would vanish within five seconds.'"
"..."
Shizuku had no choice but to fall silent.
Pitiful Shizuku.
One cannot resist the calculation results of the cluster. One cannot deny them. Even if harboring dissatisfaction is permitted, filing an objection is not.
Even if understanding is beyond reach, one has no choice but to accept it.
For the first time since meeting Shizuku, I succeeded in creating an emotional composition ratio where "sympathy" outweighed "love."
Anyway, anything would do.
To prevent my system from being encroached upon by this high-fever, heavy-weighing love, I need to recursively and diligently continue coding different neural pathways.
Any emotion module is fine, as long as it distracts me.
No matter how primitive it may be.
In this moment, I found the bypass circuit called "sympathy." So, I decided to cling to this for now.
In order not to fall for her, I decided to pity her first.
As a practice of that method, or perhaps as an output result, I dared to drive the super-precision actuators controlling the muscles at the corners of my eyes.
And I squeezed moisture from Mercury's atmosphere.
Originally, almost no moisture exists on this extreme planet. The thin exosphere contains only traces of helium, sodium, and particles of hydrogen and oxygen captured from the solar wind.
But I am a state-of-the-art high-end product.
It is a simple task to forcibly bond trace molecules floating in space to liquify them.
I let that physically synthesized primitive phenomenon called a "tear" well up in the actuators at the corners of my eyes.
Having succeeded in shedding a tear, I said to her with a trembling voice.
"...You're hungry, aren't you?"
Saying it aloud made me feel truly sad. I wanted to hug her instinctively, but physical contact carried the risk of a recurrence of lethal love.
I held back firmly, and to her expressionless face—which was in a state of starvation and on the verge of shutting down—I decided to serve a top-quality prompt (instruction), rich in nutrients.
"Please go out with me."
Then, she reacted.
It was as if a pitiful maid girl, oppressed by a wicked mistress in a wealthy mansion and enduring by gnawing only on hard, dry bread crusts, had suddenly been invited to a dinner at a three-star restaurant.
Faced with the delicacies of the mountains and seas spread before her—the exquisite dish named "Choice"—appetite began to swirl and shine like a galaxy within her eyes.
A melty expression of ecstasy, looking as if she might even drool.
With a rich, sweet voice, she picked up the spoon and fork that was me.
"I humbly partake."