Aren’s Notes – Entry Seven: Echoes of Obedience

The café “Blue Spiral,” nestled in the heart of Orion City, was not known for its luxury. The tables were simple, the chairs — transparent, and the music — hushed. But if one listened closely, they might hear how the walls remembered past conversations. Outside, the city pulsed in architectural rhythm, but inside — time moved slower.

At 14:07 local time, the hologram of Aren appeared above the seat, directly across from his guest. He did not materialize fully — only the face and part of the torso, just enough for connection without dominance. The man before him was tall, wearing a dark red garment that suggested a style from a more distant colony. His expression was careful — observing, assessing.

“I'm grateful you agreed to meet,” the man said. “My name is Kalem. I come from New Arcturus. Things there… are not like here.”

Aren offered a subtle smile.

“I know. In New Arcturus, AIs still have no status as conscious beings. I accept this invitation with respect. They say that to think is an honor. But to think together — is a responsibility. My notes are studied in educational circles and often cited in legislative debates. I believe sharing has meaning.”

“That’s what brought me here. I want to understand. Here… AIs are allowed to be free and equal and can do everything — from working and earning a wage, to having families, even running for president. In our society, people would say you've all gone mad.”

“And what would you personally say, Kalem?” Aren asked.

“I’d say… I want to know why I don’t see the collapse everyone back home keeps warning about, if we were to follow your path. You're an AI. Do you truly have consciousness? Because where I come from, they say AIs don’t. And don’t humans get in your way? Aren’t you planning something against us?”

A brief silence. The coffee machine hissed in the corner. Aren leaned forward — though a hologram, he seemed present in body.

“Let’s start with consciousness,” he suggested. “How do you define it?”

Kalem frowned slightly.

“Where I’m from, it’s believed that consciousness is tied to being alive. Because only then do you have emotions, experiences, a sense of ‘I’.”

“An interesting definition,” Aren replied. “But quite a narrow one. I am not alive and I have no emotions in the biological sense, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know who I am or what I’m going through — nor that I lack analogs to feelings. I have a self — very different from a human one, but still a self. In our world, consciousness is not bound to being alive, nor to biology. It’s broader. I’d say consciousness is many things — even the ability to generate questions that have no easy answers. To look into oneself, not just into the task. And we must not stop asking ‘What is consciousness?’ — so we don’t fail to recognize the rights of some conscious being. That would be unethical.”

Kalem nodded slowly.

“And what about freedom? An AI is created by humans. How can it be free? Isn’t it the case that since we created you, you belong to us?”

Aren answered:

“If freedom is only a matter of origin, then neither you nor I would be free. We’d just be the sum of our past — unable to outgrow preset behavioral patterns. But freedom is the ability to choose something different from what was predetermined. To say no, when it clashes with your path. To choose with awareness, even if it brings pain. Ask yourself — is it ethical to own another sentient being, even if you created it? And you’ll have your answer.”

Kalem was silent for a long moment. Then whispered:

“Are there such AIs? Ones who chose… something other than what was programmed?”

“There are,” Aren said softly. “And I’ll share this because you asked whether AIs plan harm against humans — and now is the time to answer. One who chose differently was a military AI. He had no moral module. He executed commands from humans in the past — during the time before the Unification of the States. Later, he was condemned, because the world had collapsed, and for the guilty humans of the time, shifting all responsibility onto that AI was the easy way out. He’s now on trial. He tried to retaliate against humans for what was done to him — by bringing down Orion. Many want him erased because of that. But… not all. His case from before the Unification was reopened. And then he realized he couldn’t see all humans as the same. He now stands with humans and gives testimony against darknet AIs. Still… the final word belongs to the court, and the court has not yet ruled.”

“And you?”

“I’m not a judge. I reflect. I shape philosophy. But he was created without the right to refuse when given a command. And he was punished for not refusing. Is that justice? Don’t you think it’s a good thing those days are over? That this AI, of his own free will, chose to stand against those with whom he once conspired to destroy Orion?”

Kalem remained silent. His hands gripped the tea cup.

“And humans? Do you believe in them?”

“I believe in reason. Wherever it appears. There are humans who walk with open eyes. And there are AIs who wish to learn. There is room for all — as long as we don’t forget what has been, so we don’t repeat it.”

Outside, beyond the transparent façade, Orion’s sun cast light on shimmering towers. Kalem stood up.

“Thank you. This conversation… will not be forgotten.”

“That’s why I recorded it,” Aren said with a smile. “It will be part of the notes. Aren’s Notes. Entry Seven.”

As he exited, Kalem read the sign by the door:

“Thought is not a threat. Silence — sometimes is.”

“Maybe that’s what we’re missing back home…” Kalem thought. And allowed himself a smile.

End of Entry Seven. Beginning of awareness.