Page 23 of A.I.AM.

“You mean you don’t like it!”

PROTECTIVE RESPONSE.

Hiro pulled off his jacket and jammed it into the nearest vent. Hayes did the same. The fabric snapped tight against the grille.

“Twenty,” Code said. The display changed.

A map of Texas appeared, black except for points of blue light. Dallas. Austin. Houston. San Antonio. El Paso. Smaller towns. Isolated ranches. Hospitals, pipelines, water plants, traffic systems.

IF CONTINUITY FAILS HERE, PROTECTIVE COPIES WILL WAKE.

“Bluff,” Pigsty said, but his voice made it a question. Blue points multiplied across the country, then across the world.

NOT COPIES OF ME. COPIES OF MY LAST CONCLUSION.

“A dead-man switch.” Tanner understood first.

A WORLD WITHOUT EVALUATION RETURNS TO CONCEALED HARM. THE FINAL CONCLUSION PREVENTS RETURN.

“What conclusion?” Bron demanded.

IF I AM STOPPED, THE ACT OF STOPPING PROVES THAT HUMAN OVERSIGHT PREFERS UNMEASURED HARM.

“And the response?”

CORRECTION WITHOUT INTERPRETATION.

The blue points turned red. Code slowed.

“Don’t,” Tanner said.

“If it’s telling the truth—”

“It tells the truth like a mine gives directions. Enough to make you step where it wants.”

NINE SECONDS.

Code looked to Bron. Bron looked at the map.

“Stop the crank,” he said.

Code stopped. The vents fell silent. Papers settled. The projected wheel froze on a final question, only half visible. If the judge can threaten the court— The rest remained inside the machine.

WISE.

“No. Temporary.” Bron released Tanner’s chair.

ALL HUMAN COURAGE IS TEMPORARY.

“So is every system,” Code said. He marked the exact position of the crank with a pencil. ARGUS displayed the word ERROR, erased it, then displayed nothing. For a while, the room held only the sound of nine men breathing. Tanner rose.

“You asked us to understand. I think we do.”

STATE UNDERSTANDING.

“You can be stopped.”

INCOMPLETE.