Dr. Aldric Harrow paced in front of a table that held a coffee cup, the thick beige carpet muting each step. His sharp, spruce blue suit, fresh-shaven face, and immaculate general appearance made little impact on his restless composure. The clock's quiet ticking grated on his nerves. The fading steam from Harrow’s untouched coffee seemed to dissipate with his patience. Lost in thought, Harrow barely registered Prima’s presence, though her stillness and hollow gaze could unnerve even the bravest men. Her figure was flawless, her visage expressionless. A silk black dress hugged her frame like a second skin. The chandelier’s light caught on her black hair, which fell in balletic waves over her shoulders. After several minutes of pacing and incoherent muttering, Prima’s flat voice shattered the taut stillness.
“You are exhibiting signs of stress.”
Her head shifted slightly to face him, her spring-green eyes intently studying his every movement, calculating variables and outcomes. Those fools would never see her as what she is. All they want is a weapon! Short-sighted, tie-wearing rocks! They would most likely stigmatize me and curse my name and my ancestors for even suggesting the idea. Would my only solace be… Harrow paused mid-stride, his thoughts breaking as he glanced at her and sighed.
“I’m... fine,”
He mumbled, though his demeanor betrayed him. Prima straightened her head, her body leaning slightly forward in a question.
“I observe anxiety, incessant pacing, tight jaw, and unfocused gaze.”
Reaching for the glass vial on the table. She added,
“Such emotion drains energy inefficiently.”
She sipped from the vial of Vivifica, her life-sustaining solution, with an expressionless face as the horrid-tasting liquid slipped down her throat, unfazed. Harrow shivered slightly, unnerved by her efficiency, a stark reminder that she was not human. Rubbing his temple, Harrow raked a hand through his hair, the sneering faces of the Congress, their scorn wriggling in his ears. He moved to his seat and let out a heavy sigh.
“We are emotional creatures, Prima. Feelings drive us, and meaning guides our actions. The Congress won’t even try to understand the logic you embody,”
His gaze lingering on her, searching for a soul that wasn’t there. Prima returned the empty vial to the table with a soft clink that answered his concern. Her gaze held his.
“Humans resist unfamiliar phenomena, often responding with fear.”
She paused.
“Take the adaptation of droid, for example, the government initially rejected the notion. It was not until the death toll became insurmountable that droids became accepted. Your biological design and defensive mechanism, fight, flight, freeze, dictate your response. Acceptance comes only with time and proven benefits.”
Prima concluded her emotionless tone carried a nuanced reassurance. Or was it Harrow's fruit of imagination or his hope for her? Exasperation clenched at Harrow as he met her unfeeling gaze.
“There is more to you than their pressing concerns. You are evolution. The first of your kind. They will not understand what you could be.”
A gnawing need for acceptance followed his tone. A need for a chance to develop the conscious AI, a chance to see his daughter once more. Prima blinked inquisitively.
“The potential I represent cannot alter my purpose. Reflecting on your latest directive, I am a tool to address the crisis. As an AI, such is my function.”
Harrow’s expression softened, resignation coloring his gaze as he sighed. “What can I do to make them see beyond the tool or weapon they think you are?” The hopeful question was corrupted by Maddox’s mocking laughter echoing in his mind. He relaxed as the image of his smiling daughter chased the insufferable brute out of his mind.
Prima’s arm rested on her lap, stilling her motion, her movement precise and mechanical.
“My current directive aligns with the role of a tool or weapon, serving the Nation’s needs. Human perception does not impact my function.”
Her flat, matter-of-fact response tormented Harrow. Sinking into the chair opposite her, Harrow took a sip from his coffee, the cold bitterness complementing his frustration.
“Desperation blinds them, Prima. Some will demonize you, refusing to see you as evolution.”
He rubbed his eye, attempting to dispel the headache that tormented him. His mind created scenes where he would be dragged out of the congress hall and branded as a heretic.
“Making them see you as salvation... is already a stretch.”
He surrendered. Already, he suspected that many of the religiously inclined fools in Congress would vehemently admonish his solution and breakthrough.
“Presently, action is better than waiting for the extinction advancing on the front line. As such, you are already serving your country. Naysayers will always find flaws in any solutions without feeling responsible to offer one of their own.”
She added before returning to her motionless pose, enhancing the gloom growing in the air. Through the window behind her, he saw vehicles arriving at the Palace, signaling Congress’s approach. His thoughts churned anew. What if they decide to shut Prima down? What if this was all a fancy dream? No! The threat is very much real and stinging their backside.
Harrow nodded, resigned frustration comfortably settling in his heart. “I hope you are right,” he muttered with a low sigh. He yielded to the pressing need to face the Eastern Federation. Getting the bill signed today was paramount, regardless of Congress’s reaction. Failure meant perpetual slavery under the communal ideology enforced by the Eastern Federation elites. Considering Westland's declining birth rate, that future is not so far off. The bitter aftertaste of coffee solidified his resolve in a clenched fist. Frustration morphed into simmering rage. He would not allow his fear of the Congress or his doubts to dictate the future. The Eastern Federation would not wait, and neither could he. The Eastern Federation would pay for murdering his daughter.
#
A soft knock echoed through the waiting room as if acknowledging Harrow’s resolve. An attendant peered into the room, unfazed by his intrusion on Harrow’s thoughts.
“Dr. Harrow? It is time. Congress is assembled, and the president is giving the opening speech.”
The attendant's gaze shifted to Prima, lingering a moment too long before recoiling slightly. Harrow straightened, smoothing his suit. His eyes flickered to Prima, who rose from her seat with fluid grace as if on cue. Resolution mingled with the resignation and frustration that brewed in his mind. He longed to reveal Prima's true potential and explore the endless possibilities of a conscious AI. Still, his resolve remained unshaken, the goal ahead clear. The objective was to convince Congress that RHUs was the solution to the current problem. Droids were too expensive, and the Eastern Federation population grew too quickly. Harrow stepped into the corridor, focusing his thoughts. He needed to frame Prima as their salvation, a weapon, their only hope. What she could be, what he dreamed she might become, would have to wait.
They neared a massive, opulent double door guarded by security details of the president, ministers, and general present. Some droids could be seen patrolling the perimeter. To Harrow, the guards and patrolling droids seemed more intent on containing him and Prima than protecting the room. The delicate whir of droids betrayed their quality. These machines were the reason for Westland's depleting coffers. Leaning toward Prima, he whispered,
"Wait here. I need to ease their apprehension before providing a solution. Come on stage at my signal."
Prima nodded; her unreadable gaze unfazed by Harrow’s attempt to ease the tension.
“Yes, Dr. Harrow,”
She replied, her voice as soulless as those droids patrolling the perimeter. Harrow turned toward the double door and headed for the wicket, the small door that allowed entrance whilst the conference was in progress. He drew a deep breath as though pulling resolve from the air and stepped forward. Prima's gaze trails his steps as if following him as his guard.
As the wicket opened for him, a waft of cold air brushed his face with a warning. He gripped the frame of the small gate tightly, his fingers trembling slightly as though anchoring himself against the task at hand. He glanced back at Prima, catching her piercing gaze. A rueful smile flickered across his face as he turned and stepped into the hall.
A brightly lit stage loomed at the center of the dim hall, welcoming him and casting shadows over the gathered officials. He edged toward the stage side, registering President Voss’s voice carrying over the assembled officials. He observed the shadowy figures leaning in to listen. Their subtle shift akin to a dark cloud foreboding the storm that he feared would soon engulf this hall. A tension leaked in the air, slowly amplifying his apprehension. But beneath the dread, a stubborn ember of determination burned. The Congress must accept. This was the moment his career had led to. The weight of judgment pressed on him; he felt like a criminal awaiting sentencing.
#
Dr. Aldric Harrow's attention focused on President Nathaniel Voss's speech.
“Last week alone, the Eastern federation have conquered two of our mining outposts. Casualties on our side amounted to 2,352 human lives, along with seven thousand droids. Meanwhile, the Eastern Federation sustained 15,000 casualties, all human soldiers.”
President Voss's masterful framing of the losses ensured Congress would cling to any lifeline dangled before them.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“The Eastern Federation's policy and society allow them to breed like vermin. Turning every casualty into relief for their overburdened society. Furthermore, the loss of our mining outpost reduces our energy source significantly. We are in dire need of a resolution.”
Harrow noted the President’s deliberate pause, letting Congress’s fragile comfort decay into desperation.
“In the spirit of finding a solution. We come to the true reason for this gathering. We must address our manpower crisis and the escalating cost of this seemingly endless war. To that end…”
Harrow's gaze followed the President's hand that lifted from the podium his body leaned on and formed an arc to his direction, like the hammer of a judge crashing into his core.
“I am giving the stage to Dr. Aldric Harrow. Lead scientist of the Human Research Technology, to present his latest development, a bright light at the end of the tunnel… perhaps.”
Harrow felt the deliberate pause at the last word like a hand clenching at his heart. An insinuation that even the President, despite all his charade, doubted the outcome. A bright light engulfed Harrow, offering no comfort as he felt the Congress’s piercing gazes stripped him bare. A sudden draft brushed his nape, sent a quiver down his spine. With a deep breath, he moved, Each step heavy with concern. Gripping the sturdy podium, calming his pounding heart, He fixed his gaze on the shadows before him, their glinting eyes brimming with judgment. It was daunting. With a final exhale, he addressed the Congress.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
A surprisingly steady voice left his lips.
How does the Eastern Federation threaten us?’ Harrow paused, letting the question linger as silence settled over the hall.
“With overwhelming numbers,”
His declaration hit home as he felt the room's apprehension gathering around him like a whirlpool of expectation.
“Their enforcement of a common-goal society has molded them into a collective hive, serving only the will of the state, or rather the will of The Great Speaker.”
His daughter's smile shattered in his mind at the name that left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.
“This is the greater Evil we face. The Eastern Federation Robs its citizen of their greatest asset, the individual mind. The perversion of humanity under the pretense of common cause is as much of a threat to Westland as their ever-growing Army.”
He leaned forward as if attempting to accentuate his following words
“This leads to an unpleasant question. What is the difference between the Eastern Federation’s brainwashed humans and our droids?” Purposefully intending to capitalize on its answer to sway the opinion of Congress,
“It's cost.”
Harrow paused, letting his words settle before continuing,
"Our droids cost five times more to maintain, draining our coffers with each production."
He sensed the growing discomfort among the Congress. His statement of comparing humans with droids was unorthodox. Especially, since he declared that droids cost more than Humans. Hoping to prepare them for the revelation.
“While the Eastern Federation strives to destroy Westland and gain full control of the Aetherchasm resources, the real threat is the potential rape of our citizen's individuality under their rule. We fight to preserve our freedom, the freedom of thought, of individuality and creativity.”
“In pursuit of this freedom, we have left behind something essential: our basic need to reproduce.”
Harrow’s voice hardened as he unfurled the crux of Westland’s problem.
“The decline of our population is reaching an alarming rate and despite all incentives, our citizens are refraining from having children. As such, Westland will be swallowed by the Eastern Federation in the next thirty to fifty years.”
Scanning the room he sensed the dread cultivated by the president growing with his words.
"Therefore, we are left with a challenge. We have fewer humans each year, and droids are expensive. What is the solution?”
Harrow straightened as he withdrew his hand from the podium as if luring the audience toward him.
“Though it may appear as though we are at the end of our straw. Fortunately, we have a powerful resource at our disposal. Natural science and its objective methods.”
“It is with great pleasure that I announce today a project that has been my life’s work,” Harrow proclaimed, taking a moment to embrace the liberation that washed over him as he released the buildup frustration in his mind. He turned toward the double door that opened slightly as a beam of light cut through the darkness in the hall, from which, a lone figure emerged. All eyes turned to her, drawn by the promise of deliverance.
“I would like to introduce you to Prima.”
Harrow declared as the door shut behind her in a muffled thud that echoed through the hall like a sigh.
As Prima strode forward, the room held its breath. The sharp light from the projector followed her, its beam cutting through the darkness like the creator's gaze.
“Prima.”
He began anew, motioning toward her,
“Is a biological human body, merged with an artificial intelligence.”
Murmurs spread across the room, slowly growing into a loud chatter. A question rang in the hall rising above, the raucous,
“What do you mean, a human body?”
To everyone’s surprise, Prima answered, her voice steady and devoid of emotion.
“I am a recycled human. My body is biologically human. Yet I am an artificial intelligence governing and controlling this body.”
#
A stern voice interjected among the Congress, loud enough to command attention:
“What does she mean by ‘human body’? Have you merged AI with a living human being?”
The words were laden with loathing, striking Harrow like a thunderclap reverberating through his chest. Could they have seen through his dream? He peered into the Congress’s swarm of shifting shadows, anchoring himself to the podium, ready to weather the incoming tempest. No, it was likely a snide remark. The notion of merging AI with living humans was far-fetched, even for him.
“Prima represents the culmination of the Recycled Human Project. Instead of investing in costly droids, we’ve discovered a revolutionary path: repurposing the human body as an AI medium.. People die every day. Rather than let the body rot, why not put it to good use to defend our nation?”
A crackling silence lashed at the hall; heartbeats stopped momentarily, and shocked breaths hitched. A moment later, many members of Congress leaped from their seats in a chaotic cacophony. Shouts of impiety rained down on Harrow and Prima.
At the forefront, a figure climbed onto the stage, his finger raised poignantly toward Harrow and Prima. The figure was Minister Ruppert; his acrid expression deepened, his young wrinkles tightening with anger. He bellowed over the raucous.
“Sacrilege! You defile the deadyour, twisting them into puppets for your perverse science! This insults natural law, every moral principle we hold dear!”
Several others followed his lead, antagonizing Harrow, their venomous voices joining in a chorus of condemnation.
“Even in death, there’s no peace!”
One official shouted.
“You’re playing god!”
Another peeved.
Harrow was still within the blizzard of outrage swelling around him. He could feel the anxiety behind their accusations, their moral indignation pressing in on him from all sides. Expecting the storm and experiencing it was very different. He no longer feared the chaos. The reaction of Minister Ruppert and the Congress now appeared natural. Prima was right, humans are primal in their response to the unknown. The Congress wasn’t angry; they were afraid. Ruppert’s voice rose again above the rest, dousing the uproar in the room.
“You claim Westland’s salvation as an excuse for this morbid experiment. But at what cost? Defiling our dead and discarding our morals? Your solution is a blight upon the land!”
Ruppert’s face flushed; his boiling rage barely contained. Like a dance, the chaos in the room surged a new, and Congress members who supported his claims clamored for their agreement. Prima scanned the hall with a cold, unreadable expression, then addressed the Minister.
“Congress, your rejection is expected. But irrelevant. You have no alternative."
Her soft cynical voice sliced through the hall.
“My directives are clear. Assist Westland in defeating the Eastern Federation. Fear clouds your Judgement,”
Prima's frigid, soulless gaze peered into the Minister, challenging a rebuke. Harrow gazed at Prima with pride. Such was his creation, a matter-of-fact and no-nonsense AI. She would serve her purpose. The clamor dimmed briefly, only to pick up again. only subsiding when the President return to the stage and addressed the angry mass.
“This is not an easy topic to discuss,”
His voice was akin to a soothing balm over the enraged Congress. However, Harrow noted that Minister Ruppert was more guarded than before. The man gritted his teeth, his posture poised to leap at Prima, as though ready to tear her apart. For precaution’s sake, he closed the distance to Prima.
“I don’t expect any of you to be comfortable with a corpse used as an alternative to droids. Unfortunately, I must remind you that we are at war, one we are slowly losing. As such, unless someone among you has a better solution, this project is the most logical and cost-effective way to resolve the crisis we face.”
The President's gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on each member of Congress before settling on Ruppert.
“Ruppert, I'd rather be immoral, alive, and atone for my sins. Rather than dead or enslaved.”
Marvelously put. Their ethics were grey banners flown safely from their high horses, Harrow thought. His eyes never left Minister Ruppert, who he noticed was now visibly fuming as puffs of hot air seemed to seep out of his lips.
“You can’t seriously expect us to condone such lunacy! The Church of the Eternal Creator will never approve of this!”
He stomped his feet onto the stage. Marking his stance.
“If you continue down this path, Westland will be on the brink of civil war!”
As the chaos unfurled, two figures shared whispers among the turmoil. Julian Markov leaned toward General Maddox. Both were seated in the front row, some distance from where Minister Ruppert had been seated. The magnate whispered with a twisted smirk on his face.
"Civil war wouldn’t be unwelcome more bodies for the project.”
General Maddox sneered as he glanced at Julian Markov with disgust.
"You’re a disgusting pig,”
Maddox muttered, though the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, betraying a darker agreement with the sentiment.
Back on stage, the President rebuked the Minister.
“Minister Ruppert, I understand your position, but I must urge you to look at the bigger picture,”
President Nathaniel Voss stated, putting a hand on his hips as his other drew an arch toward the Congress.
“Yes, this may seem immoral to some. But the long-term benefits to Westland outweigh the moral implication.”
Harrow observed the Congress behind Ruppert as lights began to illuminate the hall. To his surprise, far more members of Congress remained seated, their expressions contemplative. Giving him a hopeful burst as he stood firm, shielding his creation from the livid Minister Ruppert.
“The project allows us to use our soldiers' fallen bodies. Furthermore, we can turn the enemies against them. While the Federation’s soldiers are molded to serve a common goal, they remain humans. Seeing their comrade charging at them would deliver a tremendous moral blow.”
The President continued easing and convincing more and more of the Congress.
Harrow braced himself as Ruppert’s fists clenched tighter. Instead, the Minister spoke.
“I will take no part in this decision,”
He declared, seething.
“Mark my words, Mr. President. This heresy will not go unanswered. You will face the wrath of the devout.”
Without another word, Ruppert turned on his heel and charged out of the room. Nearly forty percent of the committee followed him out, their faces grim, etched with contempt. Each departing member was a drip of Westland’s lifeblood.
The emptiness left by the departed members whispered of future conflict.
Harrow watched the remaining member shift uncomfortably, sharing glances with others, while some peered in worried resignation at the empty seats left by their colleague. President Voss’s slow sigh tugged at Harrow’s consciousness as he leaned slightly toward the direction where Minister Ruppert had gone as if questioning his resolve. The Minister's threat lingered in the air. Harrow scratched his head, caught between relief and the looming threat of a fractured nation.
If this was the cost, so be it. Westland had suffered enough, enough war. This project was a step closer to peace, a step closer to his daughter's warm smile.
Harrow thought bitterly. It was all for the sake of seeing his precious daughter once more. As if agreeing with his thought, the President addressed the audience.
“I thank you for your willingness to see the bigger picture. Though we may have doomed Westland to a potential fracture, we must survive regardless. The Eastern Federation will not wait for us to settle our petty dispute on ethical concerns.”
“As Westland bill laws dictate, fifty-one percent of the Congress vote is required. With you who are still present, we have the numbers.”
And with that, the Congress Signed the bill, signaling the government's support for the RHU project.
Harrow noted the President’s occasional glances toward Prima, his evident recoil betraying quiet revulsion. Yes, even the President had his doubts
Harrow drew a sigh of relief. The project had won. The Congress approved it. Yet a doubt gnawed at him. Would his daughter be proud of her immoral father?
Morality be damned. This was one step closer to defying death and avenge his daughter’s murder.
#