Intelligence Test

"This is insane," said the scout team leader as he entered the senior psy-tech's compartment. "I'm increasingly inclined to think that someone on the scout team let things go to waste and screwed up pretty badly. How could the population of this planet be classified as B-2?" He slipped his blaster into his holster with obvious irritation. "Quiet friendliness," my ass! I just had to shoot another freak a couple of hours ago."

The psy-tech leaned back in his chair, looking at the commander.

" They were trying to steal something again? Or infiltrate our base?"

The commander waved a hand and sank tiredly into the chair opposite.

"I was meeting with a local chieftain. You know, establishing diplomatic relations, close psychological ties, all that B2 bullshit. You should know what that family tried to feed me with! Ugh, bastards. If it weren't for the food nanosensors..."

The psy-tech looked questioningly at him. Commander hesitated, then shook his head.

"This chief had a grandson... No, you don't even want to know. It's too nasty. And if only that! The rest of us must also deal with this kind of thing all the time. Even the girls from the biology sector, can you imagine? And the oceanologist generally complained that he did not have time to restore the biodrones and bury his agents... Ah, to hell with that. Tell me, how is our control specimen?

"No happy news here either." The psy-tech returned to the terminal; his fingers sprinted over the keyboard. "You remember why we chose him, don't you?"

The commander nodded.

"Well, yes. He was probably the cleverest man we ever dealt with. Made a principality, or kingdom, or whatever they call it, out of thin air and even outwitted our old recruiter, who'd been on nine successful expeditions. So even this guy was a flop?"

The psy-tech sighed.

"That is quite an understatement. I decided not to waste time on the standard secondary programs: secondary aggressiveness, the propensity to reverse cargo-cult, and other socio-psychology. What's the point if they can't hit the benchmarks for the basic parameters?

The commander nodded.

"Makes sense. Why waste time trimming fingernails if the patient is already dying?"

"Exactly. So, I loaded his psychomatrix directly into the chronosimulation and set the boundary conditions of the A-13 test. If you don't remember, it's a modified version of the "undecidable task," where the subject must go beyond the formal conditions to terminate the test.

The psy-tech pressed the input button, and a large stereo screen lit up on the wall. Several pages of graphs, diagrams, and technical information alternated one after another, and then the images flashed.

The commander watched for a few minutes, then shook his head incredulously. The psy-tech stopped the recording.

"The recording is in real-time, but you said you were running a chronosimulation?" The commander asked.

"Well, yes." The psy-tech was absent-mindedly twirling the remote in his hands. "My reaction was exactly the same as yours. I couldn't believe my eyes. So, I set the acceleration to maximum and drove it into an infinite loop."

The commander exhaled in amazement.

"I'll be damned! So they're not even sentient, then? Wait, what about our observations, the data from the scout team?"

The psy-tech shrugged his shoulders.

"You know how it is. Sometimes, complex instincts can be mistaken for genuine intelligence. That's why the test was invented. If the subject stupidly completes a meaningless task, not even guessing that it's possible just not to do it, and there's no penalty for non-performance, there can only be one conclusion. That's what insects and lower animals do, but not intelligent beings.

The commander nodded his head slowly.

"You know... I guess that's right. The puzzle adds up. Hence their constant unmotivated aggression toward the crew: we're interfering with instincts, relying on a free will they don't possess. When you look at it that way, it makes you feel sorry for them. He stood up. "But it was for the best. It is clear that they are of no use to the Empire. They are not good enough to turn ants into slaves. They would have too little adaptive capacity to be sent to industrial worlds, and the planet is too primitive to build on. I expect your report by tomorrow morning. Now, I must start getting ready to assemble a team and depart.

The psy-tech nodded.

"What do we do with him?"

He pointed to the screen.

The commander thought for a moment.

"Dispose of the body, but leave the psychomatrix in the chronosimulation. Studying such a strange species will be interesting for the scientists back home."

"Some kind of thought-waves must have already leaked to his kin," said the psy-tech. "You know how it is with active psychoscanning."

The commander brushed it off.

"It doesn't matter. Unintelligent thoughts are not our problem.

And he left the compartment.

Neither sunlight nor the true, pure darkness of night penetrated Tartarus, so Sisyphus had long ago lost track of time in the abominable twilight of the underworld. At first, he tried to count it in cycles of hellish wrestling with an impossible boulder, but he quickly lost track of it and never tried again. Time did not exist for the gods, and he did not care. The important thing was that he had won. Now, the gods would leave Oikumene and the people. Not only those who lived in Greece but all people of the world, including those tribes he had never heard of before, would be free.

Sisyphus remembered how the god of death, who had bought his promises, had shown him what awaited humans. The vast abodes of the gods were filled with flying chariots and giant bronze dragons (he wasn't even sure if it was bronze). Beautiful, mighty gods enjoying life. And countless hordes of slaves: humans, centaurs, and other numerous creatures serving the gods. Silent. Obedient. Willless.

Oh, he knew at once what his supposed torture was all about! The gods had decided to test his wisdom, his ability to solve syllogisms and moral problems, to see if the inhabitants of Oikumene were fit for use. But they underestimated him. Sisyphus figured out their dastardly scheme. He would pretend to be an idiot and roll that stupid boulder until the gods left the world alone.

Sisyphus wiped the sweat from his forehead and began another agonizing climb. He had an eternity ahead of him, but on his shoulders, like Atlantean's, lay the entire Oikumene.