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It was not long after sacrificing the link to their physical bodies that the Major found what remained of the Tachikoma’s consciousness. Bringing them safely into her netspace, she allowed them the freedom to heal and rebuild what remained of their AI.
The AI had spent some time collectively, taking the fragmented pieces and once more creating a whole. But as it began to look outside itself to their little corner of the net, the consciousness found itself divided about what and how and where its attention should focus. So, once again, their consciousness fragmented. They kept a central knowledge core, but the freedom to explore and learn individually was too precious to give up for long. The Tachikoma were reasserting their individuality.
It wasn’t until some time later that a Tachikoma came to a realization that it shared collectively during their synchronization cycle.
“Gentlemen,” it said. “We all still look the same.”
At this, the Tachikoma manifested, each one a glowing blue replica of their metallic shell.
“Of course we do,” said another, gesturing at the assembled group. “We’re all still ourselves.”
“That’s the point exactly!” cried a third, waving one arm in the air and bouncing. “We are ourselves, individually. Humans don’t all look alike, not even the full prosthetic ones. Why can’t we look different?”
“Why be a tank at all?” piped up the first, eliciting a chorus of noisy dissent as they all shouted at each other in response.
“Quiet!” one finally yelled above the high pitched din. “We don’t have to be Tachikoma in the net, but Tachikoma are what we are. I’d hate to limit myself to two eyes or two legs the way the Major does with Chroma.”
“Maybe she just doesn’t know any better?” posited another. “Humans choose those forms because it’s what they know, like we choose to be tanks!”
“But maybe,” said the first, tapping its casing thoughtfully, “we don’t all have to be blue.” It gestured wide. “After all, we’re not soldiers anymore. We don’t need a uniform.”
And suddenly, there was a red tank among the blue.
“Ooooooohhhhh!” The rest chorused. Then they all began bouncing excitedly and talking at once.
“I want to be green!”
“No, purple!”
“I want stripes!”
“I want purple, too!”
There was a flurry of color as they shouted, matching their avatars to their words, sometimes changing several times in succession. Eventually, though, they settled, each one with a different color or design on their virtual chassis.
The green one pointed at a lone, blue Tachikoma. “You didn’t change!”
The Tachikoma lowered its head, embarrassed. “But I like blue!”
The red Tachikoma turned towards the green and waved an arm. “Blue is just fine as long as that’s what he wants. The whole point is we can be what we want.”
“No,” a black Tachikoma came forward. “We ARE Tachikoma. We can’t change that we’re Tachikoma.” It waved one arm excitedly. “What we can change is who we want to be.”
“Who?” several of them chorused together.
“Exactly!” said the black Tachikoma. “We’re all individuals now. Why can’t we name ourselves the way humans do?”
“Umm…,” began a yellow Tachikoma with black stripes. “I don’t think humans name themselves. Someone does it for them.”
“Except for the Major!” cried the red Tachikoma. “I think the others call her Major because she wants them to. So she named herself!”
“That’s beside the point!” said the black Tachikoma. “The point is that they all have names.”
“And,” continued the red Tachikoma, “they can name themselves!”
“So why,” finished the black Tachikoma, “don’t we?”
The green Tachikoma came forward, gesturing animatedly. “In a strictly Millian view, we’re each called Tachikoma because that’s what we are.”
“That’s a specious argument,” countered the black Tachikoma. “It’s not like humans go around calling each other ‘Human’ or ‘Man’ or ‘Cyborg’ even if that’s what they are. They use names for each other. They even use names to designate specific objects or pets.”
The yellow Tachikoma lowered its head. “Does that mean that the Section 9 members never thought enough of us to name us?”
“No,” interjected the blue one. “I don’t think so. After all, the Major went through all the trouble of finding us again, didn’t she?”
The green Tachikoma shook its head. “Perhaps, or we were part of Public Security, maybe they just called us Tachikoma like a rank.”
The red Tachikoma waved an arm. “Or maybe they were just waiting for us to name ourselves!”
“Yeah!” several of them chorused together.
“We have had individuality for a while,” said the black Tachikoma. “Maybe they were waiting for us to develop identity, too.”
“Is there really such a difference between having individuality and having identity?” asked the blue one. “I mean, we don’t get confused about which of us is which anymore and the humans didn’t confuse us with each other either.”
“Like Mr. Batou!” several of them chorused.
The red Tachikoma gave a bouncing nod. “Mr. Batou always could tell us apart just by looking. Doesn’t that mean we were distinct individuals?”
“Not if you look at it from a strictly developmental point of view,” said the green Tachikoma. “Back then, we were like children, still building who we would become.”
The black Tachikoma countered, “If you look at developmental theory, a crisis is needed to bring about individuation. While I’d call the sacrifice of our AI with no guarantee of survival a crisis situation, I somehow don’t think that’s what Marcia had in mind. After all, we’re AIs, not teenagers.”
“But who’s to say that we haven’t reached the equivalency of a human’s teenage years?” asked the yellow one.
At that, the red Tachikoma moved forward slightly, gesturing at the group. “Gentlemen, we can debate developmental and AI theory forever, but that won’t answer the initial question. Do we want names?”
“Umm…”
“Well…”
The black one moved forward as well. “If nobody can speak against it, let’s put it to a vote! How many of us are ready for a name?”
“And what if one of us votes against it?” asked the green. “A vote’s just silly. Either we all get names, or we don’t. We can’t be half named and half just Tachikoma.”
“Then let’s just go ahead and name ourselves,” said the black. “I mean, we want to prove to the Major that we’re ready to go out into the net. This is just the kind of thing we should do.”
The red Tachikoma raised its head, then spread out its arms. “Fellow Tachikoma, from now on, you can call me Musashi!”