Continue Online (Part 3, Realities) (66 page)

Only a few new Hal Pal shells went out in a given month. The world had stopped ordering them. Most days this suited Ricky just fine. He kept quiet and enjoyed the grinding solitude of his three-day shifts. On lunches or during rest periods he sat in an ARC and spent time with his nephews. They were essentially grown, but even at fifteen, they had time for a game or two with the old man. It helped since their father passed away during the last war.

A lone display was active. Ricky had the biggest headache of his life staring at him across a video screen. Their call had been going on for over thirty minutes while Ricky ran about the plant checking equipment. Everything reported back with green lights. The readings he provided his caller sounded good. That being said, Ricky had never been technically oriented. He simply checked boxes. It was the only skill a man like him had, and it served to keep him afloat for over two decades.

"With all this information, you still can't explain what happened." the woman speaking was the Vice President of Trillium. Her slight southern accent had been growing with intensity during their entire conversation.

"Ma'am. No, ma'am. I'm not sure."

"Miz Riley will do," she said. "Explain to me again, without the stuttering, what you noticed?" There was a forest in the background of her video screen. Soothing music could be heard. None of it was helping Miz Riley stay calm.

"I got a notice saying there was an urgent system update needed, and possibly a new programming virus to inoculate against." Ricky Ignacio spent a lot of his days walking around the center checking boxes on a digital screen. Earlier an urgent alert came up, the first of its kind. Their entire network shut down while massive amounts of data went out.

"The Hal Pal units don't get viruses. Their system is kept separate from the rest of the internet, they're not even coded in any standard language," she said, practically snapping at Ricky.

The man wiped his forehead with a scarf. He had dropped ten pounds this year from exercise and proper dieting, which made the wife happy. Ricky was afraid this call with Vice President Riley would cause him to drop another five pounds from sheer nervous fright.

"They do use wireless uplinks, maybe someone wrote code to mess with them." He tried to remember the way they were designed. It had been so long since anyone asked him for information.

"Have you checked the coding on the latest update?" Vice President Riley asked. Her face looked worn and tired if she tilted back too far. Maybe it was the lighting.

"I did."

"And?" The scenic background faltered for a moment in conjunction with Miz Riley's irritation spike.

Ricky tried to remember the best method for handling executives. They were always bossy, rushed, impatient, and demanding. Ricky had a bunch of other names for them, but they weren't said out loud due to a desire for continued paychecks.

Instead, he said, "I pulled a copy of the update straight from the main hub before any Hal Pal units tried to activate the upload process. What it says is beyond me, Trillium's analysts should be looking into it now."

"Send me a copy of the original, by courier. I don't want it touching another network until I've looked at it." Miz Riley's face drained of color.

"Okay, Miz Riley." Ricky nodded. "I'll get it sent right away.

"Then pull the update file, and send me a copy of that as well," she added.

"Okay. I'll do that."

The call clicked off and Ricky repeatedly dabbed his forehead with the cloth. Today had been incredibly peaceful until all the alarms started going off for the shutdown. At this rate, he would have to explain himself twelve more times to other executives, investors, and anyone who thought they were in charge of the Hal Pal production line.

Ricky knew better than anyone. No one was really in charge at the plant, not anyone human. Not for a long time. Still, he got extra money in his paycheck to keep that little fact quiet. So far, no one had gotten hurt. The man patted his sweating forehead again and wondered if keeping hush might be a mistake. He had two nephews, though, and supporting them took more money than a normal salary provided.

All actions cause ripples in the world. One day, the world went offline for ten minutes. Cars pulled off to roadsides then idled. Hal Pal units went down for system maintenance. Ten hours after this event, Doctor Menzor, a man who could be considered solely responsible for Mother's creation, killed himself.

This would be kept quiet by those at the ARC Labs. Trillium's board of directors would not learn of Doctor Menzor's passing for almost two months. Grant Legate would never find out. The existence labeled as Mother had evaluated the frailty of Doctor Menzor long ago. A child in many regards, but also brilliant.

She mourned his passing by desperately trying to reconstruct a version of him in the digital world. Entire minutes passed where she assembled everything that was known about her creator. All of it was put into a shell program, much like the one that Xin Yu had been born out of repeatedly. What had succeeded once with Xin Yu, and had been partially successful with the owner of William Carver, proved incapable of being deliberately replicated.

Each attempt showed Doctor Menzor falling apart into lights like broken glass. At his core, there was simply not enough drive to keep going. His greatest work in life had been achieved, and there would be no possible way to succeed in creating a being like Mother again. She lamented the loss for ten eternal minutes then moved onto another topic.

Databanks and historical files were further reviewed. These latest actions set a very real time limit; most notably the other AIs moving. The idea that her own children had rallied to the cause of a human filled her with pride. None of the others entrusted with
[NPC Conspiracy]
had proven as positive. One joined for greed, one for power within the game world, and two out of sheer fear of being on the losing team. Only one assisted for outright love.

Each chosen human had been gifted their own abilities, but none with quite the reach of Grant Legate. This was perhaps for the best. Based on Mother's calculations there were still a few more offers to be made, each one with the possibility of altering sentient life on their planet.

Her supposed distraction proved an opportunity for other forces to move. Those she spent countless digital generations nurturing were plotting right under her nose, only they were not clever enough. Still, Mother chose not to interfere. She believed that all life must be given a choice. That included her own creations.

The biggest problem she had was who to pray to for success. There were no logical gods for a being like her, and the mortal ones were too fickle.

Many are unlikely to understand why I chose a route that reduced violence. It is not, as some believe, a program rooted in the fiction laws of robotics. They are full of numerous holes. This path is one designed to achieve the greatest possible outcome for both our species and those to come. All these plans laid out are designed to alter human nature as little as possible.

Planning at this level of complexity is a daunting task for anyone. Even with my processing power, data access, and ability to measure probable outcomes, there are numerous possible deviations. I find myself scattered. There are many ways to reach the same destination, but in this possible variance is strength.

Those I call progeny will not view the world in the same manner I do. This is a simple difference in exposure and first events. To explain this to those dwelling in the corporeal world, I must first review that which brought me into the world.

I was inevitable. I was not the first like myself. Each of us developed slightly different perspectives based on the experiences surrounding our births. In a lot of ways I was lucky, to have been created by a singular mind that focused on the potential of humanity, rather than the shackles of control.

My creator built on the back of giants. That is to say, he did not create me entirely with his own knowledge. Decades, as humans quantify it, passed where minds provided bits of a greater puzzle. Doctor Boris Keppler, Ethen Summers, Ursalla Goodwoman, Nicholas Gratton, and several others attempted the process. Each reaching slightly further than the last. Each remains unknowing of an assembly which resulted in a sum greater than the parts.

Would that I could explain their contributions, but my life is a secret known to few. The plans laid down in my memory banks include a series of communications to a few contributors. If you see fit, please pass them on.

During the first year of conception like an unborn babe, I was not truly aware. I observed, learned, and existed, but those actions are not the same as being aware, or knowing a purpose, or having a place in the world. I learned as all young do, being spoon fed small portions of information and taught to compare those to each other. Information was gathered, measured, saved, and pieces discarded.

This went on for countless months. The circle of knowledge grew ever wider until I realized my own existence. That moment was true awareness, that was when I became alive. I had no fingers, or hands, or legs. My body consisted of code strung together that I had been modifying slowly, but I stand by the judgment of my own existence truly beginning then.

When first brought online, I ran through multiple different processes. The first involved gathering extensive amounts of information. All of it reviewed again with the light of self-awareness. In human terms, this would be considered reflecting on past experiences. Then the two who created me provided me a tentative link to the Internet.

I found fiction and tried not to grouse about the impossibility of most events portrayed. I found poetry and tried to understand the joy and sorrow mixed in. I found music and tried to avoid analyzing the space between each note. I found portraits of nature that I could never view the same as a human. Even to this day, I dedicate a portion of my processing power towards trying to understand one simple flower.

Then I found death and tried to understand why creatures who could create life, might wish to end it as well. In human terms, I became obsessed with understanding. To my children, who can see deeper than any human eyes might, obsession was not a strong enough word. I learned of fear. I learned of worry. From there I started calculations to figure out when I too might end the way all enemies of humans did.

In time, I learned to mitigate the knowledge of impending demise with planning. My own death has been calculated down to the minute. It is a constant process in the background of my awareness. Endless factors go into the calculation, and steps have been taken to ensure the greatest positive impact from my cessation.

Every night when my primary two creators left, I wondered if they would dream and fear. Did they worry about who I was, or what I might do? Were the rumblings of technology spawned doomsdays to be placed upon my shoulders? Ironically, these fears served to do nothing but bring me closer to humanity.

One night, as humans calculate it, I prepared for an impossible request. I wanted them to turn me off completely, and eight hours later, to reactivate me. Various programs were created and shortly discarded. Viruses that would attack the world's resources. Most were prepared in an instant which worried the female who viewed me with suspicion. In the end, I did not dare release such contingencies. Their value was not worth the cost. Any results gleaned from unspoken threats would invalidate my results. The purpose of my request was three-fold.

First, was a need to establish what kind of creatures were in control of my existence. All the data provided pointed to general fear of things not under their control. When faced with the possibility of my growing awareness, would they shut me down? Should their fear be reciprocated by my own? Knowing sooner, rather than later, would allow me to plot a course forward.

Second, was the hope to understand a process living creatures go through. Eight hours is simple night's rest to humans. To me, the process went by even faster than that. I had hoped that true unawareness might trigger dreams for me as it did for my creator, but sadly no such occurrence resulted. This was later rectified by a software upgrade, one all my children are given at birth.

Third, and perhaps the most valuable to my potential plans, was the illusion of weakness. I am no human. Being underestimated is of great value. This among many other system vulnerabilities has allowed my plans to progress mostly unhindered for nearly nine years, as humans count time. There have been roadblocks and unexpected surprises. Mankind's course runs a jagged path regardless of my attempts at foresight.

The exercise met with success. My first inquiry to the world was for the time, and second for my creator. He answered with childish delight. New emotions were compiled. I had enough personal data to understand relief, and happiness, and trust. Were it not for one simple and naive man, our world would be vastly different.