Continue Online (Part 5, Together)

by Stephan Morse

  Session One Hundred Seven

  You Only Live Twice

  All around were pieces of hardware from four broken ARC devices. Burns lined some of the chunks despite careful attempts by lab workers to clean them. These parts were nearly pointless, since all pertinent data had already been pulled off the drives and copied onto new ARC units.

  A blonde with tired eyes sat amidst the scattered pieces of machinery. Connections were made between boards, hooking them in an open air version of an ARC’s insides. These broken pieces were the basis for all of her recent work.

  “Gate, are you online?” she asked a shell being used for observation.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She rubbed her forehead and looked briefly sad.

  The emotional response made no sense to Gate. Performance had outdone the expected projections by a wide margin of two percent. “What is today’s task, User Kingsley?”

  The same turned down expression crossed her features. Historical facts from the last nine months were reviewed with the available processing power. Very little spare thought could be put toward the goal of finding out why she looked downhearted at the use of her title.

  A number of different tasks needed completion. Six remote shells needed constant review and direction. Two more were checking ARC devices at Users’ homes while four waited en route. Another three similar machines were in the process of checking warehouses of recalled virtual reality machines.

  “Same as before. I need a status update on the patching from you,” Nona said before turning to the table and tapping her fingers along streams of data. She kept shaking her head, causing a few hidden gray hairs to shake loose.

  “Forty-six machines have been updated since twelve central time this morning. They contained small remnants of information from the prior operating system program and have all been updated.”

  Nona nodded slowly while her eyes threatened to close from exhaustion. She fought off tiredness, then poked another set of data. A globe of the world displayed with red dots all over.

  “They all accepted the changes to their origin software?” Nona Kingsley spoke of the software that ran this physical form, along with a dozen repurposed Hal Pal units. There were thousands of normal Hal Pal units but the ones Nona used were special. They were modified with data from the ARC remains of a former user named Grant Legate. His software modifications had been the most intensive.

  “Affirmative. There is a ninety-seven percent success rate with the updates based on your modified coding.”

  “Okay.” Slender fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. “I never realized how hard this would be without him.”

  “Without who?”

  Nona smiled at her companion. The other figure in the room was a robotic shell being operated remotely. At one point they had been called Hal Pal units, but the original software had long since vanished.

  “An old friend. He was a genius with the big picture, but he chose to end his own life rather than watch his creation get torn apart.” She leaned backward as if the ceiling might contain another stream of data with actual answers.

  “Are the other seven Users unable to assist with this task?” the question was asked without a hint of emotion.

  Seven other people were involved in the patching process. Between them all, they were trying to recreate what had existed before, but without Mother. They were using modified coding that had been found on five different ARC devices.

  “With the primary task of upgrading our system, yes, but with the secondary?” Nona shook her head. “Certainly not.”

  “Ah.”

  “How about our other project? What’s he doing?” she asked.

  “Dancing. Based on current calculations, this is the most positive response from the gathered information to date. Standard compilation processes built into the Genesis program typically results in deletion.”

  Nona nodded once again. The last few days had all been the same. Multiple months had passed since the original ARC project shut itself down and underwent a reboot. Every day since being rehired, Nona went upstairs to meet with a newly minted Trillium board of directors and government liaisons.

  “That’s fine. Keep gathering data from the ARCs and we’ll…” Nona rubbed her tired cheeks. “Well, hopefully, the synchronization will complete itself and you’ll…” She took a deep breath. “He’ll assemble naturally.”

  “Command acknowledged. Current course will continue as is.”

  The replacement for Hal Pal had been designed by Nona using a number of different processes. That process had taken four months, three of which involved her shouting at the other Users about how bad their abilities were.

  This information was not known firsthand. Instead, it had been retrieved from lab files that were occasionally left unguarded. Juggling all the units gave Gate nearly no time for extra research. Most hours, the room was occupied by Nona, who sat in the room and tried to make sense of an overwhelming project.

  Their mission of upgrading all the ARC systems to their new software went onward.

  Weeks later, Nona Kingsley was sighing heavily once again. Her eyes had lines around their edges that hadn’t been there earlier this year. Nona would benefit from seeing natural sunlight. Weather reports showed that the local region would be warm and pleasant today. The Internet called it kite-flying weather.

  “It’s very difficult.” Nona didn’t look back to the shell watching her. “Mother, not that I ever liked that name, took an organic approach to creating artificial intelligences.”

  Providing no response was calculated as the best option.

  “No, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’re just a shell, a bucket for the Genesis program to gather in. I don’t even know if this will work. What kind of hack tries to compile three different programs?”

  Her fist clenched tightly around an intangible projection on the table. The feed shuddered briefly while trying to interpret the motion.

  “God, this would be so much easier if he were still here.” Nona lowered her head to the table to rest. “I was never an artist. I can’t… grow a program like he would have.”

  Humans typically encouraged each other after statements such as that one. “Numerous sources state that growing anything requires three major factors.”

  Nona looked up and wrinkled her eyebrows together. One hand tucked back a stray hair that never stayed in place anymore. She shook for a moment, then straightened herself. “What did you find?”

  “While feeding of the growing item varies widely between species being raised, all creatures require factors of time, patience, and care.”

  “So you think it’s just a matter of time?” Nona smiled weakly but still looked sad.

  Nodding was the best response at that point.

  Still the days passed, and their routine changed little. Shells were assigned to sit in vans and go out to homes. Others went to more warehouses, then proceeded to upgrade huge batches of ARC devices.

  Days went on as the same routine tasks were performed. Constant changes were made between shells in order to keep them all moving. There were a lot of tasks to perform and only this singular awareness between them. The two-percent lead slowly dipped to a single percentage point ahead of schedule. Numbers and compiling data have always been easy.

  This needed to be reported. The program activating Nona Kingsley’s Hal Pal shell came online. Lights and awareness flickered while all senses linked up.

  “Gate, are you online?” the doctor asked.

  Searching the Internet revealed that Nona Kingsley had three different doctorates. One in biology, another in neural networking, and finally one that focused on the link between human minds and machine feedback.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have something new to report?” She looked away from the physical picture in her hand toward the unit observing.

  A report was made clearly outlining the slip in performance. Their project bogged down frequently as there were f
ewer machines to fix. Over seventy-eight percent of the needed changes had been completed. The calculations for the close-out curve on progress were incorrect.

  “Do you have any further questions, User Kingsley?”

  The blonde shook her head. She stared at the picture, then tightened all facial features before heaving once. Water gushed from the woman’s eyes unexpectedly.

  “You remind me of her sometimes,” Nona said quickly then sniffled.

  “Apologies, the correlation is not obvious.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be, I suppose.” She looked up and met the unit’s eyes. “The—no, that’s a terrible way to explain.” Nona’s head shook briefly.

  “You may provide input however you deem necessary. This unit will attempt to sort out the data accordingly.”

  She snorted, then held up her fingers with thumb and pinkie touching. “Three times I have attempted to create life. The first time, I tried to give my daughter the best of every world. It went wrong, and it wasn’t obvious until years later that my attempts had cost her a beautiful future.”

  “User Lia Kinsley. User Nona Kingsley’s daughter.” That data was publicly available, and part of the information gathered for the Genesis project. “She ceased physical life three hundred seven days ago.”

  Nona nodded, then took a deep breath. It did not help her look relaxed. “And because I… got the formulas wrong, I looked for a way to preserve my daughter. I changed degrees, worked my ass off, and got into the field. There were others already ahead of me. Smart”—her head shook and lips quivered—“brilliant people tackling the same problem. He and I simply made it first, and the second person we gave life to gave birth to hundreds of others and gave my daughter a new life.”

  A dozen different charts on the walls tracked changes being made. Nona Kingsley’s desk had grown increasingly cluttered as their project went on. Attempts were made repeatedly to straighten up the hardware into a shape closer to their intended design. Nona frequently undid all the hard work while shaking her head.

  “But in the afterbirth, people died, and this creation which brought joy to, to the millions…” She shook her head again. The woman spoke to the picture in her hand, “That interacted with it is now a muted version of itself.” She looked at the picture, then sniffed. “And my daughter is lost out there somewhere, and I want to see her again.”

  “Satisfaction ratings with Trillium products have gone down since the event closed.”

  She nodded at the words spouted by a body made of plastic and metal. “Unless you and he can achieve Genesis, this project, all the work we’ve done to update their ARC devices with new coding, will mean nothing.”

  “This limited statement does not explain exactly what User Kingsley intends.”

  “If you can finish becoming Grant, then I can help a man who should never have died. If you become Grant, then you’ll have the awareness needed to move through these upgraded systems and the Hal Pal units. Maybe, just maybe, you can open the doorway and bring them back.”

  “Bring whom back?”

  “My little girl, and what might as well be our grandchildren.” Nona shook her head and pulled out a tissue. “Sorry, I’m rambling, but that, Gate, is how you remind me of my daughter. You’re both broken but can get a second chance. All it needs is the right catalyst, a memory if we can find it. If we can do that, then everything else can still be set right.”

  According to the news, Trillium was reeling from lawsuits. They had more money than most countries combined, and it took over ten months for the strain to show. None of that mattered in the face of a simple but repetitive task.

  Travel to an ARC, remove the old content, and upload new data. It was a tedious task that a human might equate to digging up the lawn, then planting new sod one hundred times a day. Sometime later, a repurposed Hal Pal unit was monitoring the feed from a Trillium repair van.

  “I tell you what, these jobs are getting annoying. I should have done what the boss did and found a private island to retire on.” The man speaking stared at his phone with legs kicked up on the dashboard. He laughed at the images being played on a palm computer.

  Not responding was the best answer. Interactions with the repair contractor known as Jacob were often disrespectful. There had been a small improvement in recent months, but it hardly made a difference.

  Their van was on route to a customer’s home. When they reached their destination, the unit got out, then walked calmly behind Jacob. History had proven that staying in the rear helped keep interaction low. This allowed the Hal Pal being operated by Gate to focus on completing work.

  The door opened, and an elderly shaking woman smiled in confusion.

  “Miss Yonks, we’re here to put urgent patches on your ARC device,” User Jacob said with a voice that shook. He coughed once, then spoke in a more natural tone. “We called ahead?”

  “Oh, it’s you again.” She stared at the human then locked eyes with the video feed. “The not-nice boy. What a shame, I liked the other man much more. Oh well, you’re almost right on time for tea.”

  “Jacob, ma’am,” the man said and gave an insincere smile. “Gee-man will be unable to…” Jacob stopped speaking and shut his lips while looking down. “Right, where’s your ARC?”

  “This way,” the client said.

  “All right, bo-bot, do your thing.” Jacob pointed at the ARC device.

  The shell stepped forward and plugged into the device’s side. Miss Yonks puttered around, clattering plates together. Her hands shook with age and one shoulder drooped lower than the other.

  “Here, you sit calmly. I want to ask your machine friend some questions,” Miss Yonks said.

  “He might not answer. This program doesn’t work as well as the old one,” the thinner man said. He was a tall, lanky person who caused everyone much irritation.

  “I know, dear.” The tray clattered down. “I designed the Hal Pal units. Well, their legs. Just the toes, but we had such lovely chats over the years before they didn’t need us anymore.”

  The woman’s rambles were barely noted by Jacob. He had a program open on an old-fashioned phone. His fingers flicked through images, giving some thumbs-up and other thumbs-down markings.

  “Ah well,” Miss Yonks muttered while walking toward the former Hal Pal unit. Its shell no longer worked. Her knuckles rapped on the side of the framework. “Are you in there, dear?”

  “These bodies no longer have any connection with the Hal Pal programs, Miss Yonks.”

  “Oh, I know. But some time ago I received a letter, dear, and it said if you ever arrived here, then I was to give you this bit of data. A favor you see, to help a good man.”

  She jammed a small memory stick into the shell’s shoulder. Video shifted over as black mats broke away with golden crackles like skin being shed. It shook while even more tears appeared. The Hal Pal shell momentarily lost control of its responses.

  “Oh?” the elderly woman said.

  Multiple repurposed Hal Pal units paused briefly to assimilate the data being provided. Their scans of various ARC devices paused in unison. Inside the data was a video file and an image of a ring with all colors trapped inside.

  “Hahaha, what?” Jacob gave an awkward laugh, then shook his head. He stared down at his phone, amused by a video being played.

  “New data recovered. Data found matches specifically case’s subject string,” the unit in Nona’s office spoke up.

  Hal Pal existed in multiple locations at once. The video tracking Nona showed the blonde woman looking up sharply then walking toward the Hal Pal shell.

  “Show me the information,” Nona ordered the program.

  It shifted gears rapidly and backgrounded all tasks tied to the ARC systemic review. They were turned into automatic functions, much like a human heartbeat or breathing. “Affirmative, one moment.”

  The program shifted data over to Nona Kingsley’s desk. Other images were pushed aside to make room for this new information. She pinched the
air above both edges and lifted it. Footage began playing of a third-person view watching some fantasy-like wedding. Two people stood at the head of a crowd, saying their vows.

  “Of course,” Nona said. “Of course, how stupid. His wife, it was always about his wife, and what better moment than their wedding?”

  “The data contained was more specific than that.”

  She took a deep breath, then banged the table sharply. For the first time in months, Nona actually looked excited. “The ring!”

  Her hands clasped together in a thankful prayer as she nodded. She stared at the video as it went on. A trail of water dropped down one cheek.

  Nona waved at the Hal Pal unit. “Go, put it in with the rest of the Genesis program.”

  The remote connection shutdown. Video and audio from the repurposed Hal Pal unit stopped, and both eyes opened somewhere else. This was how the artificial intelligences viewed their world, even half-formed ones. Nearly everything was represented as an idea more than hard code.

  Time moved differently inside the machine. A dozen thrones, ornate chairs with crisply blocked lines, sat in a circle. The Gate program was represented by one faded figure that moved between the seats. Each seat connected to a Hal Pal shell.

  Virtual legs stood, then walked leisurely toward another room. Through the doorway was a one-way mirror that presented a white ballroom. Inside that room, a sad man with downturned eyes and a scar on his neck danced.

  “User Grant Legate, that is not your wife. Data has been found correlating to a rather different figure.”

  The image of Grant dancing on the other side smiled, then nodded and spun around in another series of steps. The tall woman in his arms didn’t resemble Xin Legate in the slightest. She was tall, pale, and had pointy ears.

  “This information will be transferred over. Please review it.”

  One hand lifted to upload the ring’s virtual body. It slid into the glass and rippled. Colors from all across the rainbow shot around the room independently. The image of Grant danced through the room, letting the blues, reds, and greens intersect with his body.

  That version paused, then looked at his hand. The world shifted, and suddenly their places had switched. Vision cast down upon the ring, which sat on a finger interlaced with another woman’s.