The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

  The first man was already shaking his head when the camera switched to him. He seemed to be amused, as if his critic spoke in conspiracy theories.

  “That’s quite a leap to make, sir,” he started to argue. “That’s like assuming the creation of the Independent Party would lead to an officially recognized Klan party. However, should such organizations seek to become part of the political process, I think it would be un-American to deny them. Look, people will do what they want to do, even if they have to act outside the law. The Humanity Party—and groups like it—are no exception.”

  “What a douchebag,” Maynard interjected.

  “Everything he says may be garbage, but he has the right to say it,” Karl replied.

  “Does he, now?” Maynard said. “You want the Humanist Party on the ballot?”

  “It seems only fair.”

  “So anyone can just slap the word ‘party’ onto their name and get people in government? You know, there was another ‘party’ that was really popular in Germany—”

  “Apples and oranges.”

  “Is it, though?”

  Karl gave him no response and instead shut the video off. He cut the feed from his cerebral computer so that nothing but blackness greeted his sight when he closed his eyes. There was a slight buzz in the air as quiet descended on the psychologist. He relished in the silence, reflecting on how little of it he had experienced since he had joined with Maynard. It was so comforting that he started to doze off a little. Soft snores emanated from him, filling the silence like gas in a balloon.

  Just as the sweet relief of slumber was about to steal his senses and numb his extremities, a voice cut through Karl’s consciousness.

  “What’s this?” the I.I. in his brain spoke. “Bedtime already?”

  A growl rolled out from the psychologist’s throat, low at first, but growing until it was almost a roar. The sudden jolt from near-sleep almost brought Karl to tears, but his frustration rapidly evolved into anger.

  “Don’t you ever shut up?” Karl snapped. His voice was seething and exhausted; alien in his own ears.

  “When I run out of things to say,” Maynard replied. “I’ve been thinking—”

  “I don’t care!” Karl erupted. “I don’t think they could have chosen a more selfish and stubborn I.I. had they tried! Once we’re done with the project, I’ll be glad to have you removed forever.”

  “Ouch,” Maynard said. “You hurt my little proge feelings. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover after being insulted by a pseudo-scientist. I guess I’ll only have my lifelong memories of success and loved ones to comfort me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.”

  In a fit of anger, Karl picked up his half-filled cup of water and threw it against the wall. To his relief, the thing was made of plastic and merely sprayed its contents on his floor. Before the cup had finished clattering on the wood, he could feel Maynard laughing in his head. His bursting fury transitioned into hopeless humiliation as he leaned back and took in a deep breath.

  “So are you ready to listen to me?” the I.I. insisted.

  Karl started to count to ten inside his own head, one of the most common tricks in anger management. However, he hadn’t even made it to seven before Maynard interrupted again.

  “Hey, come on. It’s important.”

  “What?” Karl demanded.

  “I told you already: I was murdered,” Maynard started. “I’ve been going over it all evening, and I need your help. The Center uses all the same networks we used in my day to develop the cerebral computer. You folk need that data to develop the mindshare process for C.C. integration, right? It’s a stretch, but there might be… things… left behind in old cloud storage.”

  “What things?” Karl asked.

  “Old research notes. Ones I wrote, or maybe someone on my team,” Maynard said. “I know there’s data buried somewhere—a locked folder or something on the lab’s intranet, perhaps?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Well I don’t yet, but once I do, I’ll need you,” Maynard answered. “What do you say?”

  Karl pondered on the favor for a bit. He could sense the I.I. becoming anxious as he waited.

  “If I look into this for you, do you promise to cooperate with my tests?” Karl asked. “No more distracting. No more arguing.”

  “You got it,” Maynard said. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  Karl was relieved. His annoyance had reached such a level that he might agree to anything for the sake of some peace. He figured that, come morning, Maynard would drop that weird game of his.

  There was no doubt in his mind that it was just some petty game. Some sort of prank the I.I. was playing to keep his eternal consciousness amused. Karl could hardly blame him; if he were nothing but a mind on a hard drive, he would have lost all will to exist a long time ago.

  “Can we start with some sleep?” Karl asked. “Please?”

  The I.I. groaned with annoyance, but ended up agreeing to let the psychologist rest.

  Just before Karl closed his eyes and succumbed to slumber, Maynard left him with one last thought.

  “You’d go a little crazy if you couldn’t dream, either.”

  Progress

  “Lines have grown past early projections as the polls open Monday morning,” the voice on the radio spoke. “In fact, some have become so long that rest stops and water booths have to be set up for voters. So far, the assemblies have been peaceful, but police are still keeping a close eye on them to ensure public safety.

  “Most voters are out today to voice their opinion on a new referendum that could potentially allow installed intelligences to run for public office. The bill was started by a proponent of the Humanist Party, but the language used in the bill backfired on the special interest group, opening representation up for digital personalities. Previous supporters of the legislation are now coming out hard against it, citing the initial premises of the Humanist movement.”

  Karl heard the words as he worked, but they all rolled off his cerebral cortex like wine on wax paper. For once, Maynard didn’t speak while they tested out new lines of code unless he was providing insight on their project. He did hum, however, but Karl found it rather soothing.

  “We’re finally going to get our boys in office and make some changes,” an enthusiastic voice came from the radio stream.

  “How will you feel if installed intelligences are also able to be elected as representatives?” a female anchor asked.

  The other voice laughed a little. “They won’t be getting on a ballot anytime soon,” she argued. “A human election is for human voters, plain and simple. We won’t be letting any proges represent us until we’re all speaking in binary.”

  “There are plenty of people that believe I.I.s can improve the democratic process,” the journalist commented.

  “Plenty of people believed in the Nazis, too. That didn’t make ‘em right.”

  Maynard chuckled at the words and took Karl’s attention away from his keyboard. The psychologist was a little disoriented at first, like someone who had been pulled out of a dream.

  “Can you focus, please?” he asked the man in his head.

  “Sorry, but if you want my attention, you might have to put something a little less hilarious on,” Maynard replied.

  With a simple mental command, Karl switched the station over to some classic rock, replacing the fanatical voices with electric guitar. Maynard expressed his approval as they continued picking apart their finalized software.

  Over two hours passed before any further words were exchanged between them. Finally, Karl compiled their project and installed a prototype onto his cerebral computer. The entire process made the psychologist grateful that the days of wires and plug ports were long gone, though the image of a cord sticking out of his temple was amusing. Still, fiberless connectivity was nothing to sneeze at. Sometimes, he wondered how his parents remained sane with tangled wires everywhere. />
  Such clumsy design, he thought.

  “Anything can seem primitive with the right perspective,” Maynard interjected. “One generation’s marvels are another’s punchlines.”

  The I.I. had a point. There could one day come a device that made the cerebral computer seem like a VCR. Maybe even autonomous cars would become obsolete with the invention of teleportation or something similar.

  What’s the lifespan of my own work? Karl wondered. It seemed like people were outliving ideas more and more frequently these days.

  Karl cracked open his bottle of hormone stimulators, put two capsules in the palm of his hand, and threw them into his mouth. With a quick swig of water, they were down into his stomach.

  “Alright, are you ready to give it a shot?” the psychologist asked, changing the subject.

  “Nah, let me use the bathroom first,” Maynard said.

  “Funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  Karl glanced up at the large mirror in the room. He wondered how many of his peers were observing his every action from behind its one-way surface. He had been moved from his personal office to one of the theatre labs. As a scientist himself, he saw the importance of having several witnesses to his work. Still, he would be more comfortable with his own desk. His own chair. His own mirrorless walls.

  Surely not every lab coat in the building was behind the mirror, but Karl knew most were. The mindshare process was the single most important project in the lab’s history. It would change everything about cybernetics. In fact, it would likely change everything about science itself.

  He turned to the mirror while Maynard was preoccupied and waved.

  “How’re you all holding up in there?” he asked, a friendly smile spread out under his nose.

  There was no reply.

  Odd, Karl mused. Someone’s usually quick to talk back. They must all be out on a coffee break.

  There was a bit of quiet whistling deep in Karl’s brain while Maynard fiddled with the new program. Some might liken it to the sound of a dog whistle, but the psychologist wouldn’t compare it to any other experience he’d had. He waited for the I.I. to say something.

  “Whoa,” Maynard said.

  “What?” Karl asked without a shred of patience. “What is it?”

  “It’s—it’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah,” Maynard replied. “You reek.”

  “I—what?” Karl started to react. Then the full meaning of Maynard’s words hit him. “You can smell?”

  “I can smell,” Maynard said. “I was hoping my first whiff would be of flowers, but I guess I’ll settle for body odor.”

  Karl ignored the insults and threw his hands up in jubilation.

  “It worked!” he cheered. “We have a new sense!”

  “Hooray,” Maynard said with sarcastic enthusiasm. Though he tried to hide it, Karl could sense a bit of genuine joy. “Bring me around a barbeque if you really want me to get excited.”

  Karl examined the clock on his cerebral computer.

  “We finished a full four hours ahead of schedule!” he cried out. “See what can be accomplished when we cooperate?”

  “Does that mean we get to take a break?”

  “Aww, what, you’re already tired?” Karl teased.

  “You want to keep going?”

  “Come on, if we power through we could have the framework for taste established.”

  “God, you’re relentless.”

  Before Karl changed his focus to a new sense, he started to back up several copies of his successful smell program. With just a simple mental command, it was sent over to his head of programming for debugging. Karl felt confident that few, if any, issues would be found.

  The psychologist stood up to stretch his back, reaching up for the empty pockets of air above his head.

  At that moment, a deafening boom erupted and drowned out every other sound in Karl’s ears.

  The Lab

  Ringing stole Karl’s hearing. The blaring shriek inside his ear brought a splitting sensation through the rest of his brain. It took him more than a minute before he could open his eyes, and when he did, the lights in the ceiling seared his corneas. Everything swirled around him in a sequence of images rather than fluid motion. From all the squealing and buzzing, Karl could make out only one noise: Maynard’s voice.

  “What the hell is going on!?” the I.I. screamed in his head.

  Karl had no answers for him. Even if he had, he had lost all ability to be able to communicate them. His tongue felt loose and disconnected, like a piece of tape that had lost its adhesion. His head was pulsing and felt like it might rip apart like wet bread.

  Once the ringing started to recede, Karl could make out other sounds. A bit more distant, muffled through the walls of his office. People were shouting. Some sounded angry, but most sounded afraid. A few even screamed.

  There were thuds banging along the hallway outside as people tossed furniture and each other out of their escape paths.

  The sound of a gunshot ripped through the tense atmosphere.

  The pace of the unseen stampede hastened, and the panicked yells transitioned into shrieks of terror.

  Without thinking, Karl dropped to his knees and froze. There were no windows to watch from, but even if there were he wouldn’t dare look out them. Instead he focused his stare on the threads of his carpet, unable to do anything more than listen.

  “Who is shooting!?” Maynard shouted.

  I don’t know, Karl thought. His breath was too icy to speak.

  “Why are they shooting?!”

  I DON’T KNOW!

  Another shot rang out, then another. A soft thump hit the corridor floor.

  What do we do? Karl asked. What do I do?!

  “You’ve got to hide,” Maynard replied in a firm tone.

  Where?

  “Anywhere.”

  Karl lifted his head as high as he was willing to, which wasn’t more than an inch or two. Using his peripheral, he located his desk and crawled with intense care toward it. Every now and then, he could hear the pop of a gun discharging, usually somewhere in the distance.

  Maynard remained silent while Karl moved, not inclined to break his host’s concentration. With a shaky hand, the psychologist shoved the office chair out of its cubby and crawled under his desk.

  His respiration was labored, and his heart seemed to have difficulty keeping tempo. The blood pounded in his temples until he was sure the vessels would pop. At least then he wouldn’t need to worry about whoever was shooting.

  “What do I do?” Karl asked aloud in a soft, trembling voice. His thoughts were too crowded to speak to Maynard with any degree of intelligibility.

  “Stay down,” the I.I. urged him.

  Karl had no arguments. In fact, he wasn’t sure his legs could move him any more than they had. All his extremities were having their own panic attacks.

  He jolted when the sound of crashing glass shook through the walls. More screams. More gunshots.

  Time was stretched and twisted until Karl could make no sense of it. It felt like a week had passed, though it had been less than thirty seconds. Every heartbeat felt like they were minutes apart.

  After just a few minutes of quaking underneath the desk, the sounds grew less frequent and less violent. All the frantic footsteps had vanished and were replaced with a few calm footfalls. Karl had almost failed to notice the growing silence, content to nearly pass out from the panic.

  “Do you hear that?” Maynard asked. His voice had to fight past the static in Karl’s head to be heard.

  What? Karl thought once his thoughts slowed enough to.

  As soon as he asked, he could make out what the I.I. was indicating. There were loud bangs, but not explosions. One came after the other, with about thirty seconds between each. Karl leapt when a firearm discharged, but he still couldn’t understand what he was listening to.

  What’s going on? he asked.

  “They’re chec
king the rooms,” Maynard guessed. “All of them.”

  The relaxation in Karl’s muscles was fleeting as he took in Maynard’s words.

  They’re going to find me.

  “Maybe they won’t if you stay still,” Maynard said.

  Karl ignored the comment. They’re going to find me.

  His body froze while his mind tried to think of a plan. It was like the wheels in his brain were spinning out over the pavement, failing to move even an inch. Like a car in with the parking brake on.

  “You’re right. You’ve got to move,” Maynard told him after a little thought of his own. “Get out from under the desk.”

  “I can’t,” the psychologist spoke aloud.

  “Yes, you can,” Maynard insisted. “Now move!”

  To his surprise, the muscles in his arms and legs responded to his commands and started to pull him out from the little cubby. He stopped and almost retreated back in when another gunshot ripped through the air, but Maynard convinced him to continue.

  What now?

  “Just hold on,” Maynard replied. “Let me try something.”

  The moments that followed seemed to flow at such a slow pace that Karl could no longer distinguish seconds from minutes, or minutes from hours. He felt the sweat bead out from his hairline while he waited.

  Suddenly, Maynard came back. “I’m in,” he said.

  You’re in? Karl thought. What does that mean?

  “I have all eyes. Wow, I—I didn’t even know I could do this!”

  Do what?!

  “I’m in the security system. I can see all of the camera feeds at once, as well as perimeter and ID data,” Maynard said.

  What? How did you do that? Karl asked.

  “I dunno, I just sort of… jumped,” Maynard replied.

  Jumped?

  “I’m not sure anything I can say will help you understand it better than that,” Maynard said. “It’s like an eagle explaining to a horse what flight feels like. But I’ve got control. And the hallway is clear.”

  You’re sure?

  “Trust me,” Maynard said. “There’s no one in the hall. Get up.”