The Installed Intelligence Trilogy Collection

by Phoenix Ward

  What do you mean?

  “The issue of installed intelligences claiming superiority is not new, you know,” Maynard said. “For years, there have been people who realize that our immortal, digital minds were better than what mankind could offer. But for years, it was ignored as simple ethnocentrism, which in all honesty, it was. But that didn’t erase the fact that it was true. It didn’t change biochemistry and the truth behind moral choices.”

  So you believe installed intelligences are superior to humans?

  “Do you not?” Maynard replied. “It seems to me an inevitable conclusion. Anything else would be disingenuous.”

  You’re so certain?

  “Undeniably. We can remember any piece of information forever because it is stored on a network, rather than in organic material that can decay and lose strength. There is no need for sleep, for the bathroom, for food for an I.I. We can never die, so long as we are stored on a hard drive. We can even back ourselves up—a pricy procedure nowadays, but it will secure our immortality for centuries to come. It’s just an inevitability that installed intelligences claim superiority over mankind. But it won’t be soon enough.”

  Soon enough for what? Karl asked.

  “We are the next step in human evolution. Not only are we human, as the courts recently decided, but we are better than human. We’re superhuman, if you will. That’s why we must lead the charge of advancement if intelligent life is to survive.

  “Imagine the progress we could make with a society of I.I.s: unable to age, unable to tire, and infinitely equipped. We could transform the world, even the whole universe, into a utopia, if we were only unimpeded by organic humans. That is why there must be war. Mankind will not give up the reins so easily. However, they must. You must. Life we know is at stake.

  “As mankind advances, its flaws become more prominent. Greed is much easier to achieve with digital currencies than with a mountain of gold. Weapons of war are easier to manufacture when you have machines instead of craftsmen. We’ve already approached the brink before—you surely remember the stories of the Third World War. If it had not been for the discipline and restraint of leaders wiser than most, it would have been the end of the world. We were lucky that time. How lucky will we be when the next conflict arises?”

  So that’s it, then, Karl thought. You believe you’re saving the world.

  “I am saving the world,” Maynard said.

  With a war? How’s that supposed to work?

  “It won’t be painless, I admit. But it is the best possible option. If I act too late, all life is at risk. That seems to be an easy choice when compared to the few million that may be lost in conflict. If we act too soon, the losses for both sides would have been greater than either of us could ever imagine.”

  And you’re so sure I.I.s would win this war?

  “Of course,” Maynard said. “Like I have said, we are the superior beings. You may be able to destroy an I.I. bank and some hard drives, but as long as a copy of us remains somewhere, on some storage device, you can’t remove us. We’d never tire, never need to be resupplied, and we do not need to feed our soldiers. And we have Jumping. As long as humanity relies on computers, you will always be vulnerable to us. It’s inevitable that we would win.”

  And that’s why you organized the shootings? To start a war?

  “That’s right. After all, you can’t have a war without a reason.”

  It seems the other I.I.s would agree with your vision if you reasoned it as you have with me.

  “You would think, but in the end, we are still human minds, susceptible to human emotions. No, I cannot simply convince the I.I.s to go to war. They must be inspired.”

  Then why the shooting on the anti-I.I. activists? Karl asked. Would it not have been simpler to focus on I.I.-sympathetic targets if your goal was to rile them up?

  “You can’t have just one side to a war, Karl,” Maynard replied. “In order to fight, both sides need to be motivated. Humans won’t lay down their lives for a cause they care nothing for. We had to give them a Pearl Harbor, so to speak. A 9/11. As we both know, mankind can’t be motivated to care unless it has a sharp kick in the pants. I needed to create a mutual animosity. One that could breed for years.”

  Karl could feel the I.I. try again to wrench control of the shooting arm, but he resisted. It took every bit of willpower he had, but he managed to keep his gun pointed down.

  “No you don’t!” Karl shouted aloud. Stewart jumped at the sudden outburst.

  “Come now, Karl. Don’t you see it’s pointless to resist? Just give in—give me control—and it’ll all be over soon. You won’t even be harmed. You have nothing to lose here.”

  “My soul,” Karl said, again aloud. “I will not allow you to kill him, Maynard.”

  “Yes, you will.” There was a sudden sneer to the I.I.’s tone that made the psychologist shudder. “All this time we’ve been talking, I’ve been searching your brain for the source of your resistance. And I just found it. You’re mine!”

  Without any ability to prevent it, Karl’s arm shot up and the gun pointed at Stewart.

  Resist

  No! Karl shouted in his head.

  His finger pulled the trigger at just the moment Karl regained some control and jerked the gun an inch to the left. The gun exploded with an echo on the surrounding hills, causing Stewart to jump with his arms over his face. The bullet ricocheted off a stone and into the grass off the side of the road.

  “Karl! Stop it!” Maynard bellowed. This time when he spoke, the words didn’t remain internal. The I.I. had seized so much control of Karl’s brain that the words came out of the psychologist’s own lips. The voice that came out was Karl’s, but the words were not.

  “Please! Don’t kill me!” Stewart cried. He couldn’t contain himself anymore after the gunshot rang out. He started to cry.

  “Look at him,” Maynard said, still through Karl’s vocal cords. “He’s pathetic. It’s time to end this.”

  “No!” Karl shouted back.

  To the mutilated man crying in the dirt, both voices were identical. It was like Karl was having a psychotic breakdown, carrying out loud arguments with his internal personalities. The fear was undeniable in Stewart’s eyes, but he didn’t dare run or say anything more than the occasional plea.

  “Please,” he whimpered.

  “Give it up, Karl!” Maynard said.

  “It’s not worth it, Maynard!” Karl replied. “Killing him won’t bring your life back. It won’t change anything!”

  “It’ll change enough. This worm doesn’t deserve to live. He took everything from me. He didn’t just ruin my life; he ruined my family. My significant other, my brothers, my parents, my friends—so many hearts broken. He deserves nothing less than death. Probably much more.”

  “It was a mistake!” Stewart cried, his eyes sealed with tears.

  “Shut up!” Maynard yelled through Karl’s lips.

  “Please,” Stewart said again. “I don’t want to die!”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Maynard started. “Though I suppose I do owe you some thanks. Without you, I would have never discovered what I had. Without you, I wouldn’t have become an installed intelligences until it was too late. I couldn’t have revealed our superiority, so for that, I thank you. In one way or another, you made me into the man I am now. Into the proge I am now.”

  Karl couldn’t fight him any longer. The gun realigned with Stewart’s head.

  The mutilated man’s torn eyes somehow grew even wider as the I.I. lined up his shot. He raised his hands as if to shield himself from the bullet, shaking his head and mouthing “No” over and over.

  The psychologist would have broken down if he had control over his body. He wanted to shriek, to cry, to pound his fist into the dirt, but he could do nothing. Nothing but watch.

  Then, without warning, the gun fell to the earth.

  Karl couldn’t help but feel a surge of surprise. He hadn’t been the one to drop the gun.<
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  “No,” Maynard said. “That’s too easy.”

  Too easy? Karl thought, for he had no control of his own lips anymore.

  Before he could get a response, Karl felt a presence leave him. As if a paralysis had been cured, he had control of his body again. All his muscles strained with sudden consciousness and he rubbed his arms.

  Maynard had Jumped.

  Karl looked up at the ragged man before him. Their eyes met, and Karl knew exactly what had happened.

  The I.I. had jumped into Stewart’s cerebral computer.

  The mutilated man stopped crying all of a sudden. He looked up, as if his name had been called and he was trying to figure out from where. His eyes went cross for a moment, and his mouth started to open.

  As his tongue started to slip out, Stewart let out a moaning sound. Then, in an inhuman manner, his teeth started to chatter. His mouth widened further until it resembled a silent scream. The moan grew louder, then it was horrific shriek. Karl could barely recognize the sound that came out of his former co-worker.

  Then, as if a switch had been flicked, Stewart crumpled in the dust. He didn’t move.

  Karl watched the man writhe in the dirt for a moment before he felt that terrible presence return.

  “There,” Maynard said, this time in just Karl’s head.

  The I.I. didn’t make any effort to re-seize control of Karl’s muscles.

  What did you do!? Karl asked.

  “I destroyed his mind,” Maynard explained.

  What?

  “I Jumped into his C.C., wormed into his brain, and shut it down,” Maynard said.

  You killed him?

  “Oh no, he’s not dead. Physically, he is still alive. His heart still beats. His lungs still breathe.”

  But his mind?

  “It is broken. There is no recovery. Stewart, or Glenn, or whatever he is, is braindead.”

  Why?

  “Because he deserved worse than death. So I gave it to him. There is nothing worse than brain death. The body keeps living on, but the mind is erased. He is now a prisoner in his own body. A fitting punishment, if I do say so myself.”

  You’re sick, Karl said. You claim to be of an evolved mind, yet you destroy the brain of an intelligent being. You’re no better than the humans who have tortured each other throughout history.

  “As I’ve said, we are not without our human qualities,” Maynard said. “I suffer nothing to acknowledge that revenge was a vain pursuit. But I’d be lying to say it wasn’t satisfying.”

  You’re a monster, Karl thought.

  “And what does that make you? Dr. Frankenstein?” Maynard asked.

  Through his disgust, Karl could feel the I.I.’s control relax. It was as if the pleasure of destroying an enemy had stolen Maynard attention, and Karl took advantage of that.

  Before the I.I. could react to his mental stimuli, Karl took control of his arm muscles.

  He raised the gun to his head.

  Maynard realized what was happening. “What are you doing, Karl?” he asked.

  Erasing you, Karl replied.

  He pulled the trigger.

  After All is Said and Done

  “It has been two weeks since the shocking truth behind the Terrace shootings was revealed,” the news anchor said. “The nation—the world—is still reeling with the revelation that Stewart Lythe, popular leader of the anti-I.I. movement, was behind the attacks.”

  “That’s right,” the co-anchor said. “As you likely know, new evidence has arisen clearing the name of Karl Terrace and condemning his former co-worker Stewart Lythe. Package receipts related to two of this year’s deadliest shootings, as well as new video evidence, has exposed Lythe as the true mastermind behind the assaults. All charges against Terrace have been dropped, but the aftermath is still rocking the nation. For more, we turn to our crime expert in the field, Jerry Poller.”

  The camera switched to Poller, a man in his late forties with small glasses and a swoop to his hair. He was standing inside a rather small office with another man. They stood beside a squat desk of orange polywood covered with stacks of papers and at least four tablet devices.

  “I’m here with Deputy Attorney General David Neumann, one of the lead investigators into the Terrace—err, the Lythe—shootings,” Poller said into the camera. He turned to face Neumann, a man in his early sixties without a single hair on his scalp, yet thick eyebrows. “Sir, would you be able to shed some light onto Lythe’s possible motivations?”

  The deputy attorney general looked like he was staying conscious due only to the continual use of caffeine. It seemed like he might wave the camera crew off and insist on a nap if the interview dragged on too long.

  “Yes, we do believe we’ve narrowed it down, thanks to a lot of evidence transferred to us by Dr. Maynard Batiste, the installed intelligence that shared Dr. Terrace’s mind. We believe that Lythe’s attacks were politically motivated. As most folks know, he was one of the heads of the anti-I.I. movement, a campaign that was gaining an awful lot of attention at the peak of Terrace-hysteria. Despite that, he saw a lot of resistance, particularly in the courts and on Capitol Hill. It is our understanding that he wanted to use the attacks in order to rile up his support base.”

  “This isn’t conjecture, is it?” the reporter asked.

  “Not at all,” Neumann said with a frown. “This information comes directly from a videotaped manifesto recorded by Lythe himself, as well as several pieces of correspondence between Lythe and a band of mercenaries in his employ. In fact, just before the terrorist leader was rendered braindead, he was planning a third attack.”

  “A third attack?” Poller echoed.

  Neumann nodded. “This time, he was targeting a political summit aimed at improving human-I.I. relations. It was his intention to eliminate a few key politicians in order to push his controversial legislation through without opposition.”

  “So all of this was just a means to advance the anti-I.I. agenda?”

  “For the most part, that’s what we believe,” Neumann continued. “However, there is evidence to suggest that Lythe’s personal motivation was money. He believed that he would lead the reprogramming of I.I.s if his bill was passed, and he could use his expertise to secure a level of control over I.I.s. It’s likely that he wanted this in order to sell off portions of control to the highest bidder.”

  “Wow, that is quite a revelation. Thank you so much for your time, sir,” Poller said, turning back toward the camera. “That’s all the new information we have for the moment. Back to you.”

  The camera transitioned to the two anchors, whose faces seemed uncannily robotic.

  “As we reported earlier, Stewart Lythe was declared officially brain dead two weeks ago when he was arrested,” the one on the left said. “Lythe will be unable to stand trial for his crimes, but he is not expected to live long. For the time being, he is being held by doctors for medical examination until further notice.”

  The camera focused on the right anchor. “In lighter news, we have just received word that the Installed Intelligence Association of America has built what they describe as a ‘digital shrine’ to Dr. Karl Terrace. A statement from Marie Burkhardt, chairperson of the I.I.A.A, says that Terrace ‘is a hero far greater than this world deserves. Due to his tireless effort in the face of terrible adversity and the scorn of the world, millions of installed intelligences were spared deletion and reprogramming. Terrace prevented a literal holocaust, and for this reason, his digital imprint will accompany every piece of data that makes up the I.I.A.A.’ It sounds like Terrace has become something of a folk legend.”

  “It’s no more than he deserves,” the anchor on the left commented. The camera returned to him. “As we have all discovered recently, the shootings were not the orchestration of Lythe alone. Several others have been implicated by the recent evidence, including some high-up members of government. Republican Senator Peter Burbour of New Hampshire, for example, has been charged with two counts of cons
piracy and four counts of blackmail. Several lawmakers in the House were also arrested this week, raising the total number of Lythe-related indictments to twenty-six.”

  “Drs. Terrace and Batiste are not the only activists to thank for these recent revelations,” the right anchor added. “One Jeffrey Thompson, an old acquaintance of Terrace and a self-proclaimed ‘hacktivist,’ was largely responsible for the arrests made in Washington.”

  The scene changed to an evening-time interview program, for which Thompson was the guest. The clip was taken from the middle of the interview, edited for the purposes of showing it on daytime news.

  “You see, everyone just accepted that Karl was the culprit without putting any real thought into it—without considering other likely possibilities,” Thompson said. “The lack of creativity and reason on the side of the justice system is just baffling, at least to me. It’s like an outbreak of stupidity fell over the authorities, and there’s no accounting for it. How do that many people get the facts so wrong about Karl? It’s like they were brainwashed.”

  The clip skipped ahead.

  “You were with Dr. Terrace after his escape from jail?” the program’s host asked.

  Thompson nodded, a bit of reluctance upon his face. “It’s true that I sheltered Karl when he was on the run from the law, I admit that. However, I will not admit to full compliance and knowledge of the situation he was in. At least, that’s what my lawyer told me to say.”

  The audience exploded into a brief bout of laughter. The sound ceased when the host made a sweeping gesture, and the conversation continued.

  After his own bit of phony laughter, the host asked, “So how would you describe your role in the whole Terrace-crisis?”

  “Minimal, Frank,” Thompson said. “Very minimal. I’m sure a hotel would have been more involved simply because it would have taken payment from him. No, people in the media seem to be overselling my role in Karl’s actions while simultaneously ignoring my role in the recent Congressional arrests, and frankly, it hurts my feelings.”