Total System Failure

by James Hightower

  Twenty-five minutes until your Machine Thinking class.

  He spat into the sink. “Don’t rush me.”

  By the time he showered and dressed, he had just twelve minutes left. His hoverboard really was his most prized possession, the only thing he cared about in this entire house. Vintage QR codes almost completely covered the gun-metal black board. He loved the way the sunlight, no matter how bright, died against the dull slab. His mother’s necklace fell across his chest. Well, maybe not his most prized possession.

  He collected the board and tiptoed out of the house. Once outside, he leaned against the door in what he hoped was a threatening manner. “You’re my least favorite part of the house,” he told it. He would’ve kicked the bugging thing again, but he only had seven minutes to get to class.

  He hopped on his board, zigzagging around pedestrians on their way to work or school. He played music to drown out the noisy drones overhead. Advertisement holograms blurred past until his university campus rose from the ground in jagged columns ranging between brown and white like a collection of rotten teeth. It was the perfect lovechild of a maximum-security prison and an old post office. Another bio-scan and he was through the black gates.

  Red lights flashed across his vision as he accelerated beyond the campus speed limit. Only three more minutes.

  He dodged clumps of students. Damn it, didn’t they have classes to attend? Two more minutes. Being late to this class might be the final straw that broke the digital camel’s back.

  Finally, the dusty, brick-red building loomed into view. Almost there. Closer. Almost time for the bell. He raced up the flight of stairs and was in the classroom in what felt like seconds. At the entrance, he bent over to catch some air. Then the bell sounded off, and the door thumped shut, smacking him softly on the butt.

  His teacher, Mr. Anderson, stood at his desk and crossed pencil-thin arms. “Just by the bell, Mr. August. Please take a seat.” His eyebrows threatened to merge with his hairline as their eyes locked.

  Alec mumbled an apology. A couple students near the front of the class snickered. Overachievers. Alec strode past with his head held high. He heaved a sigh as he set his board down and eased into the seat. Now, with the crazy rush to class finished, he could focus his energy on back on the golden pyramid.

  Mr. Anderson gave a flourish. “Enough of that.” He offered an even more elaborate flourish, and the rows of chairs dissolved into a sea of data points, millions, maybe billions of sparkling dots like a heavily impregnated sky. “The machine mind is mindbogglingly complex. Last class we discussed some AI-based queries to help unpack this sea of information. Today we will discuss advanced algorithms….”

  What a load of space junk. There weren’t any humans who could understand an inkling of the machine mind. No more than an ant could contemplate the pros and cons of an international digital highway.

  Alec didn’t claim to understand machines, but he was well-versed in manipulating them. He bypassed the university firewall with ease and connected to the Net.

  The heavily impregnated sky of data points was replaced with a kingdom of clouds, the white fluffs as large as mountains across the horizon. He held the image of the golden pyramid in his mind. Clouds whipped around him and billowed out in a vague cone shape. He frowned. Not a good sign so far. He dove in, the continent of clouds tickling the tickling his skin, only to discover information on Chinese replicas of the Giza Pyramids, twice as large as the originals. Apparently, the Chinese planned on plating them in 24K gold, but hadn’t announced any construction plans.

  After several minutes of flying site to site, he discovered the Conspiracy Informer with a ninety percent relevance with his search.

  The website materialized in front of him as an old prairie house. He nudged the scarred, wooden door open and entered. The chilly air seemed to seep into his skin. Wrinkling his nose at the strong pine smell, he sidestepped a cobweb. His footsteps creaked against the floor planks. Who knew how long the boards would support his weight? The sooner he got out of here, the better.

  Pictures headlining recent posts were framed along the hallway like family photos. The second picture caught his attention. The golden pyramid. It popped out from the frame, even better than his version. Then it must be an original. He scanned the text below the pyramid.

  Warning to the Public

  I’m writing this message because I fear that I won’t live very long. We are all been lied to, and our all our lives are in great danger.

  I have an informant who is working on a top-secret project called Five Squared. Disturbed by what he saw there, he leaked these pictures to me and told me about the project. Two days later my informant, also a dear friend of mine, was killed in an attempted robbery. The police have covered it up, but I know the truth. He was murdered for what I’m about to tell you.

  Core Technologies, the industry leader in asteroid mining, has been working on the world’s first super artificial intelligence system. After many iterations and a failed beta experiment, they managed to create a stable system. This new super AI was given many tasks to test its might. The scope of these tests was not revealed to my informant, however there have been whispers that the AI entity has discovered a new reality shown below.

  More snapshots of the city lined the text, but none that he hadn’t seen before. He checked the timestamp. Two days ago. He read on in a daze.

  Public, this corporation with its vast funds, power and influence has discovered an inter-dimensional city. The super AI, apparently changed from going through the other side, has escaped. This is when my friend came to me. That was only three days ago.

  This is a highly dangerous situation for humanity. This new form of AI is highly dangerous, and we do not know what its intentions for humanity will be if left to its own designs. We need to stop it before we’re led on an irreversible path to human destruction. Something huge is happening, and the people have the right to know. Petition your representatives. Tell them to shine light on this cover up before it’s too late!

  Act now! We have to stop this AI.

  Robert Candid, a determined citizen willing to fight.

  What space junk. He smirked. What next? Invading aliens?

  Yet, the golden pyramid in all its stunning clarity tipped back to the forefront of his mind. Project Five Squared. A super artificial intelligence system. For most of his life researchers have claimed at various times to have developed super artificial intelligence. With every claim debunked, the prospect of creating such a system dimmed. How was this any different?

  The most recent post showed a gaunt, balding man along a thin woman and two young girls. They all wore giant grins reserved for holidays and special occasions.

  Community in Mourning

  It is with great regret that we inform our dedicated community that Robert Candid, the author of our last post, took his own life just several hours after posting his troubling message. Police found Robert, whose last name won’t be reported, dead next to a bottle of painkillers, dead of an apparent overdose. The police claim no foul play involved and have already ruled his death a suicide. His family and friends were unavailable for comment. We are all in mourning over this concerned citizen, and we sincerely hope that Robert was mistaken in his last post.

  Conspiracy Informer Administrator.

  Yesterday. He swallowed. The post was written the same day he’d received the video. Blood thumped against his ears. Could it be a coincidence?

  A creak, somewhere overhead. He froze, holding his breath. He strained to listen but heard nothing over his rushing pulse. He exhaled. Just his imagination. It must have been, he was on edge and— The wooden planks groaned directly above his head. Then another. Closer to the staircase this time. Alec willed himself to run for the door, but his feet refused to obey. Heartbeats passed. Something stood at the top of the staircase. He could feel their attention on him like a red-hot poker.

  Illumination traced the outline of the door. Too far, he judged. The top
stair squeaked. He willed himself to move, but it was as though his feet had become part of the wooden floor.

  Another groan, this time closer to the staircase.

  The spell shattered with the sound. He raced for the door. His fingers curled around the knob. Something descended in the staircase in loud, hungry bounds. The air grew moist and hot and curiously the smell of minty aftershave filled the air. He turned the knob but knew he wouldn’t get it open in time.

  “Alec August.” Mr. Anderson’s stern voice cut through the nightmare. The classroom reemerged. Mr. Anderson loomed at his side, arms crossed and finger tapping his forearm. “What’s the purpose of this class?”

  “To acquire new knowledge,” Alec answered, his heart still thumping like an animal thrashing in its cage.

  “It is not for our personal queries.” Mr. Anderson’s eyes drilled into him. “You will serve two hours of detention today. Failure to do so will result in immediate dismissal from this course.”

  Alec released a ragged breath and pulled in another. Who had chased him at the Conspiracy Informer? He pressed his palms flat against the desk.

  Satisfied, Mr. Anderson stalked back to his podium. “It’s well known that human thought only encompasses about one percent of total knowledge, and that percentage is shrinking each year. I hope to teach all of you to access some of that knowledge in order to enrich your lives and challenge your mental capacity for the betterment of society.” He cleared his throat. “Now, where was I?”

  “They just do everything for us,” a boy next to him said with a snort. “We don’t need to understand it.”

  Chapter 3

  Alec wasn’t the biggest fan of nature and especially not the steamy jungle that surrounded their lunch table. The canopy cast an oppressive shadow. Even though they sat in a rendering, sweat dribbled down his chin and into his food.

  Domo sat across from him, his friends elven-like face watching him. He looked like he was fighting off a smile, oblivious of the flies orbiting his plate.

  “I trust you’re comfortable,” his friend said with a wave around them. The buzzing from the insects took on an agitated tone. “I know how you southerns like your heat.”

  Alec slapped at the air. He didn’t know the names of half of the murderous insects. “Have you ever been south of the Lakes?”

  “Did a bot eat your dog or something?”

  Alec blinked. “I don’t have a dog.” He’d spent his entire Digital Marketing class combing through the Net for another trace of the golden pyramid. All for naught. And he didn’t dare revisit the Conspiracy Informer.

  “Not even a digital one?” A great terrier materialized beside him. The massive hologram barked and leapt onto Domo’s shoulders. His friend produced a virtual treat and tossed it in the air. The black dog intercepted this with a snap of its jaws. The hologram winked out of existence. “You can have this one. Cost a king’s ransom, but I think I want a German Shepherd next. Are you sure you’re alright? You look a little pale.”

  Alec accepted the download. Domo continued, “Marcia asked about you last class.”

  Marcia. Alec’s stomach flipped at an image of the girl’s glowing heart-shaped face, her auburn hair shining like spun gold. “What did she say?”

  “You don’t seem so interested.” Domo shrugged. “I guess I’ll just tell you later.”

  Alec leaned across the table. “Tell me.”

  Domo shifted side to side in his seat, rendered as a tree stump. “Okay, okay. Alright. She wanted to know if you were going to my party tonight.”

  “Party?” he echoed. When?

  “Wait, you didn’t see my message? I sent an invitation over two hours ago!”

  Alec considered telling his friend what he’d uncovered. It would be nice to share the information with someone else, but Domo was a jokester, too carefree and ever the socialite. Alec couldn’t trust him not to tell someone else.

  “I’ve been distracted recently,” he said.

  “Working hard in your classes, are you?” Domo paused, then laughed at his reaction. “Just kidding, man. Are you sure you’re okay? Anyways, my mom’s going to Seattle on business. Dad is tagging along. I got the place to myself for the whole weekend!”

  Like moving a boulder five times his weight, Alec set aside the mystery of the dead blogger and super AIs to address the situation at hand. “What did you tell her?”

  “That you’re coming. That I wouldn’t let you miss it.” Domo reached across the table and squeezed his shoulder. “She likes you. This is your big chance!”

  Alec swallowed the lump in his throat, but it bobbed right back to the surface. “I have her in my next class. I’ll talk to her then.”

  “No!” Domo clutched his shoulder tighter. “Don’t do that. Just be cool. I’ll set everything up for you tonight. Alright? Don’t worry. Papa D’s got you. I’ll make it happen, but have to go, class is about to start! And don’t tell her I said anything either!”

  The jungle dissolved and the cafeteria lurched into view, most of the seats empty. Five minutes before class. His screen suggested the fastest route to gym. Two minutes at a moderate jog. He pushed into the locker room in two and half. Someone had sprayed ‘iPrivate’ across his locker.

  “iPrivate,” a deep voice rumbled. “Funny.”

  A sculpted figure, leaner than a Grecian statue, towered over him. Stevie McCray. The boy laughed, eyes still on his locker. Owner of numerous accolades: game-winning quarterback, leading scorer on the basketball team and third in the country in home runs, McCray was usually fending off a gaggle of reporters and cameras. Alec guessed this locker room was off limits for the media.

  “My name’s not iPrivate,” Alec said, a flare of anger clouding his better judgment. He regretted the words instantly.

  But McCray only shrugged his massive shoulders. “We don’t get to choose what other people call us, iPrivate. If you weren’t a private, you would understand that.”

  “You don’t know a thing about my life,” Alec snapped. “You’re just some big shot who likes to run his mouth.”

  Oh boy. The other boy’s eyes flashed, his bulk filling the space between them. “Watch your tone. I could crack you in the jaw right now, and you’d be the one who got expelled.”

  Alec withered beneath from the boy’s challenge. He turned away, opened his locker and gathered his clothes. What could he say? McCray was right.

  “Thought so.” He could hear the smirk in the boy’s voice.

  Alec dressed in silence. The bell rang just as he exited. A reporter stood on the shining floors. Her gaze flicked past his shoulder. Her face split into a broad smile. “Did you hear the opposing coach’s comment about you?”

  “Miss,” came McCray’s deep voice behind him. “I don’t do interviews during class.”

  “Looks like we’re both late,” Alec said, hoping to ease the tension between them. McCray was not the type you wanted as an enemy.

  “About the only thing we have in common,” the star quarterback shot back as he shouldered by.

  Alec sighed. The reporter frowned at him as though he was the cause of the athlete’s rebuke. Alec rushed to catch up to McCray.

  “Excellent for you to come,” Mr. Buyer boomed at their arrival. “You are both late, but I won’t deduct any points from either of you. Alejandro, you could ill afford to lose any more points as it stands. I’m expecting a great effort from you today.”

  McCray offered him a look as though to say, ‘Thank me later’. Alec spotted Marcia in a flash of pink shorts. Her violet gaze met his, a trendy modification that all the girls with enough coin wanted. She winked as he walked in her direction. The motion of his arms suddenly felt awkward under her attention as though he’d been walking wrong all day and only just now realizing it. He forced his hands to his sides. Just be cool.

  “For the last two weeks we’ve been watching film of some of the greatest games in basketball history,” Mr. Buyer bellowed. “Now we’re going to have a tournament. Fi
ve on five. Regulation rules. Each team has two subs so that means we have enough for four teams. One game elimination. Eight minutes per game. Check the sheet over there to see which team you’re on. I’m not making any changes so don’t ask. First game is team A and B. You have five minutes to stretch and warm up. Let’s go!”

  His classmates glanced at each other uneasily. Marcia raised an eyebrow when their eyes met. Alec could practically read their minds. Why bother? Whatever team Stevie McCray was on couldn’t lose. Still, the class heaved itself dutifully towards the sign-in sheets as a collective unit. He scanned the sheets of paper for his name.