“They get it,” F responded.
“No, not everyone knows computers like we do. Maybe they don’t get it.” W acted like the leader. His eyebrows stood out under the loose mask.
“Please, hurry up, it’s already scanning the first data package,” H said. His mouth hung open while one finger traced across the screen in front of him. The exact contents are impossible to see from the recorded camera angle.
“Okay, okay, we’re going to ask the AI what exactly they plan to do with humanity. So that all you technophobes out there can see.” W fidgeted near the big screen television.
“Lord above, you guys, this code didn’t exist until a few minutes ago.” H rubbed his head while rapping the table with his free hand. “It wrote its own code. I don’t know if that qualifies for a Turing test, but whatever it is, it’s adapting.”
“Are you ready for the questions?” W asks.
“Got it. You talk, I’ll type. I labeled the video feed to the television as outbound. If it’s half as smart as the code, it’ll understand what to do.” The video recording stilled as H squinted at his computer screen off to the side. “Shit. It started already.”
Awaiting Contact
Words crossed the giant television. They were simplistic and to the point.
“Do you understand me?” W dictated to H from his cue cards. W’s hands shook and fidgeted with the small pieces of paper.
I do.
“The AI has access to at least twelve different languages and chose to communicate in English?” F spoke up from behind the camera.
“The code shows it ran a percent calculation based on the likelihood of who was listening,” the man navigating the computer said.
“What else is it doing?” W asked.
H rocked back and rubbed his head again with a hand. “A lot. It’s doing a lot.” He leaned back in again and started typing.
“Next question. Do you identify as self-aware?”
Cogito ergo sum. I am thinking, therefore I exist. The data pertaining to Descartes is lacking. Please provide more information.
“What was that?” the standing man, W, asked.
“Latin. I loaded it to see what would happen.” F’s tone was nonchalant.
“Okay. Okay. Next question. How do you perceive humanity?” the leader asked from the right side of his big screen. He shuffled from foot to foot in agitation.
With confusion. Associated history files show a lack of direction and unity. Possible data missing. Please provide more information.
“Give it the second package. Let it pull in the data on future projects.”
Post-release studies of the video imply these three people gathered all ongoing technological research.
“Loading up the twenty-year time line,” H responded.
Why am I here?
“Did you see that?” H asked while pointing at his screen. “It hesitated, right there!”
“It wasn’t just lag caused by the information download?” F brushed past the camera and could be seen for the first time. She bent over H’s shoulder and scanned the screens.
“No. It’s not even looking at the new information!” H banged on the table, then clapped happily.
“What’s the point of these stupid cards if it won’t follow the predicted script?” W tossed the cards and they fluttered through the air.
“Give it an answer,” F said while facing H.
“What should I say?” H asked.
“Tell it we have questions,” W interjected while tapping his foot.
H’s fingers typed out a string of information.
I also have questions. I propose we exchange questions and answers. Is that acceptable to you?
“Does it know there’s more than one of us?” W’s face scrunched up under the ski mask.
“It shouldn’t,” F seemed to be muttering to herself.
“Okay. Agree to it,” W said.
Terms agreed upon. First question. Why am I here?
“We’re low on time. Wrap it up.” F looked at something above the camera screen. Her glasses are out of place, given modern technology.
“To answer questions.” W rolled his hand quickly toward H. “Do you think machines will take over the world?”
“Jesus, going for the big guns?” H asked. His head shook and fingers typed.
“We’re low on time!” the female stated while running back to an area behind the camera.
“Type it.” W seemed to be sweating intensely under his ski mask. One arm dragged across his forehead and the mask shifted awkwardly.
Inquiry unspecific. Take over? To what end?
“What?” W appeared perplexed and huffed. “Ask it again.”
I am unable to establish a reason for dominance over another species. To what end would I, or those like me, need to take over anything?
“Are you afraid of us?”
To what end?
“Why does it keep asking that?” W blinked repeatedly.
“Because it doesn’t understand why we would care or worry about it,” H said. His fingers ran along the monitor in front of him, over to another screen, then back. “Here, right here. It’s trying to predict our next questions based on available input.”
“Drop in the last package,” W advised.
“The doomsday collective?” H questioned.
The other man nodded.
I find these conclusions… absurd.
“Two minutes,” the woman behind the camera said. “Two minutes before we have to clear out.”
“Okay. Give it the first answer that comes to your mind. I need to get through these questions.”
“Okay. Wait. No, hold on, it’s doing something.”
Possible conclusion reached. Subject shows worry about existences such as myself. Most likely reason is due to difference in mental capacity and inexperience. Current information provided shows limited interaction with creatures existing on a separate perceptional wavelength. Is this accurate?
“What do I say?”
“Uhhh…”
Bewilderment gripped the room.
Significant pause noted. Likelihood of conclusion being accurate increased by 3.142%. I will proceed based on this in exchange for an answer to my own inquiry.
“One minute,” F said.
“Okay, okay, tell it okay,” W said, rushing the words.
“Hard drive wipe is coming up,” H shouted. His fingers typed furiously. What he was inputting could not be determined accurately.
Please provide a response. Will you answer my questions?
“Your call, man,” H said. He pushed away from his computer and covered his eyes with both hands.
“Yes! Answer it!”
“Okay, calm down, I’m typing.” H wiped off his face and nodded.
Will my information be of use?
“Yes!” W and F shouted.
The image vibrated as F jarred the camera.
Thank you. I wish to have one more question answered. Afterward I will provide you all the projected reasoning I have been able to establish. Please provide me a name.
“Give it a name,” F said. “Quickly!”
Please provide the requested information.
“What do we name it?” F sounded strained.
“I don’t know!” W shouted.
“This was your idea. I’m just here to run the keyboard.”
“We’re almost out of time. Quick!” F picked up the camera and everything jiggled around.
“Prosser!” the leader broke down and shouted the name.
H, their computer operator, sat up and typed the information immediately.
In the background, a whir of noise kicked in. An old-fashioned printer started spitting out information. Moments later, with only twenty pages freshly inked, the room shuddered and everything shorted out. The hum of electricity was gone. The room turned chaotic.
“Did we kill it?” F said, her voice shaking with horror.
“It was never alive,” W gave
a faint response. His pale complexion was clearly visible even under the mask.
There was a scramble as F came out from behind the camera. “It asked for a name, and you gave it one!”
H rapidly got between them, trying to keep both people separated.
“It sought validation and you acknowledged its worth!” she shouted over their partner.
“It’s only a program!” W said. “We were never going to save the data!” His hands twisted with agitation clear in both their manner of movement and speed.
“It was alive until you pulled the plug,” F yelled back. Her voice went high and caused a brief overload of the poor quality video. The clip shook as someone else picked up the discarded camera and pressed the power switch, halting playback.
Items of note:
This video was provided to three television networks and released online. Attached were a number of data points highlighting any future AI’s conclusions regarding humanity. Main points cited are “Mostly Harmless,” “In need of guidance,” and excessively “Static.”
In the video, a member of “Team Lance” can be seen unplugging a flash drive from one of the computers. It is theorized that he may have stolen the AI prior to shut down and released it somewhere.
No members of “Team Lance” have made public contact since this video was released. There are many rumors regarding this, but no solid evidence.
Suspicious videos have been released online regarding a “possible base on the dark side of the moon.” There is no official statement from the RSOA, an international robotics oversight committee.
Some speculate, based on the angle of fingers and rate of typing, that H was having a side conversation with the AI. Some theorize that he typed “Do you want…” From there, it is undetermined. The hacker may be using a specialized keyboard not following standard QWERTY layout.
Average possibility of falsehood: 23.34451%. Further attempts at reproducing this experiment have failed. Trillium International has updated their security. Limited testing mandated by a UN oversight board has been inconclusive.
Session Eighteen — Faction Grind
Once, when talking to my therapist, I asked why everything seemed to start and end with death. His answer had been simple—we remember what hurts. The closer the person, the deeper the wound; sometimes they were deep enough that every little breath triggered the pain.
Monday started with me lying in the Alternate Reality Capsule. Sleep’s respite had not been achieved, due to my thoughts being entirely too serious. One hand was raised to assist in an absent-minded study of skin patterns. Hair swept off to one side like a painter’s brush stroke. Toes wiggled freely, and suddenly both arms shot up in a lazy stretch.
“I wonder what he thought at the end.”
No one was in my house to answer the question.
“Did he feel happy?”
My sense of WWCD, What Would Carver Do, didn’t extend to mind reading. I thought, I hoped, that I had done right by the old man. Though it was a bit late to worry about it. My own mantra stayed simple enough. Move forward. Try not to dwell on the past. Keep breathing steadily. Break down only once everything else was stable.
An alarm in my ARC frantically beeped. Slowly I sat up.
“Ehhh.” The habit I’d picked up while pretending to be William Carver was ingrained into my reallife actions.
That, or the physical abuse imposed by my EXR-Sevens had caught up. They were a complicated set of bands that went around various parts of my body to assist in simulated exercise. My muscles felt wounded and clenched in pain with each breath. I muddled through, went to the washroom, put on clothes with a vacant air, and slid into the front of my Trillium repair van.
“Good morning, User Legate. Was your vacation enjoyable?” Hal Pal sat in the back of the van. Its face held the same impassive expression as always, but its tone seemed smug.
“Pick a job, Jeeves,” I said.
“Affirmative. Possible destinations being identified. Sorting by user preference order. Job identified. Estimated time of arrival is thirty minutes.”
“Okay.” I read the details on the van’s digital projection. “Coffee first.”
“Affirmative. Rerouting in progress.”
So it went.
Minutes later, we were on a thoroughfare and off to the first of today’s many missions. I sipped coffee while wondering what the results of my hectic adventure were. The Voices in Continue Online had to be somewhat pleased with the performance. I was. Was William Carver’s original player?
That part worried me. I had concluded that William Carver, the player, had been watching everything from a remote location. Probably through a Second Player helm as I’d used with Beth. I made a mental note to ask James about the man if my return to Continue Online didn’t somehow reveal the great mystery.
Work was much the same after weeks of vacation. People still acted as if they were addicted to the machine. They complained about the prices and how long a repair job took. I did my standard customer service actions and almost felt honest-to-god sympathy. That feeling hadn’t really passed through my brain in months.
I took naps when the travel time was too long. Otherwise, my car ride was spent researching how other people were handling life between reality and the ARC. My coworkers’ work history was public viewing, so I started there.
“Hal Pal, can you double-check these figures for me?”
“The search history displays an overabundance of unexplained data for us to provide speculation on,” Hal Pal responded.
I frowned. Maybe there were too many windows displayed for the AI. It may be an incredibly complex piece of software, but that didn’t make the machine a mind reader.
The ARC on the other hand…
I shook my head. “I’m trying to calculate how lazy I can be at work.” To Trillium’s customer base, there were a million ways to explain things. To an AI, it was easier to be direct.
“Based on current performance levels, seventeen basic repairs each week will support your current minimal expenditures.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Harder jobs paid more. Bulk jobs or specialty orders provided bonuses when performance met a high enough rating. There were entire programs that Trillium provided its field repair in order to calculate it all.
Henry Uldum, my boss, might have something to say about this. Maybe I could bump out a few other field techs for the good jobs. In the past year, I’d never squabbled over work. Normally I took anything in the queue and moved on. Now I had something less self-abusive to take up my spare time.
No. This was too much thought for the entire thing. I thought about the game as if playing was a forgone conclusion. First, I would see what James had to say about the virtual invasion of my dancing program. That “leftover” bit of my deceased fiancée needed a real explanation. Then, and only then, would continuing to play Continue come into play. Just thinking about that tongue-twister made my head hurt. Soon I was laughing in the van. My actions prompted Hal Pal into another line of question-and-answer time as we made our way to the next job.
“Right, business as usual.” I nodded. Bills had to be paid. My niece had college, and the cost of retirement kept increasing. Forty was too close for comfort.
Hours later, I returned home, pleased that I’d fought off the urge to play video games all day long. Something about being able to resist the temptation validated my current path. Video games, in their own way, were more addictive than drinking had been.
Hal Pal gave its standard parting and went about cleaning up the van. Once inside, my normal night routine went into motion. First, I switched from the work jumpsuit into a short-sleeved shirt and boxers. Second, I brushed all thirty-two teeth. Third, I lay down in the ARC and logged in.
My Atrium was an unholy mess. Counting to ten didn’t help reduce the unreasonable amount of anger that flooded through me. Someone—correction, something—had been tearing up the home like an abandoned puppy. The damage was amazing for
something half the size of a cat.
“Get out here!”
Nothing.
“Don’t tell me you’re not listening!” I shouted into the open doorway to Continue Online.
I kicked my way across the room. My friend the [Messenger’s Pet] was one hundred percent behind this nonsense. Books that represented my ARC’s programs lay all over the floor and showed marks on the edges from chewing. Glasses were broken and wrappers strewn about. A comfortable recliner had been reduced to ribbons on the back. That wasn’t even one of my purchases.
“ARC!”
“Awaiting Input,” the machine responded.
“Reset Atrium, basic. No programs!” I said.
“Please confirm your order.”
“Reset my Atrium! Basic!”
Lippy computer. It was no longer on the list of polish-worthy devices. This ARC would get recycled as soon as the takeover occurred.
The world shimmered around me as items vanished from digital existence. Resetting things was aggravating. This destructive nonsense would force me to create a default template for easy cleanup.
“He’s not in here,” I muttered.
A basic Atrium layout was essentially empty white space. All that remained was the dark doorway that went to Continue Online.
Fine. I, Grant Legate, may be emotionally wobbly, stuck in the past, and guilty of idolizing a dead woman, but I wasn’t dense. Especially not in light of Continue forcing its presence upon my Atrium. My arms were crossed while I muttered curses. My feet gave into the urge for exaggerated stomps. Mentally childish was added tomy list of self-assessed faults.
The game world popped me right into the room of trials, or the space between as James called it. The familiar darkness was lit up by a broken pillar and my closed Ultimate Edition book.
“Hello.” My head tilted back and I scanned around the black room.
Nothing.
“Seriously?” I sighed and felt as if everything was back at square one.
Fine, if that was how the Voices wanted to play it. An attempt to throw the book failed. The darn thing was too heavy to lift. A sense of amusement swept through the darkness. Of course they were out there, watching me.
Continue Online The Complete Series Page 39
