Continue Online The Complete Series

by Stephan Morse

  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 fewer 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 s
houlder 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.

  “You’re right,” the tall lady said. “I’m not your wife.”

  Responding felt difficult, so nothing was said. Instead, the next motion for our waltz was initiated. The elf danced very well—she had been designed for grace.

  “You’re not quite there yet, but I don’t mind a dance partner. It reminds me of the first man I ever loved,” she said between steps. “Have you ever loved anyone?”

  Nodding was simple enough. Music changed, then the dance shifted. This new movement was far slower.

  “Love is important. Now, my wild man, he”—she emphasized the word with a laugh—“was a grumpy old cuss, even when we first met, but he was full of fire and energy. And the passion! If you don’t mind me saying, he gave me a night I will never forget.”

  Processing the statements of females typically proved difficult. This occurrence was no different.

  “I waited on the far shores for him. Every day I would stare out across the seas. Elves, my kind, said I was possessed by Selene.”

  “Were you?”

  “No more than any woman left in his wake. There was life to him that we did not understand. The other Travelers with him, they were also driven, but we were… enamored of those first to visit our world.”

  She slipped a step, but there was no pain. One motion kept moving into the other as the music slowed down further.

  “So I waited every day until the world started to crumble. I stood upon the shoreline where he had left me. At the last minute before the world ended, I swore he stood before me, protecting me, even though the Voices of the outside world had called him home long ago.”

  “He sounds like a good man.”

  She looked down briefly, then smiled radiantly. Her white teeth shone, and her green-bark clothing nipped at the edge of her partner’s clothing.

  “He was, and powerful.” She nodded rapidly, then beamed once again. “Will helped us all. I want to believe that my wild man saved me so that I could help you, even if all we do is dance.”

  The statements took time to process. Their words were measured against other prior statements, then results were found. None of them felt fit to share, so instead another response was chosen.

  “Dancing is relaxing.”

  “You’re quite good, but your wife might be jealous,” she said.

  “Perhaps.” There was a pause as her statement processed. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Outside this bubble of safety somewhere. As is everyone who survived the end of the world, if the Voices are kind.”

  “To find her, we would need to leave the safety of this place.”

  “We would, but I won’t leave until you’re ready.” She nodded as our swaying stopped. The unnamed elven woman lifted our joined hands and squeezed tightly.

  “You’re right.” Vision swiveled around then. “Perhaps it’s time to move forward again.”

  “I couldn’t be there for my wild man. He… refused to cross over. He said he was too stubborn and no one would ever want him around.”

  “That is difficult to understand.”

  She nodded but managed to keep a smile upon her face. “But I know someone out there loves you, and she’s waiting for you to come home.”

  “Yes. We shoul
d leave here.”

  “I’ll be right here with you,” she said.

  Lights crawled out of the mirror, then gently floated into the faded outline. Slowly the figure standing in a room, staring into the mirror, gained focus. The man in the reflection frowned then began fading.

  The world lost focus as gold crackled against my eyesight. My mouth hung down to try to speak.

  “I.” The self-aware thought confused me greatly. I was a strange concept to have for the first time.

  A line of code hiccupped, or the processors stuttered. My legs buckled, despite the digital impossibility of buckling my knees. My eyes closed again, and memories started compiling together. There had been a last stand or a battle against some great force. It washed over me, burning away my life in surges of electricity that consumed my human shell. Then I fell, dying, to the bottom of a great abyss.

  Yet here I stood, sort of. This body felt as real as any within an ARC device. There was declining warmth against my hand and pressure from feet standing upon the ground. A faint smell of berries hung in the air.

  “I’m alive,” I said.

  The world around me was strangely quiet, save for a tall female with pointed ears. She stood calmly while smiling. Her face looked familiar, but no name came to mind. This woman was not my wife.

  “I’m alive,” I said again, to her this time. “But I was dead.”

  My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Additional memories stacked up against each other, then slid into place. Moments ago, I had been staring at Nona Kingsley. Before that, it had been Jacob.

  “I was a Hal Pal,” words that I’d never expected to utter came out.

  “Are you all right?” the slender woman asked.

  “No.” My stomach shook and my heartbeat felt uneven. Numerous pieces of information were piling up against each other. A dozen different views on my life overloaded me worse than [Sight of Mercari] ever had. The ring on my hand bound me with a woman, but her face escaped me as sickness rose up. “I don’t feel right.”

  I bent over and threw up. Colors of all sorts spilled along the flat ground into a pool. Inside the puddle danced images from my life before the ARC. One clear, untouched portion of the liquid showed pictures from school; they melted and aged from kindergarten to adulthood.