We must make the grueling sixty-five mile run the first day; then we get to allow ourselves a day of rest and recovery before we face a final run of merely thirty-five miles which then places us at the portal on the day of opening. With luck, we will arrive at the portal about noon or soon after. The gateway is to open some thirty-five minutes before dusk. That gives us several hours to precisely locate the opening, rest, and prepare for our battle. We had cut it awfully close. We could really, seriously use another day for resting and preparation for the fight.
I had been wracking my brain for days in anticipation of this run. I knew it was very near the physical limits of our endurance. We need to not only do it within the allotted time, the available hours of daylight, but to conserve our energy as much as possible too. We had to be in fighting trim immediately after. Even with a full day of rest after this leg of the trip, we were pushing it. It was excruciatingly demanding, taxing every iota of strength we could muster.
I hatched a crazy scheme that I imagined could help. The problem is two-fold. The bigger part is the sheer number of miles we must cover. That we cannot change. However, another good-sized chunk of the puzzle is the payload we must carry, the food and water. Every pound tires us faster, contributing to the exponential 'cliff' we must face as the miles increase. If we could somehow reduce the load we must carry significantly; we could make the run less grueling.
In hindsight, the answer seemed so simple. We cannot reduce the amount of fuel, the food, and water our bodies need. The water, especially, is heavy. But we can have someone else carry it. Not the whole way, of course, but partway. Every mile we do not tote those packs conserves our bodies' caloric reserves.
The idea was simple. We ask the best and fastest runners from this house to accompany us part way, carrying as much of our necessary cargo as they can. They need not attempt to run our entire grueling run, only about one-third of it. They accompany us the first twenty or so miles. They carry our food and water, we run free and unburdened, conserving our strength. By the end of twenty miles or so, we will have consumed a significant portion of the supplies. They hand off the rest to us, and return to their home, carrying only the minimum for their return trip. They run a total of about forty miles and wind up at their home base, where they can freely rest and recover.
We then continue the trip with the reduced load of food and water, finishing the entire sixty-five miles, but only carrying the supplies for slightly more than forty. Hopefully, by reducing our burden by this amount, we will be more able to complete the journey.
I discussed it with the local runners, then with Petch and Teena and finally, the house mother. Everyone thought it should work.
I had first thought we would need three of their runners, one to carry the cargo of each of us. We did the math. The problem, it turns out, is that their runners are young girls, much smaller in stature than we and although very capable runners, less able at carrying cargo. They needed to bring both ours and theirs. Strictly speaking, if we each had three support runners, there would be more than ample cargo capacity, and each of them could carry an easy load. The house mother was unwilling to spare nine runners. That was all she had, and as they would return home exhausted and need several days of rest, there would be no one available to meet her transport needs.
After some back and forth consultation, we settled for two runners for each of us, plus one more, a seventh runner who was only to carry extra water, which we would divide among us all.
We had a plan. We were going to be quite a party. There would be ten runners departing as early in the morning as we dared consider safe enough. We desperately hoped no insomniacs were still wandering about but kept our bows nocked, however useless that might seem.
There would be the three of us and the seven support runners. We would run entirely unburdened, save for a small amount of water which we would quickly consume. At about the twenty-mile marker we would then take the burden from them. We would eat, and drink, and then shoulder the remaining supplies, and while they turned back toward home, we would carry on alone, now burdened, but not as heavily, and not nearly as spent as we would have been otherwise had we carried this load ourselves from the beginning.
The day dawned bright and cloudless, and our support team hit the road the instant they opened the castle door. We would be hot on their heels in mere moments, giving them but a slight head start. Since they carried heavy burdens relative to us, they could not run at maximum speed, so we let them get out in front of us. The difference was not significant, but they would have ample time to rest after they have unburdened their cargo to us and before they must start the return trip home. Thus they could expend their energy more frivolously early on. We would soon catch them but did not feel the need to dog their heels.
The trip started uneventfully, with Petch in the lead, Teena in the middle, and myself bringing up the rear. There had been some contention, I noticed, with Petch and Teena seemingly arguing about who would go first. I paid it little mind at first, but then as we were running, I thought about it and realized there had been numerous occasions where some touch of irritation or disagreement had been evident between them. I started worrying about friction in our group and any possible impact it might have on our mission, feeling guilty that I might have contributed to it.
As we tended to do, we started comparatively slowly, then soon accelerated to our top speed as our bodies warmed up and acclimated to the pace. Since we had a long run, we did not even try to reach our maximum speed, but soon we were flying through the woods quite nicely. A little more than an hour into the run, we began to hear the sounds of our support team ahead of us. Again not wishing to dog their heels, we slacked off slightly, reducing the rate at which we were overhauling them.
Soon nonetheless we were close on their heels. I decided it was a good time to take on some water. Water is the Achilles heel of the long distance runner in any climate, but especially so in the heat of Planet Oz. I motioned for runner #7, the one carrying only water, to slow and join us. We all slowed to an easy jog and passed the water bladder around. We drank our fill, careful not to overload ourselves. Too much water can do as much harm as too little. Then we fell back into position and resumed our pace, once again a significant distance behind our support team. That was not a problem however as they were tiring, and slowing. We quickly dogged their heels once again. We kept it up for another half-hour, perhaps a little more and then our support team slowed and halted.
We had come twenty-two miles precisely, as indicated by the mile-marker stone beside the road. I have often wondered how the fur-people came to reckon distance in the same measure as an Earth culture so far removed. Did they get it from us, or did we get it from them, or did we both get it from a common origin? All good questions for which there were no answers and a green field to study. I envy the researcher who has the time and resources to unravel the puzzle.
We paused, took our cargo from our friends, hastily scarfed our mid-morning allotment of journey cake and again imbibed our ration of water. Then with hugs and farewells all around we bid our support team adieu, wishing them a pleasant journey home.
According to our best estimate, we had forty-three miles to go. We were still relatively fresh, and although we now carried significant packs of food and water, it was manageable, almost light compared to what we would have had to tote had we traveled the entire trip alone without their support. This plan was starting to seem like a terrific idea.
I made a mental note not only to use this technique ourselves but to recommend it to our friends. We would, of course, do so when we faced that terrible seventy-mile mile run to the Dark Castle on the return leg. Assuming we survive to make it. I felt that with this approach we could manage that awful, demanding journey and the fur-people could likewise make their runs to the Dark Castle more bearable.
The next forty-three miles went smoothly, and we arrived at our destination some five hours later and in good order. Having a support team accompany
us part way made a huge difference. It made the journey much, much more practical. It had probably shaved almost an hour off the total trip time, and we were far less exhausted than we would have otherwise been.
Arriving at our destination in good order, we were welcomed and feted much as we had been at every other home we visited, and sang, danced and made Shakespeare's two-backed beast much as every other stop along the road. Though I again wondered how Teena was spending her evening, the trip had unquestionably been an overwhelming success.
Battle Briefing
It was heavenly to sleep late the next morning, and although I would have loved to indulge even more, I still had chromosomal commitments. A long line of hopefuls had greeted us last night, and an even longer queue awaited me this morning. I fell to my appointed duties with alacrity. I idly wondered what it would be like to go back to a normal existence. How would my poor prostate cope, once no longer called upon for such prodigious duty?
To be fair, it would not be correct to refer to what I was doing as making love. It was a mechanical act, artificial insemination without the benefit of a medical intermediary, performed out of the necessity to grant these ladies a desperately needed conception, and thereby delaying the demise of their entire race. A service rendered as payment to compensate them for our much-needed support and shelter, and the food and supplies we received. I barely got the name of each would-be mother. Although I did try to learn their names and commit to memory something about each one of them, it was too much for human retention. I found myself wishing for my old Droid that I could take a picture of them and record their names. I tried hard to do right by them, as nearly as circumstances allowed, but conditions were what they were.
Late mid-morning, Teena and Petch appeared, announcing it was time to prep for the coming battle. I excused myself from my furry companions, and we adjourned to a private room where we could talk freely.
The scope and nature of our mission was a secret from our furry friends, and honestly beyond their comprehension. How do you explain things like A.I. run amok, WiFi, Bluetooth, Flash drives, and technological warfare to a Stone Age culture. Not impossible, I suppose, but it would take valuable time and energy, and accomplish nothing toward our goals. They knew we were on a quest and desperately needed their help. More than that helped no one, and we didn't have the time anyway.
I am not entirely sure how it came to be, but after a fashion, I had become the tactical leader of our group. Oh, no question Athena and Petchy had skills and expertise, experience and knowledge I did not, indeed could not hope to acquire without decades and decades of hard work. In many aspects of our venture, I was only a child beside them, merely hired muscle. Despite that, I had earned a great deal of respect for my talents and abilities by coming up with essential strategies and solutions.
The runner support team concept, the Battle of the Dark Castle, the Boat Trip, the Cave and many more minor incidents along our arduous journey had earned me a position of respect and leadership. Even my unexpected prowess at song and improv comedy, entertaining our hosts, was a factor in the leadership role I had assumed. Reflecting on this, I concluded that leadership was an elusive quantity. A cyberpunk-nerd does not usually aspire so high.
A leader, I concluded, did not need to be the smartest or most able on a team, certainly not the most senior. A leader focused and directed the team, but did not have to be the team's greatest fighter, or even its greatest planner and strategist. What defines a leader is more subtle than that, in some ways more important.
I was the most junior member of the team, and the youngest or so it seemed, yet I had somehow exhibited the necessary qualities to lead. I was leading at the moment, but at the same time, I knew without a doubt that if I failed to lead in the direction Teena or Petch wanted to go, I would be ousted as leader very quickly.
They controlled our strategic direction while I made tactical decisions, but I would be overthrown instantly if I departed from the core mission.
As the de facto leader of our group, I determined it was time I knew more about what we should expect to find once we go through that portal. Until now, when I had asked, I was told that my concern was to get to the portal and to be ready to fight. The fight on the other side was the responsibility of Teena and Petch. Well, we were near the portal and would be going through it tomorrow. I demanded to be fully briefed, and no more nonsense.
Teena began hesitatingly, “The world we will see when we exit the portal will be what is left of my home world, mine and Petchy's. It is a ruined world. We truly cannot survive there long. The air is seriously fouled, radiation levels are high, and it is inhumanly hot. Partly we chose this world as training ground because of the climate. The place we are going is much hotter, and a lot more hostile. Quite aside from the dangers from the enemy, we would die there within a few hours.”
I cringed but nodded acceptingly. Teena went on.
“We will come through the portal into a battle. Our brothers at arms will have assaulted the citadel from another direction, drawing the enemy weapons, and attention, away from the point of our egress. We hope. Best case is we skate through undetected. Worst case is they spot us instantly and open fire. Reality will likely be somewhere in between.
“Once we are on the other side, we will run, run for our very lives, away from the portal, and toward a small cave that we hope the enemy has not discovered. If we avoid being struck down by enemy fire, find the cave, and its contents are as hoped, we get to fight. If not, we get to die. There is no third option.”
Swallowing hard at that, I asked, “What about Dinos or other indigenous dangers?”
She shook her head, “There are no dinosaurs. There is virtually no life there. It is a dead world. There are plenty of indigenous dangers, but they are all non-living, and will absolutely kill us. Even without facing the enemy, or even if we kill it, we will die if we remain there very long. We must get in, accomplish our mission and get out, in a very few hours.
Our mission is two-fold. The first part consists of killing the machine intelligence that controls the world. Once it dies, the battle soon ends, although it will not quickly die, even if we successfully inject our digital poison. The second part is extracting the data for our study. Unless we can return with the database, unless we can unravel the mechanism by which human fertility is being destroyed, humanity still loses. It is not enough to destroy the machine. We must get that data!”
I nodded. “Ok, much of that I had inferred from earlier comments. What I am uncertain of is the devil in the details. Assuming we reach the cave, arm ourselves and are able, how do we assault the citadel as you called it. You have painted a picture of an impregnable fortress. How do we penetrate it?”
Petch took the lead on this one. “The enemy is a machine. It is a very, very big and very complex machine. In our first conversation on this topic, you referenced the fictional 'Krell of Altair IV' and the 'Monsters from the Id.' That is not really a bad analogy. In fact, although reality differs in many ways in fine detail from the scenario painted in that excellent movie, it does capture the essence. A planet-wide network of incredibly powerful machines run amok, mindlessly doing the misguided bidding of people long dead.”
I nodded, recalling the massive underground complex, the enormous corridors depicted in the movie. “How did your people come to build such a machine?”
He gave a wry laugh. “We didn't, or at least didn't set out to do so. In fact, Earth is already well along the path to doing precisely the same thing!”
Now that got my attention! “What do you mean? We are not building anything like you describe, as far as I am aware!”
Now he positively cackled. “But you are, not only are you doing so, you've used it every day, many times per day, for years. You have even wished for it here a few times!”
I began to realize what he meant. “What? You mean Google? You're saying Google is the great evil that is destroying the universe?”
“Not Google specifically,
massively interconnected global knowledge systems, yes. Machines of that ilk carried to the ultimate conclusion. You have many of them, constituting millions of servers all over the world. No one specific brand has arisen to anywhere near a level that could represent a threat on this scale, but your people are busily building them, improving them, making them smarter and faster. Google isn't alone. Multiple brands are competing against each other to be better, faster, smarter. Carried to its ultimate extreme, you get a highly intelligent world-sized array of massively interconnected machines.
“Some of Earth's scientists have coined the term 'Singularity' to describe an Artificial Intelligence that exceeds the intelligence of its creators and then turns on those who built it, deciding they are superfluous. That view has not thus far proven precisely accurate. Canned knowledge, no matter how massive does not equate to sentience.
“These systems are beneficial, extending the power of the human mind. It is not precisely my intent to repeat the parable of Mary Shelly's cautionary tale of technology run amok. In fact, that was not the point of Shelly’s original story at all. Hollywood took a far more innocent story and morphed it into an anti-technological tirade. That was not the story she wrote, not at all.
“Nonetheless, things can and do go wrong. Just as Hollywood has often depicted that in a moment of extreme carelessness, a locomotive might escape its driver and run away, tearing down the track uncontrolled with dangerous cargo in tow, so might any technology. We always need pessimists who will pay attention to the risks and ensure that proper controls, overrides, and safeguards are in place.
“Shelly’s tale was more about careless and irresponsible parenting than an anti-technology tirade, and the battle we face tomorrow likewise more nearly resembles her original story. Shelly’s monster was an innocent creation, abused and mistreated by society. It is not the technology that is the flaw, it is the lack of oversight, or parenting, by the creators.
Chromosome Quest- a Hero's Quest Against the Singularity Page 17
