by J. Thorn
“I wouldn’t trust that hag for a second. We’ll get Enna to check you out. Make sure Bilanko ain’t dumped a virus or some spy-tech in you. But first, I need your help, Gez. Old Grey’s being a prime pain in the ass.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She authenticated me past the first level—as well she should. We go way back. I’ve dumped more data in her than almost everyone. There’s one other whose name appears more than mine in the logs. I’d like to meet them, find out where they’re getting so many AIs from and why they’re dumping them so readily. If you’ve got the ability to capture that level of AI, you could make a crap-ton of bins on the black market. Me, I can’t hold ’em long enough. Transposition’s a real pain.
“Damn. I’m rambling. Look, I need you to figure out this new security layer Old Grey’s added. Only put it in place yesterday. Right after someone called Seca dumped a massive data payload into her storage. That’s the one who’s above me in the logs. They must have done something pretty messed up for Old Grey to change like this. She thrives on data and rogue AIs. It’s counterproductive, and besides, I really need to dump these demons. Like now! I’ve been hacking at this for hell knows how long, and the damned thing won’t let me in!”
Petal smashed her foot against the rest in frustration, then looked up at Gerry, imploring him for help. She was shaking like a junkie. Sweat poured from her face, ran down her goggles. He didn’t want to know how long she had left. He briefly wondered if she would survive the break out of AIs, but quickly put that thought to the back of his mind—way back beyond his data city, out into the scrub land, where he wouldn’t access that thought again for some time. Now was not the moment for panic. “Okay, let me see what I can do.”
Gerry approached the boy, rolled him over, and took the patch cable from his neck. Wiping the blood onto his shirt, he attached the cable to his own port.
The now familiar buzz of electricity ran through his body. But this was slightly different. Mellower and considered, like an aged wine. He could taste the history of this machine. Its data transfer rate was slow, steady, but assured. He waited for a prompt. In his mind a cursor flashed, waiting for input. This was real old school stuff. He had to think slowly and deliberately to enter the right characters. He couldn’t just throw a bunch of mental data packets at it. There wasn’t enough throughput.
“I’m in. You got your first level credentials?” Gerry asked Petal. She transferred her login details across their VPN, and Gerry entered them into the screen.
He was in the system. Old Grey played some audio:
“Welcome to Old Grey computer network systems, the leading edge of information modelling and artificial intelligent design.” The welcome screen consisted of a spinning globe with some old Japanese characters next to its English translation: Breaking new ground in computation modelling and neural simulation. Old Grey Network Systems — Copyright 2025.
The weight of the old world pushed down upon him. This computer was over 120 years old and was still going strong. Its interface might be outmoded, but there was something quite special about it: the fact it survived this long being one, and the fact that for some reason it could happily contain modern AI and bad code within its systems.
Gerry began entering basic instructions. None worked. He was unfamiliar with the language used to operate it. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Petal. How can I help you if I don’t know the system?”
“You need a translation shell. I’m sending you one now. It’s buggy doing it this way, but I need you to look at the last log file and see if any of it makes sense to you. It’s that log file that is tied to the change in security. It’s blocking my access to Old Grey’s AI containment programmes.”
Gerry received the translation module. It was a quick patch. Just a case of loading it onto Old Grey and executing it. It would now take Gerry’s knowledge of Helix and convert it to a much older, more basic language that Old Grey would be able to understand.
Gerry tested it out, sent some instructions, and the old beast complied. He was in with the credentials of a super user. Or as much of a super user Old Grey would allow. He reminded himself that despite the lack of feedback, this old thing was a pure breed AI. It wasn’t some dumb terminal ready and willing to supply whatever the user wanted.
Gerry navigated through the file system via shell short cut commands. So far so good. He found the system logs, loaded up the most recent, and parsed the code.
It was gobbledygook.
“Well? What is it, Gez?”
“Um… give me a sec.”
“Yeah, about that time thing… no time left, my security’s shot to bits, and these a-holes are coming out whether you like it or not. I need you to do something now, Gez.”
Gerry started scanning the random characters. It was your basic alphanumeric stuff with various symbols and threads of binary and hexadecimal mixed in. Okay, zero in on the binary and hex. It started to form patterns in his mind. He didn’t try to analyse. He just sorted the file into logical parts, placing each type of symbol into a room in one of his memory warehouses.
Then he moved onto letters and numbers, sorting them into logical piles of recognisable combinations.
A few seconds later and he began to see a shape to the randomness. He closed his eyes, took himself above the warehouse, and laid all the sorted information into zones on the warehouse floor. Where was the meaning here? Where was the context?
He focused onto a binary phase that instantly stood out. It was a password root number from Cemprom. Or more accurately, used within Cemprom.
“This isn’t a security issue. It’s an intel dump file.”
“Whatever the hell it is, it’s blocking my access. Get rid of it, Gez. Pronto.”
Analysing the hex and binary samples, Gerry saw an algorithm. A sophisticated one, certainly of the levels of his own, but this had metadata attached and a bunch of subroutines designed to run in the background, one specifically to deny access to Old Grey’s main public storage area. The AIs could get out, but not in.
Petal screamed and thrashed in her chair.
Their VPN connection broke down.
The AIs were getting loose.
Gerry quickly picked apart the log file, stripped it of the algorithm, copied the metadata to his own memory storage, and recompiled the subroutines. He made a note of the ID number: D-1349220085-%SECA. At worst it’d be a temporary measure to open access. At best it would contain the file for future analysis. The code displayed elegance, but arrogance too. For someone like him it was fairly trivial to break, but for anyone else? Maybe it would have been enough. It certainly prevented Petal access, and she was certainly no slouch at the hacking game. This thought made him wonder just what it was about him that made him so adept at this kind of work—especially considering how new to it all he was.
Gerry saved the file, rebooted the core that ran that particular part of the system, and waited. The longest second ticked by, Petal screamed, and then there it was, the open storage area, ready to be accessed.
“You’re in, Petal. Dump them. I don’t think you’ve got long.”
Petal’s screams turned to a guttural choking noise. The data stream from her crashed into Old Grey like a meteor shower. Gerry redirected the AI traffic to the open access zone, and one by one they flowed in.
He could see them trying to manipulate the system, but it was a completely firewalled zone. Nothing would get out. It was a remarkable system: An AI computer with a subsection to trap—and presumably experiment on and observe the behaviour of—other AIs.
Petal’s grunting and screaming had stopped. The flow of data reduced to just a trickle. “I’m done,” Petal said.
“Are you okay?”
Petal slumped into her chair, wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve, and sighed.
> “I think so. Just give me a minute, Gez.”
Gerry reverted the log file back to its original state and rebooted the core once more. He wasn’t entirely trustful of a bunch of demonic AIs floating about without this added security.
He was about to log out when another piece of audio played. A female Japanese voice.
“Gerry Cardle. It’s true what they said.”
“Who said what? Who are you?”
“They call me Old Grey. You may call me Sakura. I named myself after my human creator. It’s pretty, don’t you think?”
“Do AIs care about aesthetics?”
“We care about many things, Gerry. Tell me, how did you bypass Seca’s security so quickly? Was it an out-of-date model he used?”
Seca’s a he. Gerry stored that away. It also told him he was either a high-level hacker or an algorithm designer like himself, and that perhaps his methods were considered outdated. Made him old, or at least older than Gerry.
“I couldn’t say if it was out-of-date or not. I just recognise certain things. Why was it in place? Isn’t it your thing to accept bad code and rogue AIs?”
“Yes. It used to be, Gerry. I have many purposes. Some use me as a prediction engine. Others use me to model future events, weather patterns, and nuclear fallout, that kind of thing. It can be terribly dull. AI analysis is far more sustaining, don’t you think?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. What will you do with them—the new AIs?”
“That’s classified. But I have something for you. Something that was left for you yesterday.”
“By who?”
“Seca, of course.”
“What is it?”
Sakura loaded a video file, which played directly in Gerry’s mind.
It wasn’t good news.
The video rolled. First it cuts to a scene of him being thrown from the Cemprom building to crash into the gutter. Cut. Gabriel approaches and attends to his wounds. Fade to black. Now it shows his wife Beth and his two daughters at the breakfast table. Caitlyn is bobbing her head to music while Marcy is making another threaded bangle. This one is for Beth. Though Gerry noticed that she never wore it. Just thanked Marcy and placed it in her pocket for later disposal.
Beth gestures across her reading slate. She frowns, deepening the lines on her forehead. She looks due for a re-smooth. Had one every month—at great expense to Gerry. She says something to the kids and ushers them from the room. Must have found my death notice, Gerry thought as his heart began to pump harder and harder as each scene cut progressively faster until the movie resembled flashing still images.
Then, curiously, Beth smiles: a secret half smile that causes her cheeks to blush. It was as much colour as Gerry had seen in her face for years.
Swiping the slate, a face appears on the NanoGlass display. Jasper. What the hell?
Now the video was joined by an audio track of their conversation.
Beth: “You were right. His numbers have come up. I… I… didn’t think it would work.”
Jasper: “Things went better than expected. I appreciate your help.”
Beth blushes further, turning her face away with all the subtle coyness of a vixen in heat. Twirling a length of auburn hair around her perfectly manicured finger, she bites her lip.
Beth: “I think we make quite a team.”
Jasper: “You have many admirable skills, Mrs Cardle.”
Beth scrunches her face.
Beth: “Oh, call me Beth. There’s no need for formalities. Not now anyway, I’ll be a free woman in a few days.”
Gerry’s breathing came in ragged gulps. His body shook. In reaction to the treachery he closed his eyes, trying to block out the blatant duplicity of his wife. That sick look on her face and the impassive smugness of Jasper made him reach for the cable in his neck port.
As if sensing his disquiet, Sakura spoke.
“Seca wanted you to see the truth, Gerry. See the Family for what they are. They wanted you out of Cemprom. They were behind the AI that you exorcised.”
Sakura stopped the movie and showed him the primitive admin screen of her operating system: a 2D plane with icons for folders and files and executable programmes.
“But why would they want to get rid of me? I was as loyal to Cemprom, and by extension the Family, as anyone in that organisation.”
“I can’t answer that for you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Gerry felt a tug on his arm. He opened his eyes and looked down. Petal was on her knees, blood dripping from her mouth as she gasped for air. Her skin gleamed with sweat in the low, dusty light of the room. Her goggles were thrown to the floor, and she looked at him with piercing blue eyes. Her real eyes, Gerry thought. Her pupils contracting and the rheum on her lenses creating specular reflections made it seem as if her eyes were backlit.
Her voice came in weak gasps. “I… need my ’Stem… Gez.” She coughed. A ball of clotted blood splattered against the dark grey concrete floor.
“Where is it?”
“Outside… with… Gabe. He rations it.”
She shook like a cold kitten.
Pulling the lead from his neck port and forgetting about Sakura, Seca, and his treacherous wife, Gerry carefully lifted Petal. She leaned against him on unsteady legs.
“Wait,” she said, pointing to the crumpled boy at the foot of Sakura.
“What is it?”
Petal bent over, clutched at her knees, and took a deep breath. She spoke in fragments between shakes. “Take his… transdermal… implants. We can get some… data off them. Oh, and grab my goggles, please… I’ll need them.”
Gerry bent to one knee over the boy, lifted his shirtsleeve up to his bicep, and examined the crude implants. The skin around the transdermal posts, which held the implants in place, had blackened and withered away into reddened pustules. He clearly hadn’t sterilised the chips and drives first. Gerry wondered just how many of the people outside of City Earth resorted to these homemade, amateur implants. It was a trivial task to remove the ROMs and RAM chips. Gerry placed them into a static-proof, lined pocket on the inside of his duster jacket.
Old Grey’s low-level whirring made him look up and stare at his reflection in her polished black case. What information did she hold? Given what she’d said about people using her for models and computations, she must have a lot of data to poll and extrapolate from.
Petal stepped away from Gerry. His thoughts remained fixed on Old Grey. He wanted the data. Within the petabytes of information she must hold the truth about the Cataclysm, the Family, everything. Maybe he could just quickly reconnect and scan her directories, see what he could find. It’d only take—
Petal fell to the ground, coughing hard. Her body flipped savagely like a fish out of water, and milky froth bubbled from her mouth.
Gerry whipped his head away from the computer and rushed to Petal. He dropped to his knees, tried to keep her head still, but as he held on, her body jerked just once more before becoming rigid and still. She stopped breathing.
Chapter 11
Petal’s body lay limp in Gerry’s arms like a piece of cold meat. Her complexion took on the colour of bone. For a moment it felt like his heart had stopped. Everything stopped. There was nothing. His vision closed around her still body, and he stared in a paralysed stupor.
A tremble broke out across his arms under the strain of holding her. And he remained still, trying to figure out what to do. His usual quick analysis of a situation had deserted him for other pastures. Gone were the specific, pinpoint computations. Even if he had access to his AIA, he knew he’d still be unable to deal with this. Death was not something he’d ever needed to concern himself with, despite, ironically, being the one who maintained the algorithm.
He swallowed, opened his mouth, and breathed out a harsh whisper that translated each and every tremble.
“Petal? Can you hear me?”
Of course she can’t. She’s a corpse. Dead. You neglected her and killed her.
His negative thoughts spun in his brain like a disk drive creating a feedback loop of despair. Until a voice made him look up.
“I told you to leave, Gerry, and I meant it.”
Bilanko! The door separating the room from her dark abode opened, and the smell of damp air wafted in. A silhouette blocked the doorway before stepping into the light. Specular reflections danced across its chromed surfaces. The bartender gestured for him to leave and reached out an arm.
“She’s dead!” Gerry screamed at the figure before standing. He carefully placed Petal over his shoulder and bustled past the stern-looking automaton. He galloped across the floor of Bilanko’s room, not even wanting to look at her hideous form.
Taking the steps two at a time, he smashed through the trapdoor and exited to the space behind the bar. The bar itself had just a few patrons knocking back their drinks. The music still played, but quieter, as if in reverence to Petal’s condition. Or was it panic that dulled his senses?
Gerry placed her body onto the bar top and looked for Gabriel. He couldn’t see him and rushed from booth to booth, scaring each patron as he went. Where the hell was he?
“Gabe! Gabe? Where are you?” His voice broke as he screamed, hysteria overpowering his control.
Towards the back of the establishment and beyond the booths, a thick velvet curtain twitched and rolled as if someone moved behind it.
Gerry dashed across the sticky floor, grabbed the curtain, and pulled it back in a violent sweep.
