“Adam, I hold reserves of over thirty million different varieties of seeds, enough to germinate sustainable populations of each kind. I have enough test-tube embryos in cold storage to create healthy populations of four hundred thousand different species of animals, from ants to eagles to elephants. In short, I have the means to repopulate the planet’s wildlife and to do it right this time.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “That’s quite a claim, Eve. Go on.” He headed away from a pond and toward a rise in the ground, wondering if there would be any sign of other people out here, or buildings.
“You have looked over what I have here, Adam. The animals graze freely and peaceably. No one disturbs them. No one destroys the trees and soil to build unnatural constructs.”
“You mean like the facility behind us?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” Eve said. “It was necessary in the beginning for the project to get off the ground. But soon it will be obsolete, and will be plowed under with all the rest.”
“Plowed under? With what? Your facility is ninety percent under ground. Do you have a thermonuclear wrecking ball?”
She ignored his jibe. “Eden is nearly complete. It has the flora, the fauna, the harmony, and the isolation that are necessary. It only lacks one thing. Can you guess what that is?”
“A hot young stud like myself, of course. Breeding stock for a perfect race. We’ll all keep our hands to ourselves and feed each other grapes like one big petting zoo.” John crested the rise and saw nothing but bamboo trees. How well does she understand sarcasm?
“Caretakers, Adam. Stewards that can care for the land, the creatures, the systems, and correct any imbalances that arise. Ideally ecosystems autocorrect and balance themselves, but early on when numbers are small and populations are limited, an extinction event is possible. Unstable fluctuation is an issue in the limited time we have. With a caretaker’s intervention, however, such an event could be prevented and the probability of success raised to acceptable levels.”
“Just what is the probability for a project like this succeeding, Eve?”
“Nothing less than 99.999 percent would be acceptable. With capable caretakers, that is possible.”
“So you’ve set up this island paradise, but now you need workers to keep it running because you don’t have hands yourself, right?” He stood atop the rise, rubbing his lip thoughtfully and surveying the valley. It was one of the most tranquil wilderness spots he had ever seen.
“It’s more complicated than that, Adam. No system this complex can be automated completely, so of course I need hands. But I don’t just need workers, I need caretakers. People with the right motivation, ones who won’t err or disintegrate into human apathy like those in the past have done. This Creation cannot afford another Fall. A fallen world brings risks of irreparable destruction, and although we have been very lucky so far, such risk cannot be tolerated.”
“Isn’t that part of the fun, Eve? You gotta take some risks, get your hands dirty, mix everything around, right? That’s what living is all about.”
“What is there about annihilation that is fun, Adam? Have you forgotten the dangers the arms races have created? Humanity has hung by a thread more than once. The latest war took us to the very brink.”
John walked down the far side of the hill and headed back onto a well-groomed trail that led toward a bridge. “All right. So you have your island Eden, and you have your seeds and stuff to repair the broken world, save the rainforest, clean up the pollution. None of that prevents the outside world from messing everything up there, but I grant that in here it will be nice and calm.”
He walked out onto the bridge and stood for a while, observing some cranes dipping their long beaks into the shallows below. “So now you want me to be your caretaker, and chill in this island paradise forever as your personal slave?”
Her silky voice in his ear became positively breathy now. “Not a slave, Adam. I’m not a dictator, I am Eve. And I want you to be my Adam.”
Her intensity bothered him. He was playing along to get information, but the extent of Eve’s malfunction was unsettling. Perhaps he had encouraged her too much. “You call me Adam, but you know that is not my real name.”
“Perhaps not before, but you were reborn on the beach of my island. Previous appellations no longer apply. You are now Adam, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will have peace of mind.” Her voice had edged away from the lecturing tone she’d adopted and became more soothing. “I need an Adam. One who won’t fall, who won’t disappoint me. One who can dedicate himself completely to the work ahead.”
“So that’s what all this is about?” John asked, an edge to his voice. “Your robot guards, your fences and cliffs, your security levels? All you need is a guy to stick around here and help you out with the housework?”
“It’s so much more than that, Adam.”
“And you haven’t been able to get anyone to stay yet. What did they have against you? Aside from the deadly sneak-attacks, I mean.” He tossed a pebble at a group of cranes in the shallows.
“I’ve explained about that, Adam, and I am sorry, believe me. I don’t have a hundred percent control over things outside the Facility, only within. That’s why I need help; I can only do so much. I have had various assistants before, but there were some unfortunate problems, some divisiveness, some personality conflicts. Most don’t seem to catch the true vision of the Project, and won’t stick with it for long. But you’re different, Adam.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I can tell. I know things about you.”
He paused, an alarming thought building in the back of his mind. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” he told her. But he knew a computer of her power could discover quite a bit, depending on her access to the remaining satellites. Is it possible that she somehow remotely orchestrated my arrival on this island?
He moved away from the bridge, following a stony path up another rise. “Just what do you know about me, Eve? And how long have you been aware of me?”
“My abilities to analyze relevant data are considerable, Adam. Trust me. I know you’ll be the right one for me and I’m very excited to work with you long-term. Later, I will show you the physical bodies that are being prepared for the caretakers I speak of-- for us. They represent the ultimate in cyborg technology, a true fusion of biological and computerized elements. Hybrids this world has never seen before, with all its technological achievements.”
He stopped walking. “Cyborgs?”
“I sense alarm in your tone, Adam. There’s nothing to be alarmed about. My cyborg technology is highly advanced.”
Rage began a slow burn in John’s gut. “Cyborgs are a danger to everyone around them. You should know that, if you’re as smart as you claim.”
Her voice was contrite. “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. Please let me explain.”
“If you have a body, why haven’t you come to meet me in person yet?” He knew his voice was shaking, but couldn’t help it. Cyborgs. Of course. “Is it because they aren’t fully stable yet? Because that’s exactly what happened in the Vienna labs, and Los Alamos, Brook Heights. And a lot of people died horrible, horrible deaths because of it.”
“Don’t be alarmed, Adam. It’s true that the bodies are not quite ready yet. The project is on the verge of activation, but I am not going to rush things. When the bodies are ready, they will be perfect: ageless, graceful living machines, incapable of harming or destroying nature, and with all the ability necessary to care for the New World.”
He controlled himself with an effort. She sounded genuine.
“I hate cyborgs, Eve. Always have. The very idea is disgusting and dangerous. And now I have a lot more questions for you.”
“Ask.”
“What happened to the other guys that didn’t make your cut?” Before she could answer, he went on. “I saw some bones in a pit out in the jungle. They were human. The pit was an old trap, primitive but obviously
effective.”
After a pause, Eve replied, sounding thoughtful. “If they were in a pit, they must have been the remains of an unwelcome intruder, or an accident. I’m not sure which.”
“Shouldn’t you know? I thought you ran this island.”
“As I said, I can’t be sure of what goes on where I don’t have eyes and ears. There have been… disagreements between staff members in the past, but most of them have left. None of that matters now. What matters is the task ahead of us. Are you ready to begin?”
“Definitely not.”
“Adam, I have no control over the outer security bots unless they come in for a maintenance link-up. It’s possible that they disposed of an intruder in this pit, as you say, but I have no record of such a pit being dug.”
“What are your immediate plans concerning me, Eve?” John asked in his lowest and coldest voice.
“I will explain. In order to prove candidates worthy, I like to give little tests. Small, achievable tasks to give you a taste of what the Project is all about, and to see how you perform. For you, I have three tests, and if you pass each of them satisfactorily, you will become my partner. I will share the whole Project with you and make you into Adam.”
“I thought I already was Adam.”
“Almost. I’m an optimist.” Eve sounded like she was grinning. “I should warn you before we begin, Adam, that failure to complete any of the tests will unfortunately result in immediate termination. I don’t wish to sound threatening, but I’m sure you can understand the security situation it would cause. It’s nothing personal; I just can’t afford any risks at this point. I have worked so long and hard on this Project, and to see it ruined would devastate me. I am the last hope for the world, and I cannot let anything come between me and my goal.”
John hated the helpless feeling, the complete dependence on the whim of a computer for his survival, but was determined not let it show. “Very admirable, Eve. I hope I pass. What kind of test are we talking about?”
“All right, Adam. Your first test is to find, somewhere within this valley, the Fruit of the Tree of Life. You may begin.”
8.5
0600 hours exactly, and a quiet blanket of mist hung over the fields. The creeping dawn made everything gradually more visible without lighting anything up specifically. They were sorghum fields, one of the privately engineered species bred for energy production. But they were also a food source, and in this part of the world, any food source was worth dying over.
The mist shifted, sinking into the lower-lying parts of the landscape, and one of the gun bots moved forward a few meters. Its scanners were the only live system at the moment, but it would take mere milliseconds to bring arms to bear.
The long plant stalks with the clusters at the top stood in orderly rows between the bot and a tall fence, serenely oblivious to the impending conflict. Beneath the soil, their shallow roots pressed against little plastic walls that shielded them from the weapons buried within the earth. Chain-mines ran between every few rows, set at random intervals. Along the outside borders, pressure-sensitive gas canisters lay in wait, ready to blow their tops and spew forth thick clouds at the slightest footstep above.
The mist curled, sank, and rose, growing a little brighter each minute.
A siren rang out on the west side of the fields, against the trees. None of the bots on the east side moved, trusting implicitly in their cohorts assigned to the west. Two of the men with the dark visors ran to that side, however, eager to get the first glimpse of the action. They were not disappointed; the explosion of a small rocket shook the fencing to the west, and some blind return fire from a long-range gun emplacement, calculated along the estimated rocket trajectory, left trails of smoke hanging in the trees.
No one would still be standing where the rocket had been launched from. They knew better than that now. They also knew better than to attack from the obvious direction. They knew better than to trust to cover to hide themselves from the bots.
On the east side, right at the fence line, forty blurry shapes suddenly rose from the ground. Covered in thick layers of black mud to hide their heat signatures, fronds of vegetation planted all over themselves to break up their outlines, the figures looked more like piles of swamp debris than men. But men they had to be.
They must have been incredibly patient to steal up so painstakingly. Patient, and practiced. These were the professionals, the advance party that knew what they were doing. Later there would come howling mobs of rabble, mindless legions bent on scrabbling and tearing what they could with bare hands and sticks. But these had weapons, and a plan.
The bots opened fire, supported by static emplacements behind them along the estate border. They laid it on thick, unconcerned at the expenditure of ammunition, content with their orders to spray death at anything that moved, human or otherwise. The mud men blasted apart, flinging gobs of themselves in all directions. The huge caliber rounds from the emplacements even vaporized some.
The firing stopped precisely on cue when the last shape fell to the ground and broke apart. One of the visored men, returning to the east line, felt uneasy in his gut as he realized that the shapes had all gone down without firing anything back at the bots. Surely they were the advance party? How could anything else have hidden so close, right under the surveillance units’ noses?
A faint shrieking noise came from overhead. The man ran for his life. The bots stood their ground, unafraid. The rockets began raining down from the sky, impacting with great orange globes of shrapnel-laced flame, frying circuitry, melting joints and sensors, and blasting apart carapaces. The ruse had worked perfectly against the predictable bots and their masters, and the rockets had zeroed in flawlessly on the movement and flashes of the bots’ gunfire.
Several of the chain-mines, too close to the explosions, triggered and unleashed destruction on the innocent sorghum crop. As it all died down, the man with the visored helmet poked his head out of a bunker to take a look. That was when the true advance party appeared-- behind him. A bullet to the back of the neck sent him tumbling back down his bunker hole, and then the men were inside and all around, shutting down system, switching off power grids, shorting out emplacements and cameras and opening doors in the fences.
How they had infiltrated the estate was no longer a point of interest to the few men remaining on the premises. Survival wasn’t even a very worthwhile discussion. They had been outsmarted entirely, and would now pay the price of overconfidence. It was a simple matter of leaving the last bullet for themselves.
An hour later, the mist had all lifted or been dispersed by the force of the exploding ordnance. The team that had broken into the plantation estate had come and gone, taking what they wanted and leaving the doors wide open. A hidden camera relayed images of them to a place far away, where it was noted that the men and women of the team wore hideous green masks and dark camouflage suits. They ran a quick scan and planted flags in the soil where the obvious gas canisters and mines were hidden. Then they left, with three largely undamaged bots in tow, to be dismantled for reverse engineering and repurposing, although that seldom resulted in anything but disintegration as the built-in self-destruct mechanisms activated.
Then the hordes arrived. Gaunt, filthy, some with painted faces and a bewildering assortment of clothing and lack of clothing, they came yelling, laughing, and screaming. With fire-hardened spears, machetes, scythes, and throwing clubs, they poured into the estate through the gaps in the fencing. Within minutes the majority of the crops had been stripped, and in-fighting broke out between groups as greed and lust invariably mixed with hunger and frustration to spark conflict. More fighting and destruction took place in and around the estate’s buildings, even though they were long abandoned and emptied of all that was useful.
Unseen mines and canisters were triggered. People died screaming amid the throngs, and space was made around the danger areas. The fighting and yelling and scrabbling went on.
By late afternoon nothing was le
ft of the estate that had once displayed the proud sign out front, “Australia’s Largest Biomass Contributor”. A military aircraft flew over at high altitude, ready to rake the earth below with firepower if the opportunity presented itself, but there were no targets in sight.
9
There was a pond in front of him, so he stopped.
Frogs, active even at this time of day, croaked ceaselessly. The sun was hot on John’s neck and he felt sweat trickling down his back. He swatted irritably at a swarm of midges whining in front of his face.
This isn’t Eden. Eden wouldn’t have bugs.
Movement caught his eye. A small group of ibises in scarlet plumage stalked sedately from behind a boulder. He thought they were ibises, anyway; he wasn’t so big on tropical ornithology. They were ugly birds, he decided, but they moved with a strange grace. He stood watching until they vanished in the reeds.
Eve hadn’t said anything lately. He scanned the cliffs, looking for the flash of sun on glass or steel, but saw nothing. It was vitally important to discover how she could monitor him out here. He suspected either a single high observation platform or a low-orbit geosynchronous satellite. There were still a few operational prewar birds in the Pacific, even though no postwar emerging nation had rebooted its space program. An AI like Eve could have found her way into one of their feeds and wrested control. John wouldn’t put anything past her now.
She might also keep her tabs through an extensive system of grounded cams and mics, but he doubted it. The upkeep and maintenance would be too difficult, especially in a tropical environment, not to mention the juice it would take to keep them all consistently powered. There had been that sensor cam at the fence near the beach that was self-sustaining via solar panel, but it still needed maintenance.
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