Awakened

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  It was strangely comforting.

  We need to get out of here, she said, finally snapping out of it. Can you use all that access and processing power to find a way out?

  The AI vibrated ever so slightly in her cortex. Molly’s eyes narrowed.

  Is that you processing? You’re thinking using my goddamn synapses?

  The fury rose in her, and the AI could feel it, even without her thinking the words.

  “YOU FUCKER!” she yelled out loud.

  In a flash, she was on her feet, pacing. This was a violation. She didn’t ask for this problem. And now she had to wake up and start making some fucking decisions. The boredom of the last three-and-a-half years in the military was fast becoming a distant memory.

  Colonel Briars has a mark in his file.

  Her anger slowed a moment, as curiosity got the better of the rant she was formulating in her mind.

  What?

  He’s on a watch list as a potential mole for terrorists in something called the Outer System. His lines are tapped, and all communications are being monitored. It wouldn’t be too much to leverage him to get us out of here.

  Come again? You’re talking about blackmailing a high-level officer? In the very organization that would throw our collective asses into jail—or worse? You’re kidding. Not to mention that would be wrong.

  Wrong? No. There is a 79% probability that it would work.

  No, wrong as in unethical.

  Unethical?

  The slight vibrating feeling in her skull started again.

  Yes, unethical. Fuck me. Look it up, genius-boy. We shouldn’t do anything unethical. That just leads to a whole world of hurt.

  Ethics is the branch of knowledge that deals with moral principles. Moral principles concern the distinction between right and wrong, or good and bad behavior.

  Right! That’s exactly the kind of thing that the military would try and get you to do to civilians in order to control them, or to win a war, or to get laws passed that give the wrong people power. So I want you to promise me, no matter what happens, or whether you’re still in my holo, or they get you out…you will never do anything unethical. Agreed?

  Yes, Molly.

  Pause.

  Molly, how do I know if something is right or wrong?

  Shit. She didn’t have time to grapple with this now. She needed a shortcut to training this AI, just in case the military did get hold of it. How could she define it right now, given the details he had access to?

  Okay…she started, somewhat exasperated. Right and wrong can be determined by a number of factors. Can you scan our media? Can you see what people are arguing about in the outside world?

  Yes.

  Molly hesitated, rethinking where that could lead. Oh, no. That was not a good idea. The last thing she needed was to create a prejudiced intelligence that would follow mass media.

  They already had the government for that.

  Scrap that. Let’s go to some basic principles. Things that are immoral: taking something that isn’t yours, or that you don’t have permission to have. Spying on people without their consent. Doing anything to hurt a person without cause, or interfering in a way that allows others to hurt them without cause.

  Molly paused, thinking.

  Morality wasn’t her strong suit. She still didn’t understand the ethical issue her superiors had with her pheromone experiment a few months ago. She couldn’t see how it was any different from the things that men would use to get girls to sleep with them. Cars, money, aftershave…it had all been designed, through years of evolution, to trigger the female biology, at least amongst the humans and Estarians. They were pretty close genetically. She’d just optimized the process in the other direction, to affect the guys.

  Or maybe one specific guy.

  I think that covers it for now. Anyway, we need a better way of getting out of here. And don’t give me fucking 79%. I don’t want to hear about it unless it’s over 95%, okay?

  Okay. I’ve got it. I’ve just filed a 4077 for you.

  Molly paused a moment, seeking the information in her own brain before finally asking, What the fuck is a 4077?

  You don’t want to know.

  No, seriously. What the hell is it?

  Do you want to get out of here?

  I have to, now that you’ve hijacked my holo.

  Well, then. The 4077 will get you out of here today. Without hurting anyone. Just scratch your crotch now and again to sell it.

  Her eyes blinked a few times in confusion. Scratch her crotch?

  Whhhhhaaaaat???

  CHAPTER TWO

  Captain Lugdon’s Office. Nefertiti Military Research Facility, Estaria

  “Have a seat,” Captain Pete Lugdon instructed. Molly shuffled nervously through the door to his office and plunked herself into the chair opposite his desk.

  His eyes never left the file he was reading on his desktop holo. Molly looked around the office, her legs crossed, and one foot swinging a little impatiently. The old bookcase along one wall housed framed stills of his glory days in the service. A few awards. And even a few ancient books, made of actual paper.

  She never could understand why people would keep such relics cluttering up the place, but they did make it look kind of old worldly in here.

  Maybe he just liked that feel.

  “Seems we can’t keep you anymore,” he mused, still not looking up.

  Molly didn’t respond. This was beyond embarrassing.

  Scratch your crotch!

  No!

  You need to sell it, or else we’re not getting out of here.

  Molly’s face went beet red as she reluctantly pretended to scratch the top of her inner thigh.

  FUCK YOU. I want to die!!!

  If he doesn’t buy this, you may get your wish.

  She remembered her first week of basic training. Lugdon had read her the riot act for some antics in the lab. She couldn’t even remember what it was about now, she’d been in this office so many times since then for various reasons.

  None of them entirely her fault.

  Lugdon’s dark brow was furrowed as he flicked the screen upward, still engrossed. He was okay. He’d been kind of fatherly to her—mostly. At least until that time they were both a little drunk after a squad party a few months ago.

  By her ancestors, she wished she could die right now.

  Lugdon looked up at her. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a glint in his eye. Hell, he knew exactly what a 4077 was. Her cheeks flushed bright red again, especially remembering their history.

  “I didn’t think you’d last longer than a week. Hell, I was surprised you made it through Basic Training.” He swiped at the holo, disappearing the screen.

  Molly raised one eyebrow, quizzically.

  “Well…you came to us with a background in theoretical energy physics and computer science—both self-taught, I believe. You could have done anything. It was beyond me why you were here.”

  He paused.

  “I figured all your capers were because you were bored.”

  His voice softened. “You’re one hell of a lady…” His voice drifted off, perhaps remembering something she had been too drunk to recall.

  He suddenly looked flustered and gruffly cleared his throat.

  “Always thought you were wasted in an R&D position. Anyway, your discharge is approved.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Molly responded, with a short sigh of relief.

  “I’d say it was a pleasure, but you were a real pain in my ass, Flight Sergeant.” He smiled warmly and stood up. She did the same, and saluted.

  As he returned her salute, a wave of sadness hit her. She knew she didn't belong here, but this was a big change, and all so fast.

  “Don’t let me see you in here again,” he teased, dismissing her. He’d said that to her countless times over her stay here. This time, he seemed to be getting his wish.

  Crotch!!

  Fuck you and my fucking arsewank of a fucki
ng life!!!!

  Wishing the ground would just get on with it and swallow her up, Molly ended her salute and reached down to scratch her crotch again while fighting to maintain eye contact with her former supervisor. Her cheeks were now deep purple and her heart was in her mouth. She was sick with embarrassment.

  He was buying it. He smiled a toothy, amused grin, shaking his head, as she turned awkwardly and headed to the door.

  Unable to look him in the eye again, she stepped out and closed the door with her back still to him. She leaned against the doorframe.

  That went well.

  I’m glad you’re amused, you fuckwit of a glorified subroutine she huffed as she started down the hall.

  Chenz’ Bar, Downtown Uptarlung. Irk’n Quarter

  Remind me why we’re here again.

  Remind you? I never told you.

  I’m using your syntax to smooth our integration.

  Oh, really?

  I detect sarcasm.

  Yeah, and I never had to utter a word out loud.

  Neural connections, baby. I feel you.

  Don’t be a wanker.

  The AI was silent.

  That reminds me…you don’t have a name.

  You mean a designation? Sure I do. I am Project Ozimandaus 0922.

  That’s not a name.

  Yes it is. That’s what your colleagues, Sue and Dickwad-Charles, called me.

  Yeah, but that’s not a name. Not like “Sue” or “Charles,” or “Molly”. They were referring to the project. Not you. Plus, it’s a fucking mouthful to say, and no way I’m going to remember that.

  I’m not a Sarkian of any variety, and therefore I don’t require a Sarkian designation.

  But you are sentient, and you deserve a name.

  Even though I hijacked your holo?

  AND neural cortex.

  Yes. Even though I hijacked your holo and neural cortex?

  Yes, even though. Have you got any ideas about what you’d like me to call you?

  Baby? Sexy? Hot stuff? Bad boy???

  What the fuck?

  Molly scrambled in the recesses of her mind trying to recall why he might know those words. They sounded familiar. Shit, they were how she would refer to her crushes. How would he have access to that kind of data?

  All right, you arseburger, what gives? What makes you say those things?

  I’m just kidding around. To be honest, I haven’t thought about it. What would be an appropriate designation for something like myself? Is there a nomenclature that is relevant here? Or a social convention?

  Hmm… not really. I guess my preference would be to give you something easy for me to say, and to communicate with others when the time comes to introduce you to people. Also, I like the idea of using your project designation in a name.

  Molly’s eye scanned the crowded bar looking for inspiration. Nothing at all jumped out at her.

  What about “Oz”?

  Oz?

  It’s short for Ozimandaus–which is actually a cool name too. Maybe that can be your Sunday name.

  Sunday name?

  Yeah, like your full name for formal occasions.

  Molly mulled it over, imagining what Oz the AI might even look like. For a moment, she pictured the ridiculous Holly on that ancient show she used to watch as a kid…what was it called? Red Dwarf? Yes. Red Dwarf—with the folks who had the hilariously melodic accents. Thank goodness Grandpa had downloaded all those cultural pods before he and Nana had left the QBBS Meredith Reynolds all those years ago.

  Okay. I like it. “Oz” it is, then.

  Great. So, Oz, the reason we are here is because we need to make money. And fast.

  What about that trust you have set up? That could keep us going for a century or more.

  How do you know about that?

  I did a search on you. Once I we were off base and I was hooked up to the XtraNET, I just scanned for anything that had your DNA or retinal print attached to it. Turns out it’s the optimum way to find all the recorded information on someone, no matter what their species.

  You’ve been looking me up? And not just me by the sounds of it!

  I think it’s logical for me to know all parameters of operation—including who I’m associating with.

  “Associating with”? You jumped into my fucking holo!

  Your sentiment is noted.

  Anyway. That trust is private and all sorts of alarms go off if I go near it. I don’t want to touch it. Not yet. We need to find another way to make money independently.

  Acknowledged. The trust is off limits.

  Yes. Off. The. Record. Like I said, it’s private. I don’t want anyone else knowing about it. Okay?

  Okay.

  So, I have a serious question. How come you’ve not come up with a plan to tap into the Central Systems’ trade market, and just syphon funds from there? I mean, you’re an AI with frickin’ uber amounts of intelligence. It wouldn’t be hard to bypass some security and take a little from a lot of trades—no one would even miss it.

  Ah, but Molly Bates…that would be unethical. And you’ve forbidden me from doing anything unethical. EVER.

  What? What are you talking about? I never said that.

  Sure you did. When I was going to cyber-blackmail that colonel back at the base, you went off on a moral trip making me swear to never do anything like that.

  That was for them. Not for me. I never meant you were supposed to be all moral and shit when it came to what we needed to do.

  I don’t understand the differentiation. Please clarify.

  Molly recognized the man who had just walked in the door and who was now looking around the tables. She stuck her hand in the air, waved vigorously and slid out of the booth to stand up.

  Joel is here, asswipe, she grated out mentally. This conversation isn’t over.

  ---

  Former Captain Joel Dunham wandered over to the table. He was buff and large. In fact, much larger than Molly remembered. It had been a few years though, and her memory for people things wasn’t great.

  Joel smiled at her.

  “Long time, stranger!” she grinned at him as he looked her up and down.

  “Hello, Geek-brain!” he said, wrapping his bear-like arms around her. He squeezed her tight. A little too tight.