A cable extended from the bulbous sac and writhed up Gerry’s body until it reached his neck. A glistening needle-thin protrusion extended from the cable. It reared back like a cobra and struck in a flash, sending the point deep into his neck port. Burning pain shot through him. He clenched his jaw, trying to absorb the pain. A wire worked its way through the cable and into Gerry’s neck. A pulse of electricity bolted through his nerves. His vision faded, and his muscles tensed. Bilanko wheezed close to his ear, “Let’s see what secrets the Family have left in you.”
While in Bilanko’s technological embrace, Gerry dreamed of his life before Cemprom, a life before his role as lead algorithm designer. He approached it like most kids: read the data-slates given to him by his tutors, completed his homework, achieved one hundred percent in all his marks.
One thing that was different about him and the other kids, though, were his dreams. Like now, they were about data. Bits and strings of binary floating in the vacuum of his thoughts. He built cities from small data packets. Little chunks of information of things he picked up during his day. He took these raw pieces of material and built huge memory palaces, mansions and entire cities in his mind.
He never spoke of this ability to anyone until he first went to Cemprom as an outstanding graduate in information architecture. There they put a name to his talents.
“You have a kind of auto-pedagogic learning mechanism,” they said. “Your brain creates order from chaos, places non-contextual information into organised structures so that the most complex of ideas or datasets are easy for you to understand. The neural pathways in your brain are unlike anything we’ve seen before.”
“What does that actually mean, practically?” Gerry asked.
“You have three times more neural pathways than the average graduate. Where analysis of data is a bottleneck for most people, to you it’s like a river with no dam to stop it. You can process data faster and in greater volume than most others. You’re like a living computer with a huge input and output capacity.”
They made him undergo a number of tests. He aced them—as usual. He couldn’t understand why he was so special, or why he had this ability. He’d had the same upbringing and tuition as his classmates, as his best friend Mike Welling, and yet he appeared to stand alone with this weird brain of his. Well, weird according to others. He just went through life as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t necessarily see a direct benefit of this ability—until he worked with the algorithm.
And that’s where he shined.
Once involved with numbers and data, he thrived. He manipulated, analysed, and created the perfect formulas and algorithms for Cemprom’s numerous security systems, so when they got the call to develop the algorithm for the D-Lottery, Gerry was the number one candidate. Personally picked by an unnamed member of the Family to head the team.
The data stream between him and Bilanko resembled that river. Only it was tumultuous, wild, and out of control. His usual ability to look into and find meaning in the data had left him. Now he acted like a router. Switching packets to and from, fetching requests, and storing information. Only he couldn’t tell what this information was: it was too secure. And that frightened him. Never had he taken data in without knowing what it was in some form or another. He didn’t know where to file it, so this torrent of information overflowed his perfectly designed city of organisation to create pools of unsorted data.
A scream shattered his thought pattern.
He opened his eyes. Bilanko had removed her interface cable and dropped him to the ground. A cold dread from the concrete floor spread throughout his skin as he watched Bilanko in her metal frame wobble away from him, shaking her deformed head. The respirator juddered up and down the tube in ragged, fast movements.
“What? What did you find?” he asked.
Bilanko ignored him while she wobbled into her corner. The door to Old Grey opened.
“Get out. Fetch Petal and leave. You’ve paid your tithe, Mr Cardle. Paid it many times over.”
“I don’t know what you mean. What have you put in my head?”
“Huh!” She snorted. “You should be asking yourself what you’ve put in mine. You’re not natural, Mr Cardle, there’s something very different about you. I don’t wish to know any more. I suggest you leave now … while you’re still able.”
“What do you mean different?”
“I’ve never seen it before, there’s, something else in you. I can’t explain any more. Leave.”
“But—”
“I don’t give second chances, Mr Cardle,” Bilanko shouted through the speaker system.
Not wanting to irritate the queen further, Gerry got to his feet, brushed the dust and sweat from his face, and entered Old Grey’s room.
Chapter 10
Petal sat in a chair similar to the ones back at their secure room. She wasn’t strapped in, but was hooked up to a panel with a multitude of ports and cables.
A glossy, black box that stood taller than Gerry, and twice as wide, dominated the room. Flared vents on its side emitted regular plumes of frost. A pair of LEDs on its front flickered intermittently. At its base, a boy lay crumpled in a mess of limbs. He wore black clothing similar to the bar’s patrons. He didn’t have augmented eyes, however, and his hair was shoulder length. He looked like any ordinary kid from City Earth—apart from two things: neck ports and a series of transdermal implants up his right arm.
“Renegade hacker,” Petal said without looking up. She swiped a series of gestures across her HackSlate and sighed. Her foot tapped against the footrest spasmodically. “Couldn’t breach Old Grey’s first security subroutine. It fried his brains.”
“We need to go. Bilanko found something weird.”
“Weird how?” Petal stopped gesturing and looked up.
“I don’t know. Said I’ve got something wrong in me. Something different. But it was from her! I saw it. The data stream is a real mess.”
“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 h
istory 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 thank
ed 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.
Code Breakers: Alpha Page 8
