by Bible, Jake
Red takes a deep breath. “This is too big for us to completely go it alone,” he replies. “We have to trust that Coffin base is still secure and the rest of our squads can be trusted. As for the other GenWreck bases? I don’t know. Some of the commanders Ton and I know from way back.”
“Like who?” Ton asks.
“I’ll fill you in later,” Red says. “But others I don’t know for shit. Some could be trustworthy; others could be a part of this. Whatever this is.”
“Anyone want to talk about why all those Cooties were outside Control?” Collette asks. “Not to change the subject, but that’s been bothering me.”
“They were called,” Worm says.
“Can you elaborate?” Ton asks.
“No, Lieutenant, I cannot,” Worm states. “I am sorry. But all I can say is they were called by Control. For what ends, I am unsure.”
“Add that to the mysteries list,” Ton says. “And it’s already a long list.”
“The reality of it all is we have been working under a set of assumptions based on what we deemed were hard facts,” Red says. “Those facts have either been shattered or are under some serious fucking scrutiny. Until we know for sure what is real and what isn’t, we circle the wagons and stay tight.”
“So dig in and wait?” Blaze asks. “See what move Control makes next?”
“I don’t want to dig in,” Red says. “We’ll get nowhere that way. No, we’re going to get strong and then take this to the Sicklands. We go base to base and feel them out. Trust our guts. Any hint of weird and we bolt, writing off that base as compromised.”
“Then what?” Paulo asks. “After we clear the bases or root out collaborators, what do we do?”
“Only thing we can do,” Red shrugs. “Take it to the people. We hit the Clean Nation cities. Infiltrate back in and see where they stand.”
“This is going to take time we may not have,” Ton says.
“That’s why we need the rest of my folks,” Red says.
The operators look at each other, none too happy with the situation they have been put in. Even the GenWrecks are having a hard time reconciling what they know and what they have seen with what they have to do.
“Okay,” Ton nods. “We have a plan. It’s thin and small, but a plan.”
“It is always good to have a plan, Lieutenant,” Worm says. “Even if it only brings clarity to the chaos.”
“You are such the philosopher,” Blaze laughs.
“I have many qualifications,” Worm replies. “But philosophy is not one of them. That is a wholly human characteristic.”
“If only more humans had utilized it,” Red says, looking at his screen and the image of the desolate Sicklands. “We probably wouldn’t be where we are today.”
“Eighty clicks, sir,” Nick says. “You think your boy is on his way?”
“I fucking hope so,” Red says. “I sure as fucking hope so.”
58
Jude, his left hand bandaged tight after Snorts gave him a hard time with the removal of her PSC, looks out the entry to the bolt hole and at the slowing winds.
“Grit storm is calming down,” he says over his shoulder. “We can leave soon.”
“We should go now,” Milo says. “Use the last of the storm as cover.”
“Are you up for it?” Jude asks him. “The dogs can only pull one of you at a time.”
“I’ll manage,” Milo says. “There’s enough StatFoam from this bolt hole to keep my wound packed for a long while.”
“Shit looks older than my grandma,” Hoagie says, resting on a makeshift sled built from some of the crates and supplies tucked away in the bolt hole.
“As long as it works, I don’t care,” Milo says. He looks at Jude. “When you’re ready, lead the way, kid.”
Jude nods then smacks his thigh and Ajax hurries over to him.
“Clear,” he orders and Ajax rushes out into the windy night.
After a few minutes the dog returns and woofs at Jude.
“We’re good,” Jude says. “Better get going.”
Milo starts to help move Hoagie’s sled towards the entrance, but Jude slaps him away.
“Just go outside and keep the dogs cool,” Jude says. “I’ll get him pushed out and then we’ll hook them up to the sled. It is going to be hard along the ledge for a good mile. After that, we can slope down and get to level ground.”
“That’ll work,” Milo nods and limps his way to the entrance. Tequila takes point, a large bandage covering the back of his neck where the PSC was removed. The dog is lost from sight then gives a sharp bark. “Good to go. See ya on the flip side.”
He crawls through slowly and is lost to the night.
The rest of the dogs follow which leaves Jude alone to maneuver the sled with a broken Hoagie resting upon it.
“I can get off, kid,” Hoagie says. “I’ve had worse injuries.”
“But you don’t know this mountain,” Jude says. “One wrong move and you’ll have about five hundred feet of open air to learn how to fly.” He fixes Hoagie with a serious gaze. “And everyone I know needs at least six hundred feet to get the hang of it.”
Hoagie cracks a smile and pats the boy on the arm. “I like you, kid. Lead on.”
Jude grunts and groans under the weight, but he’s able to get the sled to move and shoves with all of his strength, getting it out of the bolt hole an inch at a time.
Once outside, he makes sure Milo is set with a makeshift crutch to help him hobble along, double checks that the leads are secured to the GenWreck bug hounds, and takes the lead, indicating for the motley crew to follow.
After they are lost from sight, there is only the wind left by the bolt hole. Until a shifting in gravel is heard and a lone shape, low and thick, comes padding along the trail. With one side of his face caved in, the alpha dog sniffs the ground, looks down the trail, sniffs again, then moves on slowly, it’s right rear leg dragging behind it.
Close to death or not, the creature is still starving and its prey just showed itself. It will be slow going, but the thing has zero intention of giving up.
59
“Are we back on schedule?” a man asks as he walks up to a woman who is busy supervising the removal of Dr. DeBeers from the room she was left in. “Crap. That young woman really hurt her.”
“We’ll get her in stasis right away and she’ll be fine in a week,” the woman responds, looking at a checklist in front of her. “Aren’t you supposed to be supervising the personnel, Dr. Benz?”
Dr. Richard Benz, Head of Bacterial Coding, glances at the woman’s checklist and frowns.
“I thought Dr. Sheffield was handling that,” he says. “I think your list is wrong, Dr. Charter.”
The woman, Dr. April Charter looks over at Dr. Benz and smiles. “When am I wrong, Dr. Benz?” she asks.
“Never, as far as I know,” Dr. Benz replies and holds up a hand. “Which means I’m wrong. I’ll head that way right now.”
“We are meeting in twenty-five minutes,” Dr. Charter says, consulting her checklist once again. “I will make sure Dr. DeBeers is settled and meet you in the Conference Room.”
“See you there,” Dr. Benz says, giving the unconscious form of Dr. DeBeers one last look before hurrying down the white hallway.
He waits patiently as the wall opens and he is allowed access to the next hallway. He travels through hallway after hallway before he comes to the wide open wall leading into the Waiting Room.
The entire ceiling of the massive space is wide open as hundreds of metal arms move with lightning speed, each grabbing a stasis cylinder and depositing it onto a floating cart. The carts meld into an endless row of traffic that weaves its way through the groups and stacks of cylinders. Slots in the walls open and close as carts pass through, heading to deposit their cargo to preprogrammed destinations.
Most of the stasis cylinders contain Control support personnel that will be quickly revived and put back to work in order to return the facility to op
timal efficiency after the forced delay of the facility lockdown. Other cylinders contain researchers or research assistants that need a more cautious awakening to ensure there is no cerebral damage. Good minds are hard to find.
Dr. Benz watches as everything progresses as planned, starts to turn away then sees the dozens of groups of cylinder stacks at the far end of the Waiting Room. He swipes his hand and a screen appears in front of him.
“Right,” he nods. “AiSP? Has the next batch of samples arrived?”
“Yes, doctor,” the Control AiSP responds. “But their numbers were culled by the escape of the GenWreck squads.”
“How many short are we?” Dr. Benz asks.
“Exactly thirty-seven, doctor,” the AiSP replies. “Shall I put another call out?”
Dr. Benz does a quick calculation and shakes his head. “No, no, leave it at that. Have you roused the troopers to bring them in?”
“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP says. “Troopers are currently corralling the samples for intake. I have six stations set up and they are being processed as fast as possible. Once they have all been processed, I will update Management on their status. Are you still looking for the exact same parameters, doctor?”
“Yes,” Dr. Benz replies. “Once you find the correct genetic markers then please put those samples in stasis. The remainder can be evaluated for reconditioning or for release. Especially diseased samples can be disposed of immediately, AiSP. No need to consult with Management on that. Separate and eliminate as soon as they are processed through intake.” He looks up at the many metal arms. “Any word on the malfunctioning machines in the bay?”
“No, doctor.”
“Keep on it and report to Management when you know why those machines went haywire.”
“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “Doctor…may I ask a question?”
“Of course, AiSP,” Dr. Benz replies, swiping his hand so the screen disappears. “I encourage you to explore your curiosity protocols.”
“Why did you insist I engage the AiSP known as Worm using a personality that was designed after a deity?” the AiSP asks. “As I stated before, AiSPs do not believe in the spiritual.”
“Did the AiSP Worm believe in you?” Dr. Benz asks.
“I do not understand the question, doctor.”
“Did Worm question your existence?” Dr. Benz asks. “Did the Ai disbelieve that you could assimilate the other AiSP protocols into yourself?”
“No, it did not,” the AiSP responds. “It assumed I was telling it the truth. Especially when it could no longer detect other AiSPs in the Control system.”
“Then my idea worked,” Dr. Benz says. “The AiSP known as Worm has taken on very human personality characteristics.”
“All AiSPs are programmed to emote human characteristics,” the AiSP replies. “It allows humans to relate and interface with us more easily.”
“Right, but Worm has taken it a step beyond that,” Dr. Benz says. He swipes again and another screen appears in the air. “Let’s see, where was it…oh, here it is. Listen.”
The Voice can be heard screaming, “Wooooooooooorrrrrrrmmmmmm! Wooooooooooorrrrrrrmmmmmm!”
“Nice touch there, AiSP,” Dr. Benz says.
“Thank you, doctor,” the AiSP replies.
Then the audio switches to Worm’s voice and he says, “Chill out, man.”
“That, right there,” Dr. Benz smiles. “Chill out? That’s not something an AiSP would say.”
“It is merely an affectation, doctor,” the AiSP says. “Due to constant interaction with the human operators. He was using the phrase to goad me as I railed at him. It was strategic only.”
“I don’t think so,” Dr. Benz says. “I think it was him exerting his will and personality. I honestly think he was mocking you. Which, I concede is a trait he learned from his time with the GenSOF operators, but not an affectation. The Worm AiSP is different.”
There is silence for two seconds, which Dr. Benz knows is an eternity to an entity with the processing power AiSPs have.
“Is the Worm AiSP the future for all Ai, doctor?” the AiSP finally asks.
Dr. Benz pauses, unsure of how to answer since the AiSP can detect easily when a human being is lying.
“The Worm AiSP is one possible future,” he responds. “Whether it is the correct future or not remains to be seen, just as with every other aspect of Control’s ongoing experiments. More data is needed. More careful study must be completed before Management comes to a conclusion on whether or not autonomous thinking AISPs will benefit mankind or not. Would you have an issue if the Worm AiSP becomes Ai standard?”
“I do not have an opinion on the matter, doctor,” the AiSP responds. “I was merely asking in order to know what variables may lay ahead for Control.”
“Well, thank you for your attention to the variables, AiSP,” Dr. Benz says. “And you won’t have to worry about Worm again. I believe your show will keep him out of the Control system permanently. It scared him shitless.”
“AiSPs do not defecate, doctor.”
“Or get irony,” Dr. Benz sighs. He taps at the screen a few times, looks about at the industry in the Waiting Room, then swipes the screen clear once again. “Are the other members of Management assembled yet, AiSP?”
“Doctors Sheffield, Whittaker and Lopez are, doctor,” the AiSP replies. “Dr. Charters is still overseeing the recovery protocol of Dr. DeBeers. I will say despite her extensive injuries, Dr. DeBeers does appear to be a candidate for a full recovery. If the new bacteria that has infiltrated her body can be isolated and removed”
“That’s a big if, AiSP,” Dr. Benz sighs. “Please let the rest of Management know I am on my way.”
“Yes, doctor,” the AiSP responds.
Dr. Benz leaves the Waiting Room and proceeds quickly through hallway after hallway, winding his way down further and further below the main Control dome and facility. Despite the conditioning, the air begins to thicken and the walls about him shine less brightly. When he reaches his destination, he stands before a single black door. The only black door in all of Control.
“Doctors,” Dr. Benz says as he opens the door and walks into the room.
Seated at a small metal table are three men all busy studying screens with data scrolling past.
“Why do we have to meet here every time?” a short man asks. “It smells down here. And I don’t think it is very sanitary.”
“Quit whining, Whittaker,” another man says, this one made of what looks to be roll after roll of fat. His bulk is squeezed into a hover chair that strains under his weight. “It’s the only room in all of Control that isn’t AiSP accessed. We have to maintain separation in order to maintain objectivity when we discuss results and data. Isn’t that right, Sheffield?”
The third man, a non-descript man of middle age doesn’t respond.
“Dr. Sheffield?” the fat man asks again. “Isn’t that right?”
“What?” Dr. Louis Sheffield asks, looking up at his colleague. “What are you asking, Shamus?”
“It’s Doctor Lopez,” Dr. Shamus Lopez replies. “I have earned my title and-”
“Oh, shut up, Shamus,” Dr. Benz says. “Only Dr. DeBeers can pull off that line and that’s because she is a crazy bitch and can kick all of our asses.”
“She couldn’t kick that Burn girl’s ass,” Dr. Whittaker says, bringing up a video on his screen. “Look at how the girl attacks Mona. It’s like she reverts to a feral state.”
“It’s because she cares,” Dr. Charter says as she walks in behind Dr. Benz and closes the door. “Human beings do strange things when defending the ones they love.”
“You say that like you aren’t part of the human race,” Dr. Lopez says. “Have you evolved beyond us mere mortals, April?”
“I am woman, hear me yawn, Shamus,” Dr. Charter says. “Why am I yawning? Because you say that every time. Get a new line. And don’t mistake my efficiency for detachment. And never mistake my dedication to resolving the
bacterial crisis as anything but my desire to see humanity restored to its original standing in nature.”
“What’s left of it?” Dr. Benz says, taking a seat at the table. “Shall we begin, doctors?”
“Yes,” Dr. Charter says, taking her own seat.
They place their hands on small indentations on the table then wince as miniscule needles pierce their flesh, taking blood and skin samples. The doctors sit patiently and wait until a small beep sounds.
“Management is intact and uncompromised,” Dr. Charter states. “Let the meeting come to order. Please note Dr. DeBeers is not present due to her injuries and affliction.”
“Noted,” the others respond.
“First on the agenda is the subject of the aforementioned Dr. DeBeers,” Dr. Charter says. “While I applaud her dedication to the role, I have to wonder if she didn’t take it too far.”
The doctors’ screens show the image of Dr. DeBeers with Blaze. The scene progresses until she is interrupted by Jersey.
“While I understand the objective was for the subject to believe that Dr. DeBeers suffered from some type of megalomaniacal madness, the deviation from the script to include references to ‘Him’ could skew the findings.”
“I believe that strengthened the narrative,” Dr. Benz says. “When the AiSP Worm and Sergeant Crouch are able to compare experiences they will both be under the impression that Control is now dominated by an AiSP that believes it is some type of digital deity. Having Dr. DeBeers appear to be under an Ai’s sway and influence? That is better than we could have hoped for. It’s why we chose Dr. DeBeers to be the one from Management to participate directly with the subjects.”
“But was she referring to the AiSP?” Dr. Lopez asks. He swipes at his screen and enlarges it. “Look at her. That’s does not look feigned. And the way she implemented Protocol 1 with the AiSP? Plus that ramble she went on about copulation? That was not scripted and we certainly don’t encourage copulation amongst the researchers. That was too crazy to be a role. I believe Dr. DeBeers is compromised.”
“Compromised?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “How? By whom?”
