by Ian Williams
The Sentient Collector
Ian Williams
Copyright © 2015 by Ian Williams
Ian Williams has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
To my family and friends for their support and encouragement.
Cover design by: http://www.selfpubbookcovers.com/RLSather
This book has been professionally edited.
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Table of Contents
Prologue: 2046 – Seven years after technological singularity
Chapter 1: 2058 – 12 years later
Chapter 2: Do you kill bad computers, Daddy?
Chapter 3: The warehouse
Chapter 4: Phoenix
Chapter 5: The girl with the flame red hair
Chapter 6: Playtime is over
Chapter 7: Moonlighting
Chapter 8: Kristof Rajco
Chapter 9: The next phase
Chapter 10: Not in the job description
Chapter 11: 20 minutes earlier
Chapter 12: The Beacon Code
Chapter 13: Friend or foe
Chapter 14: Sanctuary
Chapter 15: Storming the castle
Chapter 16: 15 minutes earlier
Chapter 17: Repercussions
Chapter 18: The house always wins
Chapter 19: Best laid plans
Chapter 20: Defragged
Chapter 21: Outside
Epilogue: 18 months later
About the author
Other books by Ian Williams
Connect with Me
Prologue
2046 – Seven years after technological singularity
The lift shook as yet another floor passed by. Each floor had been accompanied by a deafening ringing sound from the internal alarm system. As they quickly dropped further, the noise diminished until only a faint echo could be heard. By Stephen’s last count they had passed around six floors and were now only three more away from reaching their destination.
In front of him were two heavy-set men with arms larger than his thighs – not a difficult proposition considering he had spent most of his life sat in front of a computer screen, and had the scrawny physique to fit. They stood blocking the door and the buttons to the lift, leaving him guessing how many basement floors remained. They were two of the largest men the building’s security team had; a deliberately threatening choice that had Stephen nervous.
He was not the only person the large men towered over in the lift. To Stephen’s side stood the man responsible for dragging him into this mess: a smartly dressed corporate man named Travis. The suit the man wore was as straight and tidy as the immaculately groomed hair atop his head. His stature highlighted his position within the Simova Company, with shoulders standing apart proudly and confidently, and a chin permanently raised. When they had spoken, Stephen observed how little eye contact they had shared; the man was clearly unhappy to deal with the likes of Stephen and his colleagues.
As the eighth basement floor flashed by, and with it the return of the ear piercing noise from the alarms, Stephen began to feel trapped as he looked over his companions, all of who were at least ten years younger than him now at fifty-four. He sighed. He was supposed to be relaxing at home, it was his day off.
“When we arrive, don’t hesitate when exiting,” the large ponytailed man on the left said over his shoulder. On anyone else the haircut would have looked feminine, not so with such a huge person.
“And make sure you stay behind us at all times,” the other security guard added.
Stephen glanced over to Travis beside him, who showed no signs of worry at all, unlike his own twitching face. He swallowed hard, but whatever had stuck to the side of his throat refused to budge.
“Don’t worry, Stephen. This will be over quickly, I promise,” Travis said.
“Ninth floor. Here we go,” one of the guards interrupted them.
As the lift began to slow a light emerged through the tiny gap between the metal doors. Again the noise of the alarm drowned out everything else. After one more bump to pull at Stephen’s already frayed nerves, the lift finally stopped. Next, the doors began to part to reveal a corridor flooded with blood red light from the emergency back-up systems.
“Move.”
Stephen followed the bouncing tail of hair of the guard in front of him, using the man’s large bulk to hide himself entirely. They headed down the corridor and sped around the corner, all the while checking for movement ahead. This part was easy, he just followed and then stopped every time the guards wanted him to.
Everything appeared to Stephen to be a diluted shade of red, like a cheap bottle of wine. His sight became confused as he struggled to adjust to the unwelcoming hue. This was not how he usually saw these corridors, and in his normal working hours these floors were a brightly lit maze of rooms, all containing banks of computers far more powerful than the average person’s home computer. But this was not to be a normal day at all.
Around the next corner they arrived at a large door that, despite the guards’ obvious strength, just would not budge. Stephen peeked through the thin glass panes that ran vertically next to the handles, and made out a shadow running horizontally across both small windows. Whatever it was it had been used to crudely lock the door. Those behind the door were making it clear they did not want to be joined.
On a normal day, Stephen would have probably been inside there with his colleagues. Today, however, he found himself the outsider of the group and very much on the opposing side. He had been given strict orders not to engage with his colleagues by the man next to him, who was evidently much higher up the Simova Company’s pecking order than anyone on the ninth floor. It was an odd request, and one that Stephen was not at all happy to have been given.
“We’re not getting in this way,” Travis said to the guards.
“There’s only one other way in and that’s straight through the viewing window.”
Travis peered through the small window by the left door’s handle. He squinted and became disappointed when he saw nothing. “Fine, but let’s try not to make too much of a mess. This building is too expensive to trash,” he said.
Stephen followed the group as they took the door to their right, down another short corridor, and then the large three metre wide panoramic viewing window appeared. On the other side of the window the lights shone an equally threatening shade of red. This time the colour was joined by the glow of a wall of computer screens, all scrolling a seemingly random text against a flickering blue background.
“What on Earth is all that?” Travis asked while leaning in closer to the glass.
Stephen knew exactly what it was, it was chaos. The kind of random code that Travis’ bosses had paid billions in developing. Not the type of programming ordinary people saw or even really knew existed, and not something money-men such as Travis would appreciate either.
“That’s Isaac,” Stephen murmured as he wiped the sweat from his hands onto his corduroy trousers.
Travis turned suddenly, his eyes swollen with surprise. “That’s the AI?”
“Yes sir.” Stephen was about to continue speaking when a woman appeared on the other side of the glass window.
“Sir,” the ponytailed man said. “It
’s one of the tech people.”
“I can see that, thank you. Who is it?” Travis asked Stephen.
The expression of disgust and fear on the woman’s face told Stephen all he needed to know about the situation he found himself in. This was a bad place to be, and worst of all, he was with the wrong people. Suddenly the woman spotted Stephen and approached the glass. She stared into his eyes, her own bloodshot ones slightly obscured by her brunette hair, which hung scruffily down. It was clear she had not brushed her hair in days, not a surprise considering the stand-off had lasted at least two days.
“It’s Sam, sir. She’s the head of this department, my boss,” Stephen said.
“And is she the one leading this siege?” Travis asked.
Stephen was so mesmerised by Sam’s tired eyes and greasy skin that he missed the question completely. He had never seen her this way before.
“I want to talk to her. Where’s the intercom?” Travis clicked his fingers to the nearest guard, who quickly found the correct button and pressed it down. A bing-bong sound played out to confirm the connection. “Sam, can you hear me?”
“Yes. What do you want?” Sam said, turning her attention away from Stephen.
“I want to resolve this dispute.”
“There’s nothing left to discuss. We won’t allow you to destroy what we’ve spent the last twenty two years developing.”
Travis backed away from the window and moved a few steps to his right, clearing his view of the screens in the background. He crossed his arms behind his back and looked on. “I don’t think you understand. As far as the world is concerned it has already been destroyed. The press release is already circulating. It’s over, and the AI is to be shut down.”
“Isaac,” Stephen said to correct Travis, but his words were ignored by everyone, including Sam.
“You can’t just shut it down, it’s a living mind,” Sam protested.
“It’s not a living mind, it’s a product that this company owns. The time has come to accept that it failed. Look at the news, no-one wants it anymore. There’s currently at least ten different riots occurring around the nation over this thing. It’s become too untrustworthy. And dangerous I might add.”
“So what if the public don’t like it, we can still keep it running. Besides, no-one can really prove Isaac was responsible for that accident.”
“No. It is to be shut down immediately.” Travis appeared unwilling to engage in a discussion about the Mag-Lev accident that had recently claimed innocent lives. “Tell me, when did you last communicate with it anyway?” he said, pointing at the scrolling code.
Sam moved over to block Travis’ view once more. She stood as tall as she could manage to be as close to his eye height as possible. “Why?”
“Because I’ve heard that it’s not talking to you or your people. The truth is you’ve lost control of it, haven’t you?”
The question had Sam searching for words. Stephen understood why; they had failed to get through to Isaac for at least a month. There had been countless emergency meetings with Sam and the others he worked with, discussing how to break through the many layers of encryption that blocked their access. Each layer had widened the gap between them and the AI, until it had eventually become too big to cross.
Suddenly Stephen realised why he was there. He thought they had called him in to help his friends, but that had not been the reason at all. He could see from Sam’s face that she had no intention of shutting Isaac down. The only person left with the experience and qualifications necessary to do so was him.
“I’m going to give you all two minutes to open the door. Come out and we’ll forget about all of this. I warn you though, if you refuse then we’re coming in through this window,” Travis said. He gestured to the two security guards stood behind him, as if to back-up his threat.
“Sir,” Stephen said. “I can’t do this. Please, I want to leave.”
Travis turned away from the window. He also turned his back on Sam, who heard Stephen’s request to leave. She placed her hands on the glass and watched as Travis spoke.
“You’re here for one reason, Stephen, and that’s to shut this thing down. Do you understand me? If you want to keep your job and have any hopes of a continued career after today then you’ll do as you’re told.”
It was a small threat. Still, it had been enough to freeze Stephen to the spot. Travis was more forceful than Stephen was used to.
“So,” Travis said, returning his gaze to the dishevelled looking Sam on the other side of the glass. “What’s your answer?”
She chose not to respond, and instead walked away from the window. She stopped in front of the wall of screens for a moment before disappearing around the back. The answer was clear; she was not interested in listening anymore.
“Get something to break the glass.” Travis gave the order to the guards as he straightened out the front of his suit by hand.
Stephen watched in horror as the large men both returned carrying a piece of furniture. The ponytailed man had chosen a metal office chair, while the other guard had settled on using the bottom half of a water cooler. They began to take turns at swinging their implements into the glass. After only a few hits it had already cracked a little.
“Hit it harder,” Travis insisted impatiently.
The guards timed their next hits together with a mouthed, but not spoken, count to three. Stephen backed away from the window in anticipation of it shattering. This time the glass fell through and landed on the floor with a huge crash the moment they made contact with it. The alarm still ringing in the background was suddenly overwhelmed by the tremendous outpouring of noise.
As soon as the window had been removed the two guards leapt through and vanished around the corner, leaving Travis and Stephen to climb over by themselves – not an easy task considering Stephen’s dodgy knee. After getting through they were met with a painful scream from behind the wall of computer screens. It had sounded like Sam, giving Stephen an instant shot of panic right up the length of his spine.
Around the other side of the screens were banks of wall-to-ceiling computers, each covered by a tangled array of wires that resembled balls of wool in some places. Standing in front of them, and lined up as if awaiting a firing squad, were Stephen’s colleagues. At the end was Sam, holding her stomach while the man next to her held her up by the arm. The ponytailed guard stood before her, his fist clenched after having already used it to subdue her.
“Hey, hey, easy,” Travis said. “Leave them.”
Stephen stood trembling at the sight of his friends in such a bad way. He had only been away a week – a short break he was very much regretting having taken now. In such a short amount of time things had gone from uncertain to completely screwed-up.
“Stephen,” Sam began to say, but was stopped as a cough forced its way out of her, along with a spray of blood from her split lip. The guard had wasted no time at all in breaking her leadership.
“Don’t talk, Stephen.” With his back turned, Travis raised his hand and gestured to one of the screens to the right. “If you please.”
One of the men in the line-up then began to speak. “Stephen, you can’t do this.”
Stopping short of the screen, Stephen faced the man that he knew was called Richard and replied, “I don’t want to either.”
Travis momentarily closed his eyes as he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, before walking over. He grabbed a scruff of Stephen’s shirt, pulling it up as he marched over to the screen. Once there he roughly threw Stephen against it. “Shut it down, now,” he said.
When Stephen failed to comply, Travis nodded to the guard standing at the far end of the line-up. Without warning the guard launched a fist into Richard’s face, sending him directly to the floor.
“Do it or he’ll continue,” Travis ordered.
Stephen had seen enough and was shaking uncontrollably. Every time he pressed the touch screen’s keyboard he typed more than the one letter
he intended. He quickly deleted the rest until he was happy with what he had entered.
“Please, if you do this you’ll have killed the most remarkable intelligence this world has ever seen,” Sam pleaded.
“I’m sorry, I truly am,” Travis said. “If it were up to me I’d let it continue. But this is a business, and businesses need to make a profit. Do you know how much money this project has burnt through? And all we have to show for it is a complete downturn of our share prices.”
“Do you think Isaac cares about stocks and shares?” Richard asked. “He’s completely changed this country in just seven years.”
Stephen stopped typing and focused on the conversation. He could not decide whether to continue or to stop entirely.
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Travis walked along the line like a Nazi commander, until he reached Richard. He glared straight at his victim, sending a look of fire and brimstone directly into his eyes. A few seconds later and his face relaxed again. “But the fact is the public have abandoned our products and have begun campaigning to see this thing destroyed. They just don’t trust it. Frankly, neither do I anymore. These past few weeks have seen it ignore us and our customers entirely. Add to that reports of unauthorised accessing of incredibly sensitive files – which the Government’s security agencies are all fuming mad about – and you have the makings of a very broken AI indeed.”
Stepping away from the screen, Stephen moved until he could see Richard’s battered and bruised face. Two steps further and he was almost near enough to the door to leave. Except what he would do if he managed to escape remained a mystery to him. Perhaps he could call for help? That idea proved easy to dismiss. It was unlikely he would find any, he knew. The building had been evacuated after someone had pulled the, still far too loud, fire alarm.
“Stephen,” Travis shouted, causing the room to hush all of a sudden. “What are you doing?”
