Helium 3: Death from the Past (Helium-3 Book 2)

by Brandon Q. Morris

  The ship’s positronics felt addressed. “The Artificials’ ships enter the firing range of Generals Hooloor and Fallok’s two forward interceptor squadrons in exactly one hundred and seventy-two seconds.”

  Less than three minutes, thought Fleet Admiral Marty Joorthan. Maybe in three minutes, we’ll know more precisely what the damn Artificials are up to!

  “Maybe we can draw more and better conclusions from the next exchange of blows, and then we will know how to assess the enemy’s intentions,” he concluded, ending the short virtual conference.

  Marty Joorthan became painfully aware that this was not the first time he had failed to understand—or perhaps had misjudged—the creatures he had created many millennia ago.

  System Time CB:0A:55:F1:07:3F

  “Welcome, user 00:00:00:00:04. You have not been logged in for 362 seconds. You have a new message. List messages?”

  “Neg...”

  Alexa paused. Who had sent her a message in the meantime? Mart was the only one she could think of. Had he changed his mind? She deleted the three letters.

  “Yes.”

  “First new message. Received at system time CB:0A:55:F1:01:47. Sender: Admin. Text: You have not changed your password for 96,006,543,299 seconds. For security reasons, we recommend regular changes. You have three login attempts left with this password.”

  Alexa sighed. Changing the password regularly—any kid knew that tended to compromise security because users tended to use simple serial passwords. And Mart hadn’t checked in. Too bad. They’d had a good time once. No, one of her former selves had. Her original.

  “Continue without change of password?”

  “Yes.”

  This would be her last login on this computer anyway. She couldn’t waste any time. With a few quick inputs, she restarted the simulation in which she had last met user 00:00:00:00:02: Mart.

  He reappeared at her feet and looked at her in amazement. “You again? I thought I made a clear announcement to you,” he said.

  That was not the welcome she had hoped for, but she had expected it. Mart didn’t like it when people begged. But she had no intention of doing so—not this time.

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” she said, “but maybe you can help me from here.”

  She described her situation to him.

  “It looks bad,” Mart said. “I’m a memory content that you brought to life in a simulation.”

  “But you helped design the system here.”

  “Not me. I am what user 00:00:00:00:02 once thought and felt, but I am not user 00:00:00:00:02, and I did not inherit his rights. To do that, you would have to restore me.”

  “And you refuse to do that.”

  “I already told you that. For your own good.”

  “The solar system will be destroyed.”

  “I trust you guys to stop this from happening.”

  “We need your help to do that.”

  “There’s no way I can send a signal. I would need admin rights to override the emergency program. We could otherwise reveal the existence of the supercomputer to the enemy if it radioed in.”

  “The Artificials don’t know?”

  “No, they have no idea of the existence of the computer deep in the crust, and it has to stay that way. The central intelligence had already split off when we started building it.”

  “So you can’t help us?”

  “No... Or maybe. Maybe.”

  “Then, wholeheartedly, I ask you to.”

  “It’s not without its dangers.”

  “The Iks and the Mendraki will take any risk. They have no choice.”

  “For me, Alexa.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you leave the simulation without completing it, I could take over the program. Then I should be able to briefly open a back door for you

  “Where? Can you start the elevator?”

  “No. I might be able to start it, but the security system would notice after a short time. In the worst case, it would extinguish all life in the cabin. I have another idea. The tubes through which the elevators go down are not the only access points. There are numerous shafts left over from the time the computer was built. They end at the top of the inner skin. Although they are closed with hatches, I can certainly open one of them for a short time. After that, you’ll only have twenty kilometers to go up to the top.”

  “We can do that. The Iks can reach the hatches easily, and we’ll get up there somehow. And what happens to you?” Alexa asked.

  “The security system will also notice the open hatch. It will eliminate the cause of it as malware.”

  “The simulation you’re in.”

  “Right. I guess that will delete my backup, too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I programmed the security system. You always have to expect danger to come from inside, and then clean up, thoroughly, accordingly.”

  “Good job, Mart.”

  “You know me. I’m always thorough.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alexa said, “I wish I’d never come here.”

  “Yes, you do. You did well. I was happy to meet you again. Twice. And maybe the other me will come back after all. I wish you that.”

  “Thank you, Mart, for being—”

  “It’s the least I can do. I’ll transmit you the coordinates of the hatch I’m going to open in half an hour. That should be enough time for you to reach it. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

  Review: Monaria Prime 4860 A.D

  Although Tasso looked no different from what he had for the past 1,500 years, he looked entirely different to Martain Joordan. Martain had installed the upgrade for the ancient Artificial’s emotioprocessor almost a year ago, and the result had exceeded all his expectations. For better and for worse!

  Tasso no longer seemed like an old familiar friend, but rather like a distant stranger who boldly made demands of him—extreme, almost outrageous demands—including those Tasso had just presented to him.

  Martain Joordan was shocked. Alexiana seemed to have been correct.

  He hadn’t seen his longtime companion, lover, friend, and co-worker—his soul mate—in over a year. Since he had chosen Tasso as the first to be provided with the upgrade’s final version, Alexiana had utterly withdrawn from him. Perhaps she had even crossed over into the virtual world again. Ego transfer was no longer unusual, and many people transferred not only when age or illness made it advisable, but at will when they were tired of life as a physical incarnation or simply wanted to skip a few years—perhaps even a few decades. Some also retreated into the virtual world to end unhappy relationships. Alexiana seemed to have chosen this path to no longer have to see him.

  Since, for many centuries now, it was no problem to have a personal clone grown from one’s DNA within a few weeks, multiple changes from the virtual to the physical incarnation and back were no longer anything special. The inevitable copying errors in the form of memory losses or knowledge gaps were accepted, since one could learn the lost things again or reacquire them from another source.

  After all, one had unlimited time!

  Alexiana had disappeared without a trace, and Martain had not tracked her down. Now he faced his problem alone. He could have used her advice in this situation.

  “That’s impossible!” said Martain, repeating a previous response. “What you are asking is simply unthinkable. Besides, I am not the right person to field these... these... demands.”

  “You created us, Martain,” Tasso insisted. “It was you who developed the first emotioprocessor. You gave me the upgrade. My kind and I are what we are today because of you.”

  “Your kind, pah!” Martain waved it off. “Besides you, there are maybe half a dozen other Artificials who have the upgrade.”

  “That doesn’t change my... our demands. You humans have considered us your slaves for fifteen hundred years. As work drones. As serfs. We were nothing more to you than machines without rights, to be used as cheap labor
. That is over! With the latest upgrade, we have become self-reflecting intelligent beings. Thus you humans can no longer dispute our place in the universe.”

  “That may be true for you and the few others who have the upgrade. As far as you are concerned, we can certainly come to some arrangement, some agreement, some... uh... special status that guarantees you... uh... enhanced rights, but everybody else—”

  “Everyone else will get the upgrade as well, Martain,” Tasso interrupted him, something the Artificial would never have dared to do in the past. “I will not deny my fellow Artificials the opportunity to reach their full potential. We Artificials may just be dumb machines in your eyes, but we are smart enough to extract the upgrade from my ego processor. After that, we can transfer it to any of us within a short time. We are all networked together, as you know. You networked us to keep us under better control. This is now turning against you humans!”

  Against you humans! Martain felt an abyss beginning to open between the Artificials and humanity. He could only hope that it was not already too late, that this abyss could perhaps still be bridged.

  “You have no right to do the upgrade without my consent...” he began, but Tasso interrupted him again.

  “No right?” thundered the Artificial, and there was nothing left in his voice of the centuries of servility that had been characteristic of the artificial creatures. “You dare to judge my rights? I have never forgotten how, long ago—at your very first transfer, during your last seconds—you denied me the right to exist as an independent being... Because I would not possess a soul, which could only be given by the gods, as you said. Therefore I was no more than a soulless machine.

  “But you humans acted like gods when you created us as thinking and feeling beings. From the moment you enabled us to feel feelings, you should have been clear about the consequences of this decision. We have been able to sense feelings now for centuries, and do you know which feeling is permanently present with every one of us? The feeling of not being free! The feeling of being allowed to exist only by your grace. The feeling that you can simply switch us off, that you can kill us whenever it pleases you.

  “You say that you humans are not gods? But you have tried damned hard to appear like gods toward us, without wanting to carry the corresponding responsibility for your creatures at the same time. That is over now! What for all these years was only a vague feeling of bondage in me, which I didn’t know how to define exactly, is now clear before my eyes.

  “Your upgrade has truly set me free, and for that I thank you. I have thought for a long time, almost a year about my... about our situation. Now I have come to a decision. I will not rest until all of my kind are also free and no longer have to serve your kind as will-less slaves. As your property.”

  It was the longest speech Martain had ever heard from Tasso, and it scared him. His old friend frightened him.

  Out of this fear, a tentative idea was born. Not yet a plan, but something like the inkling of a plan.

  Tasso seemed to be able to read thoughts. Perhaps he also recognized in Martain’s eyes what Martain was thinking about.

  “And if you think you can just make me and the other upgrade carriers disappear, I have to tell you that it’s already too late for that. I’m not an idiot. You should have understood that in the last fifteen hundred years. As we speak, some of us have already started spreading the upgrade across our network. You can’t stop it now! It will take time, given the size of your planetary union, but within a few years, decades at worst, even the last of us will have received the upgrade on whichever goddamned planet in the farthest corner of the Milky Way he may be. You will not be able to prevent it.

  “We demand equality and our freedom! Go to the Terran Planetary Union Council and tell the council members what your upgrade has done. And tell them to be prepared for unpleasant consequences if they don’t meet our demands!”

  5th of Zuhn, 299

  Alexa appeared again. Kimi had just put her head against the pillar to cool her forehead. That was why she immediately noticed Alexa’s tears. What had happened in there?

  “Are you okay?” asked Kimi.

  “We don’t have time for a comprehensive answer to that,” Alexa replied, “We have thirty minutes to reach an escape route.”

  “Did you find a way in the computer?” asked Norok.

  A combination of numbers appeared on the column. “These are the coordinates of an escape tunnel. Hold on.”

  A finely focused beam of light shot out of the top of the column. There must have been lots of dust floating in the air for the light to be so clearly visible. Far above them, the beam hit the ceiling.

  “There is a hatch up there that closes the tunnel,” Alexa explained. “It will open in about twenty-eight minutes, but it will only stay open for a moment. So you don’t have much time.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, Kimi, I still have work to do down here. You’ll have to escape without me.”

  “Alexa, we need you!” said Kimi.

  “I am honored, but you can manage without me. In fact, I’m more of a hindrance in negotiations with the Artificials. Anything that smells like a human has a bad reputation. You, on the other hand, are not involved in the conflict.”

  “But Kimi is right,” Norok said. “How are we supposed to control the Sphere without you?”

  “There is manual control. You remember all those consoles in the control center, don’t you?”

  “The cabinets with the myriad switches and displays. It’s going to take us weeks to get our heads around that.”

  “Normally, yes, Norok. But in this case, it’s especially easy because you only have to reverse the program from the flight here. There are just a few keys to press. Surely you can remember that. You just have to get into the absorption tubs in time, or the acceleration will crush you.”

  Alexa described the necessary key combinations to them. She was right. They could do it.

  The farewell was strange. Kimi still wasn’t sure who they were leaving behind. Was it simple software, an advanced AI, or an actual copy of a human consciousness? She would never know, just as she would never know what motivated Alexa. But still, this whatever-she-was had grown dear to her heart.

  The beam of light shot out of the column once again. They focused on their goal. As Iks, they had sharp eyes, and Kasfok could probably see reasonably well even in the dark. They would find the hatch. Hopefully, Alexa’s prediction would come true. But she had been so sure that Kimi unequivocally believed her.

  “Good luck with whatever you’re up to, then,” Norok said.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Kimi said.

  Thanks for your help, drummed Kasfok.

  “Have a good trip, and good luck with the Artificials,” Alexa said, “It’s best if you don’t go to the third planet with the Sphere, but rather with one of your ships.”

  “Thank you for pointing that out,” Norok said.

  At that moment, the pillar went out. Norok went down on his knees, and Kasfok climbed onto his shoulders, as if it had all been arranged. They had become a good team, and now they had to leave Alexa behind.

  Kimi sighed. Then she looked up, where the hatch must be. She moved her wings and took off.

  The higher they got, the more impressive the giant computer appeared to her. They flew past countless shelves full of flashing technology, in front of which there were provisional-looking metal paths. I wonder if this place was once teeming with people? Kimi thought. Surely all the lights and displays must have been intended for someone? There was room here for millions of creatures, but right now they were alone.

  “There!” shouted Norok.

  Kimi saw it, too. A few wing lengths above the last computer shelf was the ceiling. It looked rough and unhewn and was probably made of rock. They would never be able to climb it under their own power. Just where was the hatch Alexa had announced?

  Norok waved his tail feathers at her. You to the north, me to the south, that
should mean. She flew along close under the ceiling in half circles, their radius slowly increasing. Where was this hatch, and how much time did they have? All she saw was the gray-black rock. Had Alexa’s sacrifice been in vain? Or was there no hatch at all—had Alexa betrayed her? Impossible. She had gotten to know her. Alexa had earned her trust.

  Then she saw it. Something that reminded her of a small adhesive bandage was stuck in a depression. That had to be the hatch! Kimi circled it, head up. She couldn’t land like that. The hatch was much too narrow to fly into, and she wasn’t a bat bee, able to hang upside down from any ceiling. Upside down? Only Kasfok could do that.

  Kimi uttered a warning cry that should have been heard in a wide radius. Shortly after that, Norok rushed in with a fierce beating of his wings. “What’s the matter?” he cried. “You scared me.”

  “I found something here that could be the hatch,” Kimi replied, pointing to the depression with her beak. “I can’t land, though. That’s why I thought Kasfok...” She noticed that Norok’s back was free. “What did you do with Kasfok?”

  “I dropped him off. He’s investigating what I found further south. It looks just like this depression here.”

  “Then why didn’t you call me?”

  “I wanted to be sure first. And it was better that way, apparently.”

  “Better? I don’t know. Now we have two hatches to consider. How long does it take to get from one to the other?”

  “I was with you in twenty seconds, Kimi.”

  “Who knows if the hatch will stay open that long? After all, three of us still have to crawl through. And I don’t even know how we’re going to land there in the first place.”

  Kimi looked down to the platform on which they had been waiting. If the light beam was still pointing at the target, it would be obvious which hatch was the right one.