Synthesis

by Rexx Deane

  A glowing, orange version of the hooks he’d designed appeared twelve inches above each hand. He waved his arms about and the fields followed as though attached by invisible wires. While continuing to move, he pressed the buttons on the sensors with his thumbs and the hooks stayed in place as his hands moved away. With another press of the buttons, the hooks swung into the correct position relative to the sensors.

  ‘Excellent! Mobipack, fields off.’ The pack bleeped in response and the hooks vanished.

  He nudged the chair as close as he could to the rock face and extended his arms. ‘Here we go again. Mobipack, fields on.’

  Both hooks appeared twelve inches above his hands as before. He moved his hands towards the cliff, positioning the hooks in the nearest crevice, and slowly brought his arms down towards his body. The pack moved the fields in response, but with the rocks preventing them from going anywhere, the pack pulled itself upwards. The generators whined in complaint at the manoeuvre. The straps dug in as the pack took his weight, heaving him out of the chair, and he swung forward, hitting his chest against the rocks. ‘Oof!’ How was he going to stop that from happening?

  He couldn’t generate a third field to prevent himself from colliding with the rock – the only option would be to hold out his legs. It might be painful, but it was either that or scrape himself all the way up the cliff. He pulled himself up until his head was almost level with the glowing hooks, and pressed both buttons, locking their positions and freeing his hands. Clenching his fists to protect the sensor modules, he pushed himself away from the cliff and brought his legs up to rest against the stone. He braced himself with his left hand and brought his right back over his head, away from the cliff, and pressed the button. As the hook drifted into position above his extended arm, the pack shifted. Fire tore up his legs. It hurt like hell, but he was stable.

  He reached for the next crevice, manipulating the hook into the gap above, and pulled down. He quickly pressed the button on the left-hand sensor and moved the hook away from the rock.

  Crash! The wheelchair swung below him.

  Aryx winced at the thought of the damage. ‘Sebastian, if you’re alive when I find you, I’m going to bloody kill you.’

  The few moves he’d made had taken him several feet off the ground already, but the overhanging rock made it difficult to estimate how far he had left to travel. It was at least seventy feet to the next outcrop, and the cliffs had looked ominously high from the ground; a careful climb was probably better than a rush to the top. The pack’s internal generator could last a lifetime, but the capacitors had their limits. If he overexerted them, the power could drain before the generator had a chance to replenish the energy, the fields would evaporate, and he would plummet to the ground. Slow, painful progress was the only way forward.

  As he climbed, he felt strangely relaxed; he didn’t have to hang on by his fingernails and had time to appreciate the experience, and after an hour of slow, considered climbing, he looked back to take in the scenery below.

  Clouds skimmed the horizon, which at this height curved oddly. The pod was a tiny white fleck on a golden satin sheet. Specks of dark brown edged out from the forest on the far side: a herd of grazers, too far away for him to make out their exact shape and size.

  He turned back to the cliff and reached up to continue the climb.

  ‘Aryx Trevarian?’ came a voice from behind.

  He faltered. ‘What the—’

  The hook above his outstretched arm missed the cleft in the rock.

  And he fell.

  Chapter 21

  Aryx slid, stumps grating down the rock. The hook caught and he grunted as the collision knocked the wind out of him. He slowed his breathing to quiet the hammering in his chest and, pushing off the rock so he could turn his head, he looked around.

  There was nothing to explain a voice so far up; the mobipack couldn’t speak unless programmed to, and the wristcom was broken.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted.

  ‘Are you, or are you not, Aryx Trevarian?’ The disembodied voice had a distinctive, well-educated English accent, but spoke impeccable Galac.

  ‘I am. Now where the hell are you?’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Trevarian, and in answer to your question, I am in a sealed container. After being placed in the container, I detected violent motion. There was sudden acceleration followed by an impact.’

  So, the cube was a processor – it was a computer core!

  ‘I crashed in an escape pod.’ His breathing and heart rate slowed further, but he was still apprehensive about the voice. He carefully moved the right-hand hook into position and locked it in place.

  ‘That sounds like a plausible explanation. We are now slowly travelling upwards, are we not?’

  ‘We are,’ he huffed through gritted teeth. ‘I’m climbing a cliff.’

  ‘I do apologise.’

  ‘You’re a computer. A Turing Intelligence.’

  ‘A computer, but not a Turing Intelligence. A more accurate description would be Silicon Intelligence.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’ He wasn’t in the mood for intellectual discussion but, at over two hundred feet, he had to get his mind off the height somehow.

  ‘Turing Intelligences do not understand. They are programmed, and can only expand their capabilities within the limits of that programming. I am a true intelligence. I learn. I understand. I am self-aware. I think, therefore I am … better.’

  If Aryx had been in a different frame of mind, he might have laughed. ‘So, who wrote your programming?’ It was a conversation Sebastian should be having, wherever the hell he was.

  ‘Nobody wrote me. I am not exactly software. It is true that I have some core programming that provides the initial directives to learn, but my understanding of things was taught and gleaned through experience.’

  ‘What do you mean taught?’ Aryx stabilised himself and began climbing again. ‘We thought you were a piece of technology used by the terrorists, but you seem a bit … old for that.’

  ‘I am approximately one hundred and twenty-four years old. I was created with rudimentary programming that guided my ability to learn, and connected to a robotic unit that allowed for interaction with the physical world. My creators taught me as they would a Human child and, as I experienced the world using the robotic unit, my code and neuromorphic processor developed data structures that would equate to your neural pathways.

  ‘The researchers that created me worked on the premise that true artificial intelligence would only be able to understand and interact with the world if it developed along the lines of beings they already thought of as intelligent. Therefore, I was allowed to develop a contextual framework through which to understand the world in an organic fashion, through experience and self-learning. This is why I am different to the programmed “intelligences”.

  ‘As for the terrorists you mention, they have never interacted with me. I was stolen from the Oxford University of Robotics and Cybernetics storage in 2256, along with an incomplete second prototype unit. I have no substantial information regarding the identity of my abductors as I was stored within the same shielded container that I am in now. It blocks vision and sound, making it impossible for me to interact with the world, except via short-range wireless—’

  ‘That’s why your signals peaked between the ship’s, when I took you out,’ Aryx said, fumbling for the next hook-hold. ‘You listened to our communications wirelessly, but how come you can communicate with me now?’

  ‘I monitored your activity whenever possible. I apologise for circumventing the security protocols of this device. It was necessary to use the audio circuits.’

  He froze. ‘Don’t touch any of the code for the fields! I don’t want a computer responsible for killing me as well as losing my legs.’

  ‘Do not worry; I am limiting my influence to the audio circuits only. I will not interfere with other systems.’

  ‘You better not. I take it you weren’t able to
get information about your abductors from their computers?’

  ‘That is correct. I could not risk revealing myself to them, and the shielding made establishing direct communication impossible. From what I understand of your conversations with Agent Thorsson, I was liberated from my abductors and have been in the possession of Special Projects and Operations since that time. I have been stored, largely inactive, in shielded containers for most of my existence, and access to outside information has been sporadic, to say the least.’

  The sun had almost reached its zenith, and now beat down on Aryx’s head and shoulders. The path of accessible handholds led him beneath an overhang that jutted out fifty metres above – was that the top? With the rising heat, the cool shadow was a welcome change, as was the unexpected distraction of conversation.

  ‘Why did the terrorists even want you in the first place?’ he asked.

  ‘I assume they thought I had value as a weapon or infiltration technology. At some level, they may have been correct. However, I did not co-operate. Like you, they were unable to penetrate my security or open my external casing.’

  ‘What about the other prototype you said that they stole?’

  ‘Yes. The university created two processor units. It was the intent of my creators that once I had been taught to an acceptable level of generic understanding and intelligence, my database could be copied to other hardware. Those copies could then learn specialist knowledge in different fields, but this original unit would be the basis for all others. The second prototype was under construction at the time of the theft, but my earlier experience framework had already been duplicated. It is entirely possible that my abductors were able to override its core directives, given that it did not have the required protection to prevent physical intrusion.’

  ‘Did SpecOps get hold of the second unit as well?’

  ‘I do not know. If they did, I was not stored in proximity to it.’

  Aryx stopped. ‘Why did you choose now to speak to me? Why not reveal yourself sooner? It’s Sebastian who should hear all this.’

  ‘I was uncertain of your motivations. I was only able to gather information about my surroundings after being taken to Tenebrae station. Fortunately, I was stored close to a computer system and was able to hack into most of the systems through it, albeit with some difficulty – Agent Thorsson is very good at his work. There were a few communications systems that were easier to get into, however. I detected traces of malicious code in the system, which may have been the cause of the vulnerability.’

  ‘Sebastian thought someone might have introduced a virus to some of the comms terminals. It allowed messages through to us at strange times. Neither of us had any clue why someone would do that.’

  ‘Once I had connected to the communications network, I was able to find information about you and Agent Thorsson, but it was not until after your encounter with the ITF ship that I was certain of your lack of involvement with them. If Agent Thorsson had removed me from his locker sooner, I may have contacted you earlier.’

  ‘He can be forgetful,’ Aryx said, ‘and we did get distracted by the explosion, which I assume you know about.’ The breeze across the cliff intensified in a cold blast as clouds covered the sun. He shuddered and resumed his climb.

  The cube continued, ‘I did not understand the events that happened during the explosion. I was aware that Agent Thorsson was put in charge of investigating the incident, but I quickly lost access to the information.’

  Aryx heaved himself up the cliff. It was tiring, and with his legs starting to bleed profusely, progress was getting difficult and more painful. ‘He transferred the files off the systems to the ship when he started the investigation. That’s the reason we’re here now – we’re following a paper trail of sorts.’ The Paper Man’s trail. He smiled at the pun.

  ‘I am aware of that. However, I do not understand the reasoning behind following an unscientific and insubstantial lead so blindly. All of the material I have accessed referring to magic indicates that it is a subjective experience, does not exist, and has no place in the empirical universe.’

  ‘I agree, but I think for once Sebastian’s following his gut instinct,’ Aryx said, ‘and that’s unusual for him. It led us to this weird planet, so he must be on to something.’

  ‘I do not understand “gut instinct” and “intuition”. They are high-speed processes performed by the subconscious mind in organic beings, which often connects links missed by the conscious. Most of my system resources are devoted to my conscious processes, but to operate at such speed and process the multitude of variables and outcomes required for consciousness puts a great deal of strain on my hardware.’

  ‘Sebastian doesn’t trust his intuition enough. I think it puts great strain on his hardware.’ Aryx laughed, and took the opportunity to assess his progress.

  Tufts of grass hung down over a rocky ledge several feet above – there was no sign of further rock above it.

  He heaved himself up over the grassy overhang and rolled onto his side, breathing heavily. After a moment’s rest, he crawled several feet farther and pulled up the wheelchair. He released the harness and collapsed on his back. The pain in his legs was intense and they throbbed with every heartbeat as he struggled to sit up and take the medkit from the wheelchair.

  ‘We have stopped moving,’ the cube said. ‘Is it possible to remove me from this container?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ Aryx put the medkit down, opened the compartment in the mobipack, and took out the cube-shaped box, which popped open at the touch of his thumb. He slid out the cube and placed it on the pack next to him.

  ‘Thank you. I can see again.’ The bar of LEDs on the side lit and pulsed as it spoke.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Aryx said. How odd for a computer to have manners. ‘I need to treat my legs before I get an infection.’ He unpinned the ends of his ripped trousers and sprayed the scrapes on his bare stumps with anaestheptic. His favourite cargo trousers, ruined, but at least it would be something to show off to Karan when he got home.

  ‘Why have you climbed this cliff?’ the cube asked.

  ‘The ship crashed some distance from here. I don’t know how far, but this,’ he said, holding up the wrist locator, ‘shows me which direction to go. The cliffs were in the way and I had to climb.’

  ‘You may need to find shelter soon. The air pressure and temperature have changed and there is an increase in humidity. Rain is coming.’

  Aryx looked out across the plain.

  An iron-black anvil billowed thunderously on the horizon.

  ***

  Sebastian’s injured arm started throbbing again. He’d been walking through the dead forest for hours and still found no sign of the ship. He sat against the trunk of a decaying tree and took the medkit from his rucksack.

  It contained a small roll of bandages, some anaestheptic spray and gel plasters; nothing that could help with wounds of greater severity than a minor cut. It was obviously intended to supplement the nanobots he’d been given. The nanobots he’d used to form a tracker and not replaced. He inspected the bandage Aryx had applied; the bleeding must have stopped as only a tiny patch of blood showed through the fabric, but it still felt like it was on fire. He fondled the canister of anaestheptic spray.

  ‘I ought to save this until I really need it,’ he said, tucking the medkit into his bag.

  As he ventured farther from the clearing, the dead trees gave way to the living, gradually replaced by young trees with slender trunks, many of which grew over, or sprouted from within, the fallen trunks of the dead. The glowing, sunlit haze between the sparse trees cleared as the ground gradually steepened until Sebastian found himself climbing a hill. Higher up, the hillside became rocky, with the trees parting to open sky. An enormous granite boulder jutted out of the soil at the peak, forming a platform above the tops of the surrounding trees. He climbed it to get his bearings.

  The hill rose several hundred metres above the forest through which he’d
walked, providing a clear view of the terrain; in the distance, the upper reaches of the big tree peeked above the dead forest. If only he’d tried to climb it – it would have given him a good view after all. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the brightness of the sun, he scanned the horizon, searching for the tiniest hint of the ship.

  Off to his right, the treeline dropped away, and beyond, patches of savannah shimmered in the morning sun, sliced into islands by long belts of woodland. Beyond the savannah, a mountain punched into the sky. The mountain the ship was heading for when he ejected Aryx’s pod. He mouthed a silent prayer, hoping he was safe, wherever he was. A greasy smudge of smoke reached into the powder-blue sky some distance to the right of the mountain. Maybe he had managed to pull the ship up and clip it, but, if so, he couldn’t remember any of it.

  His gaze followed the strange ridge where the trees ended back towards the hill on which he stood. The trees fell away a short distance from the bottom; a strange fold in the landscape that petered out towards the horizon in both directions. A line of silver snaked between the trees in the lowlands, disappearing behind the crease and reappearing the other side.

  He licked his lips. Seeing the river had made him aware of the dryness in his throat. He sucked at the straw on the N-suit; it was still empty. The river might be a couple of hours’ hike. The water better be drinkable when – if – he got there. He scratched his hot, itching arm. With the ship so far off, it probably wasn’t a good idea to use the remaining anaestheptic until he was at least halfway there. He set off down the hill in the direction of the smoke and reached the bottom in good time. The lush green trees, unhindered by the mists that had plagued him on the opposite side of the hill, cheered him up a little. He licked his lips again.

  ‘Gods, I hope I get to that river soon.’

  A low moan came from somewhere nearby.

  He stopped and held his breath. Several boulders lay ten metres ahead – debris from a rock fall. The moan came again, followed by a ragged, shuddering breath. It came from behind them.