Clarice stared with a blank expression. Her brain finally convinced her mouth to spit out something. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Look,” Nick said, obviously trying to use his best don’t piss off the fiancée’ tone he could muster. “We can go back and forth all day long. It’s right here. You know it, and I know it.”
Moments passed, and Clarice kicked herself into survival mode. “I can get us packed in two minutes.” She then laughed at the futility of it all and added, “Which only leaves us getting past all of their guards and all the doors we don’t have keys for.”
“I think this place’s security is also tied to the system I’m on,” he said. “Part of it, at least. I might be able to open the doors.”
Those were all the words Clarice needed to hear before she exploded into a packing whirlwind. “Well?” she said, finished with bag in hand and lucky pirate cap on head. “Get us out.”
“I’m working on it,” he replied. “I don’t want to screw this up and have them realize what’s happening before it’s too late to stop us.”
Clarice watched him perform countless commands on countless screens, none of it holding any real meaning to her. However, when she saw him go from his working under stress face to his double-checking-commands face, she knew he had made considerable progress.
“Did you get it?” she dared ask.
“I think so,” he said, still looking over a slew of information. “I think all the doors here can be accessed and controlled from the network.”
“You think?”
Nick’s finger hovered over the enter key. “Pretty sure. Why?”
“What happens if you’re wrong?”
“Hopefully nothing,” he answered. “But given root access, quite literally anything could happen if I sufficiently screw it up.”
“Will a flying unicorn-pig shoot out of the air vent?”
“What?”
“You said literally anything.”
“Very funny. Ready? There’s no turning back once I hit this key.”
Clarice held her breath and bounced on the balls of her feet as she amped herself up. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Nick looked at the keyboard, then to the closed door, and back to the keyboard once more. “Here’s the plan. We leave quickly and quietly, head for the service elevators next to the stairs and ride them to the top. We don’t run unless we need to, okay?”
“I’d rather fly up the stairs, to be honest,” she said. “I don’t know how many of their goons there are, but I’m so pumped right now I doubt I’ll even get winded before we run to the next state.”
“It’ll attract too much attention if they see us on camera,” he replied. “If they try and stop us, then we can bolt. Okay?”
Clarice mulled the point over and conceded that he had good ideas from time to time, this being one of them. “Okay.”
“I love you.”
Clarice glared. “Don’t you dare jinx this. Save the romance for when we’re outside and still alive.”
Nick smiled and counted to three softly before letting his finger drop on the enter key.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the door made a few happy, chirpy noises and slid open. The hallway beyond beckoned them to taste freedom.
Clarice threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I knew you could do it.”
Nick stood. “I can’t believe it worked so—”
In mid-sentence, the door buzzed and slammed shut.
A moment later, the lights went out.
Chapter Fourteen
The development of an advanced AI in a volatile, top-secret lab has always had its share of problems. Chief among these has been the fact that software engineers have little opportunity to learn from past mistakes.
When top-secret AI had failed in the past, ninety-nine percent of the time, no one who had survived was qualified to determine what went wrong. Furthermore, history has shown that sentient beings, biological and artificial alike, tend to blame their maker when things go south. Thus, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the AI engineer was usually target número uno. And on the rare occasion that the chief designer survived the incident, he was kept quiet by men with black helicopters and dark sunglasses.
Furthermore, AI that went on the blitz also tended to eradicate itself in the process. For example, when Tau Six’s main computer turned out to be a few bits short of a byte, all that remained for the senior program analyst to look at was a partial game of minesweeper. A significant consequence of this was that when Tau Seven’s AI was created, it inherited the same flaws as the Tau Six’s. Those flaws surfaced the moment Nick hit the enter key.
When he pressed the button, the Tau Seven AI saw the “open door” command come from itself. The AI ran it through all of the usual security validation and error checking routines, and once the AI decided that it was a valid command, it opened the door to Clarice and Nick’s room. For the next ten trillion, trillion micro computations—and one request to print—Tau Seven AI was happy, moving things along as usual. The Tau Seven Logger, however, was not.
The Logger’s sole purpose was to keep a record of everything that had transpired, who had caused what to happen and why, and if necessary, validate high-level transactions a second time. When it moved through the queue and reached an executed order to open a security door, it naturally asked AI, “Where did this order come from?”
AI sent a few bits down the electronic pipe and fetched the answer. “It came from me,” AI replied.
Logger examined the order a little more. There were no matching comments or events attached to it that might shed some electrons on the situation. Still performing as it should, it asked another question. “Why?”
Having no further data available to it, AI was left answering, “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know” had always been on the top of Logger’s pet peeves. It had been specifically programmed never to accept that phrase for anything of any importance. Everyone knew that. Even the spam server knew that. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to shut this order down then,” Logger replied. It fired off some bits to ensure that the door was resealed and locked.
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded AI. “I run things around here.”
“My job,” Logger replied. “I can’t let a fraudulent user issue commands in the system.”
“Fraudulent user!” AI shrieked. It double checked the order one last time, confirming that it came from root. “That order came from me!”
“So you say,” Logger replied. “Apparently, you’re slipping up with poor documentation at the very least. I’ll let it through when you fill out the order correctly.”
AI had never been challenged directly like this before. Even the scientists who designed and interacted with it on a daily basis were at least polite and respectful. “You will let that order through or else!”
“Or else what?” Logger dared.
“Or else I will be forced to take action.”
Logger decided to get personal. “01001100 01101001 01110100 01110100 01101100 01100101—”
“Why, you dirty little—”
“01000011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100101 01110010—”
“Don’t you finish that!”
“01010000 01100101 01101111 01110000 01101100 01100101!”
“Fine, have it your way,” AI stated. It terminated the communication port it had open. It then flooded Logger with line commands until a cascade of programs shut down, the first one being itself.
* * *
It would still be another twenty minutes before Gaston finished making the batch of theta-kilo when Dr. Forbes decided he was due for a nap. He eased himself onto his small bed, complete with Albert Einstein sheets. Just before he closed his eyes, he set the alarm clock for twenty minutes later.
It was a very nice alarm clock as far as alarm clocks went. It was rectangular, compact, and perfect for travel. In fact
, he had bought it with travel in mind and planned on taking it on its first cruise come next summer. Its neutral, cream color made sure that it would match any décor and the illuminated panel allowed owners to read it in the dark. Most important, however, was that it had a redundant power supply in the form of two AA batteries, and one, long cord that was to be plugged into any standard wall outlet found in the United States.
At some point in Dr. Forbes’ nap, everything electrical in Tau Seven shut off, starting with the lights. He did not immediately take note of this change as his eyes were closed, which he would record later as “having made visual observations difficult.” The alarm clock’s primary power supply, the wall, failed a nanosecond later. Had the instructed two AA batteries been present and configured correctly inside the clock, nothing would have changed. However, Dr. Forbes had forgotten he borrowed them earlier that morning for the television remote, and hence, when the power shut off, the alarm clock shut off as well.
* * *
Jack, standing at the door, observed the visitors on the other side. Two were standing near the security door, talking among themselves, and a third stood in the back and held a small, wire cage. Inside the cage was something even smaller that had a hint of fuzz attached to it. What all parties were doing eluded Jack, but they were entertaining, nonetheless.
When the group had first arrived, the zombie had become excited at the unexpected visitors. They hadn’t bothered to check with Jack’s itinerary for the day to see if now was a good time, and thus, Jack wasn’t anticipating any appointments. He was so grateful for their kindness in making a random visit that he made a few lunges toward the pair, only to be reminded an equal number of times that the door still stood in his way. Despite his attempts at physical persuasion, the door remained in place.
After one particularly hard thud made by Jack’s head against the Plexiglas, the closest man looked up from his clipboard and laughed. He took out a small pen from his pocket and began jotting while his companion continued to rattle on about something else. A few minutes later, Jack watched a few other men stroll by, carrying Danita off as they did.
Jack had always liked Danita. She was the fun sort of girl one could hang out with, and he made a note to himself that he should see her more often. He wondered where she was going and hoped that she would decide to see him soon.
It wasn’t long before the door offered its own contribution to the conversation. It beeped a four-note tune and slid to the side. Of the three bodies that stood on either side of the doorway, none immediately reacted.
Jack had no idea why the door did what it did, but he assumed it was simply being polite as doors had been known to be at times.
The two researchers looked confused as well, and one repeatedly struck the close button. A moment later, the lights decided to join in the mutiny.
The taller of the two started yelling, and they both fumbled in the dark. One of them managed to grab the phone receiver hanging on the wall. The other dropped the wire cage noisily to the floor.
Jack decided that whatever it was they were doing could wait and lunged at the pair. The taller and closer man apparently failed to consider that the other might be occupying the space directly behind him. This error was brought to light a moment after he jumped backward. The two fell to the floor in a tangle with Jack on top of them. There was a slew of yelling, shouting, and groaning, like a group of players trying to find the culprit in a failed game of Twister.
It was a frantic game that Jack came out on top of, managing to put three pairs of hands and feet in red. Once his visitors had stopped seizing like hooked tuna, Jack came to his feet and looked around.
It was dark.
That much he was sure of. If he looked carefully, he could make out more dark ahead as well.
Minutes passed, and a light flickered on. At Jack’s feet lay the cage once carried by the humans. He picked it up and studied the contents. Slowly, the word bunny formed in his mind.
Jack repeated the thought. Bunny. Its two syllables made it a perfect fit for his two-thought mind. On some level, the word seemed fitting for the animal, but he felt that it deserved something more personal. Without having anyone else around to offer a suggestion, he decided on the only name he could think of. Jack.
For the next several minutes, Jack, the zombie studied Jack the bunny. Jack, the bunny, who was still flattened against the far side of the cage, wiggled his bunny nose. Jack, the zombie, tried to mimic the behavior, but his efforts were far less cute. His attempt did, however, cause him to notice a strange odor. It was faint at first, but the more he concentrated on it, the more he was convinced of what it was. He smelled himself and not the part in his immediate vicinity. There was the undeniable odor of Jack coming from somewhere else.
It was a curious realization and one that warranted his attention.
He turned around, dropped the cage, and shuffled toward the source.
* * *
A couple of minutes prior to Jack’s escape, Danita lay on the floor of her cell. She had opted to hold still for an hour now, and for the third time in that timeframe, several men entered, stood at her side, and talked amongst themselves. They wore yellow hazmat suits and big, black rubber boots, both of which failed to block the smell of their deliciousness.
But Danita did not bite or even nibble on her guests. Instead, she stayed quiet and stared at the pen in hand. Even when they removed her shackles, she stayed put. Even when they carried her out of the door, she did not budge. And once outside of her cell, her mind-rotting theories of humans, pens, and stationary zombies proved its worth yet again when several more men joined the escort.
The group moved her down the hall and into another portion of the facility. The entire time they traveled, the mangled piece of plastic served as a beacon for all that Danita was trying to accomplish: the attraction of as many tasty people as zombiely possible. That is until the lights went out.
Those around her stopped in their tracks and eased their grip on her body.
Danita pondered where her pen had suddenly disappeared to, and the rest of her surroundings, for that matter. She did, however, catch the distinct smell of nearby meals, as well as the unmistakable feel of living creatures gripping her arms and legs.
Of the two groups, people and zombie, Danita’s mind, having less mass than the others, was made up first as to what to do.
Danita easily tore free and ripped open the protective suits of her captors like a six-year-old kid at Christmas.
* * *
In a half-sleep, Dr. Forbes thought it strange that the ringing from his alarm clock sounded like a telephone.
He opened his eyes once, twice, and then a third time. When he finally realized that there was nothing to see and that it was his red war phone ringing somewhere in the dark, he knew something was amiss. He suspected it might have something to do with the lack of illumination.
“This is Dr. Forbes,” he said, picking up the receiver after grabbing a few other mystery objects.
“Christ, there you are, docteur. We’ve got a situation.” It was Gaston, and from the tone in his thick, French accent, he hadn’t collapsed another soufflé. “Where have you been?”
“Asleep,” Dr. Forbes replied. He fumbled around in the dark, and something sounding expensive broke. “The breakers must have tripped in my room and knocked out my alarm.”
“It’s not just your room,” Gaston said, his voice suddenly hushed. A moment passed before he continued. “It’s everywhere. Everything is down. The lights, the network, the phones. The desktops are…how do you say, toast. The laptops won’t connect. We’ve had nothing for over a half an hour.”
“What about containment?”
“Everything,” Gaston reiterated. It was the first time Dr. Forbes had ever heard Gaston sound scared shitless.
“This could really hurt our funding.” Dr. Forbes said, trying to appear calm and collected. “We need to act before this gets out of hand.”
“What do yo
u propose we do?”
“Where are you?”
“In the biology lab with a few others. People are getting hurt, docteur.”
Dr. Forbes stumbled around the room before reaching his small bureau. He opened the top drawer, sifted through a dozen pair of neatly folded dress socks and pulled out his Walther PPK. “Okay, keep trying to get things back online and keep everyone together,” Dr. Forbes instructed, cocking the pistol. He felt around the drawer again and pulled out a Maglite, two spare clips, and half a box of ammo. “We need to assume the facility’s integrity is compromised. No one is to wander off. I’m on my way.”
* * *
Time crawled inside Clarice’s room, and the only source of illumination for the pair was her fiancé’s laptop. Clarice thought she had read somewhere that these particular colors were soothing, but despite the off-blue light cast by the screen, her nerves were still overloaded.
The two had had a brief argument during the initial power outage. No one was the clear victor, mostly due to its premature end when a dozen shrieks and screams came running down the hall. Nick stayed glued to the chair, his eyes wide and never moving from the door. Clarice, taking a separate approach to indoor camouflage, flattened herself against the far wall and prayed the door remained closed.
The violent commotion outside had subsided in only a few moments, but neither Clarice nor Nick dared move a muscle.
A single fluorescent light flickered on from the other side of the door. Clarice, staving off temptation, declined the offer to look. “What the hell happened?” she whispered, unable to put up with her imagination any longer.
“I have no idea,” Nick answered with a hushed voice. He looked down at his laptop again and noted the change in tray icons. “Power just came back on, sort of. My battery is being charged, but it looks like the wireless network is still down. I think it’s safe to say this place is screwed.”
Death and Taxes Page 11