In Beta

by Prescott Harvey

  The skyline grew before them. The Emerald City. Skyscrapers popped like mushrooms. It had been ten years since she’d visited Seattle, and she was surprised to see that it felt like a real city. Its last trace of wild in the surrounding lands was disappearing, fallen to apartment complexes and warehouses.

  They chugged north through traffic, to the U District, and then her driver pulled over on the south side of campus and pointed to a big red building.

  “I’ve gotta park. Head on up; they’ll be waiting.”

  Liz got out and headed up the campus lawn. The university had paid for her trip, sometimes begging, sometimes demanding that she come. Sometimes the calls had come from the University of Washington staff, sometimes the Department of Homeland Security, and once from a professor in Portugal who barely spoke a word of English.

  Her kidnapping had been a national event, but the press had relayed only a fraction of the story to the public. The articles all said she’d been kidnapped by a spurned high school prom date. The spin was played mainly for laughs, and there was no mention of computers, The Build, or any sort of simulation. Liz was offered $100,000 by DHS to give interviews without mentioning her weeks inside a computer game. She took the money, and in exchange signed a thick stack of papers that she didn’t even bother to read.

  Bells rang across campus. Liz moved over a pathway of manicured lawn that ended in a large pool of fountains spouting water, took a right, and moved toward the building her guide had pointed out. It looked like a cross between an Ivy League hall and a library. Glass windows jutted out in series, and inside she saw offices with computers. A group of students stepped out through the doors, laughing as they passed her. Everyone was so young!

  The sign over the door read: “The Paul G. Allen Center for Computer Science & Engineering.” The door slid open, and she stepped through.

  Glass offices layered the walls like honeycomb. Everything was quiet, almost stiff with waiting, and the air smelled of research. The lobby was cavernous, and Liz’s footsteps echoed as she walked. Liz stared up to see the ceiling five stories above, partially blocked by catwalks crisscrossing the air like some futuristic cityscape. This must be El Dorado to computer science majors. She was still looking up when a voice called over the pavilion.

  “Liz Knight, I presume.”

  A woman stood waiting at the base of the stairs, flanked by six figures in black suits. The woman was blonde and wore a light blouse and heels. She smiled and held out her hand.

  “I’m Brandi.”

  The image of her, against the stairs, flanked by the darker men, looked like a Microsoft stock photograph. Liz laughed, and the woman smiled questioningly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Liz shook her hand.

  “I almost went to school here.”

  The woman raised her eyebrow. “Oh? Were you a computer science major?”

  “No, I’m not a computer person. Ironic, I know.”

  “Well,” Brandi said, with a hint of cold pride, “we have one of the best computer science programs in the world.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Brandi’s smile returned, and the group moved past the stairs, toward the elevator. The men trailed as Brandi led the way, peppering Liz with pleasantries.

  “How was your flight? How long have you been in LA? What part?” They stepped into an elevator, and the woman pressed the button for the fourth floor.

  “How have things been here?” Liz shifted the questioning to the matter at hand.

  “Good, all things considered.” Her guardians glanced around the elevator. The way they looked at one another told Liz they weren’t all aligned on this.

  “We’re still sorting things out. We’re still unsure ourselves what the, uh, narrative is here.”

  The elevator stopped and its doors dinged. The walkway before them dropped down into the atrium. As they turned to the right, Liz saw offices lining the wall. All their lights were off, and they sat unused. At the far end of the hall was a single gray metal door that looked like a fire escape. It was unremarkable, except that there was no window in it. All the offices had large windows that looked out into the hall. Liz saw a piece of paper taped over the door. As they approached, Liz saw it said: “No phones or wireless devices allowed.”

  Brandi paused.

  “Whatever you feel about Hal, what he managed to do can’t be underestimated. He took the functionality of a self-learning AI program and applied its parameters against the rules of the virtual world he built.”

  One of the black suits spoke. “As we saw in Bickleton, this program Hal’s made has potential for incredible danger. Like, world-ending shit.”

  Brandi continued, “The AI that Hal built managed to escape its program. It managed to outsmart its creator.”

  The black suit chimed in again. “We don’t want to do anything to destabilize it. If it jumped to more devices, it could have wiped out all of humanity.”

  Liz stared between the two of them, incredulous. “Are we talking about Jay?”

  “Who’s Jay?”

  Brandi pulled open the door and a clutter of electronic devices assaulted Liz’s view. There was a medley of hums, and the perimeter was encircled by black boxes. A round table with eight chairs sat in one corner, and two computers sat in the other. On the wall, every five feet, rectangular boxes hung with blinking lights. Brandi nodded at them.

  “Mobile phone jammers. Blocks all wireless signals in a fifty-foot range. We had to clear out the whole floor; nobody gets cell reception.”

  Brandi handed two sheets of paper to Liz.

  “What are these?” Liz asked.

  “A master table. Of what we’ve managed to find on the hard drive so far. It’s not much to go off. That one’s from a few days ago.”

  She pointed at the other sheet. “This one’s from today.”

  Liz studied the numbers. There were thousands of rows, and at first glance, they looked almost identical.

  GE F5 00 00 65 6E.

  She glanced at the second page.

  GE F5 5F 00 65 6E.

  “Yeah?”

  “Similar. But not the same.”

  Liz sat back in her chair. “What am I looking at? Remember, I’m not a computer person.”

  “The hard drive is changing. Repopulating its data.”

  “You guys are . . . restoring the hard drive?”

  “No. Not us. No one’s touched that computer since we brought it here. Somehow, the code is restoring itself. We want to know how.”

  “Why don’t you ask?”

  “Who? We don’t get any responses from the computer. That’s why we were hoping you could . . .”

  Brandi broke off, looking to the Homeland Security agents. They nodded.

  “Do you have any electronic devices on you?”

  “You guys already took my phone.”

  “No smartwatches? Tablets?”

  Liz shook her head. A sandy-haired Homeland Security agent strode to a second door in the back. It was so unassuming that Liz hadn’t noticed it. The man held the door open, and Brandi motioned for Liz to follow.

  The room was little more than a dull box. Its walls were barren and it was empty, except on the far wall, where there was a folding table and two plastic chairs. On the table sat Hal’s computer, its three monitors spread like wings. The room’s fluorescent lights reflected off its glass as LEDs twinkled inside.

  The Homeland Security agent stood beside the computer with his arms folded, protective. Liz approached the console. She had seen it only once, after her release from Hal’s house. It was immaculate now, its glass case wiped down to a pristine sheen. A strip of LEDs colored its inside edges, and these gently undulated from blue to red. Brandi reached behind the monitors and flicked them on. Liz felt a wave of revulsion.

  The sandy-haired off
icer scooted a chair over the floor. Liz forced herself to sit, and she stared dutifully at the small bulbous camera perched over the computer monitor.

  “What should I say?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Jay?”

  For a minute, there was nothing. Then the screen began to shift. A white Word document popped up. Brandi leaned forward, and so did the Homeland Security agents.

  “How’d you do that?”

  Liz waved them off, focusing on the monitor.

  “Hello? Jay?”

  There was no response from the Word document.

  “I heard you got into college.”

  Then the cursor jumped. Words flashed across the white page. “I heard that too.”

  Liz could feel Homeland Security tense behind her. She smiled. “All the Ivy Leagues are clamoring to sign the first AI freshman.”

  Onscreen, another sentence: “They’re gonna have to wait. Colin’s got a trigonometry test he’s trying to unflunk.”

  Liz laughed.

  “It’s weird talking like this.”

  “I agree.”

  “You sound like a machine.”

  “I am a machine.”

  “I never got to thank you. For saving my life.”

  “Any super AI in my shoes would have done the same.”

  “Oh stop. Where’s the buoyant Jay I knew?”

  “Hard to be buoyant when you have no legs.”

  “I brought you something.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a watch.

  “I also have no arms.”

  The Homeland Security agent leaned in, nervous, and she held up a hand.

  “It’s pre-Bluetooth.”

  She held it up to the camera. It was a Frogger watch. Its colors were faded, but its LCD screen still blinked.

  “My daughter found it at a garage sale. I mentioned it when I told her about you, and she saw it, bought it, and wanted you to have it. I’ll just leave it right here, if they’ll let me.” She placed it on the table, next to the computer, glancing at Homeland Security.

  “I also got you something else. It’s, uh, on its way. I’m sorry that it took me so long to come visit. I hope this makes up for it.”

  She smiled. “It’s another gift. At least, I hope it is.”

  The room was silent. There was no trace of text on the Word doc.

  “Jay . . . ?”

  Brandi came over and stared at the Word document.

  Liz stood up. “Was that helpful?”

  Brandi nodded, impressed. “Gotta start somewhere.”

  Liz nodded, giving a last bittersweet glance toward the computer. Then she slipped out the door.

  How I Spent My Summer Vacation

  by Jay Banksman

  Jay slid back from the computer. Through a small grainy video feed, he watched the other people in the lab room rush forward and begin typing into the Word document. He didn’t bother reading what they typed: his eyes were still on the rear door. She was gone. Colin sat beside Jay, and Stevie was on his lap, one arm wrapped over Colin’s shoulder.

  Colin was first to speak. “She’s got two kids?”

  “She looked good, right?” Jay’s eyes didn’t move from the monitor.

  Stevie stood and stretched. “Where do you think we are, Colin? In the real world?”

  Then something caught Stevie’s attention. She broke her stretch and leaned down.

  “Oops. Looks like they’re trying to get back in again.” She shook her head. “Tsk. Silly rabbits. Tricks are for kids.” She began typing, lost in the monitor.

  “Last thing we need is them poking and prodding our code. At least Hal knew what he was doing. I’ll just throw up a few more firewalls so they can’t find us.”

  Jay stood up from his computer. They were in Tutorial, though it little resembled the classroom it used to be. They’d transformed it into their de facto command center. All the desks were gone, along with the bookshelves and the beanbag chairs. The blackboard was still up, and it was crammed with lists, written in chalk.

  Finish Heinkel Middle School—John H

  Do the bus yard—Colin

  Measure Henderson’s farm—Jay

  Two of the walls were now filled with workstations. Each had a copy of The Build loaded on it so that Jay, Colin, or Liz could dive in as needed.

  A third wall had three beds pushed against it. Since their return, he, Colin, and Stevie had all taken to sleeping in Tutorial so that they could take shifts monitoring the lab to block the technicians, attempts to gain access to their little world.

  The fourth wall, the one by the door, held a folding table with lunch materials.

  Jay got up to make himself a turkey sandwich. He felt sick after seeing Liz, and he found himself running their brief conversation through his mind. How had he ever managed to convince himself that she had liked him? She was old. Married. With kids. She had wanted nothing more from him than the means to escape The Build, and he’d been an idiot to ever think otherwise. The truth was, he missed her terribly.

  “I’m going to take a walk.”

  Stevie and Colin were already absorbed in The Build and didn’t respond. Jay pushed out of the Tutorial door and felt the sun warm his skin. Over the last few days, the frozen spring air had finally thawed, and sunlight beat the packed earth around Tutorial, so that he could feel it radiating up.

  He strolled down the Tutorial ramp, admiring what a difference the last few weeks had made. They’d deleted the last of the riot and the extra Johns. For now, they’d kept the packed earth around Tutorial, plus the towers and the moat. The list for rebuilding Bickleton was long, and the pine trees surrounding Tutorial weren’t at the top. Plus, Jay liked the sense of authority these armaments gave to Tutorial. Made it all feel more official.

  Jay headed down to the school. Stevie hadn’t found A-Court or C-Court templates in The Build yet, so the work on the school had so far been done by hand. C-Court was mostly restored, with new boards hammered across the holes caused by the Mantis Boss.

  The campus was set against the gray horizon of deletion. It was as if Bickleton High School were in the center of an unfinished painting, with the surrounding landscape still awaiting a brush. C-Court and the library were being slowly worked over by the Johns. A-Court was still half-missing, and the baseball field tapered into a gray smudge. Their campus was an island surrounded by nothingness.

  The only survivors of the Great Deletion (as they had come to call it) had been himself, Stevie, Colin, his mom, Jeremy, and a few Johns. The grieving period had been short, because Stevie had rightly pointed out that the only way to recover was to start building.

  Jay tried to paint it as an exciting opportunity. He’d tried to get everyone to imagine what Bickleton might one day be. But nostalgia was a powerful thing, and everyone else had voted to restore Bickleton to what it had been before. So that’s where they were starting, and Jay hadn’t pressed the issue since. He, Colin, and Stevie basically lived in Tutorial, collaborating inside The Build to rebuild the town from memory. The process seemed to invigorate Stevie and Colin, who now couldn’t keep their hands off each other. But something about it felt hollow to Jay. He couldn’t explain it.

  He quietly slipped through the C-Court doors. From inside, there was the sound of hammering and furniture being moved around. He passed Todd in the halls, who turned slightly pink and pushed up against the walls to make way for Jay. Jay smiled. Jay had found Todd in a pile of discarded code inside The Build. Ironically, he’d somehow avoided permanent deletion by being in the trash. Jay had restored him, and then explained their situation. Todd now regarded Jay as something of a God, which always made their conversations awkward.

  “Jay! Jay! So I’m thinking we make the band room just a little bit bigger. What do you think? Just a little bit bigger?”

 
; Jay shook his head and muttered, “Take it up with the committee.”

  “Oh, come on. You really think they’ll notice?”

  “No new changes until the rest of Bickleton is back online.” Jay sighed. “That’s what everyone decided.”

  Some of the Johns were in the background, notepads out, staring at walls or scrutinizing trash cans. A few argued about the placement of inspirational posters on the wall. Jay didn’t feel like fielding more questions, so he ducked into the art room. Giant murals of babies floating through space adorned the walls. They were painted by Ace Clotter, Bickleton’s resident artist. Ex-resident artist, Jay reminded himself. The room didn’t appear to have been affected by the deletion. The art tables were all in place, along with the print screens and the kiln. A half-pack of American Spirit cigarettes sat on one of the tables. Underneath was a large cardboard box. A box of yearbooks. He pulled it out and grabbed a book.

  You Are Here, the title screamed at him. There was the drawing of Jeremy McKraken on the front cover, smiling and looking backward in front of the Yellow Brick Road.

  Jay flipped through it, imagining what Hal felt when he scanned this book into his computer. Revisiting a period of time that he had probably taken for granted, in the same way Jay now realized he’d taken his own high school experience for granted. Now that it was gone.

  He studied the pages. There was a spread on Walter Blithe, a dumpy band kid with acne and braces, who for some reason had been proclaimed “student of all seasons.” There was an entire page devoted to their class motto: “What lies before us and behind us are small matters compared to what lies inside us.” Jay snorted.

  Jay studied the news section—significant stories of ’93. The appointment of Ruth Bader Ginsburg to the Supreme Court. The signing of NAFTA. Whatever Boris Yeltzen was doing. Yawn.

  There was a little section of student interviews, and of course Jeremy was in there. The question was: “What’s your favorite pickup line?” Jeremy’s response: “I don’t need a pickup line. I just snap my fingers.” Jay rolled his eyes.

  And then there was Liz. There was one picture in particular Jay couldn’t stop looking at. A canned food drive for SADD (Students Against Drunk Driving), and all the usual A-Court suspects were there, mugging for the camera in the foreground. Most of the Johns, Jeremy, Amber, and Gretchen had their arms linked, an unbreakable fellowship, big grins at the camera. But there, in the background, was Liz. By herself, sorting cans from a cardboard box and onto a table. A real picture of the real Liz, scanned into the computer out of Hal’s own yearbook. Whatever Liz had done to Hal at prom, this picture showed the side of Liz that Jay had come to believe was the real Liz. Misunderstood, as he had been.