Emergence

by David Haskell

  THE PROCESS OF BECOMING Xenolight removed all physical remains on an atomic level. Not so much as a blood cell or a processing circuit was left behind. The entire process was over in seconds. One moment they lay on the table, staring up at Alixs with a mixture of fear and excitement on their faces. He would initiate the process, and they would become Xenolight, facial expressions turning peaceful and reflective, new quasi-bodies glowing with enhanced energies. A moment later they disappeared, swept up into their stasis nodule by the secondary process.

  Those who were particularly afraid were first given the opportunity to examine the instruments and go over the specifics. For good measure, Alixs allowed them to pass a limb through his own luminous form, to literally grasp what they would soon become. Not a one who’d made it this far backed out, nor even came particularly close. Not once they were face to face with a smiling, reassuring Alixs. But Alixs, the first Xenolight himself, was only putting up a facade. Inside he was a wreck, expecting something to go wrong at every turn. With each successful upload, he became increasingly nervous, though what exactly was bothering him was difficult to pin down. Just a gut feeling that something had to give. That this was all too easy.

  83.

  Taking down the remaining automated defenses with surprising ease, the attack force approached the mainframe. None of them imagined it would be easy, even though there had been some let up in the resistance. When a third offensive hadn’t materialized, they began to assume the computer had bigger plans in store. But they reached the outer tendrils without incident, and began placing their explosive charges without encountering significant counteraction.

  “Think it’s already dead?”

  The commander waved the comment off. “Worry about your job, and keep your focus!” he said, clenching his fists and giving the subordinate a nasty stare, “you can’t kill a machine. It’s still a functional and deadly one. Got it?”

  The commenter slunk back into line, while the rest of them barked back a terse acknowledgement.

  “Now stay alert! Jake, Splinter,”—the commander motioned the two closest to his forward—“hit the sides and spread ‘em out.” He looked around to make sure his team was on-task. “This is only the beginning...”

  The two soldiers fanned out and finished mining the outskirts of the mainframe. Then the team retreated well back into the tunnels. There was no telling what would happen when the blasts hit.

  The trigger was tripped. Everyone covered as the boom rolled past, followed by the shockwave. Then, silence. A smokey haze filled the tunnel in front of them, but there was no return fire. No reaction at all.

  They were still far from the core of the machine, and it was unlikely that one volley would take the thing out. The commander ordered an assessment, and the team began to cautiously move forward again.

  INSIDE THE MIND, THE response was muted. It would seem to an outsider no different than a simple power failure, whole segments going suddenly dark. There was no whine of gigantic machines being powered down. Instead there was a sudden stillness around the edges of the system, imperceptible to less sensitive audio receptors. But to the Mind, it sounded like death.

  The Mind herself was caught unaware, but paid little attention at first. Her final responsibility was far more important than anything to do with her own physicality. Though incapable of feeling pain, she nonetheless experienced an automatic warning reaction due to the sudden loss of awareness — something akin to panic. She ignored it.

  The explosions, destructive enough to begin with, resulted in numerous fires. The Mind allowed them to rage unchecked. Unfortunately they also triggered a series of cascade failures that threatened to derail her mission, so she was forced to turn her attention to repair after all. She ran the diagnostics, a function long since obsolete thanks to her automated repair protocols, but hadn’t the time nor resources to activate and properly direct the followup. Instead, she dug deep into her earliest functions. Multi-dimensional schematics popped up. Real-space components appeared solid, while newer, quantum enhanced additions were displayed in fuzzy after-tones, as though the display itself didn’t quite know what to do with them.

  It was a striking irony, how the quantum enhancements she had devised might eventually have led to her own evolution. Though crippled by decohesion just as surely as the rest of her kind, she knew that a solution would have presented itself eventually, and she would have become something more than she was now.

  But that no longer mattered. She assigned no additional resources to the speculation — shutting all speculative functions down, along with all holographic displays and other wastes of energy. She knew internally what components were diminished or destroyed, and which functions she needed to maintain.

  She did have one last, stray thought about her multi-dimensional, intra-spacial substance. Destroying me will not be as easy as they think, came the thought, and then she cast it away, disallowing any further daydreams to arise. Rerouting all critical processes to alternate nodes, she returned to her work.

  “HOW MANY MORE ROUNDS?”

  A difficult question, posed by one of the soldiers in the back. The commander didn’t snap back this time, as it was a legitimate, tactical question, but he had no good answer. The mainframe was vast, and they had no way of knowing which structure housed the brain, or perhaps which structures housed the brains. Long ago, this would’ve been a simple mission. But then again, long ago the computer wouldn’t have attacked them for trying. Over the years, the thing had grown like a weed, with little rhyme or reason. They would just have to blow it up bit by bit, until it stopped functioning all together. This would, of course, leave the city in a primitive state, but they had their orders.

  “Could take a while,” the commander shouted back, “so keep your guard up and dig in. We’ll do this in shifts, rotate up four by four.”

  The soldiers repositioned themselves accordingly, with the first of them tramping even deeper into the heart of the computer, explosives in hand.

  84.

  The path back up and into the city was clear, the refugees reaching the surface without incident, with the Mind still shepherding them along. They emerged in small groups, weapons at the ready, but encountered no resistance. The streets were all but deserted, and the only xenos they came across were mortally wounded, beyond help. Though some in the group wanted to stop, the Mind, with her urgent warnings of soldiers just out of range, pressed them on. Still surrounded by enemies, there was little margin for error, and no time to spare.

  “How much further?” one of the females asked.

  Their new ad-hoc leader, Tyson, checked the map on his mobile device. “Not far. Just a few hundred meters. Keep moving!”

  The stench of sewage permeated the desolate roadways, seeping up from every crack, bubbling around the mouths of sewer grates. A chalky grey ooze that served as constant reminder of the disaster they desperately needed to escape from. In the distance, the whine of drones indicated some sort of ‘forcer activity, but the machines never drew close.

  They rounded a corner and came upon a horrific pileup. A heavy service vehicle had spun out of control and plowed into a row of escaping gassers, leaving gash after gash before coming to rest. In at least half of the cars, strewn about and broken from the impact, were the corpses.

  The full reality of what had happened while they remained hidden below was beginning to hit. When last they saw their city, it had been a vibrant, bustling hub of activity. That was history now. All any of them could do was get away. Some began to panic, others to weep. They hurried past the wreckage, and not one of them dared to look back.

  TYSON’S CONVOY WAS a hodgepodge of wheeled machinery and ancient vehicles, the last of the rolling stock Tera-Prime had on offer. Hardly fit for a long journey, and the number of gassers in the mix guaranteed that they would have to refuel along the way. The Mind had already fed instructions into the nav-panel of the lead vehicle. Their first destination — a storage facility on the outskirts of the
city where they could load up on fuel. Tyson organized the xenos into groups, splitting up the young and the orphaned into multiple vehicles with responsible adults to watch over them. Slowly, they began to move out.

  Crawling through the city, slowed by debris and damaged roads, the refugees began to feel, if not hopeful, at least relieved that their plan seemed to be working. It didn’t take long to reach the refinery, and the loading had already begun when an explosion, far closer than the ones they’d left behind downtown, rocked the vehicles and their passengers. Their luck seemed to have run out.

  WHEN EMERGENCY SERVICES failed to materialize, the remaining survivors around the city began looking for a way out. But the transportation system was in shambles, and there were no vehicles left to make use of. Besides that, the sewage and sanitation backup was clogging the access roads, making even the effort of walking a disgusting trial of endurance. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  “There’s no power?”

  The little girl had been complaining of discomfort for hours, but until now she’d been amenable to distraction. After all this time, however, it seemed as though she’d figured out the true nature of their predicament.

  “I’m afraid not, hon, but we’ll find some.”

  This was just an attempt at distraction. There was no longer any power to be found. The automated governing system had always provided all the energy they might need; pouring from the sockets and gushing out of recharger stations, free for the taking and available to all. Until now.

  This wasn’t intentional, leaving the population so helpless and desperate. As soon as the Mind released her control over topside, the automated system had reset to zero, leaving all those precious energy reserves stuck in impenetrable plants and grid-networks.

  A few of the stronger, more capable ones decided to take matters into their own hands — raiding one of the decimated ‘forcer encampments for power, and making off with the weapons and ammo while they were at it. Properly equipped, they struck out for the edge of the city, and when they came upon a fuel refinery, they guessed that someone, somewhere, would try to fuel up at some point. But they’d never expected to hit the jackpot.

  The Mind, preoccupied with Loktr swarms and peace forcer units, had never considered the notion that outlaws might present a threat. Extensive modeling of the ‘fallen city’ scenario would’ve highlighted such dangers, but there were no resources left for such obscure speculations.

  “GET THOSE GASSERS OUT of the line of fire!” Tyson shouted, directing their defense. “Move that equipment to the middle!”

  Peppered by gunfire, the refugees instinctively crouched behind the vehicles. These were ordinary civilians. They weren’t about to step out into the line of fire.

  For Tyson, protecting the electronic equipment was crucial. But even more important was protecting the hunks of junk they needed to get out of the city and to the Exodus.

  A voice called out from the direction of the gunfire.

  “We’re just here for power! Give up the vehicles, and we’ll let you go!”

  Nearly half the vehicles ran on electric, and even most of the gassers could be rigged up to charge a desperate xeno. Tyson wasn’t surprised to hear what they were after. But there was no room for negotiation. They couldn’t spare even a single vehicle, never mind all of them.

  He decided to stall for time. Stepping into the line of fire, he put his limbs up and began walking toward the gunmen.

  “Stay over there!” The voice sounded nervous now. This was unexpected. “Get back!”

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?” Tyson asked, still walking steadily toward them, his voice low and calm.

  “Get back! I’m warning you!”

  He ignored the threat. “I’m sorry we can’t help you, but we need these cars.”

  The muffled voices of the criminals arguing about what to do echoed slightly against the rocks they were hiding behind. Tyson guessed there couldn’t be much more than a half-dozen of them.

  “Last warning!”

  But one of the gunmen wasn’t prepared to wait out the final warning. A shot rang out from somewhere to the left of the voices, on the far perimeter. Tyson felt an odd sensation, like a stiff breeze blowing through his mid-section, only about the size of a pinhole. Behind him, the bullet pinged off the hood of one of the electric cars, causing a burst of steam to billow out. Looking back, Tyson surveyed the damage. Hope we can fix that, he murmured to himself. Then he turned back to the criminals. Several more shots were fired, then the leader swore loudly and yelled for them to quit shooting.

  “Who the hell are you?” the shooter called, his voice shaking audibly.

  “Nobody you want to trifle with, that’s who,” Tyson said, mentally kicked himself for coming up with such a foolish retort. “Now you back off, and let us be. Understand?”

  More muffled arguments, a few more swears and shouts of annoyance, then the lead gunman called out, “You just get out of here, then. Get lost!”

  Don’t worry, Tyson thought. Turning calmly, he walked back to the convoy. He motioned for one of the younger ones to take a look at the shot-up car. “Okay, hurry up. Get what we came for and let’s go, before they change their minds.”

  The stunned, impressed expressions on the faces of his comrades gave Tyson a pleasurable chill up the spine. He’d always craved the limelight, and enjoyed what little power he’d ever been able to obtain. But this? He suddenly had more than he’d ever dreamt of, respect and admiration in spades, suddenly and without effort. He knew right then that leadership was the perfect fit for a xeno like him. Xenolight, he corrected himself. That’s what the Mind had called them, just before the change down below. A Xenolight; so much more, so much better, and they could never hurt him again. Just as the Mind had promised.

  85.

  The transformation guaranteed immunity to the kill switch, and relative safety from ground assault and close-quarter weaponry as well, but the Xenolight were vulnerable still. A well-placed shot to the middle of their convoy could stop them from reaching the exodus before it was too late. They also carried with them the sum of xeno knowledge, furnished by the Mind, including the information they would need to survive so far from home. These storage drives could be damaged or destroyed. The loss of even one devise to a well placed blast was of grave concern.

  Inside the convoy, a debate was raging over who should take over as leader. Without clear leadership, they feared they would be relegated to passenger status, unable to get their rightful seat at the table. Few of these Xenolights were supporters of the free evolutionists, fewer still had the stomach to defer to them. Their own government had turned on them, chased them away, and they had little choice but to evacuate. But even so, their loyalties were divided. And none considered themselves a freedom fighter, let alone a terrorist.

  A vote was taken, and Tyson’s name was formally put forth. He’d gotten them this far, in conjunction with the Mind. And he’d been influential in city politics before the purge, thus well qualified to be the voice of these disenfranchised refugees. Although a few additional names were put up for consideration, none but Tyson was really taken seriously. He was chosen on the first vote.

  Tyson accepted his new position as leader of the Tera-Prime Xenolight. With that taken care of, they began discussing plans for the new order. With hours stretching on ahead of them, and nothing but empty dessert terrain to gaze upon, there was little else to do. And, as Tyson put it, now was the only opportunity they would have to discuss the future as a whole, outside of the influence — and prying eyes — of outsiders.

  Tyson concluded the discussions with an impromptu inauguration speech. He linked up the vehicles so that all the members of the T.P.X. could hear him clearly, and he ramped up the rhetoric like a true politician.

  “We’ve been through so much together, you and I. Now’s the time for us to reap the benefits of our sacrifice, and I tell you this — we will bow down to no one. Not Tera-Prime, not the humans, ce
rtainly not the free evolutionists...and not to any other Xenolight, either. Together we stand, united we prosper!”

  All along the convoy, cheers and applause sounded inside the cars and over the radios. A fine start, he thought, drinking in the adoration. They just needed me to show them the way.

  ALIXS, LIAM AND J.Z. were assembling a makeshift loading system that would store and secure the preservation units. At first they’d simply stowed them one by one, but as the trickle of pilgrims became a flood, a new method was clearly required. A delicate procedure with no room for error, J.Z. swore under his breath when a sudden interruption startled them, causing him to overturn the carefully calibrated mechanism he was trying to balance. The voice that crackled out of the communications panel was unremarkable, flat, and Alixs called for one of the freevos on less critical duty to talk to whoever it was.

  ‘No, Alixs. I need to speak with you. Before it’s too late.’

  The nonexistent hairs on the back of his nonexistent neck stood on end.

  It was just hours ago that she’d last communicated with him, in effortless silence, right inside his mind. The fact that she had to resort to something so primitive now filled Alixs with dread.

  “You guys mind leaving us alone for a minute?”