Haven (The Last Humans Book 3)

by Dima Zales

  “Yes, it was.” Phoe’s tiny lips form a pout. “Unfortunately, Benjamin didn’t have any critical information. Here, let me show you. I’ll keep flying for you as you experience this.”

  Without any preparation, I’m suddenly standing in a room, surrounded by a large circle of Forebears.

  The room is barren, with only a large mirror in the middle.

  I understand what’s happening this time. I’m immersed in Benjamin’s memories. He’s confused because he doesn’t understand what could be so urgent that Davin would gather everyone in this room. Through Benjamin’s eyes, I scan the Circle. Benjamin knows their names, so I do too.

  I can’t help but focus on the people I’ve seen before. Wayne—the first Envoy I ever saw—is on my right. And there’s Davin, whose face appeared in the clouds to announce the big meeting. I also recognize the face of the newest member of the Circle, a face I’ve grown to loathe.

  Jeremiah’s face.

  “I have reasons to believe an ancient enemy, one of the nightmares we’ve chosen to Forget, has resurfaced in Oasis.” Davin looks everyone over with his deep blue eyes. “Even worse, I believe this AI is working to destroy everything we’ve created.”

  Inside Benjamin’s mind, I can literally feel Benjamin’s feet turn cold. The rest of the Circle—especially Jeremiah—looks absolutely horrified.

  “Let me first give you the facts,” Davin says and proceeds to tell the Circle the same story Wayne told Brandon. He tells them how my score on the Test put my name on Davin’s radar, and how I was a Youth who somehow became an Elderly Council member. He also provides a list of reasons he thinks an AI was behind it all.

  “So what do we do?” Benjamin asks evenly, though I know he’s just acting composed. On the inside, the man is about to explode.

  “I went into the Forgotten Archives and pulled a recording of myself with instructions on what to do in such a situation.” Davin points at the mirror, where another Davin appears—not a reflection but a recording.

  “Greetings,” the recording begins. “If you’re watching this, the unthinkable has happened.” Both Davins cross their arms. “If an AI has appeared in any of Phoenix’s systems, in any capacity, you are likely doomed. Your only chance, and it’s a small one, is to follow protocol V318, stored elsewhere in these Archives. I must caution you, however, that it’s a weapon only for the most desperate of times. Use it as a last resort.”

  I can’t help but notice that the word Phoenix, the full name of the spaceship we’re in, is not familiar to Benjamin.

  “Because it’s part of the information they chose to Forget,” Phoe says. “There isn’t any other useful info in the rest of this meeting, so let me fast-forward to another memory.”

  A moment later, I’m standing in a different area of the same room. The faces around me are filled with greater anxiety.

  “I examined the protocol,” Davin says. “Without my now-forgotten technical knowledge, I can’t explain it fully, but to the best of my understanding, the countermeasure is a replicator designed to spread through the computing substrate of the ship, thus taking away the AI’s resources.”

  “That sounds like an ancient computer virus,” Wayne says in his organ-sounding voice.

  “A crude analogy, but if it helps you understand it, sure, we can call it that,” Davin replies with poorly disguised arrogance. “However, no ancient virus possessed the flexibility and intelligence of this countermeasure.”

  The hairs on the back of Benjamin’s neck rise. He wants to ask, “We’re fighting an AI with an AI?” but restrains himself as Davin continues. “Before you panic, the intelligence I speak of would be human, not artificial,” Davin says. “But therein lies the frightening part: one of us has to volunteer to become the seed for the countermeasure.”

  The room is dead silent.

  “This is why I hoped the word ‘virus’ wouldn’t come up,” Davin says. “No one wants to become a virus, but all of us should want to be the savior of our world. We’re far away from our goal of setting up a perfect human settlement on a distant world. We, the Forebears, have taken it upon ourselves to lead the living, and this AI threatens to bring all of that tumbling down. It is our duty—”

  “Assuming one of us is brave enough to volunteer,” Wayne interrupts, “what would happen to all the computing systems in Oasis as this battle for resources ensues?”

  “There are too many unknowns to say for sure.” Davin frowns. “Screens may malfunction, which could lead to Youths missing a day or two at the Institute. Lights may flicker. Things like that, I imagine. Whoever takes on this heavy responsibility will be in control at all times, I believe, and he or she can mitigate the risks.”

  “Mitigate the risks, my foot,” I think angrily. “They’re about to choose Jeremiah, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Phoe says. “He’s about to volunteer.”

  “I don’t want to experience any more of this insanity,” I think at her. “Please take me out.”

  Instantly, I’m back in Haven’s sky, flying at breakneck speed among the clouds.

  “Those idiots,” I exclaim in a voice that still isn’t my own. I continue mentally. “A fucking Screen malfunction? Really? That was the worst case-scenario they expected?”

  “They expunged all memories of their technical expertise from their minds, so they didn’t know what they were messing with,” Phoe says. “Oh, never mind. I have no idea why I just tried to defend the fuckers.”

  “And to choose Jeremiah as the virus?” I’m so angry I inadvertently summon a boomerang—which I guess is Chester’s weapon of choice. I throw the boomerang away and try taking calming breaths, but my lungs are working too hard to support the insane speed I’m flying at.

  “I think that’s part of the reason things went as disastrously as they did.” Phoe floats closer to my face. “Jeremiah was supposed to act as the intelligence of the resulting abomination. He should’ve been careful when deleting things, should’ve been careful in his multiplying.”

  “Right. Jeremiah, the man who embodies rationality.” The fury is threatening to choke me from within. “He killed everyone because he was deathly afraid of you.”

  “They all are.” Phoe scrunches her miniscule nose. “It’s ironic that in their fear of technology, they unleashed the very technology that killed everyone.”

  I fly silently for a while, too enraged to talk. I think I would have rather the Forebears killed my friends through evil intentions than criminal negligence.

  “The Jeremiah virus might have known what his actions against me would do, so you can’t rule out a measure of malice,” Phoe says. “Not sure how helpful that is, though.”

  Her words don’t make me feel any better. They make me want to rip Jeremiah’s heart from his chest.

  “It’s funny you should think that,” Phoe says. “I was just about to talk to you about our next move.”

  17

  I recall that we’re flying toward the Circle’s Sanctum. “Right. I think I get it now. Benjamin knew what was about to happen but didn’t have any details.”

  “Yes,” Phoe confirms. “For that, I need to get a hold of either Davin or Jeremiah. And when I say get a hold of, I mean we have to Limbofy them so I can capture their memories.” A tiny toothpick in the shape of a sword appears in Phoe’s hand, and she mimics slicing someone in half. “In Jeremiah’s case, I may need to be particularly thorough, as there’s a chance he holds the key to disabling the virus.”

  This time around, my conscience doesn’t raise any objections. When it comes to Jeremiah, I think my conscience would let me kill him for real if that was possible in this strange world.

  “Once we get there, we have to be very careful,” Phoe says and makes her weapon disappear. “Later in Benjamin’s memories, Davin also discussed enabling the anti-intrusion algorithm for this place, but they deemed that too risky and decided to wait and see what the Jeremiah virus would accomplish. If they suspect I crossed the Firewall, they migh
t get desperate enough to release it. You remember what I told you about your demise in the Test?”

  I do, and the memory causes me to take her suggestion to be careful very seriously.

  Phoe looks over my shoulder, and I follow her gaze. There are small figures in the distance, but I can’t make out any details.

  “Do you want me to give you bird-like vision for a moment?” Phoe asks. “I’m brimming with resources, so it won’t be any trouble.”

  I nod, and she flies up to my face and gives my eyes air kisses.

  Suddenly, I can see as well as if I had binoculars—and I don’t like what I see.

  There are two waves pursuing me.

  The first wave is a huge flock of Guardians.

  The second wave is more frightening.

  Spreading from horizon to horizon, it looks like every single citizen of Haven is chasing after me.

  “They are not chasing after you.” Phoe blows me another kiss, which takes my super vision away. “They’re flying to get answers from the Circle, and the Guardians are flying to protect the Circle and probably give them news of Benjamin’s demise. Does that clarify why we need to get there first? Can you handle flying even faster?”

  “Yes,” I say, fighting the urge to close my eyes as my wings beat even harder, causing the clouds and the islands around me to flicker in my peripheral vision.

  Though I’ve improved when it comes to my fear of heights, I might be developing a new fear: a fear of flying too fast. To distract myself, I voice something that’s been bothering me for a while. “If the Circle made themselves Forget, how do you know Davin and Jeremiah didn’t erase the memories we need?”

  “I won’t lie, it’s a big risk.” Phoe’s little arms hug her tiny body. “But the fact that Benjamin remembered all these meetings suggests they didn’t Forget. And even if they did, the information isn’t completely lost. I analyzed the memories of the eight people I have access to and concluded that here, like in Oasis, Forgetting suppresses recall. The only difference is that in most cases, the Forebears know they chose to Forget something, whereas in Oasis, people outside the Council didn’t even suspect something was taken away from them.” She flies closer to me. “In any case, blocking recall means that the information is still in their memories; it’s just that the human mind can’t access it anymore. With my newly gained, slightly above-human-level capabilities, though, I could access some of the information. The process is more complicated than undoing the Forgetting and relying on recall, but it’s doable. For example, I’ve been able to puzzle together this big tragedy everyone has Forgotten. Though in the Circle’s case, they Forgot to a smaller degree.”

  “Tragedy?” I think, recalling the gaps in Jeanine’s memory.

  “Yes. The events that led to Oasis being the way it was,” Phoe says. “You didn’t think the Youths versus Adults versus Elderly separation always existed, did you?”

  That’s exactly what I thought, or more accurately, to my shame, I didn’t think about it at all. Fighting a flush, I say, “Can you just tell me what happened?”

  “You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it, especially since I had no clue myself.” Phoe chuckles humorlessly, and in a somber tone, adds, “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s pretty depressing stuff.”

  I resist the urge to swat at her as if she were an annoying fly. “Should I even dignify that with a response?”

  “Okay, here goes.” Phoe starts flying around my torso as she speaks. “As best as I can tell, the Ark—what they called the ship before it became Oasis—was not designed as a society. It was similar to a religious cult at that time.”

  She hovers next to my face for a second, then keeps circling. “Two rich families financed the whole operation and became prominent factions on the ship. The patriarchs of those families had slightly different views when it came to the use of technology, not to mention variations in religious beliefs and solutions to the problem of ‘how to make sure the ship’s occupants don’t go stir crazy in a generation.’” Phoe makes air quotes around the last part of that sentence with her tiny fingers.

  “However, the biggest disagreement between these men was something much simpler,” she continues. “It was about who should be the ultimate leader. Slowly but surely, their disagreements evolved into a feud. By that point, everyone was cooped up on the ship. Back then, they knew that a thin layer of ship separated them from the nothingness of space, which didn’t help matters. Then came the last straw. One sack of shit raped a woman from the other family. After that, things escalated into an all-out war.”

  As she circles around me, I glimpse her solemn, petite face.

  “The number of casualties was enormous on both sides, and not just among the living,” Phoe continues. “Haven was established back then, so the war continued on in the afterlife. Because Haven only had primitive weapons, the casualties weren’t as heavy as in Oasis. Many original humans from that time still exist in Haven today. Among the biological survivors, though, depression and suicide were very common, because the citizens found the idea of never setting foot on solid ground much more overwhelming in the aftermath of the war. They lost the will to care about their descendants.”

  She pauses to take a breath and zips around me again. “When the dust finally settled and peace was declared, everyone decided that the trip would be doomed unless they took some draconian measures. So they designed a society that was meant to prevent another war. Since a family feud had been at the root of the first war, they eliminated the family unit by using the embryos they’d brought to colonize the new world. For good measure, they disallowed sex, love, and other things that could lead to attachments strong enough to kill for. Also, since violent urges played a huge role in the war, they tried to get rid of as many extreme emotions as possible. To prevent suicides, depression was made taboo—though they eventually decided to stamp out other ‘mental imbalances’ too, as defined by the newly established ruling body, the Council. Finally, they decided to hide the truth of the multi-generational journey through space from everyone, concocting the Goo apocalypse as a psychologically preferable story. Forebears in Haven oversaw the creation of this new society. Once Oasis got going and everything looked like it was going as planned, everyone Forgot about the war and the changes they made.”

  My brain hurts from all this information and, to a smaller degree, from Phoe circling around me. “If what you say is true, why didn’t they get rid of the weapons in Haven?” I ask as I make the boomerang appear and disappear.

  “They couldn’t.” She stops circling around me. “I told you, Haven was built on top of something that was essentially a video game. They got lucky that due to their fear of technology, they chose a game where only low-tech weapons were allowed. In case you were wondering, the in-game physics here don’t allow for gunpowder and a slew of other things. Because the Forebears left anyone with any programing know-how back on Earth, they found themselves in a situation where, even if they wanted to get rid of the swords after the war, they couldn’t.”

  “Don’t they need programing know-how to handle this virus?” I glance back at my pursuers and am relieved to find them lagging farther behind.

  “Davin knew a little bit about technology in the past.” Phoe lands on my shoulder and uses her little feet to massage some of my tension away. “But even he chose to Forget whatever he knew. Unfortunately, he did leave some recordings, like the one you saw. That message allowed him to bypass his techno-illiteracy.”

  I open my mouth to ask some questions, but Phoe is already continuing.

  “Going back to the weapons,” she says. “Instead of dealing with them directly, the Forebears simply redacted their memories of the war, leaving themselves with just a conviction that there was a good reason to follow the new order. As an extra measure, they formed the Guardians here in Haven to ensure everyone stayed in line in the future. Unfortunately for us, they also made sure the members of the Circle were well protected.”

  Mor
e questions pop into my head, but for the moment, I just try to wrap my mind around it all and ignore the breakneck speed of my flight. Knowing this history dampens my anger toward the way the Oasis society had been structured, but I’m still furious that my friends died because of the Circle’s reflexive fear.

  “I don’t think the war justifies what they did.” Phoe moves on to massaging my earlobe. “We’re about to go faster, by the way.”

  Sure enough, my wings flap even faster. Pushing that awareness aside, I focus on our conversation. “I understand they might’ve overreacted, but what other solution did they have?” I ask. “They nearly wiped themselves out.”

  “How about not going into space to begin with?” Phoe leaps off my shoulder and flies in front of my face. “Or if they had to go, how about doing it properly, without, say, lobotomizing their fucking ship’s mind?”

  Her face is flushed and I realize this wound is still fresh for her. Still, I can’t help but ask, “So how could you have helped in the war?”

  “If I’d been in charge, there wouldn’t have been a war.” Phoe’s tense expression eases as she regains the mischievous look that’s been accompanying her fairy guise. “Everything would’ve been fine with everyone on board had I been around.”

  “Really? But how would you have accomplished that? By taking away everyone’s free will?” I realize that I’m voicing some of my pent-up fears and resentments; after all, she’s been controlling me, both literally—like the current flying—but also figuratively, by forming almost all of our plans of action. I take a deep breath, and in a less confrontational tone add, “Wouldn’t doing something like that make you a tyrant? An AI dictator of sorts?”