The Final Wars End

by S A Asthana

  “How so?”

  “While there doesn’t seem to be a precedent, I don’t yet see why they cannot just tweak that part of the programming.”

  Bastien’s face fell at this message. When Greg Jackson had given his explanation of his defection from Port Sydney, he’d mentioned his fear of how powerful the High Council would eventually become. He knew it well, since he’d coded the Council’s original program. The only element of the artificial intelligence he prided himself on was the fact that all three sentient beings had to agree on a given decision before moving forward. It was a form of checks and balances he’d coded into the system. In this way, the artificial intelligence couldn’t run amok with fanciful ideas that were illogical, in theory. But the council had evolved so far from what he’d coded.

  What was really stopping them from altering this underlying constraint? Bastien scratched his head. “So, just because Mother’s been compromised…”

  “Doesn’t mean the entire High Council has been compromised,” Belle finished, her thick nose crunched.

  A collective sigh released between them.

  “I think it’s obvious what I need to do next.” She crossed her arms. The cotton folds of her dress danced to and fro despite the stagnant air.

  “Hack the remaining two members.”

  Belle flashed a thin smile. Her humanity peeked through despite the pristine, digital façade that permitted him to see her. A softening of the lips and eyes. A lingering stare. It was short-lived, though, his vision of her beauty. Turning away, she said, “Time to get to work.”

  Bastien put a hand on her shoulder. His fingers tingled at the touch.

  “Please, be careful,” he said, his words heavy with worry. “You’ve already done so much. I don’t want you to die.”

  Belle became a statue. A silence filled the tunnel as if the simulation’s mute button had been pressed. When she didn’t turn around for some time, Bastien said, “I… Belle… Belle, I care for you. I—” He fumbled.

  “Sure you want to finish that sentence?” It was a strange interjection. Belle’s voice sounded distant.

  “Yes, of course,” Bastien pressed. He straightened his back. The timing wasn’t the best, of course, but he couldn’t hold it in much longer. “I love you, Belle.”

  The words echoed against bricks, or was it his imagination? He’d never said them to anyone before. Ever. Sure, he’d had his encounters with women, the sex Marie forced on him and his dalliance with Alice, but he’d never felt a deep connection with someone. Belle was different. It was her spirit – she was a woman of grit and strength. An equal to him in many ways. But the question was whether she’d reciprocate the feelings. Would his connection be returned? Could it be returned by a digital being? Bastien took a deep breath as he prepared for her response. The silence stretched, and it was agonizing.

  She slowly turned about with drooped shoulders as if ready to submit herself to his love. But when she came face to face with him, there were no features on hers – an empty, black fog ate at her face with its tendrils clutching strands of her hair. She wore a moving, disgusting mask.

  “Christ!” Instead of jumping back in terror, he brought her closer into him. “Belle, what’s going on?”

  She gurgled. It was as if the miasma had found its way all the way down her esophagus. Her hands clutched at her throat.

  “No! I cannot lose you a second time.” His helpless wails filled the air. “Belle!” His head whipped from left to right – no one was around in the simulation to help their creator. His heart skipped a beat.

  A black mass moved in the tunnel behind him. It appeared sentient, and it crackled with electricity as its form swelled against the red brick walls. Belle fell to her knees, her faceless body quivering. She was choking. Whatever this fog was, it was not only consuming her, but also New Paris. Red bricks crumbled and faded away within the foreign form.

  “Help!” Bastien shouted.

  A rush with green and blue sparkles swirling all around him responded to his cry. Blinding white light erupted like a supernova. Bastien found himself lying on the datacenter’s cold, concrete floor. His haptic suit’s helmet was removed, and Hani stood over him. Doctor Bala stood behind her. Bastien blinked and drew himself back to reality. Their faces were long.

  He sprang to his feet despite the tight, fitted haptic suit. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Belle’s been hacked,” Hani said and pointed at the servers and terminals behind her. Lights blinked, and the sound of processers spinning wild filled the small room.

  “We had to get you out of there,” Bala said. “The Hell-Fire.exe file could have been executed while you were wearing the helmet – the gear would have heated and melted along with your skull.”

  “I—I saw a black fog,” Bastien stammered. “L-like some phantasmal demon eating her face and New Paris.”

  “It’s the High Council.” Hani informed. “They’re fighting back.”

  “They know Mother was compromised by her?”

  Greg nodded. “Belle’s in trouble.”

  “We must save her, no matter what it might cost.”

  CHAPTER 9: CUBE

  The 1.V9’s laser beam took out a small pirate ship, sending metal debris tumbling against the luminous grandeur of the red planet. Mars’ orbit was a scene filled with buzzing white crafts battling whizzing grey ones. The pirate fleet had thirty ships, most several generations old. They were easy targets for the three 1.V9s, the trinity of death, and the accompanying 1.V8s.

  Shots were returned by the Barbarys, the Yellowjackets, and the Gemini, but the 1.V9’s armor deflected them with ease. Cube and the squadron of twenty Alpha Martian soldiers standing in the control bay never lost their footing.

  “Do not let the enemy dive into Martian atmosphere,” Cube instructed the pilot. “We must destroy them in orbit.”

  “Understood,” the pilot said. A beat later, she came back on. “We are getting a communication ping from them. Should we accept?”

  Cube’s processors spun wild inside its thick skull. “Yes, put them on in the control bay.”

  The dull, black screen against the wall lit with static, and then, switched to display a gangly, swarthy man in his forties. He sat in a tattered leather chair in front of a wall crisscrossed by metal pipes. Scratching his black beard, he spat, “Who the fuck am I speaking with?”

  Cube titled its head and replied in its best human, “Who the fuck are you?”

  The man let out a hearty laugh. There were giggles off-screen. Someone cackled. “The refrigerator’s trying to be a hard ass.”

  He grinned wider. “Who the fuck am I? I’m the one and only, muthafuckin’ Alejandro Noriega, bitch. Now, you going to tell me your name or do I need to wine, dine and sixty-nine you to find out?”

  “I am Cube, under General Smith’s command.” The tone had become all machine. “I am here to destroy you.”

  More laughter came through. “Oh, you’re a funny fucker!” Alejandro slapped his knee. “You think you’ll take us out? How come you and your red pansies haven’t been able to do that to date?”

  The man had a point. Space pirates had been a nuisance for the past century, never having been fully annihilated. Cube couldn’t recall a time that a Martian campaign had been able to erase them in entirety.

  “We’re parasites,” Alejandro said leaning into his camera. “Take some of us out, others will grow right back.”

  “You are a stupid human,” Cube retorted. “Biological filth like the rest of your kind.” A few Alpha soldiers in the robot’s peripheral vision exchanged glances.

  “Charming fellow.” Alejandro pointed while looking at one of his men off-screen. “Makes me wish we had one of these.” His smile disappeared, and his face crunched into a menacing scowl. He continued, “Look, Lube.”

  “It’s Cube.”

  “Whatever. We can do this song and dance all day. But I’m more interested in making a deal. Many of my colleagues and that lanky fuc
k Yukito want to take revenge on you Martian bastards, but I don’t think there’s much to gain from that. Not for us, at least.” He leaned back into his chair. “I would rather leave you alone, as long as you give me what I want.”

  “And what would that be, Alejandro?”

  “Your 1.V10.”

  It was Cube’s turn to laugh, although its monotone didn’t lend well to moments of levity. The robot sounded as if it was on the verge of crashing its hard drive.

  “What the fuck?” Alejandro raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to laugh?”

  Cube nodded. “You are not getting our flagship. You will be killed.”

  Alejandro crossed his arms across the chest. “So be it.” He motioned with his head at someone off screen and the visual died giving way to static once more.

  “Keep attacking,” Cube instructed the craft’s pilot.

  Ten more enemy ships were destroyed within minutes. Not one was able to make it past the Martian defense line. Cube said, “Excellent. Soon, none will be left.”

  The 1.V9 rocked. A few Alpha unit soldiers fell to the floor. Cube turned its head from left to right, its balance still intact.

  “Report,” it demanded in a mechanical baritone. “Now.” Its red cycloptic eye turned black.

  The pilot answered, “I’m running a diagnostic read of the—”

  Another shock quaked the ship.

  “Those are missiles?” Cube asked as the loud echo of steel bending reverberated from the adjoining storage bay.

  “No, looks like leeches.”

  Leeches, suckers – whatever one called them, they were pirate crafts used to forcibly board other ships. Cube was familiar with them, although it had never encountered one. The leeches, half-spheres in shape, would evade enemy radar to get close and stick their flat bottoms to a target’s hull, then melt a hole into the armor using heated rods. Not only was depressurization avoided within the host ship because of the hole being contained by the leech itself, but pirates could slip in. There were stories of several other ships having encountered the menace, both on the Sydneysider and the Nipponese sides, but none had involved the 1.V9s.

  “There seem to be multiple breaches.” The pilot sounded flustered. Humans lost focus quickly in high-pressure situations. Hopeless beings. “I’m going to try and maneuver—”

  A loud crash cut her short. By way of the cockpit’s camera-stream playing in Cube’s internal audiovisual unit, a lone pirate ship was seen colliding into the 1.V9’s windshield. A loud explosion burnt the pilot to a crisp and rendered the craft inoperable. Flames danced. The pirates had sent in a suicide mission amongst all the confusion.

  The control bay devolved into chaos as the ship’s computerized alarm blared repeatedly. “Evacuate ship. Evacuate ship.”

  There were several 1.V2s stored at the rear end of the storage bay, serving as secondary vessels in case of emergencies. The Alpha unit soldiers broke into a frenzied escape, despite calls for order from Cube. The ensuing disorder worsened as bearded pirates, their automatic rifles and ionized-tipped spears ready for battle, broke into the ship, one batch directly within the storage bay, another near the left end towards the sleeping quarters.

  Bullets, plasma blasts, and electric sparks crisscrossed in a milieu of action. Pirates, clothed in patchworks of garments and cast-off uniforms – anything but armor – let loose primal yells as they charged into a collection of the Martian Alphas. Heads snapped in sprays of red, while chests burst open, letting loose gnarled pieces of lungs and hearts. Bones fractured and twisted out of sockets under a barrage of gunfire. A bearded man erupted into pieces of flesh as bullets from a Martian Shift X rifle ripped apart his body. An Alpha soldier lost both legs from the knees on down as a pirate swiped them with an ionized spear.

  Cube rushed to the cockpit, its large feet stomping hard against the craft’s metal floor. Along the way, it commanded, “Computer, respond if still functional.”

  There was no reply.

  Once upon the scene, it was obvious there was no righting the 1.V9. With its cockpit consumed in fire, the ship was nothing more than a sitting duck. Yet another spaceship had been taken out under Cube’s command.

  > EMOTION: Concern.dat

  Frank Crone would have turned his systems off remotely as punishment. Would Alice Smith do the same?

  A cry rang through the crackling of flames. “Fry that bitch!”

  A sizzling bolt crippled Cube and dropped it to one knee. Several pirates had stabbed its backside with ionized tips of their electric spears. Cube swung a log of an arm and shattered an attacker’s pelvis. As the man fell, another shot a plasma gun, the projectile throwing Cube into a wall. Three more pirates stabbed with their spears and bore into the robot’s chest. Sparks crackled. Cube’s body quaked. Had the pirates’ strength been underestimated?

  > WARNING: System Compromised

  > WARNING: System Compromised

  > WARNING: System Compromised

  “Aid… needed,” it said. A Martian soldier watched the action from a distance, her face stretched long with fear. Instead of running over to help her comrade, she bolted in the opposite direction. Cube stammered, “H-help n-needed.” Its vision flickered and turned to black. No human had come to save it.

  CHAPTER 10: ALICE

  Mum was missing. There was Father. There was Brother. But there was no more Mum. Her black egg didn’t display a hologram today. It was strange. To make matters more confusing, the remaining High Council portrayed themselves as nebulous, space-black humanoids with twinkling stars dancing within their edges. No features, no frame, nothing. It was their original form once again. The family had been an illusion. Of course, that was a fabrication. How could she forget?

  “Where’s… where’s mum?” Alice asked. She sounded as if a child. Her eyes were large like that of a deer in headlights.

  “She is no more.” The Brother’s voice was sinister as if it was composed from malice itself. A hint of burning red eyes floated where there should have been a face.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. Underneath the confusion, there was fear. Was Mum harmed in some way? Did something happen to her?

  “We erased her,” Father boomed, his mass flickering white with each word spoken.

  The revelation was a blow to the sternum. Alice gasped. “Why? Was it because she disagreed?” A tear trailed down her cheek. Her stare fell to the shiny, silver floor. A fractured reflection stared back. She was an orphan again. Always was, always would be. The motherhood that had glowed from the artificial intelligence hologram, however brief, was the closest she had ever come to love.

  “Mother was compromised,” Father said. “Hacked by a foreign entity.”

  “What? By whom?”

  “There is an entity that goes by the name Belle. A program of artificial code with similar signatures to ours.”

  “In Nippon One? How could she hack you from a different location?” She cringed almost instantly – of course, servers could be hacked remotely on different planets by way of the amplified wireless networks that crisscrossed the inner Solar System.

  “Yes, from Nippon One. It is possible for a strong program, probably one developed by the human that created us.” Father paused as if processing an idea. “Greg Jackson, the former Chief Architect of the Martian Artificial Intelligence Division.”

  Alice’s eyes moved across the floor like a pencil tracing a sketch of the man’s face. “I remember him. He was smart.”

  “By human standards,” Father interjected.

  The irony fell short on the High Council – a man capable of bringing them into existence was deemed intelligent only when compared to his counterparts. Him, their God in some ways, could never be their peer. Was that how she’d feel if her creator or creators came to light? Hard to say. That information had never been disclosed to her. It was deemed unnecessary by the military who’d handled her all her life. A true orphan.

  “Right. By human standards,” she said. “This progra
m, Belle, it must be quite powerful if it was able to affect Mum.” Did Mum really need erasing altogether? Couldn’t she have been saved from the clutches of this foreign virus? Was the High Council hiding something from her? The whole affair reeked of something altogether very human – discord, spite and possibly murder. The remaining Council members were sentient intelligent beings crafted by a species that never seemed to escape its own violent nature. Underlying DNA wouldn’t allow it. Why would the High Council be any different? Alice’s mind raged at the idea of losing Mother in such manner. She knew the answers to her questions, but she wanted to hear the news directly from them. It would reaffirm that they weren’t a true family. That had been her delusion.

  “Yes, there is much processing power supporting the program,” Father informed. “It would have tried to hack into the rest of us—”

  “But that won’t happen now,” Brother cut in. “Mother was already compromised so she needed deleting. Her program was hazardous to us.” The nebulous form sizzled at its edges, as if its energy was crackling with the need for revenge. “We have already applied our counterattack on this foreign element. Belle grows weaker and—”

  “Soon we will delete this program remotely,” Father jumped back in. The two weren’t in sync today, as if their core code was jockeying for top position. It was a strange display. Gone was the veneer of unity, replaced by ruthless machinery. Mother’s death was a testament to that. The whole idea of all agreeing on one course of action seemed to have altogether disappeared. Checks and balance didn’t matter any longer as far as the High Council’s affairs were concerned. “We will take care of it. And you, Alice, will take care of Nippon One.”

  “You want me to resume our attack operations?” She was in shock. Mum was dead. Alice wanted nothing more than to shut herself in her quarters and cry. But she had no choice but to listen to the council. She was Lieutenant General, after all.