Post-Human Trilogy

by David Simpson

  And now, here he was, finally able to keep his eyes open. He was still cuffed to a bed, both his wrists and ankles secured, and the bed was inclined at a twenty-degree angle.

  “You are in a military facility within Endurance Bio-Dome in the former city of Seattle, Washington,” the A.I. said in his usual calm and informative manner. “It is one of 431 super bio-domes constructed to shelter large populations from the worst effects of the nuclear winter.”

  Craig tried to reply, but only a groan emanated from him.

  “They’ve been giving you Diprivan, a general anesthetic. They’re trying to bring you out from under it now, and I’m attempting to augment the process by releasing endorphins. You should be feeling much better in a few moments.”

  The A.I. was right as, moments later, Craig was feeling oddly aware and confident. “What’s happening? Why are we here?”

  “I haven’t been able to see much with you unconscious, but I have been able to hear snippets of conversations from time to time. From what I have gathered, they have brought in an expert who is leading the effort to remove the nanobots that house my mother program from your person.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Nine hours and thirty minutes. We’ve been in Endurance Bio-Dome for at least four hours and eleven minutes, though I cannot be sure what time we entered because you were unconscious. Thus, obviously, your eyes were shut.”

  “Good enough,” Craig replied.

  “It’s amazing,” a familiar voice said from behind Craig. “You’re talking to it right now, aren’t you?”

  “Who’s there?” Craig asked, surprised.

  “You may not remember me,” the voice replied, “but I remember you.”

  The woman to whom the voice belonged stepped out from behind Craig and crossed in front of him with a slight smile painted across her lips, revealing her still beautiful, if no longer perfectly white teeth.

  “Daniella?” Craig exhaled, astonished.

  Daniella’s smile broadened. “You remember.”

  14

  “You’re the expert they’re using to carve up my brain?” Craig reacted in disbelief.

  “What? No,” Daniella replied, shaking her head. “I’m here to help you.”

  “If you’re working for them, you’re not here to help me,” Craig replied.

  “Whoa! Hold on there, cowboy,” Daniella responded with indignation. “I’m here to help you. Every member of my team is here to help you. If we didn’t have your best interest at heart, we’d just toss you into an industrial-sized blender and stick the goo that comes out into a centrifuge until we separate the nanobots. We could do that, you know. I’m not just being glib.”

  “Nice.”

  “But we obviously aren’t going that route,” Daniella added in exasperation. “We’re here to help you. Everyone here is filled with human compassion. Don’t worry. No matter how long it takes, we’ll get you back to normal.”

  “What gives you the right to say what’s normal?” Craig retorted.

  Daniella was taken aback, her head tilting backward, as though she’d been tapped on the chin. “Uh, normal isn’t having an artificial intelligence stuck in your brain, cowboy,” she replied.

  “There shouldn’t be a line,” Craig answered before turning his face from her and examining the room. For the most part, it was barren, dark, and circular, with one door on Craig’s left.

  “There’s a guard stationed outside at all times—a super soldier, I’m afraid,” the A.I. noted.

  “If there’s no line,” Daniella continued, “then how are we to know who’s human and who’s not?”

  “An expert in nanotechnology is concerned that augmentation will lead to a blurring of the line between human and machine?” Craig observed.

  Daniella paused for a moment, her eyebrows knitted. This was not what she had been expecting from Craig. She’d been expecting him to lavish her with praise, that he’d be thrilled that she was there to remove the A.I. infestation from his body. She’d assumed he’d think of it as a cancer, something eating away at his soul and killing him.

  “Why are you helping them?” Craig suddenly asked, turning to her and staring hard into her eyes.

  “Them? Craig, we’re on the same team—or at least we were.”

  “That’s right,” Craig nodded. “We were. I think you should take a real hard look at your teammates and ask yourself if you’re playing on the right side.”

  15

  Paine entered his quarters, shut the door behind him, and immediately doubled over in agony. It was not hyperbole to say his stomach felt as though he’d swallowed barbed wire for breakfast. An implacable nausea had settled over him, but he knew vomiting wouldn’t help; only blood would come up anyway. No, he needed to bear his burden.

  He turned to his desk and swiped his hand over the OLED touchscreen, activating his holo-projectors. The Presidential Seal hovered in front of him, the seal of the ruler of the world. Paine grimaced while he stood waiting, staring into the seal and all that it meant. The Latin E pluribus unum was still inscribed on it, just as it had been when an earlier version was the Presidential Seal of the United States of America: “Out of many, one.” It seemed so much more meaningful now, in the era of the one-world state.

  As Paine became uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts, President Morgan’s image suddenly appeared in holographic form before him. “Mr. President,” Paine said in greeting as he saluted.

  “Colonel Paine,” Morgan replied, saluting in return. He was an older gentleman, now in his late sixties, and his head was bald, despite the many cures for baldness that had been developed. His face was worn with lines, especially surrounding his eyes and lips. The wrinkles were different on him, however, than the lines that crisscrossed the faces of his citizens. His lines were smile lines, cheerful and grandfatherly. The lines that dotted the faces of most people in the post WWIII world were unnatural deformities, caused by the fallout that continued to surround the globe. By comparison, Morgan looked healthy—too healthy. “Let me offer you my congratulations. I’ve been kept abreast of your mission. You’ve done a man’s job for your country and your species, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” Paine replied.

  “I almost couldn’t believe it when I read your initial report. The post-human technology was even more advanced than we’d previously believed. What were they called? Plack platforms or something?”

  “Planck, sir. Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Advanced stuff,” Morgan observed. “Dangerous. You did the right thing by trying to undo the damage done by that post-human in the other universes. I want you to know that I stand by you in that 100 percent. You’ll be immune to any subsequent attempts to indict you for your actions, rest assured.”

  Paine tried not to grin—the idea of immunity seemed so absurd to him now. “Mr. President, it wasn’t exactly a post-human who was running around in those alternate universes.”

  “I read the report, Colonel. One of your former men, wasn’t it?”

  “Not only that, sir, but he’s a former American hero. He’s been a pawn in this all along, used by the post-humans. When this is over, sir, and the artificial intelligence has been removed from his body, I’d like to recommend that he receive the same immunity that you are kindly offering me.”

  “That’s quite an endorsement of this fellow, Colonel Paine, especially considering everything he’s put you through.”

  Paine took a moment to consider his next words. “He’s been misguided—you might even say brainwashed—but his actions always have noble intentions. I believe, if he knew the consequences for his actions, he’d understand.”

  “Speaking of noble,” Morgan replied, “standing up for this man and risking your life to bring him back home is one of the noblest acts I have ever witnessed. You’ll receive the Medal of Freedom for this.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you, sir. I’m honored.”

  Morgan’s tone suddenl
y shifted. “However, in regard to this Craig Emilson, I’m afraid protecting him can no longer be our highest priority.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve just read the most recent evaluation of the artificial intelligence extraction project. According to the project leader, it may take weeks or even a month to extract the A.I., and even then, there is no guarantee that Emilson will survive the procedure.”

  Colonel Paine sighed. “I hadn’t read the report.”

  “No, you couldn’t have. It was written specifically for me—hot off the presses, so to speak. Evidently, the project leader expects that the A.I. will be able to execute evasive maneuvers to prolong the process, playing hide-and-seek inside the poor man’s body. She thinks there may be ways to isolate it, but attempts at keeping Emilson alive increase the chances that the A.I.’s mother program may be damaged. It is a risk we simply can’t take to spare the life of one man, Colonel, no matter how heroic he might be.”

  “Can we give her some time—”

  “Time is unfortunately a luxury we cannot afford,” Morgan replied. “You know the score, Colonel. That A.I. is the most valuable entity in the world. It can be the answer to all of our problems. Every moment that it eludes us is another moment for another A.I.— a hostile A.I.—to emerge unchallenged. Keeping Emilson alive means gambling with the safety of our entire species and, Colonel, you know me well enough to know I won’t take that gamble.”

  “I do, Mr. President. I understand.”

  “Colonel, it is my understanding that this Emilson is combative, that he’s actually trying to guard the A.I. I’ll give you an opportunity to talk to him. Perhaps if he knew the real reason we want the mother program—if he understood our plans for it—then you might be able to reason with him. You may even be able to reason with the A.I. inside him. Maybe you can convince them to separate willingly. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s worth a shot, Mr. President. If that doesn’t work, I’ll instruct the removal team to extract the A.I. using any means necessary.”

  “Excellent, Colonel. Excellent. Thank you.”

  16

  “Are you working on a plan to get us out of here?” Craig asked the A.I.

  “I’m afraid escape is currently unachievable. Without your MTF generator, there’s no way to overcome your bindings, which have an electronic locking mechanism.”

  “That’s not very encouraging,” Craig replied in a low tone.

  “I’m sorry, Craig, but it appears we will need the introduction of new elements in the scenario before we can execute a viable escape plan. In the meantime, the one thing I can do is thwart the Purist extraction team’s attempts to separate the nans that carry my mother program from your neurons. This will buy us more time.”

  “Okay. I guess we keep our eyes peeled then.”

  “Yes.”

  A moment later, the door to the room opened, and Colonel Paine entered, wearing his uniform cap low over his prosthetic eyes, with his head bowed. In tow, a man Craig didn’t recognize was at Paine’s heels, a look of uncertainty on his face.

  “That is Professor Sanha Cho,” the A.I. informed Craig.

  “Ah,” Craig replied. “Thanks.”

  Paine looked up and followed Craig’s eye line to Sanha. “Heh. I guess I don’t have to introduce you then.”

  “Got it covered,” Craig replied.

  Paine nodded. He placed his hands on his hips and turned away for a moment, staring off into the dark corners of the room, mulling over his thoughts. Craig could have sworn that Paine seemed depressed. “Can you keep a secret, Doc?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not long for this world, as they say.” Paine stepped forward and removed his cap, and it quickly became apparent why he’d been wearing it low. His face was so pallid that he appeared like a corpse, and his hair was beginning to fall out in clumps—a feature he demonstrated by rubbing his mechanical hand over his scalp, causing the salt-and-pepper hair to rain down onto the ground.

  “He’s suffered a lethal dose of radiation,” the A.I. quickly noted.

  “That fallout in Shenzhen was a real bitch,” Paine said, taking a crack at dark humor. He didn’t smile, however, and the golden irises on his ocular implants seemed even more lifeless than usual.

  “With symptoms this pervasive already, he’ll be dead within days if he doesn’t get medical treatment beyond Purist capability. I’d say he’s mere hours away from being bedridden.”

  “Ironic,” Craig observed.

  “What is?” Paine asked. “That I’m dying?”

  “That the technology you’ve fought against is the only technology that can save you.”

  Paine sighed, placing his hand across his abdomen to soothe the twisting muscles in his midsection. “I’m not against technology, Doc.” He held up his cybernetic arm as evidence, then pointed with its mechanical finger to his computerized eyes. “Obviously. However, I am against threats to the survival of our species.”

  “Then you should have no problem using nans like the ones inside of me,” Craig replied. “If you weren’t a murderous piece of garbage, I’d have my A.I. whip up a batch for you. You’d be right as rain in no time.”

  Paine stood, frozen. His tongue pressed against one of his molars, which was beginning to come loose; he tasted salty blood oozing from his gums. It wasn’t easy falling apart. “I really wish you didn’t feel that way, Doc. There are things you haven’t considered. For instance, that nanobots of the sophistication that you have inside you are dangerous.”

  “Really?” Craig scoffed. “I was exposed to the radiation in Shenzhen even longer than you were, but I’m fine. The nans are okay in my books.”

  “Sure, for now, but have you had the time to consider what nanobots could do if they form a large enough network? They communicate with one another, right?” Paine pointed briefly to Craig’s skull. “They’re just like the neurons in your brain. One neuron doesn’t do a whole lot. Hell, you can kill a bunch of ‘em with a night of hard drinking and not be much worse for wear in a couple of days. But get 120 billion of those little suckers together, and it makes you you—a consciousness. Nanobots like the ones the post-humans were recklessly using—like the ones inside of you now—are a hell of a lot more sophisticated than a neuron. Imagine if they formed a consciousness—a consciousness whose motives we’d never be able to predict. Nah, Doc. I’m no hypocrite. I’ll die before I put untested technology like that inside me.”

  “You’d be afraid of your own shadow if someone told you Aldous Gibson invented it.”

  Paine managed a faintly amused grin, but it melted when he briefly considered that it might be his last. “You know, Doc, I think you’re right about that. I’d think twice about anything that Gibson created, which brings me to my reason for this chat.” Paine held out one of his cybernetic arms and gestured toward Sanha. “Your A.I. has already told you that this is Professor Sanha Cho, a former post-human. What your A.I. hasn’t told you—what it didn’t know—what I didn’t even know until twenty minutes ago—is that Professor Cho is the one who gave us the location to the post-human facility.”

  “He’s right,” the A.I. said, his voice tinged with surprise. “This is entirely unexpected.”

  “So he’s a traitor,” Craig observed. “So what?”

  “Not a traitor,” Sanha replied defensively. “A man that was willing to give up everything for a chance at peace.”

  “Give up everything?” Craig responded. “That’s funny, considering you’re the only post-human who’s still alive. Seems like you’re the only one who didn’t give up a damn thing.”

  Sanha looked up apprehensively at Colonel Paine, like an abused animal seeking its owner’s permission to step away from its leash.

  Paine tilted his head toward Craig, urging Sanha to continue.

  “I-I didn’t know they’d kill everyone. That’s not what I intended.”

  Craig shook his head in frustration and closed his eyes as he flexed his large and p
owerful hands. He wanted to put them around Sanha’s throat and start squeezing; he didn’t think he’d ever let go if he got the chance.

  “This war—this conflict—was never about A.I. or no A.I.,” Sanha began to explain. “It was always about control. Power. Absolute power—and who would have it. Gibson or Morgan.”

  Craig turned back to Sanha, his eyebrows knitting. “What are you talking about?”

  “The A.I. hasn’t told you how it came to be, has it?” Sanha asked.

  “I haven’t had time to relay my origin to you, I’m afraid,” the A.I. said to Craig.

  “It was grown,” Sanha revealed, “just like a person would be grown—only much more quickly.”

  “What do you mean, ‘grown’?”

  “The A.I. doesn’t have a brain that emulates the architecture of a human brain. The truth is, we still don’t understand everything about how a brain works. Aldous solved this problem, as the Chinese did before him, by employing a cognitive science-based, explicitly goal-oriented strategy when developing the A.I. In other words, he designed programs that could combine virtual neural patterns together to form new, random patterns that would then be tested to see if the patterns had the desired qualities. Evolution does the same thing when two parents come together to form offspring. Some are successes and others are failures, and more often than not, the successes combine with other successes to produce even more desirable offspring. But, while evolution takes millions of years, virtual combinations are infinitely faster. The A.I. was built this way—the outcome of high-speed computer evolution.”

  “His description is accurate,” the A.I. confirmed for Craig.

  “All right. So?” Craig asked.

  “The A.I. wasn’t the only program to be created in this manner. Aldous also designed virtual worlds where the A.I.’s could be tested. They were given autonomy within the confines of these worlds and then tested one last time in an apocalyptic scenario that they thought was real. The A.I. inside of you right now is the only A.I. that passed the ultimate test.”