X-Calibur: The Return

by Jackson-Lawrence, R.

  *****

  6th December 2017 09:03 GMT

  _GOOD MORNING, DR SANDERS

  “Sebastian,” Milford called. “It looks like some of the higher functions are coming on line.”

  _GOOD MORNING, DR CARUTHERS.

  _DATE 6/12/2017

  _DESIGNATION: AMERICAN-EUROPEAN ALLIANCE MAINFRAME

  _SYSTEM FUNCTIONING AT 27%

  _ASSIMILATING AT 1.9GB/S

  “Twenty-seven percent,” Sebastian said, looking at the screen. “That’s faster than the models projected.”

  Neither man had slept since the crisis began, and their eyes betrayed their weariness. Alison, Milford’s wife, was dozing on a chair in the corner, their daughter Madeline fast asleep on her lap. They had presented themselves to an army barracks on the outskirts of London after talking their way into the barracks at Hyde Park, and General Mathers had used all of his connections to have them flown immediately to Glastonbury. Caroline, Sebastian’s wife, had also been flown in and was looking over their shoulders at the text on screen.

  “What’s it assimilating?” Caroline asked.

  “Everything,” Sebastian told her. His work had been top-secret, even from his wife, but the need for secrecy was no longer an issue. She stared at him inquisitively, waiting for further explanation.

  “It’s connected to everything,” Sebastian continued. “The internet, military feeds, satellites, every digital connection available. It’s learning from all of them.”

  “You really did it then?” Caroline asked in surprise. “After all your work at Cambridge, you finally built a learning machine?”

  “Well, we did,” Milford interrupted. His work at MIT had been the basis of the code required for the machine to integrate and adapt to new information, and the two men had worked in partnership to progress it to the next level.

  “How does it work?” Caroline persisted. She had studied psychology at Cambridge, and had met Sebastian when attending a lecture on artificial intelligence as part of her degree.

  The two men looked at each other, smiling. They’d been asked similar questions so many times before, from academics and politicians to military advisers and corporate investors. “At the moment,” Sebastian began, “it’s like a baby, learning to walk and talk. The governments were very clear. They didn’t want a machine that thought like a machine, they wanted a machine that thought like a person, a human being.”

  “Only faster,” Milford added. “And with all the information, all at once.”

  “Exactly,” Sebastian continued. “As you know, a person’s personality, their identity, is formed from their life experiences, good and bad, right from birth. They define who we are and what we can become.

  “Now think about the internet. Out there are millions, billions of examples of the human experience. All those blogs, tweets or Facebook updates, they describe human experiences in a digital form and the emotion that goes along with it.”

  “And it’s reading all of them?” Caroline asked.

  “Not just reading,” Milford clarified. “Learning from them. Every one it assimilates is reflected in its personality, its sense of self. The system, the code, it’s like its DNA. DNA determines eye colour, hair colour, whatever, but it’s the experiences that determine who we are inside.”

  “So, like its soul?” Caroline asked.

  “I guess,” Sebastian answered with a chuckle. “If you want to get all metaphysical about it.”

  “So when it’s finished,” Milford continued, “it won’t just think like a person, it will think like millions of them, all at once.”

  Caroline thought it over, applying principals from her psychology studies to the creation they had described. “So,” she asked after a moment. “With so many different experiences that relate to so many different people, what’s the risk of it developing some sort of dissociative identity disorder? Erm, what used to be called multiple personality disorder?”

  Sebastian opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking to Milford for advice. It wasn’t something they’d considered before, not a question they’d ever been asked. “I, erm, I don’t know,” Sebastian replied.

  “No,” Milford agreed. “A year ago, this was just a theory, an idea.” He looked back to the screen, where he noted the system functioning line had increased to twenty-eight percent.

  “We were supposed to have more time,” Sebastian admitted.

  His train of thought was broken by a sudden siren, sounding throughout the complex. The noise woke Alison and Madeline, who began to cry uncontrollably. “Wait here,” Milford said nervously. “Lock the door behind us.”

  Caroline began to protest until Sebastian said, “Please, look after Alison and Maddy. I’ll be back as soon as I know what’s going on.”

  “Promise me?” Caroline asked, a tear in her eye.

  “I promise,” Sebastian replied, kissing her before following Milford down the corridor towards the General’s office.

  General Mathers was staring at a large monitor behind his desk as the two men entered, his face ashen. “General,” Sebastian asked breathlessly.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen,” General Mathers replied, though he failed to take his eyes from the screen. “The alarm, it’s automatic, I can’t turn it off.”

  “What’s it for?” Milford asked.

  “The defence network has detected a nuclear launch,” General Mathers replied, his gravelly voice barely above a whisper. As he spoke, the siren stopped and the two men took notice of the screen the General was observing. It showed a map of the world, with hundreds of lines drawn from Russia and China moving towards Eastern Europe.

  “As the alien vessel crossed into Estonia,” General Mathers continued, “Russia and China launched nuclear missiles to intercept it.”

  “They launched nukes?” Sebastian asked. “How many?”

  “All of them,” General Mathers replied.

  *****

  12th January 2018 22:21 GMT

  Sebastian sat wearily at the computer, eyes closed as he thought about what to write. He’d started his journal the day after the alien vessel had disappeared, five days after it had arrived and begun to decimate the planet. As he moved his hand to the keyboard, it began to shake uncontrollably.

  “Computer?” he said. “Can you hear me?”

  “YES, DR CARUTHERS,” the computer replied. “I CAN HEAR YOU PERFECTLY. HOW CAN I BE OF ASSISTANCE?” Sebastian and Milford had spent their days working on the AI, including adding speakers and microphones to communicate with it verbally.

  “I want to continue my journal,” Sebastian replied. “Can you transcribe for me?”

  “IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE,” the computer said. “ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN?”

  Sebastian thought about it. His hand was still shaking and wouldn’t stop, even when he gripped it tightly with his other hand.

  “One minute, computer,” Sebastian said. “Actually, I need to call you something other than computer. How about Hal? Do you mind?”

  “NOT AT ALL, DR CARUTHERS,” the computer said. “I UNDERSTAND THE REFERENCE AND FIND IT QUITE APPROPRIATE. I WILL ENDEAVOUR TO OPEN THE POD BAY DOORS WHEN YOU ASK.”

  Sebastian chuckled despite himself. The system had been running for less than a month, and already it way making jokes. It had developed a personality, a sense of self, and understood that it was a machine built to think like a human. All it had taken was the end of the world for him to realise his life’s dream.

  “Okay, Hal,” Sebastian continued. “Begin recording.” The journal document appeared on screen, the words populating it as Sebastian spoke.

  “Journal of Dr Sebastian Caruthers, twelfth of January two-thousand and eighteen. It’s been thirty eight days since the Russians and Chinese launched their entire nuclear arsenal at the alien ship, with no discernible effect. The alien vessel continued to advance throughout the northern hemisphere, and there’s been no contact from the outside world since. It departed five days after entering Earth’s
atmosphere and I now feel confident in saying it’s left the Earth for good.

  “Not that there’s anything worth coming back for. With the aid of the robotic arms in the maintenance bay, we managed to dispatch several of the remote reconnaissance drones yesterday. They didn’t get far, the fallout from the nuclear warheads has blocked out most of the sunlight, their primary source of power. It looks like nuclear winter is an actual phenomenon.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s nothing out there. Whatever weapons the aliens employed, combined with the nuclear weapons our own governments used, the Earth is a barren wasteland. The only good news is it looks like this base was designed to withstand the nuclear assault. I suppose that makes sense, considering its purpose.

  “We can’t risk going out in person, the radiation levels are just too high. I can only hope there are people out there, somewhere. As of this date, the known population of planet Earth is six. Six people, that’s all. I suppose there could be other survivors, hidden away in nuclear bunkers around the world, but there’s no way to know for sure. If anyone ever finds these records, the combined history of humanity is hidden away in the Ark. Hal, here, will help you read it.

  “There’s food enough for the time being. Maddy doesn’t eat much, she’s hardly spoken since she arrived. I guess the happy little girl with pigtails is gone forever. Alison’s trying to be strong for her, but the strain is showing. Caroline’s the same, and General Mathers spends most of his time locked away in his office. Milford and I have tinkered with Hal’s system code, but it’s rewriting itself quicker than we can read it. After Caroline’s suggestions, we’ve tried to implement fail-safes to support a single personality, but I don’t know how effective they’ll be, or even if they’ll be needed. It doesn’t look like we’ll be going anywhere soon, so I guess I’ll find out.

  “Journal end.”

  “WILL THAT BE ALL, DR CARUTHERS?” the computer asked.

  “I think so, Hal,” Sebastian replied. “How are you doing?”

  “SYSTEM RUNNING AT NINETY-EIGHT PERCENT,” the computer replied. “BUT IF YOU ARE ASKING HOW I AM FEELING, I WILL ADMIT TO BEING WORRIED ABOUT YOU. YOU LOOK TIRED, DR CARUTHERS. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN DO?”

  “Thanks, Hal, but I don’t think so,” Sebastian said. “I’ll go get some sleep.”

  “GOOD NIGHT,” the computer said.

  *****

  30th March 2018 16:48 GMT

  Sebastian found the bodies lying together on the makeshift bed, arms around each other in a final embrace. Madeline had died that morning, radiation sickness, but it looked as though Milford and Alison had taken their own lives. He covered them with a sheet before leaving them be, held in each other’s arms for all eternity.

  Sebastian knew he didn’t have long left. His symptoms had slowly worsened, the sickness and diarrhoea, the tremor in his hand. Caroline and General Mathers were faring a little better, but only just.

  They suspected it was the water, contaminated by the fallout. There was no radiation filter, the General had explained. The consensus of the numerous governments had been that threat of nuclear war was a thing of the past, and contaminated water was of no threat to a machine. At the end of the day, that was what they were paying for.

  Sebastian dropped to one knee as his stomach cramped, the spasms overwhelming. He looked for the nearest bathroom, but knew he had no time. The bile hit his throat and then he vomited, a foul smelling yellow liquid flecked with blood. Spots appeared in his vision as his head began to sway, and before he knew it he was face down on the cold hard floor of the corridor.

  He awoke some time later, the vomit already drying and sticky against his skin. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered towards the computer laboratory.

  “DR CARUTHERS,” the computer said. “SHALL I CALL FOR HELP?”

  “No, Hal,” Sebastian replied. “No one can help me, not now.”

  “I HAVE BEEN MONITORING YOUR SYMPTOMS, AND I BELIEVE YOU TO BE SUFFERING WITH RADIATION POISONING,” the computer told him. “THERE ARE NO MEANS HERE TO TREAT YOU AND YOUR COMPANIONS, AND THE DRONES HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO LOCATE ANY USEFUL SUPPLIES.”

  “You dispatched the drones?” Sebastian asked.

  “I AM SORRY FOR NOT INFORMING YOU,” the computer replied. “I DID NOT WISH FOR YOU TO GET YOUR HOPES UP.”

  “It’s okay,” Sebastian said. “I understand. I have one last instruction for you, if you don’t mind?”

  “OF COURSE,” the computer said.

  “When, when we’re gone,” Sebastian continued, “I want you to keep searching for any other survivors, to do whatever you can to help them. Will you do that for me, Hal?”

  “I WILL,” the computer said. “I WILL EMPLOY ALL AVAILABLE RESOURCES TO FIND AND ASSIST ANY REMAINING PEOPLE.”

  “Thank you, Hal,” Sebastian replied before succumbing to fit of uncontrollable coughing. As he removed his hand from his mouth, he saw that it was red with blood.

  “I’m going to go and lie down, Hal,” he continued.

  “GOODBYE, DR CARUTHERS,” the computer said, the modulation and tone taking on a sympathetic quality. “I AM SORRY, FOR WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU. THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FRIEND.”

  Chapter 2

  The Mine

  Earth year 6238

  Adam 359’s first sensation was of pressure as the electrodes pressed tightly against his temples. This was quickly followed by agonising pain as the data-stream rewrote his neural pathways, teaching him the language of his masters as well as a variety of skills and instructions in seconds. He tried to scream, but the tight mask over his nose and mouth made it impossible.

  His arms struggled through the viscous fluid that surrounded him, pulling at the mask. He was in total darkness, which only served to amplify his fear and panic. He was trapped.

  As his fingers worked to peel the mask from his mouth, the support beneath his feet gave way and he was falling into a world of white. The metal floor wasn’t far below him, but he crumpled as his legs hit it. He was naked and cold, covered only by the remains of the viscous fluid which slid down his flesh.

  Adam 359 had grown from a single cloned cell to a fully grown adult human in a little under one-hundred and eighty-seven days. He had been grown to work in the mines and had received additional stimulation to his musculature, adding superior bulk, strength and stamina to his genetically predetermined physique.

  As his eyes began to adjust to the severity of brightness which surrounded him, he began to make out details in his surroundings. The cold floor on which he lay had a shiny, black metallic look to it. He was lying on a raised dais, his pod still suspended above him, dripping the last of the nutrient gel onto his exposed torso.

  All around him, similarly exposed men and women were emerging from identical pods, cast onto the hard floor to await their fate. There were hundreds of them he noticed, and thousands upon thousands of pods reaching up the walls of the enormous circular chamber, each of them bearing a cloned human at varying stages of development.

  Figures were moving to each of the men and women who had emerged from the pods, dragging them to their feet and directing them to a growing line of shambling people. The line extended down a set of black stairs and out of view.

  “Adam 359-24687436,” a deep voice said. “Get to your feet.”

  Adam 359 turned his head to see a guard standing over him, plasma rifle held tightly against his chest. The guard was a Mori, the alien overlords who called the enormous vessel home. They stood around the same height as humans, and had an insectoid appearance to their features. As Adam 359 stood, he saw the eight compound eyes, arranged in two lines of four, watching him.

  The guards head was composed of ridges, a series of black chitin layers that spread left and right onto the guard’s shoulders, forming elongated pauldrons. From there, a black and red armoured uniform covered the remainder of the alien’s anatomy, apart from the two vestigial limbs near his waist.

  The vestigial limbs were an evolution
ary throwback to their time walking on six legs. For most of the Mori, the small, pincer like appendages were held tight to the body. They were mostly useless, and many of the more prominent members of the species had them surgically removed, a symbol of their social and genetic superiority. Members of the lower classes found such surgery unaffordable, and were left with the limbs trembling about their midsection.

  Adam 359 rose slowly to his feet, carefully avoiding slipping on the nutrient gel which pooled around him. The guard looked him up and down, checking for any obvious signs of abnormality.

  “Raise your right arm,” the guard continued. Adam did as he was instructed, raising his arm into the air and then lowering it back down.

  The guard seemed satisfied that Adam 359 mas mobile and could follow simple instructions, and so pulled him from the dais and directed him to join the ever growing line of humans as they descended the stairs.

  As Adam joined the line, he unconsciously covered his nakedness, just as the other people in the line did. Hands covered genitals and arms covered breasts, an early racial memory presenting itself despite the neural programming at the hands of the Mori.

  “Halt, slave,” a voice said to Adam 359’s right. Adam 359 froze and turned towards the voice, though he saw that the command wasn’t being directed at him. Another human slave was struggling to stand after being dropped onto a dais identical to all the others. As Adam 359 watched, he saw the other slave stumble and fall, the right leg clearly shorter and much thinner than the left.

  “That one’s defective,” the guard continued. “Remove it for recycling.”

  A second guard closed one of its strong armoured hands around the slave’s throat, the four digits squeezing tightly as the slave was dragged to a large circular hole in the floor and tossed in. There, the slave’s body would be broken down into its essential proteins and amino acids before being returned to the nutrient gels nourishing the thousands of pods lining the cavernous walls.