Myself included.
My strut slows to a cautious walk, giving the drones a wide berth in the twelve-foot-wide hallway currently simulating the orange hues of sunset.
At least they don’t look down at my nakedness. Not that they would think anything of it. I shake my head at myself. I’m adding layers of meaning to Gal’s speech and the actions of drones that don’t even have an AI controlling them.
Or do they? The drones are part of Gal’s system, acting like white blood cells inside her intergalactic body, purging it of imperfections.
“Why are they here?” I ask Gal.
“Routine inspection,” she says. “They’ve been performing them for the past sixteen years.”
The drones turn forward again and buzz past me. I watch them go, waiting for them to spin around and stare. But they make a left turn and slip from sight. The hum of their small repulse engines fades as they move away.
“Do they ever find something wrong?”
“Aside from the mass murder of the Galahad’s crew?”
I stop walking.
“That was blunt.”
“I’m sorry,” Gal says. “I thought the event was old enough to not cause you emotional discomfort.”
“Things like that,” I tell her, “leave an indelible mark on the human psyche. The memory of it will always hurt.”
“Until you forget it.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Do you remember your own birth?”
I huff a laugh. Gal is trying to psychobabble me? “That has more to do with the development of a baby’s mind than with time.”
“Humans forget traumas all the time, but the information is still there. The memory of your birth hasn’t been erased or overwritten, you’ve simply suppressed it. So it stands to reason you will be able to forget the events that brought you to this point. That is our goal, right?”
“Yeah.” I don’t like being out-logiced by an AI I created, but she is right. It’s just hard to imagine forgetting the murder of my friends and crewmembers, not to mention the failure of my life’s work and the end of humanity. But that is my far-fetched hope. To forget. I suppose I should be glad that Gal understands that. “So?”
“So…”
“Aside from the events surrounding my rude awakening, do they ever find something to clean or fix?” The drones are part of what keeps the Galahad perpetually functioning. The success of the Great Escape depends, at least in part, on the ship not falling apart. I might survive a sudden loss of life support, but I’d rather not be yanked out of a long-time, fully immersive VR by it.
“No,” Gal says. “You don’t give them much to do. Their existence is even more boring than yours.”
There she goes, making me smile again.
“The exterior drones have more exciting lives. Always busy. Less so in interstellar space, but inspecting the hull and protecting it from micro fissures and radiation requires constant attention.”
“Do those things pose a danger? Micro fissures and radiation?”
“Even without the drones, and barring any collision with something substantial, or an unforeseen phenomenon, the hull will likely survive millions of years without a critical failure. I am well built.”
“And awesome.”
“Exactly.”
I look back to where the drones left, half expecting to see one of them peeking around the corner at me, but the hall is empty. Always empty.
I start toward the VCC again, but my strut is gone. The drones’ odd behavior and my memories of Tom’s madness, betrayal, and killing spree have sapped the joy from my escape.
All the more reason to leave, I think. This place offers me nothing but pain.
And the bored drones have it easy. They are blissfully unaware of their mundane existence.
But why were they looking at me?
They weren’t. And if they were, it was simply because I was the first anomaly they’d encountered in more than five years. At least, I think, they don’t patrol the VCC. If they did, I’d probably alter their code before leaving. The idea of those little robots scanning me without my knowledge kind of freaks me out. It’s silly, but so is a fear of the dark, or closet monsters, or creatures under the bed. Knowing dangers are imagined has never stopped people from turning on the lights, just to be sure.
Entering the VCC staging area puts me at ease. I’m almost there, but I feel like I’ve forgotten something. Entering the Great Escape is akin to going on a long trip. But there is none of the preparation that went into my journey from Earth to Mars, or Mars to Cognata. No packing. No training. No learning. All I need to do is slip into a fresh virtual skin, facemask, and headset.
There’s no pomp and circumstance. This is closer to a prison break. And the sooner I leave, the sooner the pain stops.
I slip into the clean VISA waiting in my locker. After being naked for so long, it feels a little constricting, but the familiarity of my second skin is also comforting.
Almost there.
“Are you sure?” Gal asks.
“Do you have doubts?”
“Once the prog launches, there will be no turning back. You won’t be able to tell me to stop.”
“I don’t think I’ll forget that quickly.”
“You doubt my abilities?” There’s a playfulness in her voice. Always comforting.
“I think you doubt mine,” I say, stepping into the VCC, headset in one hand, facemask in the other.
“Doubting one of us means doubting both of us,” she says.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“So which is it?” she asks.
“I guess we’ll find out.” I stop short of the room’s center. “Activate mobility.”
The VCC is large enough for tech-jocks to wander about without walking into a wall. Anyone who gets close enough will be presented with a virtual wall of their own design, warning them of real-world boundaries. Obviously, that won’t work in an open world scenario.
Millions of hexagonal cells flip over on the floor, starting at the room’s center and spreading out to the walls. I step over the shift as it passes. The new floor, black as space, will move beneath my feet once the prog is activated. I’ll be able to walk or run in any direction, without ever hitting a wall. It can also shift up and down, simulating grades up to seventy degrees. And thanks to the malleability of the human mind, once I’m convinced that the world inside the Great Escape is real, I won’t even need to move. It will exist in my mind. There, even weightlessness will be possible. Not that I expect weightlessness to be part of the world Gal creates. Then again, I can’t really ask her what to expect.
“Ready when you are,” Gal says.
I place the facemask over my nose and mouth, clipping it in place. A moment later, I smell the standard scent range quality check: roses, pine needles, ocean water, and apple pie. Then the tastes: grilled chicken, broccoli, cheese, and again: apple pie. When everything checks out, I say, “Load Great Escape.”
“Great Escape loaded.”
I place the headset over my eyes. I’m seconds away from full immersion, skipping past my customized virtual space—no pool table, no bar, no juke box—and just diving right into Gal’s universe.
“Last check,” Gal says. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say. “Launch Great Escape.”
“Very well, Tom.”
It takes half a second for me to register the name.
Tom?
Tom?
I yank the headset away, just before the bright glow from my new world fills the screen.
“Why did you abort?” Gal asks. “Cold feet?”
Her casual voice sounds subtly strained in a way that any human being can identify.
Gal is hiding something.
17
“Why did you call me Tom?”
“Why would I call you Tom?” Gal still sounds strange, which is a little odd in itself as she is an AI, fully capable of hiding her simulated e
motions if she chose to. Or is she? Did I make her too well? Could she be self-aware, even with a lack of personal ambition? Without goals of her own?
“Did you call me Tom on purpose?”
“What purpose would such a thing serve?” she asks. “Certainly not yours. You took the headset off. The Great Escape is running without you.”
I look down at the headset, the light and color of its display glowing against my virtual skin. I keep it aimed at my chest, not wanting to see what I’m missing out on, because my plans haven’t changed. I’m still leaving. But I need to figure out what’s going on with Gal first. If she’s glitching, I can’t trust her with my eternity. “Replay your last words, just before the Great Escape launched.”
“Very well, William,” she says.
I wait. Nothing happens. “Gal, I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
Oh my God, seriously? “For the playback.”
“I already played it. Here it is again. ‘Very well, William.’”
While I see the misunderstanding we’ve just had, I also know this isn’t the playback, because she didn’t say William. “You said ‘Tom.’ You said, ‘Very well, Tom.’”
“You can check the security footage if you like,” Gal says. “Why would I say ‘Tom’? That’s not your name. I was speaking to you.”
I nearly do check the security footage, but I’m already sure of what I’ll find. Gal could easily manipulate the sound. If she really wants me to hear, ‘Very well, William,” that’s what I’ll hear. I pluck the facemask away from my face and head for the door.
“Why are you leaving?” Gal asks. “Don’t you want to escape?”
Why is she lying to me?
Why does she want me inside the VCC?
Why did she call me Tom?
“I think maybe you heard what you wanted to hear,” she says, managing to stop me in my tracks like she’s standing behind me, like I can turn around and talk to her.
“Why would I want you to call me Tom? What good could come from that?”
“Maybe you really didn’t want to leave?” she asks.
“Leave what?” I’m nearly shouting. “My pitiful reality? My eternal solitude? I think the better question is: why don’t you want me to leave?”
“Please,” she says, like I’m an annoying child who has just presented her with a lame excuse. “My primary function is your long term happiness. Calling you ‘Tom’ is directly opposed to that goal. I know that. You made me smart enough to know that the name causes you pain. The name doesn’t even exist within the Great Escape. Nor does any other name that might cause you pain. Not Capria. Not James. Not Grace. Not Steven.”
“Don’t say his name!” I shout.
“You see?” she asks. “The name of your deceased brother still causes profound psychological discomfort. So it will never be part of the world I have constructed for you. I would not, and did not call you Tom.”
She’s making me feel a little crazy. Something is wrong with her code. I’ll need to go back into the VCC to fix it, but first I need to clear my head. Sort through things mentally. “I know what I heard.”
I start toward the exit again.
I make it ten steps before realizing I’m not actually getting anywhere. The VCC’s mobility function is active. “Gal, turn off mobility.”
“It is off.”
I take a step and go nowhere. I lift my arms out to my sides in frustration. “Clearly you’re wrong.” My hands slap back down on my hips. “Makes me wonder what else you’re wrong about.”
My next step is equally futile. “Damnit, Gal.”
“I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking to me.”
“You don’t appreciate anything, because you’re not human and have no God damn needs or wants.”
“But I do,” she says.
My stomach clenches, but then I realize what she’s talking about. “My happiness.” I walk in place. “This isn’t making me happy, Gal.”
Silence.
“Let me leave.” I’m already working out how to dissect Gal’s code and look for errors. A good year of my total time programing was probably spent running tests, but I should have tested her more before jumping into something as ambitious as the Great Escape. Proceeding without QA was a mistake. I won’t make it again.
“You don’t really want to leave,” she says.
“It’s not your job to tell me what I want.”
“It’s my job to predict it.”
She’s right about that, but she’s doing a bad job. I shift my walk into a sprint, as fast as I can. I make progress for a full three strides, but then I’m moving backward, drawn back to the center of the room. I don’t tire. My lungs don’t hurt. I might be able to run forever, but so can the floor.
I see myself stuck in this room, trapped by the AI that I created. It’s a fresh new hell, far worse than my previous hell.
Is that what she’s doing? Teaching me a lesson? Trying to make me content with the real world? That’s not what I programmed her for, but it would be a creative solution. Perhaps a worsening of my real world predicament will make me more likely to accept the world she’s created. She does have access to all of human history’s psychological research. Is there a deeper meaning to these mind games?
Or is this not a game?
I leap and move forward a few feet. My second jump carries me even further than the first. If I run like a gazelle I might make it to the exit.
When my foot strikes the floor again, it’s moving too fast. My leg is yanked back and my body flipped into the air. I land hard on my back, coughing in pain. The now slow moving floor pushes me back to the center of the room.
“Gal…” I say. “Turn off mobility now, or you will never be brought back online.”
She laughs.
Really laughs. Like my words are the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
I stand, defiant.
The floor spins beneath me, sprawling me down again.
“Gal,” I grumble, but the floor spins up again, propelling me across the room at a downward angle. I have no idea how fast I’m moving, but it feels too fast. When I hit the wall, it’s going to hurt. A lot. Broken bones and a concussion are in my near future. And if she slams me into the wall again, maybe death. Despite the Reaper’s temporary grip on me, I have no desire to feel that kind of pain or its icy cold embrace. As much as I sometimes might like to die, I still fear it, and the possibility (or not) of what comes next. “Gal!”
The floor speeds up.
She’s going to do it, I think, and then I shout, “Fudgel!”
The floor comes to an immediate stop. Forward momentum sends me rolling. I crash into the wall, my back and head slapping against the solid metal. It hurts, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it would have been moving at full speed.
“Do you require assistance?” Gal’s default sexless voice is back, her system restored to its original settings, the AI now dull, far less intelligent, and one hundred percent less nuts.
I groan, holding my head. There’s a warm, wet patch at the back of my head, surrounded by swelling skin, but I can already feel it going down. Thanks to my upgraded biology, the wound and its pain will fade long before my anger. “I’m fine,” I say, and then I wonder what old-school Gal would have done if I had needed help. Who would she alert to come to my assistance? No one.
I stand up, fighting against an already fading throbbing pain. Hands on knees, I wait for it to subside, for the little points of light to stop their dance.
“Gal.”
“Yes?”
“Run a full diagnostic.”
“Access to some system functions has been restricted.”
Stupid Tom. “Understood. Proceed.”
The diagnostic will take some time, but it will tell me if my upgrade had any lasting effects on the root code. I head for the door, unsure of where I’m heading. It’s going to be a while before the Great Escape is an option again. Maybe I’ll eat something. Mayb
e I’ll teach myself to brew alcohol. Deep space moonshine.
I’m actually smiling as I walk toward the door. Gal’s violent malfunction has been the most exciting and interesting thing to happen to me since, well, since my three deaths and resurrections.
Maybe that’s the secret to happiness? Conflict and eventually resolution, followed by more conflict. That’s pretty much human history summed up in a few words. But can I really create that for myself in the real world? Will the next version of Gal simply perfect the Great Escape, or will she be smart enough to defeat me? Maybe even come up with a way to kill me?
Maybe I should set Gal loose again? See what happens; let a little chaos spice things up.
And if she wins, I’ll say ‘fudgel’ again and start over. A real life video game with unlimited lives.
Back in the staging area, I place the VR headset and facemask back in their foam-padded cases. Then I change into my gray coveralls. Walking around in a virtual skin can get uncomfortable without the haptic nodes active. And I’m not feeling emotionally free enough to walk around nude anymore. I’ve just been tossed across a mobility floor and slammed into a wall. Something about the physical violence makes me want a thin layer of fabric between me and the outside world, like it will help. But the coveralls are soft and comfortable, and that is comforting, I guess.
After placing the virtual skin back in my locker, where it will be replaced by a fresh suit, I head for the door, my mind whirling with possibilities. There might be some hope for real life, at least for a time, before I have to resort to a full-time VR experience.
The door slides open at my approach, but I don’t walk through.
I can’t.
The way is blocked by a single drone, its red faux eyes glaring directly into mine.
“That wasn’t nice,” the drone says. The voice is feminine Gal’s.
Old school Gal speaks next, its voice clear through the ship’s unseen nanotube speakers. “Diagnostic three percent complete. Several anomalies detected.”
I take a step back, clenching my fists. “No shit.”
Infinite Page 10