System Seven

by Parks, Michael

  Rachel answered. “You have to understand, they have always kept ahead of technology, by decades in some cases. NSA had computers running at 650mhz in the mid-1960’s. It took twenty years for that technology to reach the world. As for the AI, coming from a computer scientist, I see you’re in denial. You know well what’s possible. “

  “Possible, yes, but... Christ, that’s not something I want to imagine. You can’t unleash a self-learning entity on the net and expect it to be your puppy. A machine smarter than its creators could get creative with its assets, you know? And if it’s got hooks into the world’s computers? I mean shit, what are they thinking? That’s not a virus, that’s total loss of control on a global basis. Infrastructure could collapse. They’re in danger as much as we are.”

  Marco nodded, “Now you’re getting it. Self-awareness allows it to constantly rewrite itself, improving functionality as it learns, defining new functionality based on needs. The more information it has the better informed it is in making decisions and deductions – which in turn triggers rewriting itself to take advantage of the knowledge. It’s a system of exponents and has compounded with amazing results, I’m sure. So far, there’s no reason to believe it’s gotten out of hand. Quite the opposite. It appears to be serving their interests like a surgeon’s knife. Which is why we’ve had to adjust our operations substantially over time.”

  “Still,” Soldado sat back, taking it in, “it could splinter and set up its own control domains. By the time they realize it, it will be too late. I’d bet my left cheek on that.”

  Johan stared at the salsa dip, quietly intoxicated. The Comannda’s strings weren’t just psychic in nature – they had been hardwired into the systems of the world. Anyone with that much control could set the stage however they chose, far into the future.

  Anki spoke up. “Seems to me you could do more in the grid to help uncover the tech. Remote viewing and all that.”

  “You can only go so many places undetected and then hope to be in the right place at the right time to get the right information. And there are ways of blocking remote viewing. It’s not a sure thing, especially with our limited numbers. We need a way in to their networks.”

  Soldado stood and swayed as he walked to the full length window. The city lights blended like embers covering the coast. “And to find a way in, you need to know how it talks.” He leaned heavily against the window frame. “How exactly can I help?”

  Marco said, “We have found an entrance but it isn’t on their data network. It’s on their voice network.”

  “Wireless?”

  “Yes. We’ve built prototypes capable of ingesting the very wide range of frequencies we see involved and even have a start on the analysis of their sequencing. Some encouraging results but we need fresh eyes on the problem. If we can break their sequencing it could change everything. You’ll have to talk to the white coats. After going over your Alcazar system, they think you have the kind of mind that may be able to help.”

  Soldado nodded, obviously touched in exactly the right place.

  “Well shit, in that case,” he raised his glass, “I reckon I’d be happy to try.”

  • • •

  When the hot evening air shifted, the stench from the defecation ditch became overpowering – it was all Austin could do to avoid gagging. Ten o’clock and temps were still in the nineties in the homeless camp along the L.A. river. He and his trainer, Javier, lay on their backs in their cardboard and pallet shelter. Light from atop a nearby utility pole shone through gaps.

  He wiped sweat from under his chin and avoided touching his face. It was his now, except it wasn’t, not yet. Angles, proportion, skin tone, hair color and density, eye positioning; all of it matched what he’d previewed. An incredible job, done with technology beyond anything he’d imagined possible. Most of it made little sense, procedures ending in ‘lasty’, but in short, it was craniofacial surgery taken to the extreme: bone shavings and grafts, arterial rerouting, muscular retensioning, nerve bed repositioning, vocal fold tweaking, along with the custom chops on ears, eyelids and lips. Active DNA programming tweaked additional aspects of his body, though they would name only a few. When asked what color eyes and hair he’d like, he assumed colored contacts and hair dye. The doctor shook his head. “No, your eyes and hair color will change. Here,” he pointed to the screen at an array of eye colors and patterns. “Your iris will be redesigned according to the option you select.”

  “That’s pretty serious surgery, on the eyes. Takes a long time, doesn’t it?” He really wanted to know if it was safe.

  “It takes about five minutes to get the process started. Our little helpers do the rest of the work.” When pressed, the surgeon would only add, “Really small robots. And yes, it’s infinitely safe.”

  The most substantial change was an experimental adjustment in the number and type of proteins and their concentrations in his brain, specifically ones that involved neutrotransmission. The quantum function enhancement Marcel had spoken of would be achieved through these and other modifications. Just how he hadn’t been told yet. His training so far had been focused on meta and how to use it.

  The camp’s residents began to rise after the day’s lethargy, restless and vocal. Their vibes filled the night and filled his mind. Some were guarded, others totally open, while still others were simply unreachable due to their mental states – like trying to read moving hieroglyphics by strobe light. Since the first day Javier had been guiding him like a second mind. Good thing because surfing meta was frightening. Javier admitted it was a nightmare at the start. “That’s what keeps people separated. You gotta be fucking crazy to try it. Your mods and training set you up right to process it. Remember, the light touch, the flowing stream. Let nothing sink in. Read, don’t be. All that Marcel shit. It’s not so bad once you get your head around it.”

  It didn’t take long and proved amazing. The trick was to subdue one’s own thoughts and listen. Listening meant focusing rathad yet relaxing it, a paradoxal awareness that at first felt counterintuitive. But by letting go and tuning in, he reached the sweet zone where a kind of inner vision formed. Other people’s thoughts faded in and out. Understanding took patience and care not to pollute with one’s own thoughts. Dropping things into their streams required the most gentle of touches, a smooth and flowing interaction. The results were often more predictable than not. Questions yielded answers. Feelings yielded moods. Moods yielded greater control. Once he began recognizing the patterns and language, everything began to click. People were, in fact, more similar than they were different.

  The heat hovered like a sadistic enemy. Javier resumed in a low voice, providing a lengthy discourse on the dangers of expanding the focus of rathad. He then demonstrated a concept mentioned earlier in training that Austin had had trouble imagining.

  “A lot going on,” Javier said.

  He nodded and wiped sweat from his closed eyes. “Yup.”

  “What’s the overriding feeling? For the group mind?”

  “Hard to say. Some are better at this kind of life than others. A lot of hunger, despair, tinges of madness. It’s tough. People are just barely existing.”

  Then, like a pup being picked up by its mother, the din and multiplicity of the camp fell away. Rathad grew until he lost himself and became part of something he could never have imagined – instead of the many minds clamoring, there was only one mind, unified and existing because of the many. One feeling, thinking, reacting being. Twenty human entities directed the ebb and flow. Base instincts, thoughts, emotions. Needs, wants, moods. A pulsing, intelligent but mostly instinctual awareness. It weighed on some, was changed by others. Beyond each person’s conscious thought, they existed within that single mind, contributing and relying on it to varying degrees. They belonged to it, helped create it. It was the raw framework for all social interaction.

  To recognize it so clearly blew him off balance. All at once, he felt loud and awkward, as if he were standing in the front row of a mov
ie theater, drawing the crowd’s attention.

  “Chillio, man,” Javier warned. “Bring it back. I mean it.”

  “Holy shit. Dude, I... goddamn.” Perspective grew. “It gets bigger’n that, doesn’t it? There’s strings to other people, groups within groups. There’s gotta be a mind for the whole planet!”

  Javier scaled back and drew him away from the feeling.

  “Relax, Dexter, take a breather. It’s a grid, man. It’s all fucking connected. Don’t act surprised. And don’t try going up higher unless you wanna get us picked off. I’m dead serious hombre. Don’t go up any farther or I’ll kill you my goddamned self.”

  He sat up and looked to Javier, who shook his head.

  “Ah shit, here it comes. I fuckin’ knew it.”

  “There’s life out there, isn’t there?” Austin asked. “In the universe? Real life, smart like us. Better, though. More advanced. I think I feel it.”

  Javier laughed. “You think?”

  “Well, yeah I do.”

  “No shit.”

  “What do you know, man? About them. Talk to me.”

  Javier opened his eyes. “What the fuck? This ain’t story time.”

  “Come on, seriously man. Something, anything.”

  Javier thought for a moment before replying. “Something? Alright, here’s something, then you’re gonna drop it. Got it? We’re a backwater rock with absolutely nothing special about us except maybe how fuckin’ stupid we are. Thank the Comannda for that. That’s it. That’s something. Now fuckin’ pay attention. If you poke upstream all stupid like you just did, the Commas be all over you. They monitor that shit. Go up like that and you might as well hold up a sign sayin’ ‘come shoot me, please’. You got to be passive. No matter what you receive or how it makes you feel. Otherwise you can just slap that sign on your head and get yourself killed. Play it close. Real close and real passive.”

  “So there’s been contact?”

  “Jesus Christ, I said drop it.”

  “You don’t understand, I really need to–”

  “Oh yeah, yeah, I know. A lifelong dream to know about aliens. Listen cuz I’m not sayin’ it again: we’re just another ant mound, got it? We’re boring beyond our catalog value.”

  “What do you–”

  “You’re not listening dude. It’s not my fuckin’ job to tell you anything. Now, you gonna shut up or do I gotta make you?”

  Austin stared at the cardboard floor. Green ink lettering indicated Bounty paper towels, thirty rolls in a box. Whatever Javier knew about aliens had the potential for not being good.

  “I’ll need to know more.”

  Javier grunted. “You’ll know more when you’re supposed to. You got a problem with that?”

  The question came loaded with seriousness and finality. He checked himself. “No problem.”

  “Thank God. Now let’s get to it.”

  He cautioned further about the dangers of merging into someone else’s flow. The resulting sense of power from manipulating others could poison even the most pristine of souls.

  “There ain’t nothing pure about this. When you do it, go in quietly, do your business, and get out clean. Never leave an idea of yourself, no imprint. You are them. You are familiar. You help to form their thoughts. You don’t exist. And finally: don’t like it. Comprendè? You do this only when you absolutely fucking have to.”

  “I get it.”

  “You better. It’s time,” Javier mumbled and sat up. “The brothers are at the hut under the freeway. Get into position. Remember, you have to be in their line of sight or it don’t count.”

  The breeze shifted direction and the air cleared briefly. The test involved the engagement of hostile targets and required that he manipulate them into fighting amongst themselves – without drawing attention to himself.

  He asked, “If you see me running, how about some help?”

  Javier shook his head. “If you screw it up that bad, Marcel can have you back.”

  “Great.” He crouch-walked to the door made of political lawn signs, unhooked the soda can alarm system, and pushed out into the night. No matter how close he and Javier became, the bulky ankle band reminded him of an underlying reality.

  He walked through the camp, past the other lean-tos and tents towards the freeway stanchions where a wooden hut stood in the shadows of the overpass. A burst of laughter preceded one of the men dodging out into the light of a streetlamp. Easily over six feet, he was lean and muscled.

  He slowed near a group of three homeless men sitting outside a tent playing cards on a blanket.

  “Mind if I watch? Haven’t played cards in months.”

  “Why watch when you can play? Jacob’s my name.” He held out a hand which Austin shook. “This is Eric and that’s Lance. We’ll deal ya in next hand. Playin’ for sticks and stones, the currency of our ancestors.” Each withdrew portions to create a starter stack for him. “Sticks are worth five to the inch, rounded down. Stones are ones no matter the size.”

  “Sounds great, thanks. I’m Aaron.” He sat cross-legged facing the wood hut thirty strides away. The gang’s banter echoed across the camp. Someone had scored some weed.

  “Be rollin’ that shit, man, let’s smoke!” Agreement echoed. Austin’s eyes adjusted. There were six of them outside the hut.

  “Chill, you mofucks, I’s got to sell this stankweed. Ima roll one up but don’t be sweatin’ my cock fo no mo, got it?”

  They were definitely in a good mood. The test had just become harder.

  Jacob began dealing cards. “Alright Aaron, you’re in.”

  Austin relaxed and centered rathad. Passively, as natural as the night air, he extended to the gang and let the information come. Immediately, a darker strand stood out. One of the men wasn’t excited like the others. He glanced over, hoping to pinpoint the one. A correlation formed from the shadows: right side, sitting on the ground. There was the wedge; the dude was not happy. He narrowed focus. The guy with the weed, Clarence, owed him money.

  “You’re up,” Jacob said.

  “Ah. Um, gimme two.” He tossed two cards down.

  Jacob dealt him new ones. “So what part of the world you from, Aaron?”

  Couldn’t avoid the chat. Three eights. “Norcal. Sac. How about you guys?”

  Jacob started in about his home of Freetown, Massachusetts, where his great granddaddy made rifles for the North in the Civil War. Jacob was a good talker, a real story-teller, which made it that much harder to tune him out.

  Yes, the guy with weed owed his target money. It pissed him off but he was holding back to insure he got what he wanted. The tension beneath had violence at its roots.

  Armed with the insight, Austin could work the situation with precision. He shifted focus to Clarence and pushed the already strong feeling of gloating and accomplishment. Switching back to the guy on the ground, he laid in more anger, more pellets of feeling to fuel the fire. The wedge grew on its own.

  Not so hard, after all.

  Something snapped in his target. “Yo Clarence, why don’t you kick down some dough like you said you was? You’s supposed to settle up last week. I want my bones!”

  The bullshitting stopped. Clarence went defensive. “Fuck that, Phil. You done already got yours couple days ‘go! How much you think that smack cost me, homeboy?”

  Done deal. Wedge in. His target, Phil, was ready to fight. The rising argument was the perfect excuse to fold and head back to Javier. Bailing camp to return to civilization would be heavenly.

  Movement caught his eye. Clarence went tumbling to the ground under the streetlamp’s wash.

  “Get the fuck back, niggas! That’s you, bitch! You, too!”

  An arm extended from the shadows, pointing a gun sideways at Clarence. His target, Phil, came into the light. He was skinny with wild hair and baggy shorts. “I ain’t fuckin ‘round you smelly ass nigga! You owe me eighty-two motherfuckin’ dollahs! I rolled that white boy and you done lost it – lost my bank!”
>
  Austin tried to push calm but Phil was all sparks and rage.

  “Christ, they were just havin’ a party,” Jacob turned to have a look. “Shit, gun.”

  Still on the ground, Clarence crab-walked backwards, the bag of weed flopping in one hand. “Chill the fuck out, Phil, goddamn! You ain’t gotta–”

  The muzzle flashed and the report split the night. “Chill that!”

  Clarence must have took a bullet yet still he flipped over and launched into a sprint, catching another bullet with the first step. He shrieked in pain but kept running. The poker party came into the line of fire and all four scrambled for cover. Shots popped. Clarence screamed and made a running leap over them towards the row of tents. Austin rolled left and stopped in time to see Jacob’s skull erupt dark red. The son of a Freetown tile worker fell forward, grunted once, and went still.

  The shooter started after Clarence then suddenly went slack. As if a switch was thrown, legs and arms folded in ragdoll fashion. His thin frame hit the ground in a heap.

  The camp was in motion with people running away from the gunfire. Only Javier strode forward, concerned and scanning. He knelt next to Jacob and confirmed the man’s state.

  “Let’s go.”

  There were no police, no sirens as they walked. Cars flowed on the overpass; people strolled the sidewalks beyond the camp. The city continued to breath when it seemed it should have been holding its breath in shock. Austin wasn’t sure if he cared about Clarence or Phil, but he did about Jacob. His training had caused an innocent man’s death.

  Javier elbowed him. “Look, it’s unfortunate. I didn’t see it coming neither. But ‘parently it’s the way it was s’posed to happen, so you better not lose the lesson.”

  “And which lesson is that? Not to go fucking around in people’s minds just because I can?”

  Javier shook his head in disgust, keeping a stride.

  “Alright, alright. Excuse the rookie?” he tried, embarrassed. “But it’s tough. That shit was tough. Say it wasn’t.”