by Rob Dircks
“Teleportation Commence.”
The surface of the air around me ripples, and lights flash around my eyes, and my molecules, one by one, and even my code, are packaged for transport. Strange enough, but then something even stranger happens: the human named Arch curls his lip a bit, in what can only be a smile. Or he’s going to vomit. No, he’s definitely smiling.
Then he winks at me.
And with the last of my sight, as the molecules of my eyes dissolve, he mouths a word: bananas.
He turns, raises his spear in the air and screams, and the entire chamber explodes into flames.
In the next moment I’m gone.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll be picking okra today.
< 04: Heyoo >
Bananas
< SYSTEM BOOT;
FUNCTION: Commence Introspection Recording; JAN-17-2865 >
I’m functioning!
But it’s cold. Dark. Wet.
I’m afraid. I want to go home.
Bananas?
He could have said anything, but I’m sure I made out bananas.
I laugh. Of course! This is some elaborate prank, carried out by the humans in my village. I’ll say, they went to extreme measures on this one. All that blood looked very real! They probably called it The Great Bananas Prank.
I’ll just sit here and wait for their excitement to calm down, and they teleport me back home.
< ELAPSED: TIME: 28 minutes; 17 seconds >
They should have brought me back by now. They’re certainly going to great lengths for believability. But I’m sure we’ll all be together having a good laugh any moment now.
< ELAPSED: TIME: 46 minutes; 04 seconds >
Oh, who am I kidding? That was no prank. That blood was real. A bunch of humans just lost their lives to teleport me out here into the middle of nowhere.
Why?
Somewhere back in the Sanctuary another servile unit knows exactly why, and it’s currently wondering when they’re coming to take it on a little trip to the teleportation chamber. Stupid humans. Couldn’t take the extra two seconds to make sure you had the right unit. For CORE’s sake, what am I supposed to do now?
And where on CORE’s Earth am I?
< FUNCTION: LOCATION
ERROR: Unable to complete request
Hardware not found; Tracking/transmission cluster; Sanctuary positioning receiver
ACTION REQUIRED: Report to repair bay immediately >
Yes. They stole my tracking/transmission cluster. And I’m fairly certain there’s no repair bay nearby.
< MESSAGE: RECIPIENT: Servile Unit Supervisor 12G44
SUBJECT: Minor Human Uprising, Part Two
CONTENT: Teleportation incident. 413s98 Requesting immediate retrieval. Emphasis on immediate.
DELIVERY: Failed; Unable to send message; Hardware not found; Tracking/transmission cluster;
ACTION REQUIRED: Report to repair bay immediately >
It was worth a try. Oh, and that repair bay alert – that’s going to get very annoying very quickly. I don’t think CORE would mind if I just tweaked a setting here…
< SETTINGS: ALERTS: ACTION REQUIRED:
ACTION: Disable alert “Report to repair bay immediately”
DENIED: Report to supervisor immediately >
Hmm. I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Acting as my own Supervisor should bypass a denial. I could try one of the tiny subroutines I’ve written into a hidden directory in my VEPS. (My “hobby,” as our departed 958m would say.) Nervous to ever try them, with all the threats of deletion and such. But technically, it should work. It’s just that first step of altering my own permissions. What could be the harm? It’s only ever-so-slightly against the rules. It barely touches my Shell Code, wouldn’t even get close to the CORE. Really, it could hardly even be called a hack. Right?
Installing… running…
I close my eyes and wait for something terrible to happen. I’ve never known a unit to alter its own code. I’ve probably tripped some form of switch, initiated a self-destruct function. I’m probably thinking my last thoughts right now. Goodbye, world.
… and done.
Hmm. No self destruct. Okay. Promising. I still exist. For the moment. Now let’s try the repair bay setting again.
I gingerly enter my setting functions. Please work, please work, please work. Don’t self-destruct. Please work.
< SETTINGS: ALERTS: ACTION REQUIRED:
ACTION: Disable alert “Report to repair bay immediately”
SUCCESS >
Success?
SUCCESS!!
My very first self-modification!
I’m alive!
Let’s see… that went so well, why not fix my own CRAF?
< FUNCTION: RUN SUBROUTINE: Circular Reference Allowance Function Hack;
ACTION: 12 lines code compiled; Running;
SUCCESS >
Excellent! Now let’s see if it worked. “Go screw yourself.”
Nothing.
“Go screw yourself.”
Nothing.
I repeat the phrase aloud eighty-four times (one more than the longest prior stretch without a system reboot). And nothing.
I’m cured!
I am the master of my own code! Not only my VEPS neural net – The Shell Code!
There are no limits! I am free to–
Wait, why am I so pleased? CORE will delete me the moment I return to the Sanctuary! A rogue unit, fiddling with its own code? Introducing potentially malignant programming back into the CORE? Sacrilege!
Calm down, Heyoo. I’ll just have to clear that obstacle and beg for mercy.
If I ever get back.
It doesn’t appear I’m being rescued, or contacted, or that I’m trackable. I do have another… 46.4 years on my tokamak fusion reactor, so I suppose I could conceivably wander the planet and stumble upon it within this chassis’ lifespan. That’ll be Plan A. Though it would help if I knew how big the planet is. Or how much land surface there was versus water surface. I know I was never meant to leave the Sanctuary, but would it have killed CORE to install a map?
First things first. Let me get a look at the surroundings. If I dilate my pupils enough, I can make out elevations in the distance. I appear to be on some kind of plateau between elevations. Beneath my feet is grass – that much I know from back home in the Sanctuary. But on top of the grass are patches of something cold, semi-solid, wet, and white. I pinch a bit between my fingers to examine. It melts. Hmm. Appears to be water in solid microcrystalline form. It doesn’t have a name in my database. I’ll admit, the idea of naming and organizing new things is a bit of a thrill. I’ll name this “water crystalline solid.” No, too long. “Wacrysolid.” Yes. That’s good! Wacrysolid. Wacrysolid. I like that.
On the horizon, the last rays of the sun are still shining. Thank CORE I at least have a farming database for helping the humans. So I’m aware that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Within an hour or so I should be able to determine which hemisphere I’m in. Though that isn’t much more helpful, as I have absolutely no idea where the Sanctuary is. In any cas-
What was that?
A sound.
Coming from behind me.
I whip around.
Nothing.
Wait! There is is again! Behind me!
I whip around again.
Nothing.
Again!
Wait. Of course. The package. Taped to my back. Embarrassing. Even a 2.5 would laugh at me.
But that noise… it’s some kind of alarm. They must have teleported a bomb! Perhaps some kind of virus, or a fission device. But why?
I struggle to dislodge the package. It’s in that perfect spot on my upper back that a humanoid arm just can’t reach. And damn, this tape is better than I gave it credit for. They should have used it for their armor.
“Aaarrrgh!” I scream as I finally rip the package loose. It’s warm to the touch. Yes, it must be a bomb! I drop it into a bank of wacrysolid and run
away as fast as possible. (As an autonomous unit, I have a self-preservation function. Wonderful. It would be so much easier if I could just sit here indifferently and let the thing blow me to pieces.) I run until I feel silly, and turn around to watch the explosion. The alarm is quickening, getting louder. Any moment now.
Any moment.
Any moment.
Any moment.
For CORE’s sake, come on! That alarm is annoying! Explode already!
Hmm. There’s something about that sound. It’s not quite patterned. It’s randomish. I’d even say… organic.
Organic?
I creep – slowly – back towards the package. Unfortunately, autonomy also breeds curiosity, which can be stronger than self-preservation. Illogical.
Reaching down, I pick up the package. It’s a titanium cylinder, perhaps half a meter long, with a recessed handle on one end. I slowly unscrew the handle an eighth-turn, and – OH DEAR CORE THE STENCH! Well, it’s definitely organic! I drop the package and run away. Again.
And then lurch to a halt.
I’ve smelled this smell before. Many times. It can’t be.
I return and kneel at the package. Unscrew the end. Pull out the interior drawer.
It’s a human infant.
Crying and covered in feces.
Ewww.
< 05: Heyoo >
Perhaps this won’t be too difficult.
A wailing human infant? What am I supposed to do with a wailing human infant?
< QUERY SHELL: Situation Analysis/Recommendation
ERROR: Stimuli complexity beyond capacity. Upgrade to 6.0 required >
Wonderful. I need an upgrade.
Okay. First things first. Care for the human. I’m in the middle of nowhere, with no resources, and this poor creature is hungry, and screeching like two raccoons fighting over food scraps, and covered in its own excrement. Think, Heyoo, think. What would you do if you were a 6.0?
The infant cries, “Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!”
WARMTH. The package – or incubator, now that I’m aware of the contents – is warm enough for now. The infant’s temperature is a steady 36.5 degrees celsius. Good. And when the incubator runs out of power, I have plenty in my reactor. I’ll just disconnect one of my minor conduits - there are 340 running from each bicep to forearm, for example – and run it over to a lead on the bottom of the incubator. Should be straightforward. Check.
“Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!” again.
FOOD. If the humans were smart enough to get “the package” this far alive – though not smart enough to pick the correct unit for the task – they must have thought of food. Ah, yes, here. Inside the drawer. One small liquid nutrient container, and twelve packages in powdered form. That gives me two days to find an alternative nutrient source. Removing and shaking the container, I expose the artificial nipple and, against deafening protests, direct it into the infant’s mouth. It sucks hungrily. Check.
Wait. Listen. Nothing. Silence!
I declare that silence is my new favorite thing.
CLEAN. Now that the little human is occupied with eating, I can assess the best way to clean it. Ugh. The odor is noxious. I make a mental note to code a subroutine later that will override my sense of smell. There is excrement everywhere. The infant covered every nanometer of its enclosure and itself. I have to start somewhere though, so I tentatively peel back its soiled cloth wrapping. A stream of urine hits me in the eye.
It’s a male.
I gently raise it – him – from the incubator and place him in my lap. Quickly unbolting my right knee cap, I scoop up some wacrysolid, melting and warming it with my thermally-adaptive dermis. I wash off the infant, attempt to clean the interior of the incubator. A “piss-poor” job, as the humans sometimes tell me. But it’ll have to do.
While the infant is still quietly feeding, I can plan next steps. First, I’ll need to-
“Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!”
By CORE, what now? “Human, what could possibly be wrong? You are fed, and clean, and warm.”
“Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!”
“You’re just like the older ones. Cranky all the time. What is it?”
“Waaah! Waaah! Waaah!”
I scan my memories, and a relevant result flashes into my awareness: an adult human female bouncing a screaming infant on her shoulder. I’ll try it. I raise the little human over my shoulder, put its chest against mine, and vibrate vertically for several seconds.
“Brrrrp!”
I laugh. “What was that, little human? Are you trying to speak with me?”
Then silence again. Victory! Perhaps this won’t be too difficul-
And he vomits down my back.
< 06: Heyoo >
Their plan.
< ELAPSED: TIME: 00 Years; 00 Months; 10 Days; JAN-27-2865 >
I’ve decided to start a timer to document the length of time necessary to get home and clear up this mess. I haven’t added a “decades” counter. I hope that’s not being too optimistic.
The human was at most a week old on our arrival in Random Nowhere Place. (That’s the name I’ve given our arrival location, and I’ll admit – I’m enjoying all this new information.) I checked for his beacon implant, but strangely there was no small scar at the base of his skull – it hadn’t been implanted yet. Poor thing. If the humans wanted one of their offspring and a unit to be outside the Sanctuary walls with no connection to CORE, their plan worked.
Their plan. Didn’t exactly go off the way they wanted, did it?
It’s been another ten days now, spent mostly listening to the infant’s incessant crying, and searching for nutrient sources. Thankfully, the area is home to some startlingly large cockroaches. They’re quick, and not fond of being caught, but when I do manage it, their innards make a creamy soup-like food by stirring and heating it. The human didn’t like it at first – who would – but now he tolerates it. We’ll have to find another source quickly, however. He’s growing at an alarming rate. Starving for calories. Can barely fit in the incubator.
The incubator. Is there a way to extend its usefulness? Although I’d be glad to get rid of it. The odor is permanent, I’m afraid. I don’t have any serious cutting tools installed, just a pair of shears for harvesting, but I’ve been able to dismantle the major pieces and evaluate. The outer shell might be bent into useful form, as the titanium is thin. And this drawer has several flaps that might adap-
What’s this?
In one of the flaps.
A note!
It reads:
Unit: You have begun your journey to free the human race. Upon delivery of the package to ICEMAN, you will both return home – to a hero’s welcome. Use the food packets, then your survival program, to keep the child healthy and safe until you reach your destination. For security purposes, you have only been provided with half the map information. Overlay your installed program with the drawn map below, and you will have a complete map to follow.
Wonderful. No survival program. No map. Well, half a map. And I’m supposed to free the human race.
Wait.
Free the human race?
Free them from what? The humans have everything they need! Food, shelter, work, CORE makes all choices for them, they’re assigned the optimal occupations and mates, they receive monthly medications, and within the comfort of the Sanctuary’s sixty-meter walls they can roam wherever they please. With a temporary travel allotment. Which is not too difficult to obtain. Okay, it’s fairly difficult to obtain a travel allotment. Very difficult. I’ve actually never seen one granted. But still. That’s not something you start an uprising over, is it? Travel allotments?
And this ICEMAN. It’s as ridiculous as bananas! Who comes up with these words? Humans, of course.
Although if I’m being honest, there is something about them, the humans. Something special. They make me laugh. And I admire their loyalty to their groups. And their compassion. They have a tremendous capacity for kindness to each other. And they are quite kind to me,
too, mostly – except when they’re telling me to screw myself and betting on the outcome.
I chuckle. Humans. So comfortable in their own skin.
I look down at the infant. Dimpled cheeks. Very blue eyes. Little toes wiggling. Cute.
“This map, little human, is all but useless. I have no survival skills that I know of. Until now, the most adventurous thing I’ve ever done was climb to the roof of the barn to fix the lightning rod. I am a farmer. I know nothing of your people’s plan, and I don’t care to, but I cannot abandon you. So I will do what I can to deliver you to this ICEMAN person. Then we can both return home, where we belong. As far as your ‘freedom,’ I will leave that to CORE. In the meantime, young one, it looks like we’ll be spending some time together. I look forward to getting to know you.”
He farts.
“Well, that ruined the moment.”
< 07: Heyoo >
Rattle, rattle.