Solid State Rhyme: A Novelette (Mandate)

by Harbour, J. S.

  Daniel told him, “A highly structured, organized system of programs is running in my computer that evolved over a period of millions—no, billions—of generations. They have learned to adapt to their environment . . . on their own! They’re right here in my padd, but they are disabled when it’s undocked.”

  “Daniel, very smart people have been working on the A.I. problem for decades. You know that from the history we covered last month.”

  Daniel persisted, “Yes, but—”

  “Daniel, please! There are experts in the field of artificial intelligence, people who have spent their entire lives trying to build a computer that can think. Nobody has been able to do it yet, so I seriously doubt that you accidentally discovered it.”

  “You don't understand . . . it really happened! The home server was—”

  The teacher held up his hand, interrupting him, and shut off the old computer. “Look, Daniel, right now I've a class to teach. Let's talk about this later?” Mr. Robathan strode out of the office and headed for his next class. Daniel sighed, then left as well—frustrated but content in the knowledge of what he had seen the day before.

  *

  Somehow, Emma had managed to get home, change, make herself up, and get a ride to the mall in the time it took Daniel to ride his bike straightaway after school. He wondered if she managed all that at school?

  When he arrived at the mall, he locked up his bike and headed in wearing his backpack. It wasn’t the appropriate look for a date and that made him feel self-conscious. But that concern flew out the window when Emma met him just inside the entrance with a big smile and no concern for his attire or accessories.

  Emma hesitated a moment, then gave him a hug, and said, “Hiya, Daniel,” with a sparkle in her eyes.

  He accepted the embrace with enthusiasm but still felt out of his element with her. It wasn’t just girls—Daniel didn’t understand people. “Hiya, Emma. Uh, you look terrific. I didn’t think to go home first.”

  “Tish and tosh!” she said, wrapping herself around his left arm and pulling him along to her walk-trot into the food court. “So, what shall we do?”

  “Do you like Chinese?” he asked.

  “Of course!”

  Emma ordered a bowl of General Tso’s Chicken on steamed rice. Daniel was about to order his usual plate but decided he did not want too much while spending time with Emma. He ordered Kung Pao Pork with an eggroll. They ate quietly for a few minutes, then Emma asked, “Do you have that new teacher, Ms. Delaney, this term?”

  “Oh, uh, yes, I—I think so, in Algebra?”

  “Yes. I like her,” Emma said. “She seems fresh, not tired of kids yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “Oh, you know how it is with some teachers? They just get so burned out and lose their—I don’t know what to call it, their mojo or something.”

  “I guess. They all seem pretty dull to me. Uh, not that I don’t like school, but it’s too slow! Designed for the lowest common denominator.”

  “You can take advanced classes next year,” she informed him, matter-of-factly.

  Daniel smiled and said, “Yeah, I know, looking forward to being challenged in school for a change.” Wanting desperately to change the subject, he said, “So, Emma? What, uh, movies do you like?”

  Please say science fiction. Please. Say. Science. Fiction!

  “Oh, you know, the usual. I’m not a big movie watcher but I do like a good mystery romance.”

  Daniel smiled politely. Hmm, well, variety is the spice of life, right? I mean, wouldn’t we be boring together if we liked all the same stuff?

  “Hello? Daniel?”

  “Hmm? Yes?”

  “You were spacing out on me there for a minute!” Emma said.

  Daniel glanced at his empty bowl. “Hey, ice cream shop?”

  “Yeah!” Emma said.

  *

  Daniel ran to his room after he got home, docked his padd, and remoted into the home server. The server's screen looked bizarre, to say the least. It was a little scary, like it was possessed. It looked psychedelic, almost fractal. Nothing seemed to work. It was a mess, not even usable. The little micros had completely taken over the operating system.

  Hang on! These are not micros anymore. They have evolved far beyond their meager origins.

  Daniel looked around his room for ideas. Science fiction and fantasy posters covered his walls like wallpaper. His eyes panned around until they fixed upon his bookshelf. He scanned the titles of dozens of old paperbacks, until he spotted an old Asimov classic.

  He recalled Asimov's words again which formed a scene in his mind's eye: a robot called Giskard and another, more advanced robot called Daneel. Giskard had a metal body and was able to read minds. Daneel, on the other hand, looked human, and was a police officer.

  Daniel smiled, recalling his friend Wesley. Daneel was Wesley’s hero. Wesley hadn’t read the books before the movies were released like Daniel had, so his impressions were tainted by the Hollywood version of Asimov’s saga. Daniel recalled the movie, how it was a far cry from the book. Then again, that was the way of Hollywood: take a great story and screw it up for the consumption of the not-well-read public.

  “Robots. Bots. That's what I'll call them,” he said to himself. Those crazy programs calling the shots in his computers. Wasn't there an insane robot, too, in one of Asimov's stories?

  “B-O-T-S. Hmm,” Daniel wondered.

  Binary Ornery Threaded Symbols.

  Binary Object Tertiary Systems.

  Binary Ordered Tasking Servants.

  Bits of True Sentience.

  “Bollocks!” he said to himself. “Anyway, the acronym doesn’t matter!”

  His Bots had become much more than the sum of their individual parts. They had become synergistic.

  Daniel was shaken from his daydreaming by a little beep. Oh, boy—looks like the Bots are exploring. He would have to act fast. Suddenly his speakers blazed in the static of white noise. He was quick to turn the volume knob down, a reflex he had developed after so much late-night gaming.

  Daniel again remoted into the home server. The operating system was still operating, and he was surprised that the remote terminal still worked. The bots must have seen the necessity of an operating system. Perhaps they could not even function without it. Daniel couldn't be sure of anything at this point. Wait, of course they would need the operating system! They are, after all, emulated instructions in a container program, and that program requires OS services.

  He searched for files in internal storage. Nothing made sense! The files were a mess. So why did the operating system still function? The hard drive looked like it was seriously in need of restructure, but it was working, nevertheless. How was that possible?

  Wait! There was an oasis amidst the chaos. Daniel spotted a folder that he recognized. It was called “Experiment.” Daniel smiled. The bots had messed with the entire system but hadn't touched the kernel programs that had given them birth: Nile, Memphis, and Pharaoh, plus the old simulation. The bots had made a shrine of their birthplace.

  He opened the folder. All of the original experiment files were intact. He ran a storage diagnostic. To his surprise, the structure of the file system had been rewritten. How could the Bots have restructured the file system without wrecking their own data? Unless they were running solely in memory and not using storage at all. That makes sense.

  Daniel wasn't sure what was more important: his computers or the Bots. Obviously, he had done something significant here. Something, which no human had designed, was wreaking havoc in his home server. Could the Bots be considered hostile? Best not to tell Dad or Mom, and especially not Jade!

  Suddenly, his connection to the Experiment folder was terminated. The Bots must have discovered him snooping around.

  How could this be happening? Had someone screwed around with his project while he was at school? Impossible! No one knew what he was working on. Well, no one but Mr. Robathan, and then there was Emma. But he didn't e
ven understand it, so no one else could have done this.

  Daniel dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes. He would have to power down the server and wipe his padd back to the factory settings to get the infestation out. These Bots might represent the most advanced computer virus ever invented. Had all his work boiled down to that? Was it nothing more than a virus?

  No, he refused to believe it! They couldn't be a virus. They had behavior and exerted the will for self-preservation. They were just . . . exploring. Yes, they were explorers.

  He considered the consequences. The possibilities were staggering. Every computer on the planet was vulnerable to an intelligence such as this. Daniel wasn't even sure if there was an appropriate label for the Bots. They were undoubtedly intelligent—well, at least as far as he could tell, anyway. But, were they alive? Were they truly an A.I.?

  Daniel set to work. He quickly powered down the padd and started it up again. Next, he removed the Bots' virtual environment, their ecosystem simulation. He restarted the padd again and was presented with a clean slate. The file system looked normal. He could technically reboot the server and wipe the Bots out with a flick of his finger. But, they were too important to destroy and he didn't fear them. He had isolated them on the server. Granted, they had thoroughly messed it up, but he could deal with that easily enough.

  Strangest thing, though—the home services like the voicemail and refrigerator control were still responding. Shouldn't they be malfunctioning?

  Chapter 10

  Daniel's dad called from the living room, “Hey, Dan, take a look at this.” Daniel was still sleeping, still disoriented. He had fallen asleep on his bed, still fully clothed. He sat up on the edge of his bed, sleepy-eyed and disheveled. Had someone called his name?

  “Dan, you awake yet? Check this out!” Dad must have called his name, waking him. Daniel peered at the clock, still unplugged and forgot about his watch. He stood, fumbled his hair with his hands in his typical morning style, and lumbered out of his bedroom, heading toward the living room. Daniel wasn’t even sure if it was morning yet. The fact that Dad was in the living room was a clear sign it was still night. Dad was sitting on the sofa, his favorite spot.

  Daniel sat next to him, still not quite awake, when he heard something come from the TV that caught his attention. “Look,” his dad said, pointing to the news channel.

  “ . . . the worst case of publicized computer virus scare in the last two decades. Our correspondent in Washington, D.C. has the details for us. Sue?”

  The picture faded from the network affiliate to a scene outside the J. Edgar Hoover building in Washington, D.C. The seal of the FBI, containing the words “Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation” adorned the top right corner of the video feed.

  “Dad, why are we watching American news?”

  Alan gave Daniel a funny expression. “I was just flipping. We'll check the BBC in a minute.”

  The correspondent who stood in front of the building—FBI headquarters—spoke, “That's essentially correct, Tom. But the scope of this occurrence goes far deeper than any previous attack that we know of. Washington, D.C. has been hit specifically, causing many to suspect Wong Lou Fey, who is alleged to be responsible for the disruption of the Hong Kong stock exchange last year. He has earned the title of “Most wanted digital terrorist,” although many who are familiar with this sort of crime recall when this type of criminal was called a hacker.”

  Daniel was wide awake at this point. Alan gave him a curious look with raised eyebrows. “What do you think?” Daniel was watching the news broadcast, and didn't even hear his dad's question.

  The screen temporarily returned to the network affiliate, no doubt in New York, who asked, “Sue, as far as you know, what is the extent of the attack?”

  The screen returned to Sue in Washington, D.C. “The details are sketchy. What we do know is this: the FBI released a statement to the press stating that a malicious virus had attacked and destroyed a central FBI network. They also said that this in no way affects the FBI's operational readiness.”

  Tom said, “Has the FBI mentioned—” and was cut off in mid-sentence when a roar of noise engulfed the Washington, D.C. correspondent. The camera centered on Sue, who had sidestepped to the right, as the crowd of reporters and journalists jockeyed for position on the steps of the building entrance. Sue spoke over the deafening sound, “An FBI spokesperson has just emerged and is approaching the podium.” The camera operator focused on the entrance to the J. Edgar Hoover building with a wide shot, and slowly zoomed in to the podium.

  The unnamed spokesperson said, “The policy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation has not always been one of disclosure with the public, for obvious security reasons, but I believe it is my prerogative as director to inform you of what has taken place in the past twenty-four hours.”

  Several reporters yelled, “It's the director!” and chaos ensued. An unintelligible wave of questions were all voiced at once as the director paused, and he held up his hands to indicate he was not yet ready for questions.

  When the press quieted down, he continued. “A malicious computer virus has infected several key networks within the bureau. I have been informed of a potential danger. We are investigating the source of the attack, and as yet, no one has claimed responsibility for the hostile action taken against the bureau. However, the danger lies in the past twenty-four hours, the period of time before the virus was detected. As you all know, every police department, every highway patrol station, every cruiser has access to public FBI files.”

  The press burst out once again into a roar of confusion. Many were communicating with their offices, asking for confirmation from local law enforcement offices. The director held his hands high, attempting to calm the chaos. He spoke above the din of noise, “That's all I have at this time!” He turned the podium over to one of his assistants, someone from the National Press Office.

  Alan gasped out a faint “Blimey,” his eyes glued to the screen, his mouth slightly open.

  Daniel watched as the news feed continued.

  The assistant pointed to someone off to the right, who immediately asked, “Has the virus been contained?”

  The assistant replied, “Not entirely. Numerous law enforcement agencies around the country may be infected. We have isolated the contamination within the bureau. The virus spreads with astonishing speed.” He paused, then pointed to someone in the front.

  “What kind of damage was done?”

  The assistant whispered to a well-dressed man to his left, covering the microphone. After a few seconds, he replied, “Key systems have been damaged, and require outside assistance to bring back online. Since we do not yet know how long the virus has been dormant, there's a chance that backup systems may be infected as well.”

  The well-dressed man turned his head, covering his right ear, as if listening to something. He patted the assistant on the shoulder, and they whispered back and forth as before. Then the assistant spoke again, “I've just been informed of some progress in the case. We may have located the source of the contamination. I'm afraid I can't share any more information, as it may jeopardize the case. Thank you.”

  The assistant and those with him left the podium, as the press tried to get him to answer more questions. A moment later, the scene disappeared and the network affiliate returned, informing the TV audience that they would continue to cover the story as the case progressed.

  Alan shook his head with his usual sign of narcissism. He always disliked the way people revered computers. To him, they were simple tools, not the center of society that so many worshipped. He believed the fad would pass, as most things did. Therefore when computers “screwed things up,” he expected it, even looked forward to it. Alan hadn't even seen his son turn pale, or seen his eyes grow wide, or see him bolt out of the living room.

  *

  Daniel ran to his bedroom and flipped on his padd. A few seconds later, he clicked on the icon that was a shortcut to
the FBI web site. His browser searched and searched, but could not find it. They were telling the truth, and they had shut down their computers, even the silly web server. But that must have been the entry point for the virus. How else?

  Daniel docked the padd and started typing away with the full keyboard feverishly. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and clung to his cheek before splashing to his desk. Suddenly the itch in the back of his mind came into focus and he acquired the thought that had eluded him before. He shook his head in despair.

  How could I have been so careless?

  Daniel recalled the time when the Bot population had dropped to 25 percent, followed by surges, like a sine wave. They had been leaving—pouring into the Internet, not being weeded out by his little helper program. If anything, that was interpreted as a threat!

  Daniel recalled how the lone Bot had carried the body of its ancient ancestor to a safe place and waited.

  Daniel let out a sigh, then turned his gaze to the server that was still the home of the Bots. The interface was still an epitome of chaos, but the home services were maintained. He had no way of knowing what was going on in the machine, but he was not willing to shut it off and destroy the months of developing Bots inside. He imagined a way of saving them all to his padd or to an outside backup system—keep them alive but allow him to reboot the machine. But they were just too dynamic, too fast! In the time it took to copy a single Bot to an off-site location, if he could even do it, a thousand generations would pass. It was impossible.

  Daniel held the monitor in his hands, staring at the ripples, lines, and blocks of chaos on the remote terminal. He believed what he was seeing were Bots trying to optimize the GUI without any human operator present to show them what they needed to do. He was watching live Bots, moving around, in real time. If thousands of generations passed every second, was there anything they could not do, given enough time?

  Nothing of this magnitude had ever happened during his short fifteen years on Earth. He wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. As a result, he felt obsessive about his creative work. His eyes became intense. That was no virus attacking the FBI, it was his Bots! But why would they do something like that, and why the FBI, specifically?