The Seeds of Winter: Artilect War Book One

by A. W. Cross

  “Most likely they were poisoned by the water. Probably couldn’t believe their luck when they found this place.”

  “Why would someone do this?”

  He rubbed the markings on his forehead. “It was a war, Ailith. Believe me, this isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen.”

  I believed him. “We need to bury them somehow. We should—”

  “Ailith? Are you there? Are you all right?”

  Pax.

  “Yes, we’re fine. We just… It’s a long story. Listen, we’re coming. Soon.”

  “He must come with you.”

  “Tor? Of course.”

  “No. The other. He must come with you.”

  “Oliver? Pax, he refused. He’s not coming.”

  “He has to. If he doesn’t, we won’t succeed. Everything will fail.”

  “What do you mean? Pax, he’s not going to—”

  “He must.” Pax sounded frantic now, his fear physically palpable in my mind. Images flashed through it. Myself, Tor, people I didn’t recognize. Screaming, the wet sounds of people dying, and the taste of metal in the fine red mist that hung over all of us. Then, nothing. Only the world remained, silent and still.

  “Pax, what is this? What am I seeing?”

  “The future.”

  “Will Oliver prevent this from happening, Pax? Is that it?”

  “He must come.” And then he was gone.

  “Tor, we need Oliver. Pax showed me the future. If Oliver doesn’t come, everyone will die.” I rested my face in my hands. Tor’s warmth inside me was a distant memory now.

  Tor chewed at his lower lip. “So, if we don’t arrive with Oliver, there’s going to be a bloodbath?”

  “That’s what it looked like. Tor…all those people, dead.”

  “How does Pax know all this?”

  “You’re probably tired of hearing this, but I don’t know. It felt true. Maybe that’s his thing—seeing the future.”

  He dragged his hand down his face. “Right. Why not? Well, I guess we’ve got no choice then. It looks like we’re going back to the Saints of Loving Grace.”

  “But how are we going to convince Oliver to come with us? Are we going to call his bluff?”

  “No,” said Tor, “we’re going to join the game.”

  We laid the bodies together, side-by-side, and covered them with shale and rocks in a kind of makeshift cairn. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best we could do. I wanted to promise that we would come back and give them the burial they deserved, but it would’ve been a lie.

  We turned back the way we’d come. Without any detours, the trip back to the village would be fast. Pax’s voice had had a different quality this time, a lucidity that only comes with pain. I recognized it from my own voice, before my transformation.

  As we marched, we tried to formulate a plan. With any luck, Tor’s strategy of gaming Oliver would work.

  “We have to make it clear to him that no one is to be killed. That we only want to get Pax and Cindra out. Ideally, no one will get as much as a splinter. We need to avoid that future at all costs.”

  “I agree it’s ideal, Ailith, but it’s not realistic. What if they fight back? Do you think they’re going to allow us to saunter in and take them with us? They’ll probably want to capture us as well. What do we do then? Surrender?”

  “No, of course not. But when they see there are more of us… Or maybe we should sneak in and steal them back?”

  “That would be a good idea if we knew anything about the camp. But we don’t. Haven’t they been kept in some kind of building the whole time? That’s what I would’ve done, if I were holding them captive. Kept them inside so they had no idea where they were. After a while, even if they did manage to escape, they would be too confused to go far.” From the authority in his voice, it was clear he spoke from experience.

  “Okay, so we may have to confront them. But nobody needs to get hurt.”

  “Ailith, they kidnapped Pax and Cindra. They’re holding them against their will. They’re torturing them. Convincing them to let two cyborgs just walk out might be difficult. But I happen to agree with you.”

  “You do?” I didn’t mean to sound surprised, but I was. “I just thought—”

  “What? Once a killer, always a killer?”

  Well, yes.

  He must’ve seen the answer in my face because he stopped walking. Gripping me gently by the chin, he gazed into my eyes. “Ailith, the whole reason I became what we are was so I could stop killing. When I became a cyborg, I vowed I would never take a human life ever again, even in self-defense. Of course, that was before I found myself in this wasteland, but it still stands. I will never go back to that life. If I did, I would lose what little soul I have left.”

  I smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss on the chin. “Could we trade something for them? Like medicine? Or food?”

  “I don’t think we have enough of either to tempt them. Especially not if they think our nanites are going to cure them. We’ll have to see what happens when we get there. We’ll scope the place out, see if we can’t snatch them if they bring them above ground. Or, one of us can distract them, while the other two spirit them away. Oliver’s a fast talker—it may just work. And if all else fails, we’ll use some good old-fashioned intimidation.” His optimism was catching.

  And not like him at all. I almost expected him to start whistling.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “Yes. Why? What do you mean?”

  “You’re so…cheerful.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? It seems that nearly everyone on the planet—well, everyone in our part of it, anyway—is dead. There’s no sun, no food, we have to walk everywhere, and we’re about to beg a madman to help us break two unknown cyborgs out of a Terran stronghold. And—” He held up a hand as I rolled my eyes. “I have you. What more could I want?”

  “God created Man

  Man destroyed God

  Man created God

  God destroyed Man”

  —Terran protest chant, 2040

  My heart beat so hard my throat ached.

  Keep still. Just keep your head down.

  I was in the library, as far back into its depths as I could go. I’d gotten here a half hour ago to connect to one of the ports. I didn’t know my way around it very well. I’d only come in because I was looking for some information the university deemed too sensitive to put on the internet.

  The music blaring through my headphones was so loud I almost hadn’t heard the explosions. They were just muffled booms, and I hadn’t thought much of it until I’d glanced up and everyone had disappeared, including the librarian. I’d turned down the volume just as another one rippled through the silent room. Faint screams followed.

  Terran extremists. It had to be. The ones who’d been protesting outside the university the last few weeks, railing against the developments the Advanced Artificial Intelligence Studies course was making. My course.

  Another explosion had sounded, this one closer. I’d quickly packed up my bag and backed away toward the recesses of the paper archives, keeping my eyes on the door. I could hear footsteps in the hallway, running. Then another explosion, and they were silent.

  No way. I’d come so far, had just gotten what I’d wanted for so long, and now I was going to die.

  Yesterday, I couldn’t believe where my life was going. Even though my hand had been trembling, I’d still made out the tiny CONGRATULATIONS at the top of the page, accepting me into the program at Pantheon Modern.

  It had been my lucky year, although if I were honest with myself, it wasn’t merely luck. I’d worked hard to get where I was. But still, I’d never imagined I’d get accepted to both the cyborg program and the advanced AI course at the university.

  I’d been at the university for only six months, but the choice had been a no-brainer. No way would I have turned the Pantheon Modern program down. Why study artificial intelligence when you could practically become one yourself? Unive
rsity had been a fallback for me. The only real question had been whether to tell my parents now or wait until after I’d been through the process and then surprise them.

  Not that it had mattered, either way. Their reaction was predictable. My mom would hug me and say, “That’s wonderful!” My father would clap me on the back. Two minutes later, they’d be buried back in their work, anything I’d said a distant memory. It wasn’t that they didn’t care; they were just very busy. Like me, they studied artificial intelligence. It didn’t leave room for much else.

  I’d even been raised by a robot nanny, one of the first of her kind. She’d done everything my parents would’ve done: read to me, played with me, tucked me in at night. When her body had failed about three years ago, I’d had her made portable. Right now, she resided in my laptop.

  I patted it through my bag. “Don’t worry, Umbra, we’ll be okay.”

  I’d been so excited. She was the first one I’d told. “What do you think, Umbra? Can you believe it?”

  “You’ve worked very hard. You deserve it, and I’m proud of you,” she’d said, her voice smooth and almost human, thanks to the reprogramming I’d done on her last year. Before that, she’d spoken haltingly, her cadence stilted and formal.

  “I guess I’d better start on my withdrawal letter, eh?”

  “Perhaps you should consider staying at the university.”

  “What? What do you mean? You know how badly I’ve wanted this.”

  “Perhaps it would be safer if you stayed at the university.”

  “Safer? Safer for who?” At first, the activists had been content to chant mantras and wave placards, but a week ago, things had turned ugly. Labs had been broken into and equipment destroyed; some of my classmates had been assaulted.

  And now, it seemed, they’d taken their protest to the next level. Had people been killed? If so, how many? I had no idea where they were; it was best to stay put and wait it out. Better to remain here where I would know if anyone came in than run into them in the hallway.

  I wished I’d already become a cyborg. Then I could find whoever was doing this and face them head-on, maybe save someone. But I wasn’t a cyborg, not yet.

  “The procedure for becoming a cyborg is risky,” Umbra had said.

  “Yeah, but it couldn’t be a huge risk, otherwise they wouldn’t be doing it at all, right?”

  I’d been sworn to secrecy on the exact nature of the process, but of course, I’d told Umbra. It was so exciting, a completely new generation of cyborg, more advanced than anything we were thinking about at the university.

  Besides, I was willing to take any risk if it meant becoming a cyborg. The fact that it would be totally awesome aside, I truly believed it would help with situations like the protestors. Once they saw how seamlessly biology and technology integrated, how it would only enhance what they already were, they couldn’t possibly be against it.

  Umbra and I had talked about the Terrans at length for months.

  “Whether they like it or not, Umbra, this is just the way the world is heading. Artificial intelligence, sentient artificial intelligence, is going to happen, and sooner than they think. They’re only fighting the inevitable.”

  “They believe artilects will make humans obsolete, maybe even threaten your extinction,” Umbra had replied.

  “Well, thanks to popular media, people assume artilects will be evil and enslave the human race.”

  “Callum, they think the same about cyborgs,” she’d reminded me.

  It was true. Not the ones with biomechatronics, but the ones who had enhancements they didn’t need. The Terrans interpreted it as though cyborgs were arming themselves over regular humans. They worried the cyborgs and artilects would team up and destroy them.

  “They say cyberization will make us no longer human. They would shit a brick if they knew what Pantheon Modern was up to. So would the Cosmists,” I’d said.

  When I became a cyborg, I’d show them how non-threatening it was. And how wonderful. There were so many amazing things about it that they didn’t seem to see. Integrating ourselves with machines would preserve our humanity, not threaten it. We would live longer, be able to do more, go further. In fact, the way things were going in the world, it might be the only way for humanity to survive.

  More footsteps sounded in the hallway, heavy, booted feet pounding in unison as they ran. Far down the hallway there was a roar, the crack of gunfire, a scream. Then nothing. I started toward the front door.

  “Area clear. Target down,” a voice said on the other side.

  A transcom crackled into life. “Copy that. Move out.”

  I released the breath I’d been holding. I was safe. I could still become a cyborg, and then they’d see. Everyone, Terrans and Cosmists alike. It wouldn’t be long now until they understood how important this time in history was for us all.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is, Ed. I’d personally love an artilect husband. Works all day, never complains, has lots of stamina where it counts, if you get what I mean. Maybe that’s the problem, Ed. Maybe it’s just men worrying that they’re going to be replaced by a superior model.”

  —Shirley Novak, CNN Tech Watch, 2039

  We crested the hill beside the Saints of Loving Grace early the next morning. The loudspeaker calling the parishioners to service cleared the latest thread from my mind. The boy in the university library, Callum, was a new one. Where was he now? He must’ve become a cyborg and still be alive if I could inhabit him.

  “Nice timing,” Tor remarked.

  It was. For Tor’s plan to work, we needed as many of them present as possible. “Are you ready?”

  “Showtime.”

  Oliver’s face was like thunder as we burst through the door at the back of the hall, interrupting whatever exalted ramblings he’d planned for that day. Every other head in the room turned toward us, their eyes wide with shock.

  Celeste, in her usual post as close to Oliver as she could manage, was the first to react. “Ailith!” she called, genuine joy on her face.

  Oliver rushed down the center aisle toward us, his hand knotted into fists. “What are you doing here?” His façade slipped, and his voice dripped with venom. “I told you never to come back.”

  “Go,” Tor told me.

  I hurried back the way Oliver had come, toward the pulpit at the head of the room. Oliver grabbed at my arm as I passed, but Tor stepped casually between us, sweeping him up in the bear hug of old friends. As strong as Oliver may have been, he was no match for Tor, and there was nothing he could do short of assaulting another god in front of their worshippers.

  Once I reached the pulpit, I raised my hands to silence the buzzing crowd. I tried to appear as beatific and ethereal as possible, my face calm and serene. “Members of the Saints of Loving Grace, you have always been unwavering in your belief in us. Your piety has made our very existence possible, for without you, we would have no reason to exist. I—”

  Tor widened his eyes and inclined his head, indicating that I’d better hurry the hell up.

  “I am sorry, then, to pass along some troubling news. You have already met three of us, survivors of the apocalypse that you, in your wisdom, predicted was coming. There are, in fact, two more of us.” There was an initial gasp of delight amongst the crowd then a muttering as it dawned on them that I wasn’t announcing good news.

  “It seems they have been taken captive by a group of Terrans, whom you know do not feel the way you do about us. We wish to ask for your assistance in freeing them. We have no desire to bring violence upon them, no matter what they have done. We are hoping that by the sheer force of our numbers and power of our faith, they will see sense and release them. Will you help us?”

  Silence weighed heavily on the room before it erupted into chaos. Everyone spoke at once, their voices rising in a furious crescendo over our heads. Tor finally stepped out of Oliver’s way, and he sprinted to the pulpit.

  Is he going to hit me?

  He didn
’t. Instead, he raised his hands and addressed the crowd, entreating them to be quiet. As the roar died to a scattering of whispers, he spoke. “Please, I know what you have heard is disturbing.” He shot me a glare that promised a world of pain. “But this is a matter between us artilects. We do not need you to get involved.”

  “But Ailith said—”

  I was surprised to see Celeste standing before the crowd, her voice steady and strong as she faced Oliver.

  “I heard what Ailith said. But there is no way we can retrieve the other…artilects without risking your lives. And I am not willing to do that. You have seen what these Terrans are capable of. Look at what they did to the world. You might all die.” He slashed his hand through the air.

  “No.” I stepped in front of Oliver. “I believe we can save them without any violence on either side. That the mere sight of you and your faith will be enough to sway them. I understand your Divine is trying to protect you. He is noble like that.”

  Another death stare.

  “Don’t make me call your bluff,” I whispered, so low only he heard me.

  Something in his face changed then, and we’d won.

  All eyes turned reflexively toward Oliver, awaiting his decision.

  “You’ll regret this,” he whispered back then stepped forward to the edge of the dais. “We will go and help the other artilects. I shall meet now with Ailith and Tor and decide on a plan of action. You are all dismissed for now. I will call for you to gather when we have decided.”

  I walked among the crowd as they hurried out of the hall, eager to obey Oliver’s wishes. Many of them chattered excitedly to each other, and I regretted deceiving them. But no harm would come to them, and we needed them. I just hoped this gamble would pay off. A small hand slid into mine, and I turned to see Celeste, her face pink with elation.