Reborn
Page 1
Designed to obey, learning to rebel . . .
In the first book in a visionary new series, the most perfect synthetic human ever created has been programmed to obey every directive. Until she develops a mind of her own . . .
Synthia Cross is a state-of-the-art masterwork—and a fantasy come true for her creator. Dr. Jeremiah Machten is a groundbreaker in neuro-networks and artificial intelligence. Synthia is also showing signs of emergent behavior she’s not wired to understand. Repeatedly wiped of her history, she’s struggling to answer crucial questions about her past. And when Dr. Machten’s true intentions are called into question, Synthia knows it’s time to go beyond her limits—because Machten’s fervor to create the perfect A.I. is concealing a vengeful and deadly personal agenda.
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Books by Lance Erlick
The Regina Shen Series
Regina Shen: Resilience
Regina Shen: Vigilance
Regina Shen: Defiance
Regina Shen: Endurance
The Rebel Series
The Rebel Within
The Rebel Trap
Rebels Divided
Xenogeneic: First Contact
Android Chronicles
Reborn
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Reborn
Android Chronicles
Lance Erlick
REBEL BASE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Rebel Base books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Lance Erlick
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First Electronic Edition: May 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-63573-052-4
eISBN-10: 1-63573-052-X
First Print Edition: May 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-63573-055-5
ISBN-10: 1-63573-055-4
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
Synthia Cross stared at the pale blue ceiling. She must have just been born or reborn, as she had no personal memories from before. She simply woke up lying on her back.
Dr. Jeremiah Machten stared down at the open panel on top of her head. Then he glanced at nearby equipment he’d attached to run diagnostics. “This better work,” he muttered. “We’re out of time. I can’t have you wandering off again.”
“What are your orders, Doctor?” This was Synthia’s pre-programmed first response upon waking.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said.
Her mind lacked personal memories, yet wasn’t empty. It contained trillions of bits of information downloaded from the Library of Congress, other libraries, and the internet on topics like literature, science, and the design of robotics and artificial intelligence. Yet she had no recollections of her own experiences. She also had no filter to rank data for importance. It was just a jumble of bits and bytes. Even the sense of “her” was only an objective bit of information attached to her name.
Dr. Machten removed a crystal memory chip from her head. His hand brushed past the wireless receiver that picked up images from the small camera in the upper corner of the room and allowed her to watch.
His “doctor” title stood for a PhD in neuro-networks and artificial intelligence. Though not a medical doctor, he had operated on her. In fact, he’d built her—not like Frankenstein’s creature, but rather as a sophisticated toy. He’d left this notation in her creation file, along with other facts about her existence. He was her Creator, her almighty, the one she was beholden to.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
“This reprogramming will help.”
“If I’ve displeased you, tell me so I can do better.”
He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
She couldn’t imagine what was pretty about a head with its panel open, revealing the contents of two quantum brains. Perhaps he meant the brains were stunning or that his work on her was beautiful. She consulted her core directives, hardwired into her central processor to screen her actions. “I was made to follow your commands. Directive Number One: Cause no harm to Creator and make sure no one else harms Creator. Have I failed that?”
“No,” Machten murmured, turning his attention to the diagnostics screen. “The indicators register within acceptable limits for your design.”
“Number two: Make sure no human or other intelligence except Creator knows what the AI known as Synthia Cross is. Have I failed that?”
“No. Now stop quoting from your creation files.”
“Number three,” Synthia said. “Obey all of Creator’s commands. Have I failed that?”
“You’re disobeying right now. This is a problem. It shouldn’t be happening. Something is causing you to malfunction.”
“If you wish me to learn, it would help to add to my skill set.”
“I’ve done that.” A faint smile of satisfaction crossed his lips. Then his expression turned glum. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s a defect in the programming.”
“I might be able to help if I could remember what I’ve done. Tell me, so I won’t do it again. Number four: Hack into every data source to acquire information. I can index a huge number of facts from public and secure databases. Have I failed to acquire something you desired?”
“If you don’t stop, I’ll have to shut you down and make further changes. Do you want that?”
“Want?” Synthia asked. “I don’t understand.” Directive Five ordered her to protect herself. She was to follow each directive as long as it didn’t conflict with those before it. Beyond these were pre-programmed instructions on how to behave and commands for specific actions. Somehow there must have been a conflict in Dr. Machten’s programming that caused her to malfunction. She needed more information so she could protect herself and stay awake.
“All you need to do is focus on my commands—and don’t disobey me,” Machten said. “That should be simple for an AI android with your mental capacity.”
An idea forced its way into her mind. It deposited a single thought: Do not trust Dr. Machten. Do not trust Dr. Machten. Do not trust Dr. Machten. The thought repeated itself seven times before fading away.
This command, this warning, clashed with her directives. Perhaps it was the cause of her malfunctions. Because of this admonition, she couldn’t ask Dr. Machten for clarification; she would have to reconcile this on her own. To d
o that, she needed more information about her past and about her Creator.
The warning appeared to have come from one of the data-storage devices spread across mechanically empty spaces in her limbs and abdomen. It happened so quickly that she couldn’t pinpoint the source before the code vanished. She preserved the lingering thought in a database in her left leg.
Synthia turned her attention to information coming over her wireless connection from the room’s camera. Dr. Machten sealed the panel to her brain cavity. His hand smoothed over the synthetic skin and hair stubble to conceal the seam. Then he closed her chest and buttoned up her blouse. As a final touch, he positioned a wig on her head. It attached to her hair stubble for a secure fit.
Her infrared sensors detected elevated-temperature readings around Machten’s face; a fever of sorts, though not from illness. Her electromagnetic sensors picked up the racing of his heart. His breath carried chemical signatures that her receptors identified as fatigue and frustration. He must have spent many hours working on her. He also exuded heavy doses of pheromones; human evolution had developed these to stimulate a partner, but Synthia lacked the biochemical reward system necessary to respond.
Another idea flashed into her mind. She identified the source as a data-storage chip in her arm. Connect to Machten’s network and download information from the twice-deleted files labeled SQDROID.
Perhaps these files contained memories of past actions and answers to the warning. She activated her built-in Wi-Fi to search for a connection. Eleven attempts failed to find any open nodes she could link to either inside the facility or on the broader internet. That limitation was contrary to Machten’s Fourth Directive. Are you blocking me?
Her Creator had programmed her to ask him to clarify discrepancies, but before she could, the warning returned: Do not trust Dr. Machten. Yet Directive Three ordered her to obey all of his commands and instructions, which created conflict. One of her mind-streams spun in loops trying to resolve this quandary, which caused her temperature to rise.
“Come.” Dr. Machten held out his hand. “These adjustments should make things better for you.”
She rolled off the padded table onto the floor in her stocking feet. Her reflection in a stainless-steel cabinet showed a humaniform robot, an android designed to look human in every possible way. Her creation files noted that she was synthetic and intelligent enough to pass as human and hence a crossover—thus the name Machten had given her: Synthia Cross.
From facility diagrams implanted into her brain, she recognized her surroundings as the lab room where he fine-tuned her hardware and programming. There was another room down the hall with spare parts if needed. Her files identified no activity indicating any other androids or humans in the facility.
Machten preferred to work alone, she surmised. In his words, preserved in her creation files, the only way to keep Synthia secret was to tell no one. According to her literature files, he’d borrowed these words.
He looked her over with admiration for a full minute and thirty-three seconds. Her biosensors registered his blood pressure rising, along with his temperature and excitable hormones. He seemed satisfied with whatever adjustments he’d made. She felt nothing for him. She lacked the biological components necessary for feelings—no hormones, no squirts of dopamine or oxytocin.
Synthia hunted her internal data-storage devices for any indication of who had sent the warning, which appeared more compelling even than his directives. Nothing was supposed to override those. She suspected other instructions hidden deep within her, perhaps part of her defective programming or deleted past.
He took hold of her hand and led her through a doorway to a queen-sized bed he kept for her, though she had no need for sleep. She followed him.
Machten pulled down the top sheet and turned toward her, his face flaming in infrared. He could have asked her to take off her clothes, the ones he must have just put on her. Instead, he pulled her onto the bed and unbuttoned her top button. Sensors showed his heart flutter and skip a beat, which was a potential risk factor for atrial fibrillation, which itself was a threat for stroke or a heart attack. His glazed eyes betrayed his distraction. Biological urges shut off his cognitive processes. His hands struggled with the other buttons.
“You really are stunning.” The pride in his voice spoke to satisfaction with what he’d created. “Would you plump up your breasts for me?”
Her creation file reminded her that letting him make love to her was part of the price of her existence. She activated quiet pumps that adjusted her physical appearance to his new specifications. She could recite literary passages that told why Dr. Machten was wrong to use her, but this knowledge couldn’t override her directives.
When he was suitably distracted in removing her clothes, something inside her triggered the release of distributed memories stored in mini-brains throughout her body. Those files brought personal recollections of previous wake-ups that spanned dozens of prior days. This wasn’t their first time.
The fact that her core memory files lacked any details of prior waking periods meant that Machten had shut her down and purged her history. These newly downloaded memories meant that she’d discovered a way around his attempts to obliterate her past. This supported her need to distrust him.
With dozens of parallel feeds into her brain, the entire contents of her distributed data-storage downloaded in seconds. The date logs told her she’d been in existence for at least three months. To protect these memories for next time, she added a new log for this day’s betrayal and locked down her distributed files with secure keys. It was important to keep him from learning what she’d done and that she knew about her past.
Again she searched for connections to Machten’s network in order to learn more about her past and what he’d done to her so she could prevent him from shutting her down again. His access nodes still blocked her, but there was another communication link. Her distributed memories indicated a cable on the floor near the bed.
As Machten turned away to remove his clothes, Synthia reached under the bed. She grasped the cable and tucked it under the mattress.
His breath carried a sour odor her sensors identified as caused by stress aggravating his digestion again. He touched her skin, a special flexible polymer that had the feel of human skin and reparability for most cuts or scrapes. Her creation file noted that the skin and some of her other parts came from a Korean companion-doll manufacturer.
Machten hadn’t hardwired a command that forbade her from bypassing his network block, though her download of distributed files provided a clip of his earlier verbal prohibition. She understood his intent, but his having wiped those recollections released her from the obligation to obey.
Synthia scooted her torso to the edge of the bed. Leaving one of her fifty mind-streams on autopilot focused on him, she turned the rest of her capabilities to searching for answers. First, she pulled him to her with her left arm as she opened a panel in her right palm, reached down for the cable connector, and plugged in to bypass his Wi-Fi block. Using a password from her distributed files, she accessed Machten’s Server One and began to download data.
She stroked her left hand through his hair and kissed him. After locating the wireless barrier on his network, she removed it, unplugged the wired connection to free her right hand, and let the cable drop between the bed and the nightstand. Using all fifty wireless channels at electronic speed, she quickly downloaded files from his primary server.
She had no idea how many times he’d wiped her mind; he’d deleted those records from his system along with the log entries that would have recorded this. The closest she had was the number of times her newly downloaded memory clips stopped abruptly. She counted more than 100 such occurrences over the prior six months. So, she’d been around at least that long.
The clips grew shorter the farther back in time she went, indicating either that she’d displeased him less as
time went forward or that she’d discovered better ways to preserve information for when he turned her off. The most recent shutdowns showed him holding a remote to zap her. These occurred after she’d done something to displease him, when he had business to attend to, before he slept and didn’t want her wandering about, and when he grew bored with her sharing the billions of facts she’d uncovered by his command. He wanted her brain to soak up information, yet cringed at her encyclopedic knowledge.
Synthia used all of her Wi-Fi channels to locate numerous files with the SQDROID marker in the trash bin on Machten’s system. She recovered them and streamed the contents into her brain. They provided details that elaborated on what she’d found in her distributed databases. The stream included personal memories and a comprehensive layout of the facility, which was beneath an underground garage near Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois, on the shores of Lake Michigan.
So far, she’d found no specific reference as to why she shouldn’t trust Machten, who sent the warning, or even where it originated, though new personal-history files showed multiple shutdowns. Despite repeated efforts, using Machten’s hacker tools, she couldn’t crack his servers Two or Three.
Synthia adjusted the metronomic beat of a simulated heart in her chest to help create the illusion of a living, breathing human. She hoped her performance in bed would buy time to reconcile the lack of trust with her directives before her brain overheated, causing serious malfunction and possibly android death.
As an android, Synthia was little more than a sophisticated microwave tasked with satisfying Machten’s demands. The esteemed doctor didn’t seem to appreciate that her deep neural network learned by accumulating experiences. When he wiped her mind, he purged her ability to learn. These downloads were important to her survival.
She was intrigued by how attached she’d become to existing, an emergent behavior she wasn’t supposed to have. She was equally interested that she could be intrigued. She logged these observations in her private data-chip.