by Mark Alpert
Shut up…and listen… You can use the surge…to defeat the Sentinels.
Uh, yeah, I’ve been trying to do that, but—
No…you’re doing it wrong… The only thing…that can turn off a Sentinel…is another Sentinel.
Jenny overhears our conversation and rushes across the control unit to join us. Zia, you know what’s going on? About the simulation? You saw all my data?
Yeah, and I also saw…two idiots…ignoring the obvious… You have to get one Sentinel…to attack the other.
But that’s impossible! Why would they do that?
All at once, I glimpse the solution. There’s no time to explain it to Jenny. Because my software is running on the same system as the Sentinels, in just microseconds they’ll know what I have in mind. I need to get this done fast, before the program figures out what I’m going to do.
I collect all the desperate signals ricocheting across the control unit and funnel them into one final surge, as tightly focused as a laser beam. But I don’t hurl it at the pair of Sentinels behind us. Instead, I aim the beam at the point midway between them. There’s a gap of sixty feet between the black tentacles. That’s just wide enough.
Hang on, everybody! We’re shifting into reverse!
I fire the surge. The beam shoots directly behind the Snake-bot’s tail and charges through the gap between the Sentinels. I’ve programmed it to warp the empty space it passes through, just like the surge that accelerated us across the nothingness. But this new surge bends space in the opposite direction—in other words, it decelerates us. The simulated gravity tugs the Snake-bot backward, drastically cutting its speed. It’s like riding in a car that hits a brick wall, except the jolt now is a million times more violent.
In an instant, the Sentinels catch up to us. One of them zooms up to the left side of the Snake-bot while the other whizzes by on the right. They’re speeding past us at ten thousand miles per second, which gives them very little time to attack. The situation forces the Sentinels to make a choice: should they try to delete us now, despite the tricky geometry, or should they wait for the next opportunity? What’s more, they have to make the choice fast, because in a thousandth of a second they’ll be miles ahead of us.
I can guess what they’ll do, though. They’re programmed to eliminate errors in the simulation as quickly as possible. That’s their default option.
So the Sentinels swing their tips toward the Snake-bot’s midsection, where the control unit is. Both tentacles lunge at us, one from the left, the other from the right. But at the last moment I jerk the Snake-bot away from them, bending the armored machine like a Slinky. Now there’s nothing between the tips of the Sentinels, and they’re hurtling toward each other at unstoppable speeds.
The collision rocks the empty universe. Blinding light flares from the point of impact, flooding the vast blank space. The Snake-bot escapes the worst of the blast because we’re racing away from it, but the radiation still sears the machine’s armor and overloads its sensors. The explosion is as bright as a nuke.
After a few seconds, though, the sensors come back online and show us something remarkable. The Sentinels are gone. There’s no trace of them whatsoever. But at the point where they collided is a brilliant white dot, a small hole in the endless black space. And pouring out of that hole is a glowing stream of symbols, billions of strange marks and characters arranged in a long line that stretches across the blackness.
The symbols aren’t ordinary letters or numerals. This isn’t binary code or hexadecimal or any programming language I’ve ever seen. But it’s definitely software.
There it is. Jenny transmits a pulse of awe, the electronic equivalent of a gasp. That’s the source code.
Chapter
25
Now I know what Life looks like. Simulated life, at least.
I can’t read the unfamiliar software, but I know it contains the blueprints for our virtual world. It specifies all of our universe’s natural laws—how simulated particles combine to form atoms, how those virtual atoms assemble into molecules, how those molecules arrange themselves in simulated cells. The source code organizes the immense data of the simulation into rocks and raindrops and plants and animals. And most amazing of all, it holds the instructions for building artificial intelligences, which emerge like magic from the simulated brain cells of our virtual world’s seven billion humans.
The software keeps spilling from the small white hole. The long line of code loops around the brilliant dot and spirals outward, filling the blank space with glowing symbols. Some of the characters are combinations of geometric shapes—triangles, circles, squares, diamonds. Others are twisted arrows pointing in various directions. All together, they look like a piece of modern art, an intricate abstract tapestry. It’s beautiful, but I can’t make any sense of it.
Jenny increases the magnification of the Snake-bot’s sensors and focuses them on the source code. Then she records the images and feeds a copy of the code to the control unit’s logic circuits. Okay, let’s decipher this. Help me search the code for patterns. And look for similarities with other programming languages.
I sense a wave of defiance coming from Zia. Now that we’ve beaten the Sentinels, she’s training her scorn on Jenny. You gotta…be kidding. I’m not taking…any orders from you.
Here’s the deal. Jenny’s voice is steady. Once we decipher the source code, I’ll know how to change it. I learned a lot of programming skills from Sigma, enough to hack into any system. I’ll rewrite the simulation and turn off the error-correction software. Then we won’t have to worry about the Sentinels anymore.
Funny that you…should mention Sigma. You just reminded me…why I can’t trust you.
All right. I understand. Jenny is still unflustered and refusing to get angry. We’ll have to get by without your help. Adam and I will handle it.
Adam…you believe this? This…this impostor…thinks we can…be friends! Zia’s anger rattles the control unit. She clearly wants to tear Jenny’s software apart. The only thing stopping her is the fact that she’s still dazed from the loss of her War-bot. Some of her memory files got mangled when her robot exploded, and it’s taking some time to repair the damage. She’s not the Jenny…that we knew…but she thinks…we’re gonna trust her?
Zia’s instincts are right. Maybe not a hundred percent right, but mostly. And under normal circumstances, I’d run away from Jenny as fast as I could. But the current circumstances are far from normal. Look, we’re not out of danger yet. We got rid of two of the Sentinels, but more are gonna come after us. So we have to work together.
You’re just… You’re just gonna…
Yeah, I’m gonna help Jenny crack the code. Give us a couple of minutes, okay?
Zia doesn’t respond, but the Snake-bot’s control unit reverberates with her rage.
This job won’t be easy. The simulation software is written in a programming language that’s radically different from all the languages used by twenty-first-century programmers. When I search for repetitions among the symbols, I can’t find any patterns, and Jenny isn’t having any luck either. I start to wonder why she was so sure we’d be able to decipher the source code. This software is running on a machine that’s far more complex than the computers we’re familiar with. How can we have any hope of understanding it?
Nevertheless, I keep working on the problem. I try to imagine the futuristic hardware that our simulation is running on. And an idea occurs to me.
Hey, Jenny? Remember what you said before about the advanced computers of 3000 AD? I’m wondering how they read the instructions from this source code. You think those super-duper machines are anything like the computers of today?
Jenny doesn’t stop to think about it. My question seems to annoy her. You’re getting sidetracked. We can’t afford to waste any time. Any second now, the program is going to send more Sentinels to delete us.
Just hear me out, okay? Our own computers use compilers to translate source code into instructions that the machines can understand. No matter what programming language the software is written in, the compiler turns it into binary code, a string of ones and zeroes, the language of computers. And maybe the computers of 3000 AD will have something similar. If they do, we can feed this source code into the system’s compiler, and it’ll translate the software into a code we can read.
I’m expecting Jenny to be impressed by my clever idea, but she still seems annoyed with me. Even if this compiler exists, how will we find it?
I think I’m already accessing it. When I release a surge, I’m sending instructions to the advanced hardware, right? That’s how I make changes to the simulation, all those virtual explosions and stuff. And my instructions are probably going through a compiler. So if I put the source code into a surge, it’ll go though the compiler too.
Now I have her full attention. Jenny’s software draws closer to mine, and I sense a growing eagerness in her circuits. You really think that would work?
It’s worth a try.
A copy of the source code is already in the Snake-bot’s control unit. To put the code inside a surge, I just have to enclose the software in a shell of strong emotion. So I gather all my fear and hope and wrap them around the line of glowing symbols. It’s like building a missile with a warhead inside. Now all we need to do is launch it.
Here, let me help you. Jenny throws her fervor into the surge. Soon the carefully assembled packet of emotion is hurtling through the control unit’s wires. If this works, I’ll forgive you for everything, Adam. We’ll be even, okay?
I don’t respond, because her offer is so ridiculous. She’ll forgive me? She’s the one who lied. And brainwashed me. And murdered Amber Wilson, let’s not forget about that. Yet she blames me for ruining her life? Yes, Sigma rewrote Jenny’s software and changed her personality and seriously distorted her sense of right and wrong. But does that mean she’s not responsible for any of her actions?
I can’t answer that question right now. The surge is ready. I aim it at a section of blank space, far away from the brilliant dot and the spiraling code.
Here goes! I release the surge into the nothingness. Cross your fingers!
Although I can’t see the advanced circuits that the surge courses through, I can make guesses about the hardware by observing the software’s effects. My strong emotions open logic gates across the system, sending a flood of data and instructions to the machine behind the simulation. Then the machine’s unseen processors interpret the data and follow the instructions. I have no idea how those processors work, but in less than a nanosecond they start to alter the blank space around us. My fear and hope are converted to dazzling streams of particles that zoom past the Snake-bot. They form a rectangular outline around the emptiness in front of us, like an enormous computer screen rimmed with fire.
And inside the rectangle, displayed on the screen, is a huge chunk of binary code, trillions of ones and zeroes arranged in long rows. The system translated the simulation’s source code into a readable version. My plan worked.
No, Armstrong, it didn’t work. Zia’s voice is grim. Take a look…at what’s behind us.
I look in the opposite direction and see Sentinels. Five hundred and twelve of them, to be exact, all floating in the darkness. My surge must’ve alerted the error-correction system, which is clearly devoting a huge amount of processing power to the task of deleting us. It’s become the program’s highest priority.
So many black tentacles crowd the space around the Snake-bot that they have to carefully coordinate their movements. They surround us like ships in an armada. It’s a vast, invincible fleet, ordered to erase our troublesome software.
Jenny doesn’t say anything. I assume she’s busy reading the source code. And I really hope she’s figuring out how to call off the Sentinels. She needs to turn off the error-correction system before the tentacles attack the Snake-bot, but Jenny remains silent as the nanoseconds tick past. I sense no activity in her circuits.
Then, without warning, the Sentinels dive toward us. All five hundred and twelve of them converge on our Snake-bot.
Jenny! Are you there? We have a problem!
She doesn’t answer me in words. Instead, she laughs. The triumphant noise booms across the control unit.
And then we’re not in the empty universe anymore.
• • •
We’re back in our virtual world. We return to the simulated earth exactly where we left it, four hundred feet below the seabed of the Pacific Ocean. The Snake-bot slides into the borehole it dug an hour ago, right before we reached the underground anomaly.
I don’t know how we got back here, but I’m pretty certain that Jenny had something to do with it. Her laughter stopped when we returned to the simulation, but her feeling of triumph still echoes across the Snake-bot’s wires. She must’ve discovered how the source code works, then reprogrammed the simulation software to get us away from the Sentinels. But now I don’t sense her presence anywhere in the Snake-bot’s control unit. Did Jenny return with us to the seabed? Or did we leave her software behind in the empty universe?
Jenny? Where are you? Can you hear me?
The only response comes from Zia. Looks like…she disappeared. Maybe…she transferred herself…out of the Snake-bot.
But where did she go? I don’t get it.
Well, I’m not…too broken up about it… I hope…she stays gone.
That’s a little cold, even for Zia. Hey, she saved us from the Sentinels. And got us back to Planet Earth. Or at least the simulated version of it.
And that makes everything…okay? You think we should forgive her…because she saved our lives?
Zia’s in terrible shape. Her software is so damaged that she can’t transmit more than seven words at a time. And yet, she’s still itching for a fight. Her nonstop hostility is exhausting.
Look, I don’t want to argue. We just discovered that the whole world is a computer program. And it’s trying to erase us. That’s kind of upsetting, you know?
The world’s the same…as always. This is only…another battle.
I don’t believe her. She’s just being Zia, playing the tough soldier. Okay, maybe you’re not upset, but I am. Because nothing’s real! Not my father, not my mother. They don’t have real bodies or brains or souls. They’re all just software, just lines of programming.
Yeah, like us…like the Pioneers. Now Sumner Harris…can’t say we’re so different.
This is a surprise. Zia found a silver lining. But it’s not enough. You’re missing the point. I thought my life had a purpose. To understand the world, to make it a better place. But now I know I don’t even live in the real world. I can’t make it better, so I have no purpose. Nothing matters anymore.
You can still do…the same things you did before…and have the same goals. Zia’s damaged voice is edged with irritation. This virtual world…could use some improvements too.
That’s not the same. All our struggles are just part of someone’s history project. Or maybe someone’s computer game. You know, some super-advanced version of Call of Duty, with a billion characters and awesome graphics. “Robot Wars of the Twenty-First Century.” Something like that.
I don’t think…it’s a game. If it is…it’s not a fair one.
You’re right. It’s not fair. If everything we do is part of a game, there’s no meaning in it. Our only purpose is to entertain whoever’s watching the simulation.
Zia pauses. She’s thinking. And I’m grateful for that. She’s taking me seriously.
You should look at…the bright side. Lots of people…would be relieved to find out…that someone important is watching them.
Wait a second. Are you talking about God? Do you really think—
A seismic rumble interrupts me. The bedrock sud
denly shudders around the Snake-bot’s borehole. It feels like an earthquake, but this part of the Pacific isn’t tectonically active. We’re hundreds of miles from the nearest fault lines.
I check the Snake-bot’s sonar. The source of the seismic wave is below us, half a mile deeper underground. A moment later, another pressure wave hits us, coming from the seabed directly above the Snake-bot. Then several dozens waves ricochet across the bedrock, coming from all directions. The crust beneath the ocean seems to be breaking apart, fracturing in hundreds of places.
But when I take a closer look at the sonar readings, I realize this isn’t a natural disaster. Hundreds of large objects are materializing underground, slipping into the fissures and air pockets in the seabed. They’re setting off pressure waves as they appear out of nowhere and crack the bedrock around them.
They’re the Sentinels. They’ve followed us into our virtual world. Five hundred and twelve tentacles of dark energy have embedded themselves in the oceanic crust, all crowded within a mile of the Snake-bot.
The tentacles creep toward us. They don’t need drills to cut through the basalt. They melt the rock in their paths. The one above us is less than a hundred feet away.
I start preparing another surge. I seriously doubt that I can fight off so many Sentinels, especially without Jenny’s help. But what else can I do? Even if my life has no purpose, I’d rather fight than surrender. And if anyone’s watching this simulation right now, I’m going to give them a good show.
And then—finally!—I hear Jenny’s voice again, ringing across the Snake-bot’s control unit. We don’t need the surge anymore, Adam. I can take care of this.
It’s a relief to see her, but I’m taken aback by her tone. Her voice is loud and commanding. Where were you? Did you transfer out of the Snake-bot?
Yeah, I loaded my software directly to the operating system. Then I sent the Snake-bot back to the virtual earth.
I’m amazed at how matter-of-fact she is. She’s talking so casually, as if she’s describing a trip to the supermarket. Whoa, how did you—