by T. K. Malone
“Just what do you mean by that?” she spat.
“You had two parents—a mother and a father. One is gone. It’s time to get on side with the other. It’s time for all of you to jump on board. There is the Meyers' option, the Clay option—and that means Cornelius and not you, Zac—and there’s Charm; that is, assuming the man has gone rogue, or of course, you could always throw your hat in with the preppers and learn to chew straw and line dance. And there’s Oster Prime, though I sincerely doubt you’d get him on the phone.”
Renshaw paused again, leaning back against the screen. “Shall I light her up? Shall I show you?” He nodded to himself. “Yes, I think maybe I should.” Pushing himself away from the screen, he turned to it and pressed some seemingly random point. The entire schematic of Project Firebird lit up with golden veins of luminescent dots, all sweeping around it, through it, along it, like the building had become alive, a pulsing, breathing thing. “That, gentlemen, is Sable as we project her to be now.”
Laura gasped and sat back down. “So, she’s contained?”
Renshaw pointed at her as though she were his favorite student. “For now. But, Laura Meyers, what did Charm bid you do? Ask yourself that, but first let me draw your attention to this tiny dark spot, here, right next to the cat’s neck, or by its heart, depending on how you view the animal.”
He stepped aside, circling the particular area with his finger. “This, lady and gentlemen, is the real issue. While this stays black, Sable is contained. The fuse Charm had you, or rather had Switch, put back, links this little room to the rest of the world. And as you can see, this area remains black, still showing Sable has not infected the links from it, not as yet, and that confuses us. With the fuse installed, technically Sable should be countrywide, should be worldwide by now, but either Charm’s found a way to hold her back, or Sable is choosing to hide within her prison. Personally, I suspect the latter, as do your father and grandfather.”
“One thing confuses me about all of this,” said Loser. “You say Oster Prime has reared his ugly head, you say the complex is under siege, and you said the chances of Connor surviving are fast diminishing, that this Sable is taking over. One minute it looked like y’all wanted us to rescue him, the next, you want us to kill him, unless those things are one in the same, of course. And along with that, Charm sends us here once we’ve done his bidding, and you tell us you know nothing about it. Not five minutes later, you tell us all about the fuse. Way I see it...” Loser pulled out a smoke. “’Bout time you started singing from one hymn sheet.”
Renshaw smiled but then coughed, as though he’d choked, but it seemed more than likely he’d just been caught out. “Truth is,” he eventually said, having regained some of his composure, “we just can’t tell. We can intercept transmissions from the federal army and so ascertain what we think is going on. What we’re sure of, though, is they’re going to start blowing through the Hell’s Gates' many doors soon, one by one.”
“Hold up there, chief,” said Loser. “You can’t have a gate capable of withstanding a meteor strike one minute, then have it being blown up with dynamite or C4 or whatever, the next.”
“Different forces, Loser,” Laura said. “Hell’s Gates are designed to deflect, not to take localized, systematic explosions. They can’t destroy it; they shouldn’t destroy it.”
“Why?” asked Renshaw. “Why shouldn’t they? You wanted no part in its construction. You just hid out and made pills for a bunch of Neanderthal smugglers.”
“Billy, you gonna just sit there and take that?” Noodle said.
“Noodle, I swear…” hissed Zac.
“Sorry, Zac. Just having me a bit of fun.”
“Can we please…” Renshaw said in frustration, making him seem even more the teacher.
Noodle shrugged. “Just saying.”
Zac couldn’t help but smile. Noodle might just manage to keep them all sane.
“You were having a go at Laura,” Noodle offered, holding his hand out to her. “Please, do carry on.”
“No, let me,” Laura jumped in with, “because if mankind hasn’t learned from the last few days, we’re going to need every refuge in every country if we’re to survive.”
A slow clap from behind announced Walter’s presence. Zac had been so entrenched in the exchanges before him he hadn’t heard the door slide open. “A sterling job, Renshaw. To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you. Tell me, can one have a prodigal daughter? I guess so, all being equal. I take it you’re now on board, Laura?”
Zac watched her closely, watched her eyes dart around the room, her bottom lip being sucked in as she rubbed her palms up and down her jeans. It looked as if she knew she’d been trapped, tricked into a course of action. Or had her realization merely confirmed a deeply buried desire to continue her mother’s work? Zac couldn’t tell, but he recognized she’d now changed from being that easygoing woman he’d met on the deck at the back of the bar. As he realized she’d become another one trapped in the all-consuming web, it dawned on him the whole point of their coming here had been, the hidden agenda may very well have been to turn her head and not his.
“So,” Walter said, “will you help us, Daughter?”
Silence ensued—not a word. Zac could almost taste the tension. He knew Laura had reached the edge of a precipice and now looked down into an abyss. If she jumped, she’d be theirs forever. He wondered if he too could make that bargain, but soon admitted he couldn’t, not if they expected him to kill his brother, Connor. But then, they’d have known that all along. No, any parley he had to make would have to have Connor’s survival, or at the very least a chance of it, as its main condition.
“Yes,” Laura whispered.
“Splendid,” cried Walter. “And you, Zac; what about you?”
Zac took his time, turning his pack of smokes around and around in his hand, tapping it on the resin table at every full circle. He held it up to his mouth and eased one out with his teeth, sliding the pack away. Lighting it, he took a long draw and began to nod. “I’m all yours, Walter, as long as you promise me this: Connor has a chance at life. If Sable proves to be just a common or garden variety AI, then Connor lives.”
This time it was Walter’s turn to delay. He rocked slowly on his heels, arms behind his back. “Agreed,” he finally said. “Work starts first thing in the morning. Night is peaceful here, so cherish it, it’s the last peaceful one you’ll get for a while. Shall we say nine hours?”
16
Zac’s Story
Strike time: plus 8 days
Location: The Meyers' Retreat
Zac stared up at the bedroom’s timber ceiling. He liked it here; it reminded him of his old home in Christmas—simple, easy, old.
He was remembering back to days seemingly long past but in reality only recently gone. Days when he got through each day by drinking a bottle or two with Billy Flynn, days spent talking shit and thinking shit. Those were the days when he’d been just plain bored with life. Thing was, he now decided, he couldn’t work out whether he missed those times or not. He couldn’t work out if he could have taken the boredom, the inaction, or the treading water once more. But then, yes, he thought, he’d take it every day of the week if it meant Connor could live.
“There has to be a way,” he muttered.
“What?” said Laura, her eyes still partly closed.
“There has to be a way for Connor to live.”
Zac shuffled over onto his side, resting his head on his upturned hand. Of all that had happened, at least Laura was a plus. “This Sable, this AI, whatever it is; there has to be a way to get it out of Connor.”
Laura flipped onto her back, letting her hand drape across Zac. “AI; it’s been so long since I’ve thought about such things.” She pulled a pillow behind her head, resting back but with her forehead creased. “The question no one is asking is who made her. Renshaw, my father, and I’d imagine my grandfather, all accept it was in a casket being smuggled out of the city. They seem
to be singing the same tune about Connor somehow setting the AI loose and it, for want of a better word, infecting him, but no one has told us who created her or why.”
Zac reached around for his smokes; she was right, no one had mentioned that. It appeared to him Charm had been planning for this apocalypse for a very long time. Or had he just been scheming? Was the devastation recently inflicted upon them just one of the possible outcomes which Charm had allowed for? Had he planned for all eventualities? And was it all now on course? It was almost like a series of events taking place which in themselves were innocuous, but when played together were just downright bizarre.
“Well, it’s a bit late to be playing detectives,” he finally said. “No crime scene and no criminals left.” Zac lit a smoke and scratched his head. “But we should be able to find out who made her in the first place; your dad must know.”
Laura grabbed his smoke and took a drag. “But will he tell us? Or is Charm the only one who knows, and if so, would he have told them?”
“Possibly, but I get the distinct feeling Charm was working for Walter and Irving. Something must have happened to put them at odds. If they are indeed at odds.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The way your dad said ‘Our city’. It was like your father thought he owned Black City and no one else did. Did he?”
“Own the city? If he had Charm in his pocket, then yes. Charm had the keys to the city—he was its figurehead—so if they had him, then yes, they had the city.”
Zac pushed himself up into a sitting position. “That’s another thing. If Charm had the city, then why was he smuggling goods out of it. Why not just use the roads? Why not load a truck and simply drive it out of there?”
Laura sat up beside him. “I think The Free World had a stranglehold on just about everything. Maybe he was hiding it all from Prime. But why start in the first place? With all the drones, the scutters, the VPAs, the cameras and microphones, is it possible Charm had nothing to do once he’d manipulated his way to the top?”
Zac scoffed, “You mean boredom led us here? One man’s boredom led us to a point where a powerful AI was developed and then smuggled out of the city before The Free World overlords could steal it? I must say, in some strange way, that whole scenario fits with the man I know.” He smiled at her. “I really wouldn’t be surprised if you hadn’t just got it bang on the head. Charm made his way to the top of Black City and then had nowhere to go, essentially nothing to do. So, he starts scheming—makes sense.”
“Still doesn’t tell us who built Sable.”
“No. No, it doesn’t.” He swung his legs off the bed. “Why’d your father say your mother went crazy?”
Laura drew her knees up, embracing them as though they were a comfort. He noticed her hands were shaking, her lips quivered and she’d paled. “Because either she was or was headed that way, but not yet there, not in the true sense of being mad. She had a degenerative brain disorder. One day, and over and over for a while after that, she told my father she wouldn’t carry on with the Firebird project, that she was done with it, but as usual, he wouldn’t listen.”
“What happened?”
“She snapped. Plain and simple, she snapped. Went at him with a knife, trashed a few rooms. The very next day, well, she’d calmed down but wasn’t back to her usual self—somehow different.”
There was anguish in Laura’s eyes, evidence of the pain she was going through at having the past raked up. She held her knees so tightly, her smoke trapped between her fingers, that her knuckles had gone white. He teased the smoke out before it could burn down to her skin, then put his arms around her and held her. “Different? How so?” he whispered into her hair.
“She was quite serene, so much calmer. Few words were spoken, even on that last day. She just packed up all her things, and mine, too, took what cash she could lay her hands on and left. Left everything, Zac, absolutely everything. It was like the place revolted her, like she’d had a moment of clarity.”
“And you both just happened to move to Christmas?”
“We had distant family there, and enough money to get by. It wasn’t like we were going to starve or anything, wasn’t like we even had to work. But the club was a bonus. The folk there were homely back then, even friendly.” For the first time in a while, she looked at him. “They were as good as a dozen fathers. Heck, it was a different place back then—when your club was just peddling alcohol and the odd smoke—but then the powders came, and the pills. Times change, I suppose.”
Zac knew she was weeping, inside at least, her shoulders slumped, quivering a little. So he held her until it had passed, and then sat on the bed while she showered, wondering when he’d started caring so much about her.
They were last to breakfast, which was held in the dining room at the big cabin. Zac almost had to rub his eyes at the sight. Gone were the long faces of the previous day, smiles and laughter in their place, food and tea and coffee spread out before them. For the first time since the bombs—maybe Christmas aside—Zac felt like he could almost relax. At the very least, he now had a way forward. Sitting at the table, Walter caught his eye.
“Did you have a good night?” the man asked. Zac was a little uncertain how to reply, an almost newly reunited father and daughter, at least in their causes, with him sandwiched in between. He hesitated and coughed.
“Not bad, thanks. We talked a lot. Tell me, do you know who made Sable?”
His eyebrows popped up in surprise. “Made? Who made Sable?” He began to shake his head until Irving scoffed.
“You can’t just make artificial intelligence,” Irving expounded, “not the real deal. I thought I’d explained that last night. No, it has to be grown, nurtured, taught, much like we nurture our children, eh, Walter? You can’t just bolt it together and expect it to work. Oh, no, no, no, it’s so much more than that. But...” He held his fork up, waving it at Zac. “You have to have that missing ingredient, as well. Without that it’s just a mundane old better-than-crap AI.”
“Like what, what missing ingredient?” asked Noodle.
“The fluke,” Irving said. “You have to have luck. Natural selection demands it, even for computer programs. We believe Sable, while being special, was nothing too extraordinary until Connor happened to stumble into her. Maybe they were just a good fit, maybe it would have been the same if Godfrey…if John had had her implanted—which we’ll never know, of course.”
“She would have probably rejected him for being dim,” Noodle crowed. Loser sent him daggers.
“Or, Father,” said Walter, “maybe she was slightly different. Somehow, she’d gained enough knowledge of human makeup to be able to enter Connor’s mind. Somehow, she knew exactly what Connor needed—like a mother. You know, nursed him, nurtured him and made him better.”
“Rubbish,” said Irving, “that would mean she cared… Then again, she may very well have cared. It’s logical. If she were trapped in his body and he was damaged, then she’d have to care for him for her own survival.” He stroked his jaw. “I must think on that; maybe we could use it to destroy her?”
Once again, Loser unexpectedly took the conversation forward. “Now then, chief, here’s a point. Why destroy Sable? How can you be so sure she’ll destroy mankind? Heck, how do you know she’ll even be able to?”
“May I, Father?” Walter asked, and then addressed Loser directly. “Remember Occam’s razor?”
Loser nodded, his expression betraying some confusion, or perhaps perplexity. Zac hadn’t known Loser long, but he’d never seemed the type to be that interested in AI, even if it was taking over the world. “Yeah, I remember,” he said, “but I still don’t think it’s enough. The AI, well, let’s assume it doesn’t want a nuke war again—just for a minute—so, why?”
“So it can survive…” Irving half-heartedly began.
“It would get bored,” Loser stated, emphatically. “Without humans, computers would just get bored, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to wi
pe out mankind.” He triumphantly thumped his fist on the table. It was at about that time Zac decided Loser was a fool, and about that time Noodle told Loser much the same.
“Much as I have a morsel of hope your conclusions are correct,” Walter said, gaining some much-needed order, “I think I prefer… No, prefer’s the wrong word; I fear, yes, I fear mine have more merit. So,” he exclaimed and clapped his hands, “what to do next? Firstly, Laura, dear, you are going to have to get up to speed on the design of Project Firebird, as it’s so grandly titled. We need an access point which will get you into the compound without interfering with the fracas outside.”
“About that,” said Loser.
“Yes, er, John?” asked Walter with a mix of what seemed morbid curiosity and impatience, judging by his screwed-up face and clenched fists. “About what?” he managed to squeeze through his gritted teeth.
“Can you remind me again why the feds are fighting the locals? I was in the army for a number of years and,” but then he paused to gather his words, “at no point was there any rivalry. The locals were just plain insignificant to the feds.”
Walter cleared his throat. “What if certain rumors were started and certain feathers ruffled.”
Loser nodded, “That might do it.”
“Good, now can I—”
“Except, there would have been a complete command structure in place all the way to where the forces joined, and that would have been in place right up until the EMP, and you said they were fighting before that.”
“Well, I, er… I guess it was the chaos. I guess they were both scrambling around trying to get into a safe place. Tempers probably boiled, that sort of thing.” He hunched his shoulders and turned up his palms. “Who knows what happens when armed men panic?”
Zac was watching Loser closely. The man was like an old dog, happy to let the world wash by, but clearly, if something caught his attention and he got his teeth into it…