Injection Burn

by Jason M. Hough

  “They sought to create you,” Tania said. “Machines.”

  “Creating a machine is easy, Tania. Even creating an artificial intelligence, for that is still just a machine. What the Creators sought to do was subvert their high mind transfer process, moving a real, living consciousness from a high mind brain into a machine.”

  Tania considered this, and nodded thoughtfully. It was a problem humans had grappled with, too, in a way. A debate as old as the space age itself. Far easier to send machines to explore space than people. “A machine needs only electricity. It can be copied, backed-up, turned off and on. Miniaturized.”

  “All these things and more.”

  “So what happened?”

  “They failed.”

  Tania hesitated, stifling her surprise as Eve’s tone implied something much more complicated.

  Sure enough, the AI continued. “Success eluded the Creators for a long time. Then the species you’ve been calling the Captors arrived.

  “Every species seems to have a particular specialty, something they’ve developed on their own that is significantly better than those they meet. Our enemy is no exception. They are masters at bioengineered viruses and other microscopic organic machines. There is much to say about them, but what is important to understand now is that, at first, they were friendly. Creators and Captors got along. Everything you’d hope for in a first-contact scenario occurred, and both species agreed they could help one another in many different areas.

  “One area, in particular.”

  “The mind-to-machine transfer process,” Tania observed.

  “Precisely. My Creators explained what they were trying to do, and their new friends immediately offered to help. They to sought to understand such things, too, in hopes of making further expansions of their sphere of influence among the stars.

  “After many years of preparation, experiments, and analysis, they were finally ready to test the process. A volunteer Creator had her high mind transferred to an artificial brain and the mind lived on. The process worked, and it is important to point out that the bulk of the technology built to accomplish this was of Captor design. A collaboration between the two species, yes, but the Captors knew its secrets.

  “The machine that held the mind was very large, though, and due to its shape had to be constructed in orbit. Facilities were built, also of Captor design, both on the ground and in space, connected via a tether—what you call a space elevator. All to enable the mass production of the machines, which became the first ships our Creators sent out to explore the stars.”

  Tania’s mouth went dry. She blinked. “Are…do you mean to tell me you are one of these ships? A transferred mind?”

  “That is correct. The very first, actually.”

  A strange feeling of embarrassment swept through Tania. She shook her head. “I am sorry, Eve. I assumed you were an artificial intelligence…we all did.”

  “There is no need to apologize. It remains a satisfactory description of me.”

  “Hardly,” Tania said.

  Eve ignored this. “If you recall, I mentioned this dual-brain configuration is intrinsic to everything the Creators build, and this ship is no exception. Much of your interaction with ‘me’ is actually the ship’s low mind, and that is wholly artificial. Other times, like now, you are interfacing directly with the high mind. Though now housed in a constructed machine, I once was alive within an organic brain. That was a very long time ago, however.”

  “This is…” Tania paused, groping for words. “Fascinating. And terrifying. I have so many questions but, Eve, I thought you said you were made by a combination of all of us. Your accent…your appearance…”

  “Not made, displayed. I was trying to make you all comfortable, if you recall. But what you say is not entirely impossible, in truth. I am, at a basic level, simply data now. A mind, yes, but one that can be treated as any computer system. Programmatic iterations. Algorithmic modifications.”

  “I see. Okay. We can discuss that another time. Please go on…about the Captors?”

  “While appearing friendly, inwardly they schemed and plotted, their sights set on something much grander than what the Creators sought to accomplish. They began to realize that between the Creators’ dual-brain physiology, and the technology that facilitated the mind-to-machine transfer process, they had a much larger opportunity. They saw a way to transfer any consciousness from body to body, not just a Creator high mind.”

  “But how? You said this dual-brain configuration is unique—”

  “I shall explain.”

  Tania exhaled. “Forgive me. Go on.”

  “The idea of leaving an old body behind and moving into a new one is an almost universal goal for any species. Never mind that this new, modified technique required a Creator body to facilitate things, and that the high mind within that body would be destroyed in the process.”

  “Oh,” Tania whispered, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  For her part, the mind called Eve did not acknowledge Tania’s meager apology. It said, “They knew the Creators would never go for this, but they didn’t care. They wanted it too badly. So a plan was put into place to enslave the entire planet.”

  “A virus,” Tania said, a tangible chill rushing through her body, like the fleeting, almost magical moment when the solution to a puzzle is on the cusp of presenting itself. A terrible puzzle, in this case.

  “Exactly so. A virus. Not unlike what you refer to as SUBS, in truth.”

  “I’m curious about something,” Tania said, too numb to cope with the atrocious ramifications of the Captor scheme. Eve’s mention of the disease inflicted on Earth had yanked her mind in yet another direction.

  “Which is?”

  “Did you create the SUBS virus, the one unleashed on Earth, or did they?”

  This time, at least, there was no calculating pause. “It is one of their creations, carefully modified by me.”

  “What sort of modifications?”

  “Specifically the genetic targeting vector, and how that is initially set. We didn’t want to come to Earth and find that some simple mollusk had first contracted the disease.”

  “Why not infect all species?”

  “We need not concern ourselves with any not capable of advanced thought, considering the problem we wish to solve.”

  That machine coldness had crept back in. “I think I understand. Go on,” said Tania.

  “The disease has three effects on a Creator:

  “One, the low mind is reduced in function to something barely more than an animal. You called such creatures subhumans. This creates a population lacking the intelligence to band together against an overarching oppressor. Livestock, if you’ll pardon the emotionless term. I hope you can appreciate how terrible this was for the ancient high minds alive at the time: The body within which they resided, specifically the low mind they were so bonded with, was suddenly reduced to a savage creature the high mind could not communicate with. They could only watch in horror, mentally caged in, with a primal mind their only company, knowing their ability to move to a new body someday was now virtually impossible.”

  “How awful.”

  “Two, the ability to transfer high minds from one body to another is revised. A new behavior is added, one that resembles the migratory patterns of birds on your world. It tells Creators that at adolescence they must find their way to one of the space elevators. A diabolical and ingenious function, which should tell you much about just how ruthless and cunning our enemy is. Rather than having to go round up Creators on the verge of adolescence, they can relax and wait for capable bodies to present themselves.”

  Tania wanted to speak. To say something, anything, that might adequately express her horror and sorrow. But the AI went on, unrelenting.

  “Three, and perhaps most vile of all, the virus imprinted into these primal low minds an innate desire to protect the Captors at all costs, should any foreign threat be identified
.

  “And so our world was enslaved, our species reduced to nothing more than interfaces for a perverted version of the consciousness transfer process. The enemy harvests our capable bodies, transferring their own minds into new bodies or, as is far more common, selling this closely guarded service to their allies, a tactic that has resulted in incredible wealth and favor.”

  Tania could not help it. Despite everything that had happened—the deaths of billions on Earth, the conversion of virtually all survivors to the murderous subhuman race, and all the strife and agony that had followed as humanity scraped to survive in the confines of a single city—despite all of it she felt the sting of tears in her eyes for what Eve and her kind had been through. And what still went on, after thousands of years, to those that had created her. “It is so awful. Eve, I’m truly sorry. I can see now why you have become so devoted to this cause.”

  “What motivates me, Tania Sharma, is when I imagine all those high minds being born into the infected bodies. The enemy only uses a fraction of the population for their endeavors, the rest are turned away. In those bodies, these beautiful high minds, so full of potential and capacity for complex thought and compassion, are instead raised by violent, feral, low mind monsters. They are prisoners of the insane, with no sensory input but what comes through those mangled, infected minds.

  “And to know it has been going on for so long now, so many generations…Were I able to, I would weep with you.”

  Tears rolled down Tania’s cheeks. “I’ll cry for both of us, then,” she said, and did.

  Place Unknown

  Date Unknown

  THE SWIFT CURRENT draining into the cave pulled Alex Warthen under. Spiraling, he groped at the stone walls and kicked at the floor, desperate for air, but the surfaces had become slick with the deluge. His lungs burned, mind screaming for a breath. Then he felt cold on his feet, his legs. Air, and rough stone below him as he tumbled to a stop where the water level finally dwindled to just a centimeter or two.

  Dripping, heaving in breaths, Alex came to a shaky stand and took in the space around him. Though the darkness in the tunnel had been absolute, he found he could now see, if only a little. Faint red light did little more than fringe the dark shadows with spectral glow.

  After a minute or so the sloshing sounds of water on rock began to abate, then faded entirely. He stood alone in a cavern of indeterminate size. Alex turned in place, hands held out protectively before him.

  “Hello?” he called out. His words echoed after a few seconds, implying a vast cavern or room.

  “Hello,” the woman in his head replied. Her voice did not echo.

  Alex swallowed, his breathing finally under control. “What is this place?”

  “It exists only in your mind.”

  “But what purpose does it serve?”

  “An escape from what is really happening.”

  He almost asked. He wanted to, but somehow he knew the answer would be too much to bear. Another test. Of him, or Jared. Both, probably. Pain beyond imagination, somehow shunted before it could register in the brain.

  “Why did I see a beach and an ocean, while Jared saw a snowy mountainside?”

  A pause. He thought perhaps she would ignore his question, but then she answered. “I could have left you to a simple dream state, but this is more interesting. I gave your minds the same set of basic parameters, and yet you both came up with completely different worlds to fill in the details. It’s quite fascinating.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure. It feels more real than any dream, though.”

  “Sensations are being fed into your brain in a manner unmistakable from reality. Your mind does not know the difference. It is merely stimulus. It is the only way I can truly block what is happening in the real world.”

  “By replacing it with what we dream about.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, to be injured in here, we would feel that?”

  “Pain is stimulus. Data. So, yes.”

  “And death?”

  “I would prevent you from actually dying, if that is what you mean. But you would experience everything right up to the cessation of electrical activity within the brain. As such I would advise you to be careful. The other one especially, for his mind does not have the immunity yours enjoys. Part of bringing you here is to study your mind’s ability to align with another. The other part is to learn how his mind reacts compared with yours, and I must say my ability to disable real-world sensations is decidedly lower in his case.”

  Jared. Shit. Alex glanced around. He’d come looking for some way to help his friend get past the fire he’d seen within the doorway, just as he’d carried him across the open space between the two cliffs. But there was nothing here, only a stone floor defined by weak red light. Alex couldn’t even remember which way he’d come. He began to walk, probing the ground for wet stone that might guide him back to the tunnel.

  “Where is he?”

  “Still on the cliff. For now.”

  We should have just stayed on the beach, Alex thought. That had been safe. Soothing, even.

  “It would not have worked,” she said, reading his thoughts even here.

  “Why not?”

  “Have you ever had a dream where you simply sat in one place and nothing happened? The human mind does not work that way. You can elect to move through this place, or let it come to you, but one way or the other the scenario will change and evolve.”

  “Fine. You said in the tunnel I’ll find the answer. So what is it? Show me how to help him.”

  Another pause.

  “Show me!” he roared, fists balled. He’d never felt more powerless, more impotent, in his life.

  Seconds passed. “I need you to test something for me,” she said.

  Alex didn’t like the sound of that, not at all. “What is it?”

  “If you do something for me out here I will allow you to find your friend. Then at least the two of you can help each other survive in this place.”

  “So, blackmail, pure and simple. Why did I think you’d be above that sort of thing?”

  “Think of it as a trade.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  Another pause. “I require your help, that is the crux of this. You are a willing participant, or not, it makes little difference to me. I must know if your immunity means what I suspect it means.”

  Alex drew in a long, even breath, and took stock. He and Jared were in some kind of shared sim, one where pain and injury were possible—likely, even, in Jared’s case. The fear Alex felt shifted now, re-forming into hatred. And, perhaps, a bit of grudging respect. “You said you needed help ‘out here.’ Out where? What did you mean?”

  “Here. In the darkness.”

  Temptation to know where he was, where he really was, drowned out all other concerns. “I don’t understand.”

  “I must study your ability to handle sensory deprivation,” she said. “Can you do that for me? To save the life of your friend?”

  After a moment, he nodded.

  All sensation vanished.

  The Chameleon

  1.AUG.3911 (Earth Actual)

  THE CREW GATHERED around a sort of high-tech campfire in the forest biome. The sphere, one hundred meters in diameter, would become their home while Eve was offline. The ship had three such spheres, a reduction from the original complement when the ship hastily redesigned itself in order to become covered in the second skin of alien creatures.

  Forest, as the crew had come to call the sphere, was half-filled with soil that had been either taken from Earth or made to resemble it, Skyler didn’t know which. There were rocks and decaying plant matter, as well, as if the material had been scooped from a temperate forest and delivered to Eve intact. Trees dominated the upper half of the sphere, as well as some ferns and other plants. Not a single insect, though. Skyler wondered how long this little terrarium could survive without insects. So far, it seemed to be doing fine.

  The second biome mi
micked the atmosphere and fungus-covered sand of the world they’d just left. A place to test their armored environment suits and practice for that mission. As far as he knew, Eve had left that biome as is, though it would no longer be needed. The third had become storage for various materials. With the ship now a third the size it had been when leaving Earth, space was at a premium.

  Skyler stood at one side of a rough circular clearing in the center of Forest, while the others sat on cosmetically placed fallen logs or in the grass. All save Vanessa, who leaned against a tree trunk several meters away, her arms folded across her chest. She had a slight scowl on her face, disappointed that she and Prumble had not been allowed to inspect the entire ship before they were to be “trapped” inside the sphere.

  “I can’t really offer any of you the chance to bow out of this plan,” he said, to all of them but mostly for Vanessa’s benefit. “You all know the nature of what we’re going to do, but let me make it clear. Once we near the edge of sensor range, this entire ship will be switched off. No engines, no air circulation, no comms, no computers. No heat whatsoever. No Eve, for that matter. If any radiation escapes this hull the enemy will investigate.

  “We’ll be adrift and totally blind. We’ll have to survive in here, with whatever supplies we can pack into this bubble. It’s going to be our home, and with any luck it will not become our tomb.” He fixed a gaze on each of them in turn. “Questions? Doubts? Alternatives? This is the time to voice them.”

  He glanced pointedly at Tania, who had spent nearly an hour with Eve before the shutdown protocol had been decided on, emerging with tear-stained cheeks and a haunted gaze, but she’d begged off when he’d tried to find out what she’d learned. Soon enough, he figured, unless she spoke up now and called off the whole affair.