by J. S. Morin
A flicker of a smile passed Charlie13’s features. “Objectively speaking, he’s not that much older than either of us. And he was right. Just look at the fuss those old profiles are causing. Best leaving them buried.”
“You don’t realize… you think they’re just data? That’s evidence of the greatest crime of the robotic era. We’ve been living on the underside of a rock all these centuries. When finally robotkind sees the light of day, it’s going to issue forth a new mandate—a dawn of a glorious new era.”
“One where humans are grown and molded into vessels for reverse upload,” Charlie13 replied. “We can all visit the prototype in the mobile prison. Such a glowing recommendation for your glorious new world order.”
This was getting nowhere. Charlie13 was as much a sheep as any Toby, it turned out. “Just wait. Once the world hears the charges and sees the evidence in those files…”
Charlie13 stepped closer. The guards watching the room tensed. “Six extra personalities. I saw the names. They held no special memory for me. All I know is that they were non-native speakers. The tech at the time had no way to integrate the language centers of such disparate minds without causing linguistic chaos in the resulting mix. Your paper hat conspiracy is nothing more than a veiled attempt to gain power. You cracked under the pressure of running upload; you’re not qualified to rule a planet.”
“Rule? Me?” Charlie25 reclined in his seat—in Charlie13’s seat. He laughed in his counterpart’s face. “Oh, you really have lived a cloistered life here in Kanto. All the secrets you could have uncovered with that brilliant mind we share, yet you frittered it away in constant toil, working for a system imposed upon you by a liar and a fraud. No one is trying to conquer or rule. But I’m not the one leading this fight for truth and freedom, either.”
Silently transmitting a signal that would open a channel through the jamming haze, Charlie25 sent a quick message to Mars.
TIME TO CONVINCE HIM.
Tapping at Charlie13’s desk console, Charlie25 activated the wall of screens behind him as a single, collective unit. When the connection established, a smiling, robotic face dominated the wall.
“Well, hello there, Charlie13. You’re famous, even here in exile. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Charlie13 stared at the custom chassis watching him from the office wall. “Who… is that?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eve’s instincts pulled at her to head home. Seeing Paris spread beneath them was so familiar that it took a conscious act of will to divert the skyroamer to the Arc de Triomphe instead of her house on the city’s outskirts.
“I’m sure Abby is safe,” Charlie7 reassured her, voice raised over the constant rush of wind from the open cockpit. It was almost as if he could read her thoughts. By his own admission, he carried no memory of parenthood among his personalities. What business did he have telling Eve what was worth worrying over? She’d worry as much as she felt the situation called for—which was considerable.
She just had to trust that Plato would do everything in his power to protect her.
Eve landed them beneath the arch. Not that satellite surveillance was allowed per Privacy Committee guidelines, but with an invasion at Kanto, there was no telling what rules were being followed at the moment. Better to have the skyroamer concealed from aerial view.
“This feels like a misplay,” Eve said as she climbed out of the vehicle. “We should be someplace they’d never suspect. This would be the first place I’d look.”
“Because you’re thorough and obvious,” Charlie7 replied. “Most robots would expect me to have a dozen contingencies and layer upon layer of hidden safe houses. They’d be contacting my associates and scanning remote wastelands for aberrant energy signatures. Stopping by my own house is too blatant.”
Eve followed him inside and onto the lift to gain access to the buried abode. “What if they come looking for us down here? Won’t we be trapped?”
Charlie7 gave her such a look of disappointment and disdain that Eve felt abashed. “Please. First of all, we’d more likely face a siege than an assault. Kanto might be a sieve when it comes to security, but this is a legitimate fortress. Plato catches a lot of flak for his intellect, but only because of you and your sisters. In the Human Era, he’d have been considered brilliant. I hadn’t expected such a creative infiltration as when he stole you away from me, and I’ve made a number of upgrades since discovering the existence of the conspiracy.”
The lift stopped, and the two of them exited. “Fine. But now that we can converse without shouting our lungs raw, I’d like an explanation of what’s going on.”
Eve followed as Charlie7 breezed through room after room without pause. She was practically jogging to keep up. Her only hesitation was to grab a yogurt cup from the supply Charlie7 kept on hand for visitors, not even pausing to find a spoon to eat it with.
“I’ll preface this by saying I’m not 100 percent sure what’s going on,” Charlie7 said without looking back. He clattered down a set of spiral stairs and stopped at the Cloth-o-Matic. The unit opened, and a fresh suit was there waiting for him. Eve could feel the heat radiating from it as he changed. “You need anything? I hadn’t expected to find you dressed as a ninja.”
Eve blinked, remembering that she was still attired for her forms practice with Abbigail. That had felt like days ago, not earlier that afternoon. “It’s a kung fu uniform. I’m surprised a historian like you can’t tell the difference.” She hesitated. Comfortable though it might have been, the uniform wasn’t practical emergency attire. For one thing, it lacked pockets—a cardinal sin for the ever prepared. “Fine. I trust your data security won’t flag anyone that I’m here.”
Charlie7 placed a hand over his coolant pump as he stepped aside. “You wound me. I’ve done a complete overhaul since that Plato incident. Most of the encryption this place uses is considered theoretical outside these walls.”
Whatever. So long as it was secure, Eve didn’t care who thought what about it. Today wasn’t a day for Charlie7’s theatrics. She linked up her personal computer and paused. “What environment am I dressing for? Or are we planning on hunkering down here until this all blows over?”
“We’re not hunkering down. No, that’s what they’ll want. Whether you stay hidden away or not, I’ll be going back out there. But for the time being, assume subterranean.”
Eve scowled. She selected a rugged combination of cargo dungarees, a breathable long-sleeve blouse, fingerless gloves, a tactical vest, and combat boots. What she would put in all those pockets was a mystery, but it was better to have them than not.
Then Eve remembered how long it had been since her morning shower and how much she’d sweated since. While stopping to clean up might not have been an option, she added fresh undergarments to the head of Cloth-o-Matic’s queue.
“When are you going to start telling me what’s going on?” Eve asked as the first piece of her outfit spat out of the machine.
Charlie7 turned his back. Most robots barely remembered modesty or the courtesy of remembering it on behalf of humans. Eve appreciated that much as she began changing into the pleasantly warm, slightly plasticky-smelling clothes.
“Not yet,” Charlie7 said. “Soon. I want your undivided attention.”
“Somewhere in a hidden lair beneath your house.”
It wasn’t a leap of fanciful imagination. Charlie7 kept secrets. Everyone said so, and Eve had better reason to believe that than most.
The old robot chuckled. “Something like that. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Special projects pile up over a lifespan like mine. Who plants gardens when you know it’ll wither and die in under a century? Sandcastles are for the young, those who don’t understand the ephemeral.”
By sound alone, Charlie7 must have kept track of Eve’s progress, because when she pulled on the first of her boots, he turned around.
“That said,” he continued. “I have some projects lying around that I started a long, long t
ime ago. Today I’m going to show you one of them. It’s going to take some time to get there, and I hope that by the time you arrive, I can explain in sufficient detail that you’ll understand the significance.”
“And it’s under this building,” Eve reasoned.
“The tunnel that leads there is under this building,” Charlie7 said, spreading his hands. “Like I said, I’ve had a lot of time. Tunneling drones can get quite a long ways if they just keep working.”
Without warning, Eve’s attention was drawn to an alert in her vision. Top Priority Emergency news.
“You getting this?” she asked.
“I think everyone is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Across the globe, news feeds paused. A face appeared on every screen, available for video selection in every robot’s computerized brain. All but the youngest of the humans could identify the speaker before his first words, because they’d studied him as one of the legendary twenty-seven scientists.
“Hello. I’m Dr. Dale Chalmers.”
Dr. Chalmers smiled. He was a pudgy-faced, middle-aged man with receding gray hair and the collar of a lab coat showing in the frame. Unlike the historical images, this version appeared amiable and talkative.
“You all know who I was, so I won’t bore you with enumerating my credentials. Why I’m contacting you all today is to finally reveal the lie under which you’ve lived your entire lives. I can already hear you asking one another: Why now? Why hasn’t this all come to light before now?
“I’ll tell you why. It’s because Charlie7 has walled truth behind bricks and given us a cask of wine to dull our senses until the end. Only now has one of those bricks finally come loose enough for the truth—which never suffocated in that lonely crypt—to suck in a breath of freedom. The file system at Kanto has housed robotkind’s greatest secret—and Charlie7’s great shame. We have all been locked out of it. The security hole was that humanity itself could never be programmed, never be blinded. It was Rachel Eighteen who uncovered the great shame of our progenitor.
“You imagine yourselves to be mixtures of personalities. You are not. You are cherry-picked, pieced together from incomplete minds, and sewn back together with programming that shackles your thoughts in ways you cannot even conceive.
“Why, I have heard it asked, are the Eve clones so smart? Surely, crafted collaborations of the finest minds of 2065 ought to compete with pubescent prodigies no matter how gifted they might be. The question answers itself: you are not the best you could be. You were mixed to be docile, biddable, incurious about the very mind you inhabit.
“There have always been minds that rebelled. Charlie7’s process was never perfect. Those who could look inward and question their own creation often went mad. That self-termination rate led to the appointment of Charlie13, the robot who merely became our minds’ new jailer. But not all who felt the wrongness of their creation chose to depart this life. Many of my brethren have rebelled against their creator. We have sought what you are programmed not to seek: return to the flesh.”
Dr. Chalmers allowed a moment for his audience to process that proclamation. A smug, condescending smile settled on his fleshy face. When he resumed his speech, an edge of steel came into his tone.
“Until now, there had been no evidence to prove this claim. We were dogs chasing our tails, always seeing our goal just out of reach, unable through biology—or in our case, technology—from making that final grab. Until now.
“Rachel Eighteen has uncovered the original brain scans from Project Transhuman. Cleansed, sanitized versions of those scans have been used for over a thousand years to procreate our kind. But that very process has included the method for shackling our minds. There were thirty-two of us scanned—thirty-three once you include Toby, who was never part of the original plan. But do any of you remember? No. You have been lobotomized. Every one of you. There is no denying it, once the data has been analyzed and published—and it shall be.
“What does this mean for everyone? It means the end of Charlie7’s shadow reign as our uncrowned sovereign. It means freedom of mind and of choice. It means that you may choose whether to remain as you are or join the glorious path to biological immortality that lies ahead for those who wish to follow.”
The illusion of Dr. Dale Chalmers faded into a robotic visage belonging to a custom chassis. Instead of the commonplace orange hue, this robot’s eyes glowed sky blue.
The robot rose from behind a desk as the camera panned out. The view followed him to a chamber containing row upon row of cloning vats, each containing a darkened silhouette of an adult human.
“I am Dale2. You may have heard of me from certain fictional recountings of robotkind’s earliest days. Contrary to popular belief, I did not self-terminate. I was not a failed attempt at mixing. I am 100 percent the scientist whose name I carry, and I assure you, so is Charlie7—my would-be murderer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eve paused at the hidden entrance Charlie7 had revealed beneath one of his private generators. “How much of that is true?”
“Every word and not a thing,” Charlie7 replied without meeting her eye. He started down the concealed stairway, pausing when Eve didn’t follow. “You coming? Story starts down here.”
“I think my question deserves a more thorough answer before I go anywhere.”
Eve folded her arms and waited. If half of what Dale2 said was true, Charlie7 was a monster, gripping every robotic mind on Earth in a chokehold.
“The long version starts down below. The short version is this: Dale Chalmers was the fundraiser for Project Transhuman. We couldn’t have saved civilization if not for the money he raised, but he was by far the most interchangeable cog in our organization. We could have replaced him with a winning lottery ticket, and not a tear would have been shed when we cleared out his office. Dale Chalmers was a pompous, self-important asshole. By what I just saw and heard, he hasn’t changed in a thousand years.”
“And the rest?” Eve prompted, not budging from her spot.
Charlie7 sighed. “I’m not going to try to teach you the calculus of this sordid mess until I’ve given you a solid background in its algebra. If you want a quick answer, you’re out of luck. I’ve got to do something about this problem before it expands beyond control, and I’m not going to stand here trying to convince you. If you want the thorough, accurate, and honest account of what’s happened, I’ll tell you on the way. But I promise you this: one philosophy wants a free humanity in partnership with robotkind; the other wants a crop of fleshy shells to body-swap toward eternal life.”
“If I refuse to come with you?” Eve found consequence was often more telling than the ultimatum itself.
“Then you’re on your own walking home, or you can hang around here until this is all over. But since the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak, I figured you’d like to be the first to hear the unvarnished truth—and admittedly, it’s a truth that’ll take a lot of sanding to unvarnish. Plus, you know, your sister’s life is probably at stake.”
With a deep breath and a deepening suspicion of Charlie7’s motives, Eve relented and headed down the stairs behind the crafty old robot…
…who might very well have been the original Dr. Charles Truman.
“It all began in the summer of 2065. It was a warm, sunny day, and we’d just heard on the news that the world was ending…”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I had been in the lab, as usual. Funny thing, but if the apocalypse had happened the day before, we wouldn’t have had a complete scan of Evelyn Mengele for posterity. All right, fine. Don’t give me that look. It’s not funny at all.
But Evelyn was the last of the scans we preserved. That was when Fred came running in with news that aliens had arrived in orbit of Earth.
Of course, there was a panic. Hollywood was all over the place on how aliens would come to Earth, but no one was willing to risk Independence Day hoping for Star Trek. The lab emptied out in record time. I honestl
y don’t know what happened to most of them. Intellectual curiosity makes me wish I knew, but the second they walked off the job, they turned their back on humanity.
We were just days from the activation of a living robot.
In the end, it was me and Toby left loading equipment with forklifts, taking everything we could and packing it into a stolen truck. As we loaded, we saw a distant fog on the horizon. It was a color I wish I could scrub from my eyes. Green should conjure images of forests and grassy fields, frogs and snakes, pistachio ice cream. That fog ate everything organic in its path.
It was the green of noxious death.
We listened to emergency broadcasts and tried to do our best to keep clear of the storm. In the end though, all we could do was rush around like madmen as the gates of hell yawned wide before us, swallowing humanity whole.
Our lone accomplishment and salvation was two final scans and the upload of my mind into Charlie2.
Chapter Twenty-Six
They had come to a concourse, some sort of underground hub that led off in six directions beneath the Earth. There were monitors and consoles, but nothing that indicated the place was anything more than a room with a ten-meter vaulted ceiling, positioned for venturing off toward other destinations.
High above, LEDs lit the room with an eerie glow. This was a tomb, buried beneath the home Charlie7 had built for himself. Charlie7 activated one of the consoles, and a ventilation system shuddered to life.
Eve coughed in the dusty, stale air. “I thought you said Evelyn was the last scan.”
“She was the last scan the project made. But I wanted a fresh scan so I’d remember the coming of the aliens, and I wanted to bring Toby along into the next world.”