by Peter Riva
It was mine. Re-written, Colis 6, stupid re-writing code. Student stuff. Not dangerous. Why?
Got Colis 6. Not yours. Specify.
Colis 6 is students’ stuff. Easy, repetitive, wasteful coding. Beneath a codifier. If he’s level 9+, this is level 3 stuff. Why? Why? Why?
Below your grade. Danger present, simple not safety. Level 9 affirmative.
I have an idea. I am going to alter the file. If he knows we’re here, he’ll come and see. If he doesn’t he’ll come and see. We need clues about who he is.
Danger. Touch file no. Clues other. Stop. Watch out.
No, I know what I’m doing. You observate, fucking observate, that’s your job.
Observe. Check. Danger.
I pulled out the program file again and simply changed the coding back to a clean form, my format, no Colis 6. The file was smaller. It would trigger the file action table to spot a size file anomaly and send for a repair, that was System standard. I wanted to avoid a System response, so before I put it back, I ran my little Grow program until the bytes matched the file space allocation on the table, and then I took out an old Norton program I’ve had since college days. Okay, it’s really old technology and, truthfully, it’s probably criminal to even have this anymore, but I needed to keep the System from knowing what, if anything, had happened here. I ran the program I had renamed TimeDate and voila! The System won’t know the file had ever been modified. But if he’s as good as we think he is, he’ll spot the change, but the System and the FAT won’t. He’ll know as soon as he pulls it to use it.
I reinserted the file. Nothing. In here, hundredths of a second shouldn’t tick by. I waited, and waited. The file was pulled, copied. He’s running it somewhere or the System is, either way, it’ll be in the open now. The file was pulled again. A second use? It was pulled again, removed, cut from the File Action Table (FAT). Like the card index in old libraries, nothing could be found without an accurate FAT.
I moved us quickly to the portion of the solid memory just below the Controller, where the FAT was. I searched with a date and time stamp looking for recent changes. 34,234 changes. Then ran a sub-search through these changes looking for the Takeover program key word or file name. The file location popped up. So easy. We went there.
On a new pathway in the library there the file was. I pulled it slowly, careful not to disrupt anyone else accessing it. I peered inside, sort of like peeping through a cloudy window, scanning code, what I could see of it. The Colis 6 coding was back. He knew we were here alright; there could be no mistake about that. So where was he? Why put back the useless Colis 6 coding? The new pathway shut behind us. This was a dead end storage area. That’s why it was so easy.
It was such a simple trap I wondered why Cramer hadn’t spotted it. I, at least, had the excuse I was busy with other things.
He answered my unasked question, Didn’t know shut-able.
Oh yes, bravo, we’re trapped here. No way out.
Think. There is.
Well, if you know so damn much, how?
No. You. Think. Was that “you” or “your” he thought? Let’s assume he meant your. Hmm . . . or “you’re” as in you’re screwed, you’re an idiot, all you’re doing, you’re gonna die?
No. Your world. Think.
Ah, that was hopeful. Something from this, my world as he was feeling it, could afford us a means of escape. I knew we didn’t have long. If the guy doing all this knew we were trapped in here, all he had to do was command the PowerCube to destroy our physical bodies with another surge while we’re still under the domes. Nanoseconds. Hmm . . .
He doesn’t know there are two of us. A diversion that makes him show himself, come and see. If we can’t get out, make him come and see for himself.
Cramer, detach from me and pull every file from that end of this pathway, pull them, drop them, disconnect them.
Got it. Pull files. He promptly mentally drifted away from me, he was clumsy in here, and went to the far bank of files and started pulling files, disconnecting them from the System programming.
I did the same. Two activists in the library, Central would have seen all sorts of activity in here, and not known why. The bad guy will know there is more than just me here. He’ll get desperate. Wait, maybe he’ll panic and juice both domes just to be sure, not caring who or why. Damn, this idea may backfire. If I die, will I be trapped in here, bodiless, for eternity? And with Cramer? Doesn’t bear thinking about.
Suddenly, everything went blank and I was staring at the near-dark wall in the office. Cramer was standing beside me, looking dazed. We both removed the domes, quickly and let them dangle on their cords. Cramer was the first to snap to, of course.
“Power was cut off,” said to me, then he addressed the ceiling, “System, why is the power off?”
The speaker responded, System. Control ordered power cut 1 minute 14.3 seconds into session.
“Who ordered the power cut? And why? Relay Control response.”
System. Control reports Mary Levinson ordered power cut. Second response: System self-determinate action main library, creation new storage module, not standard. Control requests update session.
Of course, Control would be wanting an update from in there. They could see where we’d been, up until I took us into the Library, and had no idea why we’d gone there. They’d assumed the library’s new pathway was ordered by the System or by us. We knew it was the one we were looking for, making a trap for us. Even though Control was listening live again, Cramer didn’t bother with them. He fixed his eyes on me.
“Bank, when we started pulling those files and dumping them, destroying the branch file action table in the process, it got us noticed, as you planned. Then, just before the juice to the domes was cut by Mary, you seemed to hesitate. Why?”
“He had us trapped. If he had wanted to kill us he could have spiked the PowerCube to the domes again. He didn’t. He wanted us trapped there. I don’t know why. Something else is bothering me. He’s re-writing my clean code with Colis 6 entry level programming. Sure it does the same thing, but why add useless gibberish?”
“Screw that for a moment. Answer me, why did you hesitate?”
“If we damaged the files I thought he would have to investigate why two codifiers were in there, he only meant to trap one, he couldn’t have known about the piggyback system . . . when he opened up to see, we had a chance to escape.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Maybe it was just easier to kill us and check later. That’s what I would have done.”
System. Control relay: Mary agrees.
He barked a command, “Control, no relay messages unless priority one. End.” Then to me, very calmly: “Simon, think I’m stupid? There’s something else, there’s something you know, are avoiding, jerking around with programs, you see a bigger problem. Spit it out, now.”
“Agent Cramer, I think our enemy is the System itself. It has learned.”
CHAPTER 5
I WAS SURE THE BABY WAS GOING TO GET OLDER
“Absolute crap. Control and all the scientists who’ve created the System and all the programming made sure that could not happen. What’s your hunch? To toss all their learning, grade level 6 and above I may add, in your pathetic level 5 dustbin?”
“It speaks only baby talk. Colis 6. Sure it can repeat more sophisticated language, sure it uses more sophisticated language, but it does so without having any conscious knowledge of doing so.”
“Jeezus knock off the anthropomorphization, will you? The System ain’t conscious.”
“No, listen to me. The simple stuff for kids is visible. Kids play with blocks; goo-goo-gaga, mama and Dada. That sort of thing. All the while their Medulla Oblongata is calculating breathing forces, dynamic pressure, blood supply, muscle contractions of the heart, about 100 times a minute, each beat calculated with mathematics which a high school kid would take weeks to type on his keyboard; each beat, each breath. And that first step? Calculus, pure and simple, with
biofeedback and recalculation every, oh I don’t know, every .2 of a second? And would you call a baby smart or aware, really? They’re like a lump of flesh, womb trained or not.”
“Okay, all that’s obvious, we all studied this crap. What you’re saying is that somehow the System is becoming sentient, beginning life—and, what? We’re in the way?”
“I can’t answer that. I do know that it’s doing what I expect it should. The simpler toys we give it to play with . . .”
“You mean you gave it to play with, you’re the codifier who went in there . . .”
“Okay, me then,” I was angry by this time, “But I didn’t know I was in there—in the damn System—alone, that’s your fault, liars, all of you.” I took a breath and shook my head while I poured it out, “The point is, it is learning from what we’ve given it, and maybe what it has access to. Look, I can work this out further but I need information and help. Do your huddle or whatever you do with Control but meantime get me the following . . .” And so I gave him a list. It wasn’t much of a list, really, but it required them to decide if they were going to tell me the truth, tell me what the setup really was.
I had seen now that there was no duplicate library, there was no duplicate System. All that was lies. The plan was to have a human imprint on the programming to better have the System react to human needs and desires. That human imprint plan had caused all this. It was me, it’s true, I was currently the instrument. How many came before me, where are they? It was Control and the Nation who had mandated it, made this stupid decision. Now they had a baby on their hands, perhaps an angry baby, perhaps one they couldn’t get back into the womb. Whatever the outcome, there were only two ways forward: shut down everything and re-boot the whole Nation’s systems (a rolling 2 week job, last I heard, 15 years ago). Or give me the information I needed to be able to reason with it. It could decide it wanted nothing to do with our world. They say babies want to get back into the womb. If that is what it wanted, then I was glad to help. Better safe in than out, I felt.
But if it got anything from my character, we are in deep trouble with that scenario. I like to mess things up.
Agent Cramer looked down at the floor as I ran off the list. He wasn’t paying attention to what I said, he knew the sleeve recording was playing live at Control and they would decide on the course of action. I could see he was thinking about something else.
“Bank, you knew it learned about the piggyback, the piggyback you did with Mary. You knew it knew there were two of us. Your plan to confuse it didn’t, it angered it. That’s why you hesitated.” Smart guy, I have to give him that. It was that sudden realization that made me want out. Fortunately Mary had pulled the plug before it all went south.
“Agent Cramer, I assure you I never thought that until the very last moment, after we’d started pulling the files. I had this feeling . . .” I stopped, how to explain my Dad’s bedtime theory that I felt I had seen all this before, déjà vu and therefore it was a repeat, not just a synapse fault in my brain? “Look, it doesn’t matter; I just felt it and reacted, and did nothing. Maybe that hesitation saved us. We were like fireflies in a jar, if they tickle or bite the infant hand that covers the jar, they can get squashed. If they stop, then curiosity takes over. I had the feeling we were being watched. Measured. Assessed. Learned. It knows us now.”
“Okay, put all that together and find your next set of questions.” Cramer is thinking, wanting me to as well.
“What are you talking about?
“Look Bank, you need to tackle this as a problem to be solved. You’re no cop or detective who knows how to uncover clues that happened to other people at other times, you need to review the clues that you’ve already witnessed. You need to follow your own path and find the significance of what you’ve done. Then tell me. And we’ll take it from there.”
I paused. The logic of what he is saying makes sense. Everything I’ve done here has had an impact here. Ergo I must assume that everything I’ve done everywhere has had an impact both here and, with a level 2 Event, everywhere. The clock was ticking. I put the grey cells to work. How far back to go? Let’s start with today and see where that leads me . . .
I think I first made contact outside of the apartment by sending the message to Fred. A simple e-mail it contained nothing but one word, “Godspeed.” Nothing there, except that I sent it. The infant System also now has a link to Fred. “Cramer, get your people to contact Fred, my son, elevator 4, jump Puerto Rico, solo flight today. Isolate him from the system, he may be in danger.”
“And how do you propose I send the space elevator complex a message? This secure, non-System communication we have here,” pointing at his sleeve, “won’t connect up there.”
“I don’t care how you do it, but do it. You lose Fred, you lose me, long before you hit me with your weapon.”
“Fatherly love, pity you couldn’t have found that same care and attention for your job.”
“Spare me. You and the whole fucking system lied.” The anger was surfacing again now. “I was working on a parallel system, you said, couldn’t do any harm, you said. One codifier in thousands, or so you guys told me. Mess it up, so the System can learn, you told me. All a pack of lies. And now you want me to take responsibility if I was too damn good at messing things up?”
“Okay, okay, keep your tone down. Don’t think you’re off the hook. There were rules you disobeyed, Mary too. But I’ll see what I can do about Fred. Know his number?” I gave it to him. I had a knack for remembering numbers, even my son’s. He keyed something onto his sleeve and got a vacant look on his face. “We’re establishing a closed regional system hookup, secure net to secure net, off the national System. We’re sending the message that way.”
I went back to retracing today’s happenings. “I palmed a response at the NuEl this morning. Then there was the WeatherGood event barely a block from me when I arrived at my step off. If the System knew I was on board, it could have timed the tornado . . .”
“But it couldn’t have been that accurate to hit you or avoid you. Gotta be a coincidence.”
I knew he was wrong. That finger was fate reaching for me. I was now sure of it. It all fit. It knew when I was up, it knew I was leaving the apartment, it knew I was on the NuEl, the speed of the NuEl, my step off point. That tornado was a display for my benefit. Whether it was to kill me or just play with me, I had no idea, it was too close to call. I needed a child expert more than I thought.
“Agent Cramer, are tools to be made available to me to solve this problem, yes or no?”
“You gave me the list. We’re seeing to it. Control thinks you’re nuts, but I have authority to agree. They’ll be here in 10-12 minutes.” He saw my questioning face. “Yes all of them—Tom Makerman and Mary too.”
“Okay, here’s what I think. For the record, are they listening?” He nodded and I raised my voice, “The people I asked you for will confirm this or prove me wrong. If I’m right and they want to proceed, we’re going to need all the things I also asked you for to make this work. I think you’ve got a toddler on your hands here. I think that a combination of your misinformation and the misguidance given to me and others before me about my job coupled with basic System misinformation, has all united to create severe instability within the System which then caused it to veer out of control. In the same way that a fighter plane used to be inherently unstable, the onboard computer struggled to keep it flying straight. When the pilot wanted to fly suddenly right all he did was move the hand control and that would simply deactivate the right stability subset programming. Presto, the plane would veer out of control right, sharper, more quickly than a controlled turn.
“I think all the messing about with human imprinting has caused that instability. You’ve got a rogue program on your hands not because it’s rogue, but because it doesn’t know how to fly straight yet. Like a baby that teeters across the floor with its first steps.
“Meanwhile, in the act of self-preservation, which is buil
t into every program as a repair tool, it adapted that instability and learned; it became self-determining. Is it conscious? Who knows? Ask if I care, that’s another question best left for later.
“What I do know is that it recognizes me as someone who was there at birth. I’m the guy who picked up the egg and watched it hatch, like in those old cartoons, only to have the emerging chick cry “Mama” and then follow me around.
“What I do also know is that this will be a powerful baby. It knows some of its strengths and none of its weaknesses or instability. It doesn’t have access to guidance, it has no parent. So it acts out, looking for response, for response will mean it is neither alone and, maybe, that someone can show it how to proceed.
“What I care about is that my son is in danger, you have not secured his safety. People are in danger, you cannot ensure their safety at a level 2, so you said. The Nation is in danger because a level 2 Eastern Seaboard Event could spread across the Nation and create a failure of the DefenseShield. And, importantly, I care that this little chick may be much worse than a mere Event level 1 by the time it is done.” I took a breath.
“You’re nuts, Simon . . .”
“Really? Think, Agent Cramer. If all the power of the System were brought to one target, what would the result be? What if the System decides to exterminate all human life, like in that old Star Trek movie talking about “carbon-based life forms” being an infestation? Does the System have the power and capability?”
“No. There are termination sub-programs set in place, like landmines which will kill the program and each arm of the System if these events occur. Asimov’s laws were followed.”
“Asimov was an ass to think you could stop nature and self-determining life. I’m willing to bet that’s the first programs it will delete or at least work around. Wanna bet? I would if I were it.”
“It can’t get in there, it’s beyond the library. There’s a firewall in place to prevent access by the program, an Asimov firewall, suicide, shut down, deletion automatically.”