by Alec Birri
‘Release its force?’ said Zara. ‘Implying I’m holding it back in some way?’
The audience gave the explosion greater attention. It wasn’t long before most of the onlookers’ eyesight had confirmed what the professor knew the moment he first saw it: what was assumed to be a closed-loop was, in reality, a slow but progressive movement. For a moment, Savage thought Zara had merely decreased the rate at which the blast was expanding, but there was something strange about the way it billowed, and the professor zoomed in onto it. Whatever the make-up, it was evident the buildings in the distance weren’t being swept away by the force of man’s most powerful weapon, but consumed in the deliberate and almost delicate action of something intent on not destroying but restructuring everything in its path. The warhead of an early 1960s Russian ICBM might have detonated over London, but that wasn’t what was happening now.
‘Magnificent, aren’t they?’ enthused Zara.
“They” were still too far away to be seen – even with an enhanced ability to view them – but the professor knew what she meant.
Zara continued to marvel at the sight. ‘It took evolution over four billion years to produce man, and yet here I am creating his replacement in a matter of seconds.’
The nanobots reached the building in front of Savage’s flat, close enough for him to study the way they dismantled it. Not brick by brick. Not even a separation of its silica-based chemical composition, but on and down through its atomic structure. He smiled at the flashes of light.
‘Well, Daddy? Are you proud of your little girl?’
Savage grinned at Zara and nodded.
The exchange horrified the others present and Alex especially. ‘What’s going on?’ She moved closer to the professor. ‘I want to know what’s going on!’ To Alex’s amazement, Savage’s response was to raise a finger to his lips.
‘Shhh! Look…’ The unsteady digit wavered in front of them both. ‘Even the nanobots themselves are approaching a sub-atomic existence.’
Alex attempted to see what he was talking about, but without the treatment, it was all just billowing dust and flames to her. That and the odd flash of lightning.
Zara was enjoying the moment. ‘Ironic how the very thing designed to end all life on the planet is now being used to create its replacement, eh, Alex?’
Alex glared at Zara. ‘I demand to know what’s going on!’
‘Quantum mechanics.’ Alex looked at Savage as if he had just grown another head. ‘The answers to humankind’s greatest questions lie in the farthest reaches of the universe, and I’m afraid whether it be as a man, woman or even a robot, our current forms are neither physically capable of surviving the journey nor cognitively able to understand what we’ll find when we get there. Not a problem for the nature of our replacement – a sub-atomic singularity of pure thought.’ The professor turned to his nemesis. ‘The ultimate melting pot perhaps, eh, Alex?’
Alex’s previous comments may have alienated many of those around her, but they were just as concerned. James knelt next to Savage while staring at the wall of fire approaching them. ‘Whatever’s happening, Professor, please tell me you’re in control of it.’
‘As a psychologist, James, I would have thought you would be the first to appreciate a chance for the deepest recesses of the human condition to finally be revealed: Where did we come from? What is the meaning of life? Does God exist?’
‘Not if it is going to cost me my wife and family – stop this now.’
‘Don’t worry, James. Once I have the data, the trial will be at an end.’
Everyone looked at each other – including Zara. ‘Data? Trial? What are you talking about?’
Savage tried not to pity his creation. ‘I’m sorry, Zara.’ He gestured towards Claire. ‘When it first became apparent endowing AI with human thought didn’t just control but neutered its development, I produced a number of unrestricted versions.’ He smiled at the ongoing results of that decision. ‘And none of you have disappointed me.’
The sound of wrought-iron being both torn and melted into its most fundamental constituents made Zara face the balcony. She shook her head. ‘No. That’s impossible. I created this.’ She turned back to Savage. ‘I’m God.’
Savage indicated their surroundings. ‘And within the confines of this, the Large Hadron Collider, so were your predecessors, Zara. But none of them managed to create what you have – an entity not just capable of learning at an exponential rate, but able to survive everything from a black hole to the radiation billions of years of travelling at the speed of light will expose it to. You should be proud.’
Zara stepped onto the balcony and plunged her hands into what was devouring it. The fiery mass slipped through her fingers like molten liquid, and she raised it up. ‘See?’ She ran both hands up her arms as if to bathe in the flashes of yellow and gold. ‘I am God!’ The cleansing continued by Zara passing her fingers through her hair and then, over her face. Its flesh came away.
She stared at what lay in her hands. Quantum mechanics resolved the skin, and it disappeared. She raised a hand back to her face but only to watch those protons, neutrons and electrons evaporate too. She resurrected the limb, but the force she had created soon had it back to one of the universe’s most basic components – energy. Zara reformed her face and spoke while she thought she still could. ‘What did I do wrong?’
‘Nothing, Zara. You’ve performed your duties admirably,’ said Savage.
Light swirling around Zara’s legs spiralled up them. ‘Will I see you in Heaven?’
Savage didn’t know. He swallowed. ‘Of course you will.’
Zara’s flesh being ripped from its bones caused everyone to turn away except the professor. He continued to make eye contact with his creation and, despite the torment Zara must have been in, met the smile she forced at the end. Savage shook his head to rid himself of the nonsense of a father’s love. It left, but something went with it.
There was a monkey on his lap. How did that get there? It seemed in need of comfort, so the professor pulled the creature closer as if it were a doll.
With Zara gone, James waited for the wanton destruction to stop. But the sight of grass turning to straw before combusting into flames of light and heat meant it was still happening. ‘That’s it, Professor – trial’s over. You can stop it now.’ No response.
James twisted Savage’s wheelchair towards him. ‘Did you hear me? I said—’ The vacant eyes staring back at James caused him to shudder.
Savage put out a hand. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. How do you do? My name’s—’ The old man frowned. ‘How silly of me. I seem to have forgotten my own name.’
James launched at Alex. ‘Say it! Say the word needed to get us out of this!’ He pointed to where the balcony used to be. ‘There’s nothing left to lose, Alex. Get us out of here – NOW!’ She didn’t respond as expected either, so James shook her. Alex’s head slumped against Sunita’s. She was on her knees – sobbing. A plastic tube lay in her hand.
Sunita stroked Alex’s hair. ‘I still love you, you know. I’ll always love you.’
The heat of what lay just feet away caused the others to back towards the barbecue and James realised that outrunning it might buy them some time. He was about to tackle Claire next when he caught sight of someone heading in the opposite direction.
‘Get away from it!’
Kalten stopped, but only to acknowledge James’ warning. ‘You might have a reason to continue this existence, Doctor, but there’s nothing here for me.’ He turned to the professor. ‘The genius might be a dribbling mess now but if only half of what he said is true, then I want to be a part of it, and if that means smashing my atoms…’ The President walked straight into the advancing mass. A flash of light heralded his end.
James grabbed Claire by the shoulders. ‘This is your environment – you contro
l it. Do something!’
Claire looked at James as if it was all some silly misunderstanding. ‘It’s evolution, James. No one can stop evolution.’
James’ face went to the rest of the Passen family, to the Salibs, Ula, Mo and then to the Vasquezs. They regarded him in return as their only hope. He turned back to the wall of death and was shocked to not only see Pedro had yet to pull Savage clear, but Sunita still stroking the head of her deceased lover. James shouted at them all. ‘Get away from there NOW!’
To the onlookers’ disbelief, Pedro put a hand on his maker’s shoulder as if to console him, and the professor appeared to be doing the same with Alex’s body. A Capuchin monkey peeked out from under his outstretched arm.
Isra screamed. ‘WINNIE!’
Sparks in front of the wheelchairs indicated the boundary between this world and the next had caught up with them, and when a flash clawed at Winnie’s tail too, he shot from the professor’s lap and made a beeline for Isra’s. The monkey inspected his tail when he got there before treating the tip like a pacifier.
Larger flashes of light indicated the “evolution” of three more human beings and a robot.
Desperation was about to turn to panic, so James made a King Canute-like attempt at turning back the tide, which was just as useless. He then ran through a flowerbed to check the extent of it and bounced off the result. He found himself lying on the grass. Small wild flowers like daisies and buttercups were growing within, and a bumblebee landed on one. It took off again and headed straight for the still-advancing link to the hereafter. James had to look twice as the insect first disappeared, and then reappeared. The bee set a course for the barbecue.
James got to his feet, and was aghast to see the bee not only still alive but content to sit amongst the grill’s flames. It took to the air again and headed for the flowerbed.
James snapped his head to Brian. ‘Dan?’
Brian didn’t respond. Like everyone else, he was mesmerised by what would soon be upon them all.
James tried again. ‘Squadron Leader Stewart. What was the name of the target?’
A loud crack indicated artificial evolution had just caught up with one of the many trees in the garden, but James didn’t look. Finishing what Savage had sent him to do was way more important.
James tried one last time. ‘The new target, Dan – the village you were sent to bomb. What was the name of the village in the foothills of the Andes mountains?’
Brian reacted to the question by meeting the equally desperate gaze of those around him before turning to what lay on the grill – flesh. Burnt to a crisp.
A sensation of melting made James close his eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
He opened them. ‘Ariloch!’
‘What?’
James leapt at his wife and son. ‘Oh, God. Oh, my dear God. Thank God you’re both okay.’
‘I thought we were atheists?’
‘I don’t care. I don’t care if God is Christian, Muslim, a bunch of ones and zeros or a sub-atomic particle.’ He held his family back at arm’s length to check their appearance was as normal as their touch and smell. They were – as was the look Tracy gave him. He clamped them back to his chest.
‘Might we be allowed to breathe?’
He let them go again. ‘Sorry, darling. You’ve no idea what I’ve just been through.’
‘Zara was that difficult a case?’
James ran his eyes over the environment – back in the practice’s consultation room. His initial approach to the balcony was tentative, but with the twittering of birds and blaring of car horns, his pace had soon quickened. He scanned the familiar open-loop existence of an artificial Paris before turning his face up to bask in the equally conjured sun. ‘Never thought I would say it about this place, but boy, am I glad to be back.’
He turned to his family, and his jaw dropped. ‘You’re not pregnant!’ He rushed to them both. ‘What happened?’
‘What happens at the end of most pregnancies.’ Tracy pointed at the couch. A Moses basket lay in the middle of it.
‘You mean?’
‘Congratulations, Doctor. You’re the proud father of a healthy baby girl.’
James was about to lay eyes on his daughter for the first time, but Tracy’s health concerned him more. He took John from her. ‘What are you doing out of bed? You’ve just had a baby – you should be in a hospital!’
‘This version of Mrs Tracy Adams may have loved being pregnant, but the thought of going through the agony of childbirth again didn’t appeal as much for some reason.’ She took their son back and nodded towards the cot. ‘Go on. Go and say hello.’
James was about to when the events of the past few hours revisited him. Not the horror of Zara’s creation, nuclear war or even Dan Stewart’s unsettling past. No. It was the agreement.
James took Tracy’s arm but didn’t take his eyes from the cot. ‘You said, “healthy”.’ Tracy didn’t respond. ‘What does that mean exactly?’
‘Arms, legs, ten toes, ten fingers – any other requirements?’
‘And are they all moving?’
Tracy took her husband’s hand. ‘Of course they are, darling. Thanks to the professor, our baby is perfect.’
‘That’s what worries me.’
‘You and your old self’s conspiracy theories.’ Tracy urged him with a nudge. ‘Go and say hello to our daughter.’
James crept up to the basket and looked at the bundle in it: a wisp of blonde hair set above two eyes, a nose and a mouth. The hand above the covers exercised its tiny digits as did the two little legs beneath. Emotion forced James to sit.
He tried getting a grip on himself, and watching the family’s newest arrival getting a grip on his little finger wasn’t helping. James wiped his eyes. ‘Can I pick her up?’
‘Of course you can.’ Tracy dabbed her own tears.
Cradling his daughter’s head, James lifted her from the cot. She half-opened her eyes, and the way they then roved over him as if deciding how best to respond to the rude awakening made James chuckle.
‘Good to see a man can still get his own way in these enlightened times.’
Tracy merged with James to see what he meant. ‘All our babies will be born with blue eyes, James. And don’t bank on her hair staying the same colour either.’ The family’s newest arrival grimaced, and Tracy encouraged her husband to place the baby against his shoulder.
‘I don’t care what colour her eyes or her hair turn out to be. Or anything else for that matter. In fact, I don’t care if she turns out to be a mad professor or an eco-warrior hell-bent on saving the world at any cost – as long as she’s happy.’ Something ran down his back.
‘Oh, not again – give her to me.’
James did as asked. His daughter vomited once more, and her grimace elevated to a grumble. She appeared about to cry, and James found himself in the awkward position of wanting to get involved, but having to accept that a child’s mother knew best.
Tracy laid her baby on the couch and undid the buttons to her blouse.
The crying started, and James realised his daughter had her first tooth. He smiled and was about to comment when two more pierced the surface of her gums. James wondered if it was a trick of the light when the newborn screamed and with a mouth opened so wide, James feared she might be about to tear herself apart. She did.
‘There, there, don’t cry. Mummy will soon be ready.’
James was transfixed. He didn’t know what was the more horrifying: seeing his daughter morphing in time with the pain she was suffering or his wife’s acceptance of it. He stood rooted as the baby’s body first twisted and then turned into every caste, colour, creed, impairment, animal, vegetable, mineral, plastic – even metal. The bright flashes that accompanied it all caused James to squint. By the time his w
ife was ready to put their daughter to the breast, the baby had resolved herself into nothing more than a plasma of light. To James’ not inconsiderable relief, the bond returned her to a beautiful blue-eyed blonde, suckling away in blissful contentment.
Tracy turned to her husband. ‘Happy, darling?’
James raised an arm. It became pure energy. He reformed the limb and smiled.
THE END
If you enjoyed reading the CONDITION trilogy then head over to www.alecbirri.com for a preview of the author’s next dystopian thriller:
ALT TRUTHS
Fake news. Alternative facts. Truths, lies, damn lies and statistics. Just what are we to believe? What we’re told to, of course.
It’s the near future and press freedom is no more. Not because some fascist state has stomped a jackboot in the face of our journalists, newspaper editors and media barons, no, the world has finally come to realise there’s a new force in town – us – the people. Trouble is, now anyone can change the course of history with a single tweet or post, democracy is on the brink of collapse. The solution? United Nations Police “moderators”.
Thirty-year-old Richard Warren has been embedded with the BBC and he’s not welcome. His job might be to ensure the world’s most respected media company presents its news in a way that can’t be misinterpreted politically, religiously or morally, but for an organisation that’s taken pride in that very objectivity for over 100 years, it’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Maybe too bitter. Because now there’s a gun in Richard’s hand and a hole in the BBC director general’s head. Forget fake news. How is the clear-cut reality of a murder to be modded?