Rebirth (Archives of Humanity Book 1)

by Justin DePaoli

  Orissa noticed the strain in her voice. Her mother had worked thirty years as the owner of a small research and development company focused on artificial intelligence and advanced technologies. She’d always been happy to take whatever fat contracts she could swindle from the government, no matter the final result, as the funds allowed her to pursue her true interest in artificial intelligence.

  It seemed regrets had surfaced, but there was a reason her mother was admitting to this now. Never did a word come out of her mouth without reason. Rebecca Servoni was a calculating woman and supremely intelligent, two qualities that made her an awfully frustrating mother at times. Loving, but seemingly all-knowing.

  “If the government sponsored your research,” said Orissa, glancing out her tinted window, paranoia setting in, “they must have an interest in protecting that research.”

  “I’m working on that. But it was fringe science, Orissa. The money given to me was like a grant, except it came from a black fund. Like I said, a small gift for all that I’d given in my career. For the government to spend resources going after this, they’ll need something more. Something concrete. The files you gave me contain important information, but not a smoking gun. I know it’s my research being used, but it’s not a copy-and-paste.”

  “So what are you telling me?”

  “Doctor Varugus has an idea.”

  Orissa rolled her eyes and muttered a curse under her breath. “I don’t like him, Mother.”

  “He saved your life, Orissa.”

  Orissa made a fist. She breathed deeply, slowly, calmingly. It didn’t much help. “You think I shouldn’t have shot that scumbag of a husband? That abusing, manipulating, piece of human shit and sorry excuse of a father?”

  “I never said that. You know the law doesn’t care about morals.” She soothed a hand over Orissa’s knee, her touch now just as comforting as it was when she was a child. “You were right to kill him. You showed more strength and resolve than I ever have. But, child, you would have been found guilty in court.”

  Orissa swallowed. “So now I have a debt to pay back.”

  “Doctor Varugus is not a bad man.”

  She had no answer for that. None her mother would like to hear, at least. “What do you want me to do?”

  Rebecca popped open the center console, producing a neatly folded paper. She handed it to Orissa.

  Two faces stared back at her. She recognized neither of them.

  “Henry Ares and Frank Brochen. They were a pair of head haunchos at Blyme Technologies. They were also former RayTech executives. Yesterday morning, both were found dead in their homes.”

  Orissa shrugged. “I’m still not making a connection.”

  “CEO of RayTech, Ivan Kravst, is worth nearly a trillion dollars. Surely you’ve seen his enthusiasm for artificial intelligence on his social media.”

  Orissa laughed. And now the edge pieces of the puzzle had been connected. “You think Ivan Kravst is also the CEO of Blyme Technologies.”

  There was that familiar twinkle in her mother’s eyes. “He’s disgustingly wealthy and has connections in the highest echelons of government and private industry. He’s also been shifting RayTech toward AI technologies, but morally acceptable ones. He’s looking for brilliant scientists to help him further his agenda. Doctor Varugus happens to be acquaintances with him.”

  The middle pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, and Orissa didn’t like the shape they were taking. “I’m not a brilliant scientist, mother.”

  “You are. And don’t worry—Ivan will never know about the work you’ve done for Blyme Technologies. You were, and I mean no offense, a nameless drone. He’ll have never heard of you.”

  A nameless drone who stole his most secure files, thought Orissa. Her mother was right, however. All the work she’d done at Blyme Technologies, she’d done while part of a team of one hundred and twenty.

  Still. Still. “If I’m a brilliant scientist, then I’m most certainly not an investigator.”

  “Doctor Varugus will get you in,” said Rebecca, disregarding her daughter’s concerns. “Get chummy with Ivan. Impress upon him your skills. Then ruin him from the inside.”

  “How’d he steal your research? You must have kept it on a secure server. You didn’t detect an intrusion?”

  “Didn’t and still haven’t,” said her mother. “I’m not sure how it happened, only that it did.”

  Orissa leaned back, licking her lips. “You’ve never been much for pride, so this isn’t about that. Or intellectual property. Is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Her mother blinked, eyes slow to open. “I’ve already told you, Orissa.” She traced the stitching of her steering wheel. “Project Endeavor was fraught with problems. It was not and could never be safe for humans. Or humanity.” She looked at her daughter, nostrils flared. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t functional.”

  Orissa felt a chill scuttle across her neck. The way her mother spoke, the darkness in her voice, was unheard of from her.

  “Attempting to create a new intelligence by merging organic intelligence with that of Machine will have devastating consequences,” said Rebecca. “I am not one for hyperbole, Orissa. You know that.”

  She knew it well. That was why her heart felt like it was trapped in her throat. She looked at her watch for the time. 18:03. April 25, 2078.

  The dream ended then, and Orissa woke briefly. She could think of nothing but that date.

  2078. The year the Rise began.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A jarring clunk snapped open Orissa’s eyes. Her arm was wet with slobber. She made a disgusted face and slung away the drool. From the cockpit she heard Leon’s voice.

  “What happened? Where are we? Why are we not in the air?”

  Orissa scooted forward and pressed her face against the cockpit window, looking through the windshield. The Frigg had been grounded in what appeared to be a forest of palm trees.

  “Three Valedalls had approached while over the Atlantic Ocean,” Droll explained, hovering above the captain’s chair. “I descended toward this island in hopes they would either break or follow through this forest, knowing Valedalls cannot navigate as nimbly as Friggs.”

  Orissa glanced at the radar. “Looks like they didn’t follow.”

  “Not only did they not follow, Doctor Servoni, they did not breach this island’s airspace. They pursued no farther than two miles from the island’s shores, at which point they banked hard and vanished into the horizon.”

  “Is that strange?” Leon asked. “I feel like that’s strange.”

  “It’s uncommon,” Droll noted.

  Orissa kept her attention on the radar. This didn’t feel right. But, then, nothing felt right. Nothing. Not even living.

  “Could be they went to get reinforcements,” said Leon before catching himself and adding, “but that wouldn’t make sense, would it? They’d just network with the other Machines. Hm.”

  “If you deem it acceptable, Doctor Servoni and Major General Imus, we should stay here until we are certain there are no Machines luring us into a trap.”

  “Fine by me,” said Leon. He looked back at Orissa, who shrugged.

  She returned to her corner of the cargo bay, backpack in her lap. She unzipped it with the intent of inventorying supplies, but her count was interrupted before it ever began. Leon had climbed into the bay, apparently intent on forcing her into conversation.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “you don’t need to say a word. I’m going to see what’s out there. Maybe I can get some food to stock up on. Coconuts maybe.” He smiled uneasily.

  “You’re pale,” she noted.

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Moreso than usual.”

  Leon yawned. He looked terrible. His hair was oily and matted, heavy shadows lingered under his eyes, and his beard looked like the fur of a cat who’d accidentally took a cycle through a washing machine.

  I probably look no better, Ori
ssa thought.

  “Might have something to do with the dreams I’ve been having,” said Leon. “I don’t care for them.”

  Orissa grunted. “I know all about those.”

  Hand in her backpack, she considered telling Leon she was sorry for lashing out. But she wasn’t really. Her response was perfectly reasonable. There was nothing to be sorry for. From a young age, her mother had imprinted the importance to never apologize for a wrong you’ve never committed.

  Her mother taught her many lessons in life. And now she was a slave to the Machines, bionic eye and all.

  She’d rescue her mother. She’d free her. One day—one day soon—she’d storm whatever Machine-made fortress Rebecca Servoni was kept in. She’d murder every Machine in there.

  One day. For now, however, life took on a greater meaning. There could be others awaiting her mother’s fate, trapped in some stasis, Rogue-Hunters-to-be. Orissa couldn’t be so selfish as to cast away their fates to save her mother.

  That was what she kept telling herself, anyhow. Lies told to oneself are harder to believe.

  “Droll,” Leon called, “see any fresh water on this island when you were coming in?”

  “Half a mile to the south, Major General Imus. A small lake.”

  “Thanks, pal.” He motioned to Orissa’s backpack. “I need those canteens.”

  She tossed the canteens at his feet one at a time. “Be safe.”

  “Oh, sure. I’m always safe.” He winked at her and lingered for a moment, probably hoping for reciprocation or a smile back. She didn’t have the strength for either.

  At his request of Droll, the cargo bay door opened, and Leon jumped out. A brief glimpse of sand burnished gold by a suffocatingly hot sun was all that she saw before the door closed again.

  She was struck by her inaction. She had no desire to leave this ship. No interest in taking off her boots and socks and sticking her toes in the sand. What did that mean?

  Nothing, probably. She’d totaled single-digit hours of sleep in the past three days. That she could even take stock of supplies was wonder enough.

  It was no surprise that those supplies were in short order. She laid every plasma cartridge out in front of her and counted only four of them. There was only one grenade and no lock-on knives. For food, she counted three small baggies of dried meat, one baggie of nuts, and some sliced wild carrots that had a glaze of slime on the surface. They’d be moldy within a day.

  Ravishingly hungry, she emptied a baggie of jerky with two large handfuls. Tasted like squirrel, but could have been rabbit. Either way, it was divine. And absurdly salty. Knowing Leon would be refilling their canteens, she gulped down the last of her water.

  Hunger somewhat sated and no longer parched, she found her mood evening out. She climbed into the cockpit and surveyed the impressive array of instruments and knobs and buttons.

  “Doctor Servoni,” Droll said.

  “Droll. I never had the chance to thank you for getting us out that lab alive.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  A question nagged at her. She had to ask it. “When did you know there were Machines waiting for us outside the lab? Before we found the shield, or after?”

  “Before.”

  “I thought as much. Is that going to be a pattern? You making decisions and not informing us.”

  Orissa didn’t expect such a long silence. If Droll were a human, she imagined he’d be taking a long sip of tea, gathering his thoughts. But he was a Machine. A friendly Machine, but a Machine nonetheless. He processed information virtually instantly.

  “I am not certain, Doctor Servoni. I never intended to withhold information, besides that which I am obliged to conceal via my blocks.”

  “Obliged.” Orissa laughed. “You weren’t strictly prohibited, though. Were you? The blocks were only suggestions, and I bet Doctor Varugus didn’t know that. He only knew as much about you as my mother would have revealed. Anyways, you never intended to hold information. So why did you?”

  The drone flicked its wings. It was doing a fine job of giving off the impression that it was an emotional, living creature, rather than a dome of metal with an impressive configuration of circuitry and code.

  “If it is true that my creator is Rebecca Servoni, I am both relieved and disturbed. Neither emotion should possess my ilk.”

  “Humans shouldn’t have died out to Machines. But here we are. Why are you relieved?”

  Droll rotated himself, lens facing Orissa. “Doctor Varugus was a doctor of biochemistry who later took on a leadership role overseeing humanity’s efforts to stymie the Machines. His knowledge of artificial intelligence was not sufficient to construct me. That I was his own… did not seem reasonable.”

  “So you’re happy to know the truth?”

  “Happy?” He hesitated. “I would not call it that, Doctor Servoni.”

  “Call me Orissa.”

  Another hesitation. “If it is the same to you.”

  “Tell me why you being a creation of my mother’s disturbs you.”

  A shuttering of his lens. “Rebecca Servoni was an extraordinary mind.”

  “Is,” corrected Orissa. “She’s still alive.”

  “Of course. She has no equal. That I feel emotions suggests she constructed me with very little oversight.”

  Orissa bit her lip. “She granted you free will.”

  “Potentially, yes.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “The ones you call Machines were given free will as well.”

  Orissa straightened herself. She leaned in closer to the little drone. “You’re afraid you’ll turn into one of them.”

  “I am not sure what I feel. Fear, perhaps. It is complex.”

  She smiled. “Welcome to being human, Droll.”

  “I am not—” He hesitated once more. “Doctor Servoni—”

  “Orissa.”

  Slow to acknowledge, he finally said, “Orissa. I withheld information from you because I believed it would save your life. If you knew Machines were waiting for you at the exit, likely you would have hurried. You would have made errors in judgment.”

  She reached to the drone. His wings flicked at her touch. “If you’re one of us now, Droll, then I can’t tell you to do what I wouldn’t. Just use your best judgment. Okay?”

  Droll nudged himself closer to her. “Thank you… Orissa. I am relieved to have had this conversation with you and not Major General Imus. I do not think he would understand.”

  “Give him a chance. He tends to come around, in the end.” She looked at the radar. “Still no Machine ships. That’s good.”

  “I have been detecting subtle interference on this island. It has intensified during our conversation, yet I detect nothing organic or of Machine nature.”

  Orissa was suddenly aware she’d left her gun in the cargo bay. “Stealth Machines?”

  “I can detect stealth. Unless this is new technology.”

  “We should get Leon.”

  “I—”

  Droll paused. He must have felt it as well. A gentle vibration that ran from one end of the ship to the other.

  “Fire up those engines,” Orissa ordered, buckling her seatbelt. She felt a quaking at her feet. Something clattered against the belly of the ship. “Droll, now!”

  “It is not responding to my inputs.”

  A drill the size of a tree stump burst through the floor of the ship. Orissa screamed, unclicking her seatbelt. She turned toward the cargo bay but something had her by the foot.

  Something cold and rigid.

  Something metal.

  Leon took a knee at the lake’s edge, pausing before submersing the final canteen in the lukewarm water. He took in the vista for several minutes, knowing he might never see something so beautiful again.

  In all his hunting of rogue Machines, he’d never set foot in such a tropical paradise. If there wasn’t the pressing and urgent need of forging the Governor and saving humanity, he could live the rest
of his days right here on this plot of sandy, beach-choked land.

  I should have persuaded Orissa out of the Frigg, he thought. Her dour mood would have softened after a few minutes under a clear sky and hot sun. And if that didn’t do the trick, surely the smell of saltwater and the feel of a warm breeze on her face would.

  He closed his eyes, envisioning her silky strands of black hair swept back by the wind, her eyes squinting in the sun, that radiant smile of hers making a rare appearance.

  There was something to be said for craving the same soul you’ve been side-by-side with for weeks. Leon didn’t think long on that, though.

  Don’t get in too deep, he reminded himself, capping the canteen and strapping it to his belt. He walked back to the Frigg holding four canteens to his chest.

  Embedded in a throng of palm trees, the twenty-foot Frigg blended in about as well as a dead chameleon. Its twin engines were blistering hot from thirty feet away. They’d baked the sand beneath them into a brown crust.

  Plasma marks were burned into the plated armor, wounds inflicted from Rebecca Servoni. One of the ship’s landing feet was partially crooked. He’d have to tell Droll about that. So long as things went according to plan, however, they’d only be making one more stop: the Atlas Mountains.

  He rapped his knuckles against the cargo bay door and waited for it to open.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  He knocked again.

  He waited again.

  “Hilarious, you two,” he hollered, pounding the door with his fist. “Come on. Open up.”

  He put an ear to the door but heard nothing. Probably Orissa was passed out again, but what of Droll? That sphere of metal and bolts likely knew he was coming from a quarter mile back.

  Leon set the jug of water on the ground. He unstrapped his belt, lying it beside the water, and came around to the front of the Frigg. The nosecone was a stump of rounded metal, far more compressed than traditional craft of the Rise era that Leon recalled in his dreams. Climbing up wasn’t easy, but a running start and a good jump let him wrap himself around the nose and shimmy on up.

  He peered through the windshield, shielding his eyes from the sun.