Lyssa's Run_A Hard Science Fiction AI Adventure Read online

  “You were about to describe the position,” Cal said, though Sillick hadn’t said anything about it. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to interrupt you.”

  A slight smile touched Sillick’s eyes. “Absolutely. We need a specialist to oversee security for one of our special projects divisions. We’ve been investing heavily in research and development for the last five or so fiscal cycles, and some of those investments are about to reach fruition. Strangely enough, just as those projects are aligning with other endeavors, pirate activity has increased in our various areas of operation. The board is concerned we may be exposed to risk in some key areas. They would like a consultant—like yourself—to assess these exposures and take necessary measures to secure our assets.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t already have security?” Cal said. “I would expect you to have your own army.”

  Sillick continued to smile with his eyes, which made him difficult to read. “Of course. However, a recent failure in our security highlighted a need to seek outside assistance. One of our most important facilities was raided. We lost years of research. As of now, we’ve suffered no affect to our brand, but board members have expressed ongoing concerns that Heartbridge intellectual property might find its way into the open market.”

  “So you sue anyone who tries to sell your tech into oblivion,” Cal said. “Get them on the back-end when they try to bring your property to market. You don’t want to spend more money on security. Raids happen. You’re operating all over, it comes with the territory— especially in OuterSol.”

  If Sillick noted that Cal already knew the location of their raided lab and suspected the location of their others, he said nothing. OuterSol was a big place, after all. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his shoulders.

  “What do you know about AI, Cal Kraft?” he asked.

  “Not much. What do they say about artificial intelligence? That if it was worth a damn it would do the smart thing and kill us all?”

  Now Sillick gave him a full smile, eyes crinkling. He pointed at Cal. “I like that. I’m going to use that in the next board meeting.”

  Sillick hadn’t mentioned he worked directly for the Heartbridge board, implying their security concerns had gone beyond a company’s typical paranoia. Cal knew from his government contacts that the raid Sillick was talking about had been carried out by the Terran Space Force itself. Even the TSF—an organization not known for hyperbole except in its recruiting material—called the facility ‘a horror’. Grunts called the place Fortress 8221. Cal knew it was only one of nearly twenty such places. That’s what the TSF should be calling a horror: not the places themselves but their administration, the organization capable of conceiving, building and operating such places for a specific purpose. Shady bio research had existed for millennia, but he couldn’t recall a project on this scale. Of course, he wasn’t an historian. He applied violence to achieve goals.

  The thought of himself as an historian made Cal smile slightly.

  “Was something I said amusing?” Sillick asked.

  “Not at all. It’s very interesting to me.”

  Sillick had been in the middle of saying something about digital circuits that functioned with the same properties as analog, capable of spectrum responses rather than binary. These ‘spectrum circuits’ had been discovered nearly a thousand years ago but remained unexploited until recently.

  Sillick leaned forward over the desk, hands spread in front of him and a Zealot’s fire in his eyes. “We had the technology—the garden bed, you could say—but we couldn’t get anything to grow.” ’

  Cal wondered if he was actually speaking to the head of the project. If that were true, he could kill Sillick right here and save a lot of people a lot of trouble. He could reach out and grab either side of the doctor’s head and pull it off his neck.

  Cal considered the idea as Sillick talked.

  “We needed a model, something to base our starts on in order to properly direct the cortex growth. This isn’t replication. This is birth. The models all failed in test. We needed unique starting material. We needed seeds.”

  There it was. The abstract term these people were using for ‘children’. They needed subjects with established world orientation strong enough to bear the weight of the instruction matrix, but lacking the identity constraints which would limit compliance.

  Sillick’s use of words like ‘identity constraints’ and ‘instruction matrix’ made Cal wonder what kind of advanced torture they used. He would be interested to see the process, if possible. He would need to if he was truly going to secure this work against the outside world. He would need to know what the people carrying out this research were made of, from the lowest tech to the lead scientist. Did they use the same abstract language in order to deny themselves any true knowledge of what they were doing? Those were people who raise their hands and sing when the TSF arrived. He would need to make a plan to liquidate those kinds of people, and that would have a ‘limiting effect’ as Sillick might say, on ‘brand value’.

  “So the kids,” Cal said, cutting Sillick off in mid-sentence, “or the seeds, as you’ve been saying…. Where do you get them?”

  Sillick pulled his head back, apparently surprised by the question. He worked his jaw. “I’m not involved with that portion of the project. Subjects are attained, sorted and transitioned to the appropriate facilities to accommodate the necessary aspect of the project.”

  Cal waived a hand, tired of listening already. “So does it work?”

  “The intelligence?”

  “Yes. The AI.”

  Sillick flashed a secretive grin. “Better than anything in the last two hundred years. It’s amazing. They’re amazing. We have truly bred a new intelligence separate of us.”

  Cal considered those words. “What are you going to do with all these AI?”

  “Oh, the practical applications are endless. Truly reasoning AI could solve so many problems for humanity.”

  “We’ve had non-sentient AIs for, what, nine-hundred years?” Cal asked. “Humans are still cheaper. Hell, people pay Heartbridge to help them make more humans.”

  Sillick wiped his forehead, still smiling. “It’s a bit like art, isn’t it Cal Kraft? If I can’t explain its utility, then what use does it have, right?”

  “Not necessarily. Say you’re stuck in a can somewhere, no greenery, nobody else to look at, nothing but the Big Dark on the outside. Art serves a very real use there. Helps you remember you’re human and not an animal. You think AIs are going to serve the same purpose?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Look, we’ve strayed very far from where I wanted this conversation to go. I can see you’re a very deliberate, very…literal man. I think you could do this project a lot of good. It’s apparent we’ve entered a critical stage and need to elevate our security program. Based on your work for SolGov, I think you could do that for us. The pay is generous and you’ll find we have an excellent benefits package. Of course, there’s a lot of travel involved but I don’t see anything about you having family concerns.”

  Cal gave him a slight smile. “That’s true.”

  Sillick stood, straightened his suit and extended a hand. “So what do you say?”

  Cal couldn’t deny the money Heartbridge offered was better than anything he had ever considered. He could spend five years on their payroll and retire to a ranch on Terra, Mars or even stake a little station somewhere out in JC and never want for anything. Was that what he wanted though? To not want?

  Without meaning to, the train of thought evoked Mama Trish, asking, “You hungry, Cal? You hungry?” Making the word sound like he should be ashamed for being alive, asking how he had earned the right to want…anything. Out on the mining rig, everything was earned.

  Would these new things, these true AI, be as cruel to each other as humans? Would they survive if they weren’t? What was cruelty, anyway, but a value judgment? Like Mama Trish said, you either got a job done or you didn
’t. There wasn’t anything cruel about survival.

  Cal’s earlier desire to tear off Rodri Sillick’s head hadn’t abated. He considered the difference between curiosity and cruelty for a microsecond, watching as the executive stood and extended his hand in a final gesture meant to assume the sale, to force Cal’s compliance. Was it cruel to satisfy curiosity? Artificial intelligence as a concept was practically myth. Once the idea had been conceived, it had to be made real, like yearning to fly or to escape the bounds of Terra.

  Obviously, Sillick wasn’t the kind of man who considered consequences. Cal Kraft, on the other hand, dealt entirely in cascading effects. People did what they were trained to do. He applied consequences like violence or pain, to achieve goals. He wasn’t cruel. He understood how humans worked. The question was, how would these new AI operate? Had Sillick even thought about consequences?

  Humanity had yet to discover anything alien, so it was going to make its own aliens, damn the consequences.

  That line of questioning was interesting enough to make Cal push his chair back to stand and take the offered hand. He nodded. “I’m on board.”

  “Great,” Sillick said. “Just great. I can’t wait to show you the primary facility. It’s going to blow your mind, Cal Kraft. It’s going to amaze you. We’re truly living in the future.” Sillick waved a hand and a door opened to Cal’s left, in what had been a seamless wall.

  “This way, please,” Sillick said. “We’ll need to get the employment tokens and all that other stuff out of the way. I’m not in human resources. They can handle that. I want to talk about the timeline. The sooner we can get you off High Terra, the better.”

  “Sounds good,” Cal said, glancing at Sillick’s thin neck. He pushed down his constant urge to break it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STELLAR DATE: 09.13.2981 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: Sunny Skies

  REGION: Approaching Mars, Mars Protectorate, InnerSol

  Watching the request protocols stream across the comm display, Andy quickly ran through the various scan methods available to a Mars Protectorate frigate, or at least what he could remember. When he had been assigned to anti-piracy patrols with the TSF, the level of scrutiny applied to any given ship depended mostly on three factors: what scan tech was available, how much time he had, and how much he gave a damn.

  “Cara,” Andy said. “I’m going to talk to Fran and Petral about what might happen if the Protectorate finds out they’re on board. I want you to strike up a conversation with Lieutenant Kerda.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You want me to do what?”

  Andy waved a hand. “You know, tell him you’re curious about Mars. Ask him if they’ve found any fossils. That kind of thing.”

  “What if that makes him mad?”

  “Why would it make him mad? You ever want to get someone talking, you ask them where they’re from. Your Grandpa Charlie did it every time. They’ll either start telling you all about it, or start complaining. Either way, you keep them talking.”

  She gave him a dubious look, then turned slowly back to the comm display. Cara entered the query address for Hellas Planetia, rechecking the sequence when her first request came back with a null response. Finding her mistake in two transposed numbers, she sent the query a second time.

  The audio feed hung empty for a few seconds, followed by the token handshake and a voice saying, “MPS Hellas Planetia, comms section. Lieutenant Kerda.”

  “Uh,” Cara said, staring ahead like her mind had gone abruptly blank. Andy put a hand on her shoulder in encouragement.

  “This is the Worry’s End?” Kerda pressed. “Who am I speaking to? Send station ID.”

  Andy squeezed Cara’s shoulder, silently urging her to speak.

  “This is Cara Sykes,” she said finally. “I, uh. I called to talk to you.”

  Crackling filled the audio as Kerda didn’t answer.

  “I, uh,” Cara continued, visibly forcing herself. “I wondered where you’re from.”

  “Who is this?” the lieutenant demanded again, sounding uncertain.

  The strain on Cara’s face settled into resolve as Andy watched her figure out what to say. He wanted to grin at her but kept his gaze steady.

  “I’m Cara Sykes. I’m twelve. I live on the Sun—on the Worry’s End. I don’t get to talk to other people very often and I thought you might talk to me. I’ve always been curious about Mars. I’ve never been able to talk to someone who’s actually from there. Are you from Mars?” Cara’s voice sped up, losing its tentative quality.

  Andy smiled inwardly as Cara leaned toward the console, in control of herself now.

  “Well,” Kerda said. Andy imagined the young man checking from side to side at his console, making sure he wasn’t being watched by a superior officer. “Sure, I’m Marsian. I grew up true south of Olympus Mons.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of Olympus Mons,” Cara said. “Is it true the peak of the mountain is outside your atmosphere?”

  “That’s true,” Kerda said. “There’s an observatory up there. I went there once.”

  “You did?”

  “It wasn’t much different than being in a ship, really.”

  Cara flashed a mischievous grin. “Olympus is one of the few places that’s still got original red rock, right? I saw a picture where it was sticking up out of the clouds. It looked like a giant zit.”

  Andy was surprised as Kerda blew out a laugh. Some Marsians treated Olympus Mons like a god. “Well,” the lieutenant said, “when we train there for low-atmosphere, we call it the nipple. It’s pink at the base—” He cut himself off. Andy wondered if he had remembered he was talking to a twelve-year-old girl.

  “Anyway,” the Protectorate officer said, “it’s beautiful. You should certainly visit if you ever get the chance.”

  “What was the name of your town?” Cara asked.

  “Smith Spring,” he said.

  “Was there really a spring there?”

  Kerda laughed. “No. If something Marsian doesn’t have the original Latin name, it’s got something hopeful. If it was named during the terraforming project, anyway.”

  “I don’t think I could ever visit,” Cara said. “I’d have to practice for the gravity.”

  “Where are you from, then?” the lieutenant asked. “Your accent sounds like Terran.”

  “My dad’s from Earth,” Cara said. “I guess I sound like him.”

  “My report says your dad was in the TSF.”

  Cara shot Andy a worried look and he nodded, letting her know it was a normal question, a safe topic for her to talk about.

  “He was. He was a pilot and a soldier. He did anti-piracy. He says part of the time he was just a dumb bus driver, taking soldiers from one place in InnerSol to another.”

  Kerda laughed. “I’m going to use that the next time I run into the TSF. I show a Brit Sykes on your crew register, too. Is that your mom?”

  “Yes,” Cara said, voice growing soft. “She’s not here anymore.”

  “Oh,” Kerda said, seeming to catch the sad note in her voice. “Sorry about that. It can be tough out here in the Big Dark.”

  “My dad calls it Rabbit Country. It’s like a desert where everything’s just trying to stay alive.”

  “We’ve got a bunch of rabbits in Smith Spring. Some early colonist snuck them over. They sure seem to be doing all right there.”

  “But everything wants to eat them,” Cara said. “Have you eaten rabbit?”

  “Well, yes,” the lieutenant admitted.

  “What was your house like? Do you still live there?”

  Andy squeezed Cara’s shoulder again to let her know she was doing fine.

  Lyssa asked. The AI could infer his emotional state from his autonomic responses but Andy still didn’t know much about Lyssa’s picture of the world. She had been part of an experiment. There were others like her. They called themselves Weapon Born.

  For the safety
of his family and ship, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know any more than that.

  he asked.

 

 

 

 

 

  Andy said.

 

 

 

  Andy sighed.

 

 

 

 

  Lyssa exclaimed.

 

  she admitted.

  Andy said.

 

 

  Lyssa said, voice going flat.