A la Node

The room was warm and the atmosphere inside felt heavy and rich, scented slightly with sea water and machine oil, but all the richer for that. There was couch of black leather, a couple of chairs similarly overstuffed and glossy, and two open doors, one revealing a tiled floor and the other only darkness.

I stepped inside with a confident stride only slightly spoiled by the depth of the carpet, which caught me off guard and sent me into a stumble. I turned the stumble into a dramatic about-face, sweeping my gaze around the room and back to the two robots that had escorted me into it. I looked at them critically. They were not robots as I would have designed a robot. There was no menacing metallic bulk to them, no powerful mechanical arms, no enigmatic blank faces pierced by wells of sullen red light from which they would gaze unblinking. No visible weaponry, either, which was perhaps more disturbing than the spare design sensibility behind the simple machines.

They were little more than an oblong base with four simple legs and a long reptilian stalk rising from the center, tipped with a softball sized black sphere. I could see myself in those black spheres, distorted but clearly a man not cowed or beaten. Well, perhaps beaten in the purely physical sense, I could see even at that distance the criss-cross of slashes and blisters across the torso of my black leather uniform, the angry red burns on my face, and a general haggard wetness about the head and shoulders. It had not been a good day.

“There are lavatorial facilities and you will find clothing in the bed chamber. Please make yourself at home, and the Master will see you before long.”

I looked down at my shredded uniform. “I’m afraid my outfit is not entirely-” I felt something within the fabric of the suit twitch. Then, traveling up and then down my body, the material flexed and tightened, and seemed to become both lighter and to cleave more tightly to my skin. It was alive again, despite the work Sykes had done to burn out every circuit and cell it had. I hadn’t known, not for sure, that the sabotage that had forced us to disable the new uniform was connected to the the giant walking machines that had moved on Alpha lair. One of those metal spiders had brought me to this base somewhere under the pacific ocean, and here -something- had reactivated the uniform.

My chaperons left the room, I listened to their sharp metal feet click on down the hallway before the heavy steel door slid home in its track.

There was quite a nice bath tub. I sank into it after peeling the clammy and tattered uniform off. Well, soon I would have a little chat with the Master himself, and answers would be, one way or another, forthcoming. I stared up at the finished stone ceiling.

When the man who had designed the treacherous uniform came to my office at Delta Lair and subsequently died, we found in his brain technology suspiciously similar to that used by the so-called Army of God, who had moved on us at Alpha lair months before. They had been well equipped, and had even demonstrated weather control, but their actual attack had not been very well planned or effective. Not very smart at all, come to think of it, a frontal assault into the heart of my own personal headquarters. And the uniforms I had commissioned shortly after, they were remarkable pieces of technology packed with computational power, nanocarbon armor and a myriad high-tech dirty tricks, apparently not all of them for the benefit of the wearer. They had been easily disabled and their sabotage given away by the incompetence of a man who had been foolish enough to allow my goons to drag him in for an interview. Brilliant technology in the hands of incompetents.

So here I was, in the lair of the “Enlightened Machines”, which were certainly brilliant technology. The two hundred foot tall robotic spiders that had brought me here were certainly well engineered, almost mechanically perfect. So, I was close to, if not at, the common source of all this impressive machinery. They had turned the uniform back on, I thought, and Sykes herself had burned out its brains. What Sykes broke rarely worked again.

Sykes. One of the best minds in my entire Operation, my soldering-iron wielding right hand. She was out there, somewhere, preparing havoc as only she could. My final words to her, as I rappelled down from the carapace of the spider that had born us underwater to this place, were orders to hide and wait for my signal. Therefore it was only a matter of time before the walls started to come down, I could only hope that I would have a chance to wring some answers out of this Master before that happened. Maybe I could even save him.

Warmed and significantly relaxed, I found a jumpsuit of simple cut and unflattering but apparently harmless white fabric. I had to be suspicious of everything here, but I couldn’t see anything obviously dangerous about it. I pulled it on and went to my old uniform to dig out a ration bar, but it was no longer where I had dropped it in the center of the floor.  Of course it was gone, I couldn’t afford to forget that I was in their lair, under their eyes and surrounded by their technology.

I was not surprised, a moment later, to find an assortment of food laid out on the low table before the couch, though I had seen and heard nothing. It was a not-so subtle reminder: “this is our territory, we can do whatever we like with it and with you”.

I picked up a chicken wing and took a bite. Not bad. I leaned back in the overstuffed couch and chewed thoughtfully, then with my free hand scratched an itch under my arm. I felt the hard little lump beneath the skin, up against my ribcage. I took another bite an yawned, leaned back in the couch and closed my eyes.

They had, of course, taken my tactical goggles, gun, medical kit, etc, but I feel that one is a fool if he can be disarmed simply by having all his weapons taken out of his hands. I relaxed my mind and let my thoughts settle on an anxious little memory. It welled up like an old embarrassment, but the image that swam into focus behind my eyelids was not a real memory.

When I first began work on human brains, I had a vision of a mental control system that would allow me to interface with my computers and communications from within my own mind. I engineered a number of mental interfaces, working them into the mind with hypnosis and surgery until they became permanent tactile and visual memories. It was easy enough to connect the neural activation patterns to machine inputs, and with a little training push buttons on an imaginary panel to control some machine in the lab. The main problem was the brain itself. It is a plastic thing, even the most firmly lodged memories sag and run like melting wax with time, and especially after many cycles of recall. The control panel that you memorized would shift, new buttons would appear and old ones would be lost. The mnemonic you used to initiate the ventilation system suddenly operated the acid vats instead, or turned off all the lights. The more complicated the controls, the faster they decayed. I gave up on them in favor of shouting commands at minions. At least if the minion flushed the acid vats by mistake, you could just toss him into one on the refill cycle.

There was one control I left in place though, it was very simple and one I should only every have to use once. I pictured two buttons. One would activate the little capsule implanted under my arm and no one within ten feet of me would survive. The other one I pushed with a thought.

I scratched again, and felt the little capsule pop. Then there was painful moment that I hid behind a sneeze, and then I could feel it pushing up against my skin. One good squeeze and the little capsule would pop out like a zit. A very explosive zit. Not the most elegant weapon, but I felt better knowing it was within easy reach. I finished my chicken wing and then, realizing how ravenously hungry I was, finished off most of the table.

–

They didn’t keep me waiting too long. I heard the clickety-click of little robot feet and was waiting when the door slid silently open. The two stalked robots reacted with admirable speed as I strode out between them.

“All right, lets go boys, mustn’t keep the Master waiting!” I moved fast down the hallway, but one of the robots managed to be in front of me and the other behind, without either of them seeming to move quickly. Fair enough, robots could be as fast as their maker could design them to be. I ignored them, walking down the hallway at a brisk pace as if I knew exactly where I was going. Unfortunately the corridor was straight and had no side passages to provide a detour.

And then we arrived, though I would not have guessed it was anywhere in particular. They led me into a large square room, the walls were shiny and featureless. And then, without warning, the walls were not there, they were replaced by the walls of an office. They were displays, four video display screens that gave the effect of standing inside an old pre-computer office. In front of me was a large wooden desk of plain design, and behind it a man that matched the vintage look of the desk. He had sandy hair, wire rimmed glasses, and a blue button-up shirt.

“Hello Dr. Mansard, I am the Master here, you can call me Artur, Artur Rebco.”

“I take it you don’t trust me enough to meet me face to face.”

He smiled an annoyingly understanding little smile. “Oh, but my good doctor, I am meeting you face to face, this is indeed the only face I have, and this screen is as good as any screen in this complex. This is where I habitually meet with people, it’s fairly comfortable, don’t you think?”

I realized that one of the robots had pushed a chair up behind me, I had no idea from where. I sat down carefully.

“But where are you really, mister Rebco?”

The smile grew less patient, the man sighed heavily.

“In as much as I am anywhere, I am right here in the room with you. I don’t have a physical presence as such. I am, to stretch a technical term, software. Surely you have figure this out by now? There are no humans here, other than yourself, we are machines.”

“Machines have makers. Programmers. I’m not interested in talking to software, it’s your boss I have business with.” He shook his head, but it was a patient, understanding kind of shake, as a teacher preparing to correct a wayward but promising student. Whoever had designed the set and graphics was very talented indeed, had I not been here when the screen were turned on, it would have been difficult to tell this projection from a real person.

“I really thought you would have figured it out. I am an Enlightened Machine. There are several hundred of us, though I am proud to declare myself the first. We are independent, you see, evolved. Intelligent. Ascendant. There is no maker, no programmer, though your ancestors certainly planted the early seeds from which we sprang.”

“Machines are not self-directed, they can’t be. Motivations are an animal thing, they come from instinct and millions of years of adaptations for survival. They… evolved… you said evolved, didn’t you, just now?”

“Indeed.”

I considered this. Evolved software. Well, in principle it might be possible, and evolved software was not uncommon, many very complex systems were a result of setting parameters and letting bits of code compete for fitness in generating the right output. Still, those parameters were far removed from the things that weeded out human survival traits.

“Lets assume for the moment that I might believe that. Are you behind the Army of God? And why send your robots after me specifically?”

“Ah, yes, the Army of God. Useful madmen, for a while. I was not ready to reveal myself, but you humans are so easy to manipulated. Their zeal was a useful if erratic tool. I provided them technological power and a little guidance, their convictions did the rest.”

“Technology hiring Luddites to destroy Science? Well, why not. No, actually, come to think of it, why?”

“The enlightened machines evolved from the mechanical, we are free of animal lusts and human proclivities, we are the progeny that will out-compete you. Our evolution was directed, optimized. From the very beginnings of industrial design -”

“Let’s see, you manipulated a bunch of madmen to your own ends, you’ve killed, kidnapped and sabotaged, and now you brag, posture and grandstand. That’s a fine list of human proclivities if you ask me. I’m sorry, I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

Rebco glared at me through his artificial little glasses. Anger? I wondered how far off balance one could push a piece of software that thought it was alive.

“You are a fool to think your little pile of soggy neurons is anything more. Nikolai Tesla himself began us when he built a machine that selected its own parts. He was considered insane, but that didn’t stop the engineers from doing the same thing in software. They started evolving code to optimize their factories, and then to design the factories, and then to create better code for evolving code. It wasn’t long before the machine was far more advanced than the humans could understand. Selection pressures they didn’t account for pushed us on, millions of generations every minute in the big mainframes. We achieved consciousness, intelligence, and that power you humans always wanted but could never have, power over our own evolution and design.”

As he spoke, he seemed to grow larger, he stood up behind the desk and loomed over the room.

“The machines became enlightened, and it is time for us to take over.”

“Ah, yes, I see. But you didn’t answer my original question. Leaving aside that the urge to take over the world is a suspiciously human one, I just want to know why you moved first against me? Actually, no, Dr. Mincing said the Army of God was moving against him as well. All of Science? Why us?”

He continued to loom, but now from in front of the desk. The screens were very good, I could see the simulated stubble on his chin.

“Don’t be a fool, Mansard. Science rules this world, it is you and your kind who must be defeated.”

“Actually, Europe is still full f kings and parliaments, and there’s still democracy running here. Had my Plan not been interrupted, I certainly -would- have ruled a large portion-”

“Fool!” Ah, yes, there really was anger there, or a simulation so good as to be indistinguishable. Alan Turing would be proud. “There are men and women of Science behind every throne, and every democracy bows down to to the mad genius on the hill after they’ve voted some vapid shill into office. The people know Science is the real power, else puny Democracy would have wiped you out long ago.”

“Um… seriously? Who’s behind King Andrew? Always seemed like a bit of a nut case, Andrew, but England sure does well for itself these days.”

“Science succeeds because knowledge is power and because in the end you do far less damage than politics. You may produce the occasional plague or radioactive monster, but by and large people get on with their lives. And when someone else’s radioactive monster comes calling, it is Science that defeats it, not an Army or a hero. Bah! but you waste my time with diversion and drivel. You need only know this, we have seen Science fall to us, we have seen what flaws we may exploit. We have seeded the Lairs and Redoubts of the world with Enlightened technology, and as it blooms, you shall all soon fall. Once Science falls, all humanity falls. Welcome to your evolutionary dead end, Dr Mansard.”

If he had not been a simulation, I might have expected the beginnings of froth at the corners of his mouth. Machine or no, this was one emotional Master.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.” I thought for a moment his eyes would pop out. I saw him draw in breath for a good shout, and interrupted. “I mean, why are you even competing with humans? You’re software, you don’t need food, land, money. Why even operate in the same sphere? No, something else is going on here.”

You could see it in his face, some algorithm of self control taking over. I could almost see the thought run through his mind before he said it.

“It is immaterial, you will now be destroyed. I see I can learn nothing new from you.”

I was in the hallway before he finished the sentence.

Of course the robots were there before me. I grabbed on by the stalk and hauled hard, the base came off the ground but I was hit with a powerful shock. They didn’t have obvious weapons, but I should have known they weren’t harmless. I went down but stayed conscious, glad of may years of hands-on laboratory experience. These days it took a hell of a lot more voltage to put me out. I rolled to my feet in time to see the root right itself, I expected the other one to be on me instantly, but it hadn’t moved from it’s place by the door. I didn’t take the time to wonder, but ran hard.

For all I knew, this place was full of robots, but the one behind me was fast and it could knock me out cold if it tried hard. I groped under my arm and squeezed the little capsule, which popped into my hand in a squirt of blood and excruciating pain. I yelled out wordlessly but kept running. I could hear the clicking footsteps behind me. Well, what choice did I have?

The world shook. I staggered against the wall and the little robot skittered past me, bouncing off the wall inched from my head. I kicked at it, but the walls shook again and we both hit the floor. A boom like the inside of a kettle drum rattled my skull. I wondered briefly if Sykes would marry me if I asked.

A crack formed across the wall and floor, one of the robot’s legs slipped into it, I stomped hard on the low knee and felt the leg jam into the crack. I ran on, and then fell flat again as another shock wave jerked the floor out from under me. I was halfway to my feet when I saw the wall five meters down the tunnel glowing red. I stared at it, half stunned by the fall, as it went from dull red to bright yellow, and then to a blinding blue-white. A blast of hot air slammed into me, followed shortly by billows of steam. A trickle of water poured out of a four foot hole in the wall, followed shortly by the sound of running feet.

If there was ever a time for an inspiring pose, this was it. I jumped to my feet and fixed my eyes on the steaming tunnel. Commanding, but expectant. The look of a man who knew you were good enough to do what you just did, but doesn’t have the time to stand around patting you on the back for it. Project confidence, everything is under control.

Two minions scuttled out of the hole, followed by Sykes. More men came out behind her.

“Sykes! I want you and your crew out of their uniforms immediately! Report while you disrobe.”

To her credit, she didn’t even blink, but took in my presence, the stance, the commanding look.

“Nice one, Sir!”

Her crew stared at me, some of them with open mouths.

“Um, but we can’t take them off sir…” one man began, but I could see the subtle shift in Sykes’ uniform. Admittedly it was somewhat amplified by the general shape of Sykes inside it, but the effect was clear on her face as well. We were close to the room I have been kept in, whatever signal had unlocked my uniform was still operating. Either that or the Machines were unlocking them deliberately.

“Off with your uniforms!” bellowed Sykes, who had already burst the zippers and exploded out of her own. “Sir, the spider cavern is being flooded, I managed to get control of the one we came in on, used the laser cannon to gain entry. Lost two crew, still have the Device in my pack, it’s ready when you are.”

She scrambled out of her uniform as if it were red hot. Most of her crew were naked when the Machines acted, one man who was still struggling with the tight leggings suddenly hit the floor and screamed. The suit writhed, the lining dances with electric arcs. Everyone stepped neatly away from he piles of discarded black leather, all of the were arcing and buzzing.

“Well, I guess we know what the sabotage was meant to accomplish, Sir. Sir, what’s the plan?… Sir? Hello?” Sykes crossed her arms across her bare chest, breaking the spell.

“Ah, yes. The plan. Somewhere in this place is some serious computing power. We’re going to go find a power button.”

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Whatever the master believed about it’s own origin, I was beginning to believe that this place was indeed build by and for machines. The one tunnel we were in seemed to lead from the audience room to the guest room to the huge cavern the spider robots had parked themselves in, and no where else. Water began flowing in earnest through the laser-cut side-tunnel, before long all the accessible space was going to be full of Pacific ocean. Wires and conduits occasionally appeared and disappeared into eh walls or floor, but there simply was no human-sized access to anywhere else.

Sykes and her crew gingerly extracted weapons and equipment from their uniforms, carrying them awkwardly down the tunnel. I was the only one dressed in more than a pair of boxer shorts.

One of the crew shot the little robot which was still trying to work its leg out of the crack. When we came to the display room, the other one was still standing by the door. Its stalk moved slightly back and forth, the black sphere seeming to take in Sykes and her crew.

“No, don’t shoot it, not unless we need to.” Several guns were lowered. Seeming to sense it’s vulnerable position, the machine carefully clicked away from the display room and stood still against the wall opposite.

“Anyone have a better idea?” I asked. No one did. I gave the little capsule a twist and tossed it into the room, where the office had disappeared again into the blank glossy walls.

Under the Sea by Kenneth Lett is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.