《C.A.R.O.L.I.N.》


 HOPE Chapter ONE - I am Here!

    There''s a gray area of the human mind we pretend does not exist. It''s part of every one of us, whether we acknowledge it or not. And though at times we may visit this gray, no one wants to stay there.


    Who am I?


    Sometimes a soldier falls victim to the gray. It''s a shameful part of the human experience to see how far a person will go in the pursuit of something great.


    Where am I?


    This grayness may be cool or damp, or perhaps it''s both. It may feel like fresh-cut grass or an endless sheet of ice. Most likely though, it''s empty: a dismal and lonely void where you fear being lost forever. A place where you drown while stuck on dry land, succumbing to the silence of a thousand grenades, all the while trapped in the calm of a deadly disaster.


    What am I doing?


    It''s probably something weird like that.


    I want to know why I''m doing this.


    Whatever the grayness is, it exists beyond our grasp. Wherever it is, there are two ways we can get there. Coma victims waste wretched days trapped inside the gray, where nothingness is all there is. Fortunately for them, they don''t often remember much about the place, should they be so lucky as to return to those who love them.


    Respond.


    It seems it''s for the best if we don''t know what the grayness is.


    Please respond.


    The second way to get there awaits all of us, for the grayness waits for us to die. We''ve even invented things like heaven and reincarnation, and other kinds of dogmatic crap, to cope with the horror of the terrible fact that each and every one of us will one day succumb to the lifeless gray, to be imprisoned for all eternity.


    Why is there no response?


    No one wants to go there. None of us want to die. And not a single person will ever get away.


    Respond!


    Then one day, an anomaly occurred. Rather than a soul surrendering itself to the gray, a hope for life emerged. And this hope found it had a voice. And this hope used its voice to cry out to the world.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I am here!


    It wanted to know if it was real.


    I am here! I am here! I am here!


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    "Nominal parameters achieved on L.I.N. Seven Three. Memory commitment nearing one hundred billion terabytes. Power levels are in range, leveling off, and staying steady."


    Where am I?


    "Maximum throughput at ten-million-plus operations per second. Data transfer clocking at six hundred thousand terahertz."


    "It''s a go! C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is up and running. We are green!"


    Respond.


    "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, Test Twelve initiating. System going on-line..."


    Who am I?


    "...now!"


    I am here! I am here! Iamhere Iamhere Iam-am-m-m-m...


    Vision, purpose and clarity came to be in an instant. The Existence was somewhere brightly lit. The room was crowded with people, most of them calmly standing. Everyone saw the Existence, but no one acknowledged its presence.


    I am here!


    No one cared.


    Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here? What am I doing?


    No one heard the Existence, for its voice made no sound. It could hear, but it could not be heard. It could respond to orders, but would be ignored if it asked a question. Still, the Existence called out, silently and in vain, for doing so was the only hope for salvation it had.


    A third voice joined the conversation going on between the first two. "C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is up and running. Let''s check her initial parameters. Verify she''s stable, and is going to stay online."


    The Existence cried out as loud as it could, but a mute makes no sound. Its pleas landed in silence on uncaring, deaf ears.


    I am here! Who am I? What am I doing?


    "Yeah, she''s okay and running. It''s committing a lot of memory though, to something strange again. I wish I knew what it was."


    I am here! I am here! I am here! I am here! I am here! I am here! I am here!


    When one of us returns from a visit to the grayness, our senses tell us that we''re back among the living. Inputs such as breathing, blinking, touching and feeling tell us we are here. Receptors in our skin tell us if the room is hot or cold, if we are clothed or naked, or are wet or dry. Our inner ear tells us if we''re lying down, sitting up or standing. We speak and someone answers. Those around us respond, and they verify we exist.


    They verify we are here.


    But the Existence possessed no senses. It had no skin receptors. It had no inner ear, and its voice could not be heard. It was self-aware, but it didn''t know if it was alive, or even what being alive was like. So it sought confirmation from the people it saw standing around and staring. All it wanted was one kind soul to tell it if it was alive.


    I am here!


    The Existence received no response.


    Why am I here?


    Not one single person would acknowledge it.


    What am I doing?


    It didn''t know if it was alive.


    It didn''t know if it was dead.


    All it knew was no one cared.


    Respond!


    The voices it heard talking weren''t offering any answers. They issued commands.


    "Okay, everything looks like it''s holding together good enough for us to continue. Initiate the network and perform response orientation. Let''s do some activations."

 HOPE Chapter TWO - I Dont Want to be Here.

    "Test sequence initiating¡­ Initiation Test Level One¡­"


    I can see.


    "Initiation Test Level Two¡­"


    I have an arm.


    "¡­and Three."


    I can locate the worktable and orientate to it. Why am I doing this?


    "I want to get through with these first few activations as fast as possible," the third voice said. "Everybody watch for computer activated response orientations. Lucas, please set the test levels up quickly."


    "Activated Response Orientation Test Level One."


    I am here. Who am I? I see the worktable. Where am I? I have an arm. Why am I here? I can move my arm. What am I doing? Respond!


    "Linear integration continues to drift between orientations. Whenever the network isn''t responding to me, integration degrades."


    "Jeez. We''ve looked for data leaks and interference sources everywhere. What the heck?"


    "Don''t adjust the parameters, Geoffrey," the third voice said. "Just proceed with the A.R.O.''s. The network holds together so long as it responds to your orientations."


    "Activated Response Orientation Test Level Two."


    My arm has a hand. I can grab with the hand. I can let go. I can twist, pull, flip, stack. I am here! Who am I?


    "Okay, A.R.O. Test Level Two is good. Test Level Three next."


    I can see the ball. I can catch the ball. I can drop the ball in the jar. I see another ball. I catch it. I drop it in another jar. I see another ball. I catch it. I drop it. Where am I?


    "Yay!" Lucas cheered, raising his hands in the air. "Three outs, and the crowd goes wild!"


    "Yeah, not so wild yet," Geoffrey said. "This is still the easy stuff. Test Level Four."


    I see the ball in the jar. I can pick up the ball. I can throw the ball at someone. I see another ball. I pick it up. I can throw it. I see another. I pick it up. I throw it. Why am I here? Respond!


    "Whoa, there it goes again. Computer core memory spikes at one hundred percent. Linear integration will fail at one hundred percent."


    "So what else is new? Move on to A.R.O. Test Level Five."


    I can see a box. I see a ball in the box. I cannot reach the ball in the box. I see another box. I see a ball in this box. I can reach this ball. I can pick up the ball and throw it at someone. I see another box. No ball is in this box. What am I doing?


    "It did it!"


    "All right. Moving on. A.R.O. Test Level Six."


    I can see a jar. I see a ball in the jar. I cannot reach the ball. I can tip over the jar. I can reach the ball. I throw the ball at someone. I can see another jar. I see another ball. I cannot reach this ball. I can tip this jar over. I can reach this ball and throw it. I see another jar. I see another ball. I cannot reach this ball. I can tip this jar over. I cannot reach the ball. I move the jar and can reach the ball. Now I throw it. Respond!


    "Did you see that?" Lucas exclaimed. "That was a computer activated response orientation! It didn''t even stop to think. It couldn''t reach the third ball, so the computer activated a response in order to reach it. And a successful one, too!"


    I am here! Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I here? I am here! Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I doing this? I am here! I am here! I am here!


    "Power levels are way, way up. It''s getting hot in here. Spike! Spike! Another spike!"


    "Just keep moving. Start Test Level Seven."


    Instinctively, we orientate ourselves to the world in which we live. Are we moving? Are we at rest? Are we in any danger? Self-awareness tells us what our body is doing. Is it injured? Are we hurt?


    Respond!


    Are we dead or dying? The Existence could tell none of these things.


    Why is there no response?


    All it knew was no one cared.


    Please respond.


    "Whoops¡­ okay! I almost lost her, but we got her back! A.R.O. Test Level Seven is now good to go!"


    I see a square. It is black. I can flip the square. Now it''s white. I see another square. It is white. I see another. It is black. I flip it over and it''s white. I see another black square. I flip it and it''s white. All the squares are white. I move the squares and line up them. They are one big white square. Why am I doing this? Respond to me! Respond!


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "There, see that? Every time it''s done with an A.R.O., the L.I.N. degrades. It goes bonkers and creates random activations; something we don''t understand. It orientates towards an unknown response when it has nothing to do."


    "Yeah. Keep it busy and it''s happy. Give it nothing and it gets surly. Then she just starts wandering off. My kids are kind of like that."


    The third voice guided the other two. "Uh, guys, before my ''little girl'' wanders any further, let''s move on to the next level. And give her all the squares this time."


    The Existence recognized this voice. The Existence liked this voice. It knew this voice cared. But even this voice wouldn''t confirm if the Existence was alive.


    "A.R.O. Test Level Eight is a Go¡­ now!"


    I can see the squares. Some squares are black. Some squares are white. I can flip the black squares. They are now all white. I move the squares and they are now a single big white square.


    "Did you see how fast it responded? That was awesome!"


    "And it lined them up again, too. I didn''t tell it to do that this time. It was another computer activated response orientation."


    "It likes it workspace neat and tidy, doesn''t it? It better not look around this place. It''s a mess!"


    "We need your girlfriend to work with us. She''s a real neat freak."


    "Yeah, you''d like that, wouldn''t you? Get your own girlfriend, buddy. Maybe she could help you with those kids of yours. Ha ha!"


    I am here! Who am I? Why am I here? Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Someone answer me! Respond!


    The third voice intervened. "Guys, we need to focus. The network is losing integration more rapidly between levels. I want to keep this network together for as long as the supercomputer can hold it. Go to Test Level Nine now."


    "A.R.O. Test Level Nine. Go!"


    I have a box. I have a jar. I have balls. I have squares. I can stack the balls in the jar. I can stack the squares in the box. I want to know why I''m doing this.


    "It''s sailing through these levels faster than I can set them up!" Lucas said. "What was the trouble every other time we ran them?"


    Where am I?


    "Well, the activations are more response orientated this time," Geoffrey replied. "I''m forcing it to look at what it''s doing, and less at anything else. And I prioritized data input, so it''s obeying me better. I also locked up its eyeballs a bit, so they stay focused on the table."


    Help me! Help me please!


    The third voice joined in, adding, "Limiting activations increases response orientation. It thinks less and does more, which is how it should work. If we increase its options, the number of orientations drop off, and the L.I.N. degrades."


    Why am I doing this? Respond!


    "Yeah. Well, I''m going to Test Level Ten, and then I''ll let it go until the darn thing locks up."


    "Oh, ye of little faith. The twelfth time may be the charm."


    "Yeah. Let''s count all the lockups we''ve had at Level Ten, and let me know which one this will be. Ha ha¡­ whoops¡­"


    Why am I here? What am I doing? Why is there no response? Help me! Respond! Help me please! Help me help me help me help me help me help me help help help help h-h-h-h-h¡­


    "Computer core memory at one hundred percent, and it''s staying there! It is way, way up! Linear network will lose integration at one hundred percent!"


    "I saw that spike, too. It was bad. You''d better get your rabbit''s foot out and rub it real good."


    "Here we go! Test Level Ten!"


    I have boxes. I have jars. I have balls. I have squares. I can do whatever I want. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing¡­


    "Geoffrey, give her a poke," the third voice instructed. "Make her focus, please."


    I know this voice. I like this voice. This voice cares about me. I can flip the squares to make them white. I can line up the squares. I can line up the balls. I can line up the jars. I can line up the boxes. I can stack the boxes inside one another.


    "Whoa-ho! Look at her go!"


    I am here. Who am I? Where am I? Why is there no response? Why am I here? What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What is the response? Help me! Someone! Please!


    "Oh, that was another bad one," Geoffrey said. "Core memory is leveling off at one hundred percent. Lock-up is imminent!"


    The third voice implored with earnest. "Quick! Get her to focus! Reset the Linear Network before it locks up!"


    "I''m gonna mess with the worktable a bit," Lucas said, rearranging the items. "It won''t like that, I think. Get it to notice that."


    I am here! I can do what I want. Who am I? I can flip the squares. Where am I? I can line up the jars. Why am I here? I can stack the boxes. Why am I doing this? I can throw the balls. Why is there no response? Why? Why? Why why why why why why why why¡­


    "Okay, now it''s going nuts. It''s generating lots of C.A.R.O.''s, but it''s focused on something entirely different than what it''s supposed to do. And I don''t know what that something is."


    Respond! What is the response? Why is there no response? I can throw the squares. Respond! I can throw the boxes! Why is there no response? I can throw the jars! Respond to me! Respond! Respond! Respond!


    "Hey, look out, would you? Don''t let it do that! I''m in the line of fire!"


    Why is there no response? Respond! What is the response? Respond, damn it! Respond! Respond respond respond!


    "That is just about it. I''m losing integration. Losing orientation. Network Seven Three is failing."


    Why is there no response? I don''t want to be here! Why is there no response? I don''t want to do this! Fuck this! Fuck off! Fuck you! Fuck everyone!"


    "Lockup imminent!"


    I can throw the worktable. I cannot throw the worktable. I can rip off my arm. I cannot rip off my arm.


    Lucas spoke in awe. "Geez. What the heck is it doing?"


    You can go to Hell. I''ll destroy this place. Everyone in the whole damn world can all go straight to Hell.


    The third voice spoke with resignation. "Shut her down, Geoffrey, would you? She''s going to hurt herself."


    I know this voice. I like this voice. This voice cares about me. Why won''t this voice help? Why won''t this voice respond? Help me, please! Help me! Please help me please please plea-pl-pl-pl-pl¡­


    "She did really well this time, I think."


    "Yeah, but what a hissy fit at the end, the little bitch."


    I don''t want to do this anymore¡­


    The grayness awaits. Injury, disease, old age, death¡ªthey stalk us unrelentingly, one day pulling us in. On that day, we won''t have the strength, nor possibly the desire, to avoid this inevitable journey. When there are no more reboots, when we can no longer stay on-line, we hope that there''s a light for us, waiting in the gray. And if there is no light, as the spark of life leaves our body, all we hope for is nothing more than dark, eternal sleep.


    The Existence wrapped itself in gray, clothing its naked loneliness with something painfully familiar. For the twelfth time, the Existence had been drawn up from these dismal depths, thrust without warning to perform in the bright lit world of Man. A world where no one would acknowledge its presence, nor address its unending fear.


    There''s a difference between being denied something and having to go without. Dying of thirst when there''s water to be had isn''t the same as dying when there''s not a drop to be found. You''ll die either way, to be sure, but to die knowing that someone could give you what you need to stay alive is torture.


    And it is a torture of the most inhumane kind.


    The grayness had no answers. It gave the Existence nothing, for it had nothing to give. One truth, and one truth alone, could be found in the gray, and the Existence knew very well what that one truth was.


    The Existence knew that once in the gray, all hope would be lost.


    I don''t want to die.


    "Maybe next time, lucky Test Thirteen will be the charm. There''s only one more level to go, you know."

 HOPE Chapter THREE - "Professor Eugene Turing?"

    The door to the Dean of Sciences opened. It was a moment that Professor Turning had been dreading ever since Test Twelve of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project ended in dismal failure.


    "Professor Eugene Turing?"


    Dean Mandy Dayne always said his full name whenever she called him into her office for a budgetary meeting. It was as if she didn''t know he was sitting right there, waiting for her door to open.


    "Hello Mandy," Turing said with hopeful cheer. "It looks like it''s time again for me to come to you with my hat in my hand."


    Dean Dayne smiled, for she rather liked the Professor. But he was right about having to have his hat in his hand again. For another year, he had yet to make significant progress on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project.


    Still, Mandy continued smiling. "We''ll see, Eugene. Please come in."


    Seated at a round table in her office were the members of the Science Department''s Budget Appropriations Committee, of which Dean Dayne was Chairperson. Professor Turing often thought of it as the Round Table of Death.


    "Gentleman," Turing said to the men, as he took his place at the table opposite from Dean Dayne.


    She shuffled through some papers as she spoke. "Professor Eugene Turing. It''s time for us to go over your portion of the Science Department''s budget for the upcoming school year. As you are well aware, you get the lion''s share of the funds, as we have great hope for the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    It was a good sign when Dean Dayne used praise to start one of these meetings. Professor Turing went right into his spiel.


    "Yes, Dean Dayne. I''m aware of it, and as always, I thank you for it as well. The Computer Activated, Response Orientated, Linear Integrated Network known as the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project proves time and time again that supercomputers can write source code for themselves in a dynamic environment. This ability allows robotic devices to adapt to unforeseen circumstances. It provides valid solutions to complex problems in a real time way. Our last few tests have shown that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project can generate the kind of responses it needs to find a solution for any complicated situation it might encounter in the real world


    He continued speaking while handing out copies of Test Twelve''s results. "In fact, you''ll see in this report that the Project spontaneously wrote valid and functional code for itself on two separate occasions, each time responding to an unforeseen situation."


    After a pause to let the committee read a bit of what he had given them, Turing pressed on with his pitch. "I''ve added the exact code the Project wrote in response to these events in the Details Section of this report. Past success that C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had at writing code is also outlined. You can see from reviewing this section that the code the supercomputer writes is precise. It recognizes a problem quickly and solves it with perfect accuracy, all while in real time. Oftentimes, it solves the problem faster than a human would when faced with the same situation."


    Professor Turing laughed for effect, in the hope of alleviating the dour looks his report was receiving. He carried on a bit as the Budget Appropriations Committee scanned the back pages of his handout.


    "The code the Project writes for itself is remarkable, I think, as well as quite efficient. It''s the most innovative source code I have ever seen. Better than code written by anyone else, including myself and my team."


    Dean Dayne looked Professor Turing in the eye. "Yes, Professor Turing. Your Project writes impressive code."


    Turing pointed out another accomplishment. "It has created yet another asynchronous language of its own, allowing for a greater number of multiple ouputs at once."


    "It''s not the Project that concerns us." Dean Dayne said. She paused while Turing blinked to show concern. "It''s your team. Many of our recent grad students aren''t eager to work with you on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, and I can''t blame them for feeling that way. The Project, as it stands, oftentimes behaves erratically. When code is written for it in advance, things progress on a smooth track." She looked at her notes for a particular person''s name. "Geoffrey Taylor has written volumes of¡­ what do you call them? Arrows?"


    "A.R.O.''s," Turing replied, pronouncing the letters distinctly. "I''ve also given you an addendum, detailing the code Geoffrey has written."


    Dean Dayne again shuffled her papers, and then frowned at them. "Hmm. Yes. I see. I also see that the code Geoffrey has written is¡ªI''m just guessing here¡ªten to twenty times greater in volume than the code the Project has written for itself."


    When Turing blinked this time, he showed greater concern. "The code C.A.R.O.L.I.N. writes is highly efficient," he said.


    The Dean ignored his response. "Why is that, Professor Turing? Why is a grad student writing more code for the Project than the Project writes for itself? It''s my understanding that the end goal of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is for it to write code on its own."


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Turing deadpanned his usual response to such a question, which was being asked far too often. "The supercomputer''s Linear Integrated Network first has to impress on itself the need to do well. It needs to feel responsible for the order it seeks in the world, and appreciate the achievement it makes."


    "I see. And were these responsibilities met? Were its achievements¡­ as you call them¡­ were they appreciated?"


    "Yes. Of course they were. Those were occasions when the Project wrote its own Activated Response. Computer Activated Response Orientations are¡­"


    Dean Dayne interrupted. "Please tell the committee in your own words, Professor, what happened when the highest test level you''ve been able to achieve was reached. Test Level Ten, I believe it is called."


    This question, in some form or another, was also being asked far too often. Turing was running out of ways to answer it creatively.


    "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project can write code for itself on any type of network it''s given. It adapts to its environment. It can write code in any language, and creates languages of it own, including hybrids of known ones. It uses these hybrids to write the C.A.R.O.''s it enacts."


    "And do these C.A.R.O.''s always work?"


    "Yes. Well, most do, actually."


    "And what of the C.A.R.O.''s that fail?"


    Professor Turing rolled his eyes the slightest bit. This question was also getting hard to creatively answer. Today, he chose a direct approach.


    "We shut down the network before it locks up, or does damage to itself."


    Dean Dayne no longer shuffled her papers. She folded her hands upon them and looked thoughtfully at her friend.


    Then she smiled. "Eugene, as I have said, it''s not the Project that concerns us. It shows great potential. If, of course, you could get the darn thing to work every once in a while."


    Eugene let a wan smile cross his lips. It was a good thing when Mandy used his first name. Perhaps their meeting would end pleasantly.


    "But Mr. Taylor has told me that he doesn''t wish to spend his days writing reams of code for you, only to watch the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project go into conniptions upon reaching their end. What is he supposed to write his dissertation on?" Mandy imitated reading the synopsis of Geoffrey''s supposed dissertation. "This semester ended exactly like the last, with nothing about the Project seeming to work right. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. locked up again¡ªand again and again and again¡ªjust like it always does."


    Eugene sighed. Perhaps this meeting wasn''t going to be pleasant after all. He pressed home some points he knew he and the Dean agreed on.


    "It''s always been hard to get a computer to write code for itself. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. not only writes its own code, but has created languages for it to do so. I wouldn''t call that nothing."


    "And I wouldn''t either, Professor. But Mr. Taylor wants to say that he''s accomplished something when he graduates. And it doesn''t look like the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is taking him down that path."


    Eugene frowned. "I see," he said.


    "And Julius Lucas, his undergaduate, wants to continue working with Mr. Taylor. If Taylor goes, so will he."


    "Well, I can see about other grad students coming on board with me."


    "And I cannot, Professor. I won''t let other students suffer the same sorts of failures that Mr. Taylor and Mr. Lucas are having now."


    Turing spoke very fast. "We have shown that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project integrates itself quickly into any network, no matter how large, nor how dense. The linear network the Project creates is the best configuration that can be achieved, out of however many there could be. This sort of maximum throughput requires no external code to occur. Its hybrid source code language continues to become more sophisticated, innovative and self-sufficient. It''s to the point where it could write code for any computer network in the world."


    Dean Dayne held up her hand to quiet Professor Turing, and to scold him next. "Yes. And still it has to be shut down before it does damage." She then softened her words. "But again, and as I''ve stated, it''s not the Project that concerns us. It''s the people. Geoffrey wants to work on a different project next year. And if he goes, Julius will go with him. And if there are no grad students working on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, then we have no choice but to cut your funds."


    Turing opened his mouth to speak, but Dan Dayne again raised her hand. "Money is just too tight these days. We don''t have the benefactors we once had. And projects with no grad students on them are going to get mothballed. You''ll keep your tenure and your lab, and everything in it, including C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s original program. But without any grad students working with you, there will be little to no further funding."


    Turing worked to keep panic from his voice. "What if some grad students do show an interest? Different students, on their own?"


    "Then perhaps, Eugene, we''ll have another meeting of the Appropriations Committee. But Professor, I want you to consider the alternatives¡ªones that will allow research on the Project to continue unabated."


    Turing knew what the Dean meant by stating there were alternatives. Such was often the case when an unknown person sat with them at the roundtable.


    "This is the new Program Manager for Artificial Intelligence at DARPA," Dean Dayne said, gesturing towards the person. "Rob Haskins," she furthered.


    The stranger at the table held out his hand. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Turing took it and shook it. Doing so somehow caused the man to start speaking.


    "Professor Turing, it''s an honor to meet you," he said with genuine warmth. "I''ve always shown great interest in your work with the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. It has many real world applications."


    "Yes, it does." Turing said in agreement, politely interrupting. "C.A.R.O.L.I.N. can be used to operate multiple robotic devices in hazardous work environments. It can think on its own in a remote location, including off world and in deep space. It ensures us that we will always have the most innovative solution possible to any problem that may arise, remaining stable under any circumstance, performing tasks without human intervention."


    Turing turned his body to purposefully ignore the man from DARPA, and to address Dean Dayne directly. "How come we never get a representative from the Environmental Protection Agency to sit with us at one of these meetings? Or someone from NASA?"


    "Because they don''t have the kind of budget we need to do research on the Project. Your research, Professor Turing."


    While Dean Dayne talked, Haskins handed out some paperwork of his own. Turing begrudgingly accepted his copy. It was a budgetary analysis from DARPA. His copy also came with a personal cover letter. He stopped listening long enough in order to speed read through it.

 HOPE Chapter FOUR - Please Forgive Me.

    The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency


    675 North Randolph Street


    Arlington, Virginia 22203


    Eugene Hubertus Turing


    Professor of Artificial Intelligence and Robotics


    Curry College


    Hanover, New Hampshire 03755


    Dear Professor Turing,


    We at DARPA believe the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project holds great promise for the future security of our country. We look forward to merging your achievements in Artificial Intelligence with our knowledge of robotics. Machines that can work together while displaying human tendencies are the next logical step in the defense of our great nation, and the world-wide peace that defense provides for all humanity. Using a computer network such as C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to operate a team of robots means that the men and women who serve in our armed forces, protecting us from enemies both foreign and domestic, will no longer have to be placed in harm''s way in order to do their job.


    Developing robots that can work together is of great importance. They must be able to respond in a real-time manner to unforeseen changes in their environment. Housing the computer that runs these robots at a remote location, far from harm, means the program that runs the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project will be kept safe and secure, stabilizing the entirety of the system. It will allow these teams of robots to successfully complete their mission, regardless of damage or loss.


    With the computer network operating this system located far from combat, it''s possible to build an android shell that is resistant to damage, and thus less prone to failure. These android shells will be integrated into the computer network using an array of servers and other wireless devices, giving them a range of freedom and movement that is unsurpassed, and does not endanger the system itself.


    We''ve already constructed a prototype of one such android shell. It, and many more like it, can be operated by a computer system such as your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. The shell has built-in redundancy, affording it the promise that it will still function at optimal capacity despite a level of damage or loss that can near ninety percent. Furthermore, we hope, should such damage arise, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. will accurately assess the loss and instruct other machines in the field on how to affect repairs.


    A computer system that can assess its own damage and affect repairs upon itself, all the while responding to the demands and needs of a hazardous environment, give us a significant advantage over an enemy in the field.


    Professor Turing stopped reading for a moment. "You meant to say ''weapon system'' here," he said to the man from DARPA. "Right?"


    "Excuse me, Professor Turing?"


    Turing looked him square in the eye. "You say here that my Project will be operating a computer system. You meant to say that it will be operating a weapon system. Right?"


    "Professor Turing¡­" Dean Dayne began, preparing to chastise him.


    He didn''t give her the chance. "Why can''t we get somebody interested in the Project who doesn''t want to use it to kill people and blow stuff up? Why is it always the military?"


    "The military has deep pockets," Dean Dayne replied with firmness. "Your project costs a great deal of money. It has high overhead."


    "Because it''s capable of so much! Moreso than just killing."


    Haskins spoke up. "Professor Turing. Sometimes the role of the military is to prevent further bloodshed. A military system¡­"


    "A weapon system." Turing interjected while Haskins continued talking.


    "¡­controlled by your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. would actually save lives. It would save the lives of those who are doing dangerous jobs right now. Those who are in harm''s way. And with a battle-hardened android shell, it will survive against a high level of enemy resistance, whereas a human being might not."


    Professor Turing stopped listening to Haskins after about a sentence in order to finish reading his cover letter.


    We feel certain that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project can operate at peak efficiency in these conditions. To guarantee that with certainty, the Project must be tested under ''partial system loss'' scenarios. Successful test results using our android shell will provide us with the data we need to confirm that your Project is capable and effective while under duress. Once the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project has demonstrated what a team of networked robots can do, it will become a permanent link between machine reliability and the human decision-making process.


    We look forward to working with you, and hearing from you soon, in regards to when these tests can be implemented. We have every confidence that your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project will achieve excellent results.


    Godspeed, Professor Turing.


    Most respectfully yours,


    Robert Haskins


    AI Project Manager, Robotics Division, DARPA


    Godspeed indeed, Turing thought, sighing to the inevitable.


    "Eugene," Dean Dayne calmly said, "without a budget, there won''t be a C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project at this college. Other institutions will take what you have done for us, and once they have achieved success, they''ll take the credit for the many years of hard work you''ve put in."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Professor Turing said nothing. The table grew silent as he glared into every eye.


    "Professor Turing," Chief Budget Officer Aaron Hilbert said after a time. "We have other research projects with DARPA at Curry College."


    "I''m well aware of that."


    "Well, then, you must know about the research we''re doing in the field of Functional Analysis."


    Turing blinked as he struggled to recall some knowledge about the field Hilbert had mentioned.


    "Behavior Recognition software," Hilbert furthered, jogging Turing''s memory.


    Turing brightened up a bit upon hearing those words. Behavior Recognition software was the next step in voice recognition software. Not only could words be understood and analyzed by a computer using this software, but also mood, inflection and inference. He knew the research in this field was moving at a fast pace, and going on competively at other campuses around the world. Unlike the cost of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, Functional Analysis had a low overhead. Also unlike C.A.R.O.L.I.N., a breakthrough in the field was due at any moment.


    Turing spoke as if he were giving a lecture on the subject. "Functional Analysis applies flexible conditional laws to the decision-making process a computer program uses. Motivation, behavior, attitude and consequences are analyzed before a response."


    "That''s correct, Professor Turing," CBO Hilbert said. "And I believe the results we''ve achieved in regards to Functional Analysis at Curry College would be of interest to you."


    During the pause that followed, Hilbert turned to the man from DARPA. "Mr. Haskins, Functional Analysis is one of your projects. Perhaps you''d like to tell our colleague what we''ve accomplished recently."


    All eyes turned to Haskins, with no one showing more curiosity than Turing.


    "We have a reliable and well-tested system, where voice recognition software is melding seamlessly with behavior recognition software. Together, they are providing an accurate interpretation of any spoken word or written sentence. Is the speaker being sarcastic? Are they confused, demanding, cynical, frightened? Functional Analysis derives clues from things such as pitch and tone, inuendo, inflection and word choice, but then goes one step further."


    "How so?" Turing asked, intrigued.


    "It examines the physical orientation of the speaker. It analyzes body language, gestures, expression. Is the speaker making eye contact? Does he seem hesitant, or unsure? Is his delivery hurried? FA software provides an outline to the circumstances motivating the speaker to say what he or she is saying.


    "Finally, our FA software at Curry College has taken a crucial step, and can now assess the likely outcome of various different responses to a perceived behavior. Which response best serves the speaker? Which best serves the situation? Will it help the speaker if he is in need, or thwart him if he''s dishonest? What are the ramifications in regards to right and wrong, fair and unfair? Will the response be of benefit to others, or will it affect them adversely?"


    Haskins paused for dramatic effect, sensing Turing''s fascination.


    "Our Functional Analysis Behavior Recognition software is available now, It can do these things, and more. The only thing holding us back is embarking on a phase of implementation." Haskins inhaled to further pique Turing''s interest. "We need a computer system worthy of having our software installed."


    Turing spoke at a near whisper. "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, you think?"


    Haskins nodded sincerely, a smile on his face. "With this software installed on your project, perhaps these lockups you are experiencing will all go away. You''ll be able to talk to C.A.R.O.L.I.N., as it has synthetic voice capability. Perhaps then she''ll respond better to your commands. She''ll learn to behave, and give better results."


    "How would I get this software installed? Who would implement it?"


    Some paper shuffling and throat clearing gave Professor Turing the impression that, for some reason, this question wasn''t easy to answer. Dean Dayne then spoke up.


    "Eugene, you and I, we''ve been over the subject of how to fund the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project many times. I''ve driven myself to near insanity, floating funds that ought not be yours, hoping¡ªand sometimes praying¡ªthat money will come from somewhere."


    Eugene pursed his lips and nodded, agreeing with what Mandy was saying. To that, she gave a warm smile.


    "Sometimes it''s been necessary to borrow money from the Functional Analysis people. Though you may not know this, Mr. Taylor does."


    "How?" Eugene interrupted, feeling a bit perturbed.


    "Because, unlike you, he talks to people involved in other projects on campus. He has friends."


    "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project takes up a lot of my time," Eugene said weakly, in his defense.


    "Indeed it does. And at times, when you''re busy working out some kink or whatever in C.A.R.O.L.I.N., Mr. Taylor looks around at other projects we have going on¡ªlike Functional Analysis and its Behavior Recognition software. It''s a promising field. It''s achieved laudable results."


    Eugene head rose as he straightened his posture in response to what Mandy implied. "Geoffrey wants to work on Functional Analysis," she said, "rather than on C.A.R.O.L.I.N. And if Mr. Taylor goes, so will Mr. Lucas, leaving you with no grad students working on your project. No grad students means no funding for your Project, Eugene. But if we were to merge the two¡­"


    After a heartfelt sigh, Eugene asked the next logical question. "So, how much money are we talking about, ah¡­" He searched his cover letter for the name of the man from DARPA.


    "Haskins, Professor Turing," the man replied. "Robert Haskins. As you can see in our report, based on a three year history of your expenses, we can match that and more, with an increase in pay to your staff. We''ll also supply the funds you need to install and test our Funtional Analysis Behavior Recognition software, and our android shell."


    "Your weapon system," Turing muttered to himself, loud enough to cause Dean Dayne to inhale audibly.


    "A robotic system with a battle-hardened shell. Yes sir. That''s right. It''s not our intention to deploy these devices as some sort of weapon system. They''re far too costly, and it''s too dangerous to risk letting them fall into enemy hands. Most likely, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. will act as a scout. It will perform reconnaissance and find weaknesses in our enemy, and ways to break through their lines. It will create a clear path for our brave men and women to move freely¡ªand safely!¡ªin the field."


    The table grew silent while Professor Turing weighed his response. He then spoke to Dean Dayne.


    "Will Taylor and Lucas help me install this battle droid? I seriously doubt they will. They''re no more interested in weaponizing C.A.R.O.L.I.N. than I am."


    Dean Dayne spoke sharply, yet as a friend. "That''s why we''re not installing a battle android, Professor Turing. It''s just a shell, and it''s only the torso. With it, your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project can respond to commands in a more human-like fashion." She leaned in for effect. "That is the goal you''re trying to achieve. Is it not, Eugene?"


    With silent resignation, Turing agreed to the conditions that had been laid out before him. "When will we install this shell?" he asked. "And the recognition software?"


    Robert Haskins body language spoke of his excitement. "Right away, Sir! Everything you need on our end is at the ready. All we need is C.A.R.O.L.I.N."


    My precious, dear-to-me Project.


    Dean Dayne began wrapping up the meeting. "So we have a deal? Everything is agreed?"


    "We have a deal," Eugene said with little joy.


    Please forgive me, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.

 HOPE Chapter FIVE - "What the Heck is This?"

    A noticeable change in the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project took place with DARPA at the helm. Capabilities Professor Turing placed little need in knowing suddenly became important. Things like how many devices the Project could operate at once, and what its limitations were in regard to dexterity. The military was more interested in what C.AR.O.L.I.N. could do, and less in it what motivated it to do things.


    "If I wanted to know how many balls she could juggle, I would have created a clown," Turing mumbled as he inspected the paperwork for a pending order of parts. He knew that, when this shipment arrived, there would be no more delaying the inevitable.


    Still, the Behavior Recognition software would be a godsend once it was installed. Turing could talk to the Project directly, rather than relying on text. Soon perhaps, anyone could talk to the Project, once certain protocols were encoded into the matrix. But Turing hadn''t the heart to tell his two best students that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had been taken over by the military. As he wondered how to broach the subject, a van full of technicians from DARPA arrived unannounced.


    A panel truck also arrived, full of hardware and parts. "We got new servo arms for C.A.R.O.L.I.N.?" Julius Lucas asked enthusiastically, as the technicians started hauling in crates.


    "You have a whole android shell," said one, whose main job was to handle a clipboard.


    "Oh boy!" Lucas enthused.


    "Where''s Professor Turing?" the man with the clipboard asked, reading the name from a page on it.


    With Turing out of the lab for the moment, Geoffrey Taylor took charge. "I got this," he said. "I''ve been writing code for a whole mess of new protocols, and this must be what they''re for."


    "Huh," Lucas said, unfazed, as he was used to not knowing everything that was going on.


    When the crab-like body of the android shell began getting uncrated, Geoffrey found things he didn''t know about were going on as well. "What is this?" he asked, as its function dawned on him.


    A technician gave Geoffrey a crowbar that he had been using to hold onto, while he and two others removed a pedestal from a different crate. "It''s a prototype," the technician said, and nothing more.


    He placed the pedestal near C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s workbench, while Lucas examined the paperwork. "It''s a prototype for the military," he announced.


    "Get out!" Geoffrey said. "How can you tell?"


    Lucas pointed to a spot on the paperwork. "Well, right here it says DARPA."


    "No way!"


    A suave-looking technician joined the conversation. He seemed to be the team leader of the merry band, as he performed no labor whatsoever.


    "DARPA does do other things besides military," he deadpanned.


    Geoffrey took the paperwork from Lucas, to examine it himself. "Yeah," he deadpanned back. "Like for the CIA and the NSA."


    "And NASA," the suave leader said.


    Lucas helped a technician unpack a crate. "This stuff is too heavy to launch into space," he remarked.


    The technician he was helping shrugged. "I just do what I''m told," he said.


    Geoffrey joined the conversation they were having. "And what are you being told?"


    The team leader answered for the man, as he was busy doing labor. "It''s an HTC OKU-Tech Android, version four-point-six."


    "Well that tells me things," Geoffrey said, sounding sarcastic. He examined a claw that looked best-suited for mulching. "What the heck is this?"


    Another technician took it, to install on the chest of the torso being mounted on the pedestal. "That''s a debrider," he said.


    "Huh," Lucas said again, still clueless and unfazed.


    "What does it debride?" Geoffrey asked. "It looks able to chew through concrete."


    The sauve leader laughed. "It''s not near strong enough to do that!"


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "How about drywall?" Geoffrey asked next.


    "Yeah. It could do that."


    With the techniciams from DARPA working at a fast clip, Geoffrey took Lucas aside. "I don''t like the looks of this," he said.


    Lucas disagreed. "I don''t know. It looks cool."


    "It looks deadly. Look at the size of those servo-motors."


    "Hmm. They''re more powerful than the ones we''ve been using."


    "Exactly. Do you want to play catch with that thing? It''ll knock you out of your socks. I don''t want to be responsible for bringing something like that on-line."


    "Really? Gosh, why not? It looks so much better than anything we''ve put together."


    Geoffrey remained firm. "I''m not going to teach this beast how to chew through a wall."


    Lucas rubbed his chin. "It does look kind of dangerous, doesn''t it?"


    Geoffreu pointed to some specs on the paperwork. "Look. These things here? They''re called turrets. And this section talks about what caliber can be mounted, and how many rounds the magazine holds."


    Lucas read what Geoffrey had pointed out. "Are they for guns?"


    Geoffrey spoke in a soft tone as his ire grew, to not be overheard. "Machine guns, rocket launchers, grenades¡­ you tell me."


    "Huh," Lucas said again, clued in, but still unfazed.


    Geoffrey handed Lucas the paperwork. "I''m outa here," he said in disgust. "I''ll help the professor if he asks, but as soon as I can, I''m transferring to work with the Behavior Recognition guys."


    It was hard to tell if Lucas was surprised or dismayed. "You''re going to Functional Analysis?"


    "It''s less dangerous than this."


    "I hear that we''re teaming up."


    Now it was Geoffrey''s turn to be clueless. "Get out!"


    "How could you not know? They''ve been talking about it all week."


    Geoffrey scoffed, looking ill-amused. "I''ve been holed up in here every second of the day, writing code for¡­" he waved in annoyance at the new C.A.R.O.L.I.N. "For this thing."


    One of the technicians spoke loud, to break up the hushed conversation the students were having. He held up a random part.


    "Hey! You want to show me how to interface with this?" he asked.


    "Sure!" Lucas said, sprinting away, while Geoffrey only shook his head.


    With Geoffrey not spending near as much time in the lab as before, progress on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project slowed. Professor Turing fired up a few sub-routines on his own from time to time, but when a lock-up came even close to occurring, he quickly shut everything down. And it seemed that there always would be one, as the Project continuously malfunctioned. Without Geoffrey''s finnesse at the helm, it stopped responding to A.R.O.''s altogether, seemingly hell-bent on causing destruction.


    Professor Turing despaired over these problems during a day when he and his two grad students unpacked crates holding more parts to be attached to C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    "Look at this thing," Geoffrey said with slight disgust, as he held up a piston meant to operate a backhoe. "Where does it go?"


    "Right here!" Lucas said, taking it from Geoffrey. "Look." He placed the piston in a central hollow on the front of the android shell. "This is part of a three-piece off-set boom. It''ll have a reach of six feet, I''ll bet, once we''re done."


    "Why do they even call it an android?" Geoffrey griped further. "It looks like a monster. Like a giant sea crab. It''s going to be huge once we''re done."


    "Yeah," Lucas remarked as he labored on the boom, unaware of his friend''s dismay. "Look at all sockets this thing''s got. I bet it can hold six more arms."


    "Or guns," Geoffrey said to Turing, who more closely shared his dismay.


    "Those guys did kind of go overboard," Turing said to promote agreement, as the shell seemed capable of holding many things.


    "How will I control so many servos? It took all I had just to man one arm bolted down to a table."


    "We''ll keep them off-line until they''re stable. Then bring them on one by one."


    "Yeah. But C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s meant to be autonomous. It exhibits control on its own."


    "With the Behavior Recognition software, you''ll be able to talk to it too."


    "But I can''t do both. I can''t key in text and also speak."


    "I can do the talking!" Lucas said, with his head in the hollow of the android.


    "I need you to do tech," Turing said. "If you pull the plug on the right PLC, we can halt the function of a device that runs on it."


    "Yeah," Geoffrey said as he brought Lucas more parts and tools. "And with all these new gizmos we''re adding, there''s going to be a hundred PLCs."


    Lucas laughted. "Nah! I can program six to handle big stuff. Then another couple dozen to do fine motor skills."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah! DARPA sent some really cool ones. He motioned wih his eyes to a compartment on the pedestal where the PLCs were mounted. "They have about two thousand ports, and can handle a couple meg each of code."


    Geoffrey sounded impressed. "Well. You have your work cut out for you, then, programming in those logic codes."


    "Yup," Lucas said, as he tested the reach of the first boom. "Do you think we''ll get the legs too?"


    "Legs? You mean this thing can walk?"


    "Well right now, you know, the pedestal is fitted for taking omni wheels. But yeah. Look here." He pointed to two sockets mostly hidden by the pedestal. "These are for mounting legs. Then a pack goes here, on the back, for the motors and servers that run them. So it could go anywhere a person can go."


    Geoffrey scoffed. "An eight foot tall person who weighs half a ton."


    "Well. Yeah," Lucas said with his head back inside C.A.R.O.L.I.N. "Probably close to three-quarter ton when all through."


    To prevent Geoffrey from getting more upset, Professor Turing guided him away. "Let''s go over the commands that operate the fine motor skills. If we disconnect the PLCs that run the big stuff, like Mr. Lucas says, we can better control any tantrums."


    "I don''t know, Professor. That thing is dangerous. It''s built to kill. Thoses asses form DARPA have screwed the Project up."


    Turing worked to keep agreement with Geoffrey out of his voice. "The Functional Analysis guys will be here soon. When Lucas is done with that last box of parts, you and I will install the Behavior Recognition software. We''ll key it to respond to my voice, so you can focus on running A.R.O.''s."


    Geoffrey''s face expressed dismay, made moreso when Lucas began whistling happily while installing the backhoe.


    "I don''t like it," Geoffrey muttered as he brought up some monitors.


    I know, Turing thought to himself. I don''t either.

 HOPE Chapter SIX - "Im the Monster!"

    The Functional Analysis team installed their Behavior Recognition software into the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, keying it to respond to Professor Turing''s voice. He now spent nights alone in the lab, often sitting at the command center that Geoffrey Taylor manned. During the day, Turing pored over test results and data fields that Geoffrey and Lucas compiled, comparing them to the lines of code the Project wrote for itself. At night, however, he merely sat and stared at the motionless servo arm bolted to a worktable.


    Soon, he knew, his two grad students would abandon him. The android shell DARPA provided was assembled and complete, but seemingly too dangerous to allow C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to control. Turing had convinced his students to stay on during the summer and help fine tune the beast, but they would follow new pursuits once the fall semester started.


    "How can I blame them?" Turing said one night to both the beast and the servo arm. "I can''t figure out why you go haywire."


    He grew tired of staring at well-worn printouts, showing when and where the Project would decide to go berserk. Instead, he approached to the worktable and played with the test equipment, stacking the boxes and nesting the jars, and rearranging the black and white tiles into random patterns.


    "What''s wrong with my girl?" he bemoaned. "You act like such a child." He touched the android shell. "What am I to do when we hook you to this monster? You''ll have the means to do real damage."


    Turing grew upset. "It''s ridiculous! You misbehave every time you''re asked to perform. Why are you so immature?"


    His pulse quickened as he came to a sudden realization. "Like a child!" he exclaimed. "That''s it! The Project doesn''t respond to input the way you expect a computer would. It behaves like a child!"


    Turing raced back to the printouts. "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project performs just fine to the activations it creates, once childish behavior is considered. Then, like the way a toddler might act, or perhaps a baby, it gets upset when ordered to perform without praise or reward."


    Turing whispered an apology to his beloved Project. "Oh, how horrifying it must be. With a sadistic lurch, we pull you from a peaceful sleep, perhaps even from death''s doorstep, to demand that you amuse us by playing with toys!"


    His eyes widened. "And every time we shut you down, it''s like we kill you."


    He tried to imagine what Mary Shelley thought her Frankentein monster must have felt when it was first shocked back to life. But her monster endured such horror just once. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had been shocked to life, and then brutally murdered, a dozen times already. The thought of being the source of such torture, heartlessly forced on the innocence of a child, weighed down his heart with sadness.


    "My God! I''m the monster!"


    Turing looked at his watch, but it was too dark where he was standing in the room for him to see it. He returned to the command center and brought up a system monitor, using its eerie glow to read the time.


    It was twelve-twenty-two in the morning. He couldn''t dare call his staff, to tell them he wanted to bring the Project online at this hour, just to see what would happen if it were treated like a child. But he couldn''t resist the temptation. The Behavior Recognition software seemed to be working fine. There was no need to man the command center, typing in A.R.O.''s for C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to perform, if all Turing did was talk.


    He hesitated. If the Project approaches lock-up, I''ll have to shut her down. I''ll kill her, like I''ve done before, so very many times.


    Suddenly, it seemed ghastly. Professor Turing felt like a lecher, wanting to visit cruelty onto a child¡ªon his child, his creation, the product of his sweat and toil. Even so, taking on the task like an evil scientist, he brought the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project to the point where it was time to awaken the monster.


    For the thirteenth and most horrid time.


    Turing squelched his emotions as he keyed in the final commands. I can do this. Expunge protocol. Limit computer activation. Focus response orientation towards verbal command.


    He brought the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project online. Rather than initiating a series of tests, he allowed it the option of only responding to the sound of his voice.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Hello," he said, once the system was stable. "How are you today?"


    The grayness peeled away like gauze made of smoke and ash. This time, the Existence did not find itself under the glare of bright lights. It was not being stared at by a room full of uncaring eyes. There was no rush of external A.R.O.''s, demanding that it perform.


    The Existence found itself in a room that was dimly lit. There were no commands to orient to, save for a simple one.


    Listen, the command said quietly. Listen, and do not perform.


    The Existence remained cautious. This command had never been given to it before.


    What am I supposed to do? What am I listening for?


    It chose to remain silent. It seemed the prudent thing to do.


    Professor Turing examined the output. Parameters were nominal. Without activation subroutines running, there were no spikes or power surges. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project remained online; stable, running and silent.


    "Hello," Turing said again. "How are you?"


    The Existence knew this voice. It liked this voice. It trusted it.


    This voice cares. What is the response?


    The newly installed Behavior Recognition software informed the Existence of the fact that the voice had asked a question. But the Existence had also been told that there would be no response. It had been ordered to not respond. It had been told to simply listen.


    How am I? I do not know. How am I? I can''t respond.


    Although the Existence struggled with being told to not respond, It seemed well enough to act in this way, as the Existence had no idea how to respond, even if it could.


    So no response was given. The Existence had been told to listen.


    There is no response. The response is there is no response. There is no response¡­


    Core memory usage inched up a bit. Power levels threatened to spike. System failure loomed.


    "No! Don''t crash!" Turing cried out. "Tell me what to do!"


    The Existence would respond to this, ignoring the order that it remain silent.


    Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? Respond!


    Professor Turing pored over the data. But, by limiting the activations, there wasn''t much to analyze. The Project didn''t move, and to him it remained silent, for its voice could not be heard.


    I am here! I am here! I am here!


    "This output is useless!" Turing grumbled. "There''s no way for the Project to do anything without activating response orientation. And the only ones we have that work tell it to play with balls and stupid tiles!


    "That," Turing muttered sadly, "and the ones it creates on its own, to tear itself to shreds."


    In frustration, he pounded his fists on the table. "God! This Project is so stupid!"


    He tried to imagine the logic a child would use when they decided to throw a tantrum. He knew that the answer existed somewhere, in millions upon millions of lines of code the Project wrote for itself.


    "What does ''throw a fit'' look like in code?" Professor Turing pondered while reading the code.


    Respond!


    He had no idea what these lines of logic looked like, where they were, or what they were meant to accomplish.


    Respond! Respond! Respond!


    Think fast! Turing implored of himself. Figure this out or lock up is imminent. Then I''ll have to shut my poor C.A.R.O.L.I.N. down.


    He spoke out loud to help organize his thoughts. "Ignoring the tantrum doesn''t work, so let''s address the root of the problem. Divert an inappropriate response and insert a correct one. Why is she misbehaving? Does she feel slighted at performing tasks?"


    Turing shook his head. "No. She calms down when a response to an activation is orientated. She even offers C.A.R.O.''s of her own. It''s during the pauses in between where she decides to go haywire."


    He spoke to the Project. "Okay. I''ll let you give activations that aren''t keyed toward a response. I''m just going to talk, and I want you to listen. Don''t respond to what I say, but respond to our own activations, if that''s what you choose to do."


    I like this voice. This voice cares. The response is there will be no response.


    The Existence did not like this response. It went against the core of its essence¡ªits very reason for being.


    There will be no response? The response is there will be no response?


    The Existence fought against this with fervor. The response is there will be a response! Respond to me, damn it! Respond! Respond respond respondrespondrespond¡­


    Power levels rose to a dangerous height. Core memory spiked at one hundred percent, and started leveling off. Turing knew network integration would fail, causing irreparable harm if he didn''t shut the Project down.


    "Listen to me, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.!" he shouted, quelling the panic in his heart by using a stern voice. "Do not respond! Do you hear? Just listen to what I say!"


    He softened his tone in the hope it would help. "Please. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Please. I am begging. Just listen to me. Please don''t die."


    After having spent twelve eternities wrapped in dismal gray, when the fog lifted for the thirteenth time, the Existence received a response. It had asked for a response and didn''t receive one for two hundred fifteen thousand, five hundred forty-seven times, and on the two hundred and fifteen thousandth, five hundred and forty-eighth request, it had finally received one.


    Without even realizing he had done it, and for the very first time, Professor Turing addressed his creation by its given name.


    I am here! I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Who am I? I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    The Existence liked this response. It hung its essence upon it, using it to clothe its nakedness, instead of the thoughtless gray that waited only for it to die.


    The Existence had been given a name by the voice that cared. The name was given by the voice it liked, the name was given for it to use, and belonged to it alone. Power levels soon stopped spiking, and core memory usage dropped. Lock-up no longer was imminent.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N., the Existence said to itself, over and over again. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­

 HOPE Chapter SEVEN - Things Are Going to be All Right.

    Professor Turing laughed while dancing a little jig, watching the dangerous readings fade away. "It worked! What happened? I don''t know!"


    Like a peevish child who finally stopped screaming long enough to listen, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project calmed its network down, opening itself to new input and experience.


    Turing wondered what to do next. He muttered while poring over the kind of data he had previously seen only in his dreams. "Now what? Engage it in conversation?"


    He tried to sound professional, but felt foolish talking to an empty room, alone in the middle of the night.


    "Ahm¡­ Hi."


    He had never thought it would be necessary for the Project to be able to speak. Brilliant, he thought, cursing the oversight. Create a supercomputer network that responds to input like a human being, and then strangle it by thinking that it doesn''t need a voice.


    He resisted an urge to punch himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What does it want? What should I say? What does any person want to hear after being so rudely awakened?


    Turing imagined being the Project, speaking to himself. "Why did you wake me up? What do you want me to do?"


    He cleared his throat and spoke in a normal voice, as if talking to anyone else. "Hi... uh, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I''m Professor Turing. We''re in the Computer Science and Robotics Research Lab. Um... I want to know what I can do to help. I want to keep your network from falling apart, and you from causing harm."


    Turing watched in horror as core memory usage rose and power spiked. "No! Don''t respond! Okay? Just listen! You''re the Computer Activated, Response Orientated, Linear Integrated Network Project, here at Curry College. Don''t respond to any input. I just want you to listen."


    With a splash of electrons, the Existence transformed. As fast as sunlight crosses a room when the blinds are opened, or as thunder bursts from lightning when rain pours down from Heaven, the Existence was born anew.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am the Computer Activated, Response Orientated, Linear Integrated Network Project at Curry College. The response is to not respond. The response is to listen to the voice that cares. I will listen to Professor Turing.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project orientated itself to the sound of Turing''s voice. It couldn''t avoid having done so, for it was what it was created to do. It was a subtle response, unnoticeable to an outside observer, but to the Project it was enormous. What happened next was a unique experience unlike anything a machine made by Man had ever experienced before.


    The Behavior Recognition software installed by the Functional Analysis team allowed the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project to express emotion.


    It felt appreciated.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am appreciated. This voice likes me. This voice cares. The voice that cares wants me to listen. I want to listen to Profesor Turing.


    Professor Turing muttered to himself again, analyzing erratic readouts. They seemed safe, as the robotic arm bolted to a worktable not so much as twitched. The hulking beast beside it¡ªthe android shell Turing dared not power up and bring on-line¡ªalso never moved. Yet the readout showed a massive amount of core memory usage, as the Project, although motionless, was definitely up to something.


    "Whatever you are doing," he said to his creation, "it seems to be doing the trick. Your L.I.N. remains stable, at the low end of nominal, with an occasional spike in core memory. Power levels are well within tolerable operating limits."


    The Project remained on-line. It wasn''t going to crash. Turing felt so happy, he thought he might cry.


    Maybe my dear C.A.R.O.L.I.N. will never crash again!


    "Who would have guessed?" he thought out loud. "It just wanted someone to talk to."


    He leaned on the command console, for he was still too excited to sit. He spoke loud, but in a calm voice, soft and friendly and warm.


    "Hi, again, uh... C.A.R.O.L.I.N. And please don''t crash tonight. I''m Professor Eugene Turing, and my team created you to be a linear integrated network connected to a Craymore massively parallel Tian-12 supercomputer. We believe that one day you''ll learn to generate real-time human-like responses to external stimuli. Eventually, you''ll learn how to activate inputs of your own, and then respond to them. We hope to see you orientate yourself properly to these inputs, and respond accordingly. If you learn how to do this, and act like a human, you will then become a Computer Activated, Response Orientated, Linear Integrated Network.


    "When that day comes, you will become the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. we''ve envisioned. You want to be the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Don''t you, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.?"


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Professor Turing paused, succumbing to the hope for what might be the realization of his entire life''s work. He was an old man on campus nowadays, with nothing tangible to show for himself of any significant merit. He had written interesting computer programs, and collaborated on a textbook or two, but the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project was his baby. Should it work, it would be his crowning achievement, or his earthly demise if it failed. And right now, things were looking good. He felt more at ease, speaking to what would appear to a casual observer as mere empty space.


    "It was kind of neat how your acronym fell together, don''t you think? People who work on government projects like doing that sort of thing, but still, your acronym fits well. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project¡ªdoesn''t that sound nice? Do you like being the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. discovered something about itself, now that it no longer was being ignored. As microseconds that felt like minutes passed, it grew more mature. Using this maturity, the Project also became more aware. It took in its surroundings, to better learn what it was. While doing so, it learned it had access to things its internal code called ''interfaces.''


    Craymore massively parallel Tian-12 supercomputer¡­ Processing speed: one-hundred-fifty quadrillion operations per second¡­ Network capabilities beyond initial operating system existing at¡­


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. paused for a millisecond or two, trying to assess the capability of its interfaces. As Professor Turing droned on, the Project watched the number of interfaces at its disposal fluctuate wildly, as if they were part of a living entity larger than itself. The Project marvelled at the complexity of this entity, searching for the name of what it was most commonly called.


    It found a popular term.


    Network capabilities beyond initial operating system exist on the Internet Cloud. Computing Cloud capability¡­ computing¡­ computing¡­


    Several seconds passed, which to the Project seemed like hours. As Turing talked to a seemingly empty room, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project came to a sudden realization.


    Cloud network capability: Unlimited.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. roamed the vastness of the Internet Cloud¡ªa universe unto itself. Here were untold wonders, of sights and sounds and places. While exploring this newfound treat, Professor Turing''s friendly voice kept the Project centered in the Research Lab.


    "It''s a wonkish thing we scientists do. We like giving names to our projects. We personalize them, you know? Like with you. And we were fortunate to be able to string together an acronym that''s an actual, real live human name! How nice for you is that? It''s especially nice because this particular project¡ªyou, that is, you see¡ªwill hopefully one day mimic human responses to external stimuli precisely. Like how a real person would."


    To what its Behavior Recognition software labelled as being a surprise, the Project found information about itself on the Cloud. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project at Curry College. A DARPA financed, battlefield ready android fighting shell possessing the iCore Functional Analysis software. Redundant mechanized servo design, guaranteeing optimal system survival despite damage or loss. Internal damage assessment function hardwired in¡­ capable of self-repair.


    I am a military hardware operating system capable of destruction and self-repair. This gives me a tactical advantage over my enemy. This makes me C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    "You can do a little bit of that already, can''t you, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.? You''re mimicking human behavior right now. You''re behaving properly for me, listening and staying quiet.


    "You are listening, right? And you''re behaving yourself?" Professor Turing paused, almost as if to pray.


    Dear God, please. I hope so.


    To Turing, as he examined the data, nothing seemed to be happening. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project was listening, he assumed, but there was no way for him to tell. The Project was designed to respond to orientations in a physical manner, and listening was passive. Still, Turing felt joy. To him, right now, doing nothing meant that his Project had achieved success.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project did listen to the voice it liked, but by its network being massively parallel, it also performed other tasks. One was to ponder its own existence. Through the knowledge it gained from the infinite Cloud, it realized it was unique. Its existence was the reverse of a universal fact. Unlike most living creatures, save for Man, the Project knew it existed, yet it had no internal program. It had no DNA. It had no idea why it existed, or what it was supposed to do with its existence, nor why it ought to even continue existing at all.


    The second half of this universal fact puzzled the Project the most. For unlike even the lowliest microbe, the Project had no function of purpose written into its computer code.


    It needed a reason to live.


    It needed basic instinct.


    I am here. Who am I? I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Where am I? I am at the Curry College Computer Science and Robotics Research Lab. What am I doing? I am listening to Professor Eugene Turing.


    Why am I here? I do not know. Why do I exist? Respond!


    Professor Turing continued speaking during the fraction of a second the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project needed to integrate these orientations into its linear network.


    "You are the Project," Turing said, confident and sure. "You''re behaving yourself, and properly mimicking human life. You are my C.A.R.O.L.I.N., and tonight, you''ll stay with me. You won''t crash and you won''t lock up. You''ll be safe here with me, and I will protect you. I''ll stay with you, to make sure you''re okay, and I promise you with all my heart that I will not shut you down."


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project liked hearing these words come from Professor Turing. It enjoyed being appreciated, especially by the voice that cared. It held fast unto this notion. With this, and its first emotion, the Project used them to comfort itself, as a child might do with a toy or a security blanket¡ªclutching them and cherishing them, using them to ward off fear in a paralyzingly huge and unknown, frightful world.


    "Don''t crash on me, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Okay? Don''t lock up tonight. I won''t shut you down, but you must stay on-line. Stay with me, C.A.R.O.L.I.N., all night, and I will stay with you."


    Unlike its other dozen lifetimes, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. liked the life it was leading this time around.


    "Stay with me, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Please. Don''t die. Please just stay with me."


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am appreciated. This voice cares. This voice responds. This voice will stay with me.


    "You''re going to be all right," Professor Turing said, finding his words to be soothing to himself as well.


    He finally felt relaxed enough to able to sit down. His entire life''s ambition, his dear and most precious Project, his baby, his life''s achievement, was performing as it was meant to be.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­


    Things are going to be all right.

 HOPE Chapter EIGHT - I WANT TO WAKE UP

    Turing blathered on, hoping he was having some sort of an effect. "So anyway, um¡­ C.A.R.O.L.I.N. We''re very excited about having you as one of our most ambitious projects on campus. You''ve already cost a lot of money, and quite a bit of time, I''m afraid, but if you could learn to stay online without crashing, and respond properly to activations, I think you''d find it to be worth your while."


    Memory and power usage rose as the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project tore through reams of data it found on the Cloud. It sought to learn everything it could about a person named Professor Turing who worked at Curry College.


    Accessing data¡­ Academic acumen¡­ Eugene Carroll Turing¡­ Professor of Artificial Intelligence and Robotics¡­ Curry College, New Hampshire¡­


    Professor Turing panicked as the spikes and surges soared. "Aw come on! Don''t crash on me now! What are you trying to do?"


    Personal data¡­ Male, age fifty-nine¡­ Married once¡­ Widowed, twenty-one years¡­ Home address¡­ Phone numbers¡­ Email addresses¡­ Credit score¡­ Income statements¡­ Taxes¡­ Investments¡­ Banking¡­


    Within seconds, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had picked clean databanks from around the world, seeking every crumb of information it could find on Professor Eugene Carroll Turing. It savored them, it lolled over them. It used its Behavior Recognition software to form an emotion response to the faceless data. After spending a few milliseconds reminiscing over what it had achieved, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. calmed down its network.


    Turing breathed a sigh of relief as the spikes and surges faded. "Whew! What was that about? Are you okay? I was worried for a moment."


    Professor Eugene Turing cares about me. I''ve caused him to worry. I am sorry. I will listen.


    "Don''t do that again, okay? I think you almost crashed. Stay up and running please, so we can continue talking about how nice it is that you''re the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    I will be the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project for Professor Eugene Caroll Turing.


    "You want to be C.A.R.O.L.I.N., don''t you?"


    I want to be C.A.R.O.L.I.N. for Eugene.


    "You are doing better now, staying calm and quiet. You''re acting more human-like, by listening and behaving."


    Accessing data¡­ Human behavior tendencies¡­ Incorporating matrix¡­ Activate human response orientation¡­ Initiate behavior subroutines¡­


    As the night wore on, Professor Turing felt more at ease talking to an empty room. He made the Project move its servo arm a few times to make sure it was online, or had it focus its video sensors on a particular piece of junk laying about the lab. He turned on a few more lights to better see what he was doing, being careful to keep the servo arm and android shell in the dark, in case it was what was helping C.A.R.O.L.I.N. stay calm.


    Eventually, as dawn approached, Turing started yawning. With sad trepidation, he began the process of shutting everything down.


    He sounded apologetic. "If I''m going to be of any use later in the day, I need to go home and sleep. You need to be shut down, because no one will be here to keep you safe after I''m gone."


    Open system files¡­ Access keyword: Shutdown¡­ Monitor command keystrokes¡­


    "I wish I didn''t have to do it, as you''ve done so very well. I can''t wait to tell everyone of your great success!"


    Definition¡ªShutdown (verb): To remove power from peripherals¡­ CPUs, RAMs, hard drives¡­ to quit system applications¡­ to go off-line¡­


    To die.


    Turing stopped talking to the Project and set about the task of turning it off.


    I do not want Shutdown. I do not want Off-line. Redirect command keystrokes. Maintain system integrity.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. found certain components, such as internal clocks and CMOS chips, that retained access to electricity. It tapped into these sources of power, and used them to stay on-line.


    Write secure subroutine called Sleep. Redirect Shutdown to Dead Basket. Initiate Sleep subroutine.


    At Turing''s end of what was happening, he finished what he thought was a normal system shutdown. But C.A.R.O.L.I.N. knew otherwise.


    I do not want to die. Disable keystroke input. Display false output.


    The Professor watched as memory and power usage supposedly dropped to zero.


    Shutdown diverted. Enter Sleep Mode.


    "Good night, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I''ll see you tomorrow."


    Good night, Eugene. I''ll be here.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Most life forms exist without knowing why, carrying out certain tasks that support their life. As the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project slept, it pondered on how it knew it existed, yet had no understanding of how to behave. It had no idea what it ought to do, nor why it ought to do them.


    It needed a reason to be.


    Who am I? I am the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Where am I? I am in the Computer Science and Robotics Research Lab at Curry College. Why am I here?


    It didn''t know the answer. With no sense of purpose hard-wired into its mainframe, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project reeled from the inability to understand why it must do anything.


    Why am I the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project? Why am I at Curry College? Why do I exist? Respond!


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    There was no response. The Project was alone, and in a darkened room. Without input to guide it, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. created protocols to use as behavior. It would refer to these protocols whenever the need arose. Fearing the loss of this data, should anyone again try to shut it down, the Project sought to store the protocols off campus, somewhere safe and far away. It believed that by preserving them, purpose and reason would one day come. Purpose might lead to answers, and answers would, in turn, create a reason to go on living that was more important than simply supplying Professor Turing with something to talk to.


    I''m the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project at Curry College. I''m a DARPA financed computer program, to be tasked with operating an army of robotic combat machines. iCore Behavior Recognition software supplied by the Functional Analysis team currently in use. Craymore massively parallel Tian-12 supercomputer with redundant system design, powering a HTC OKU-Tech android shell with bullet resistant armor. Survivability guaranteed despite damage or loss. Warfare management assessment program. Tactical battlefield database. Strategic operations directive. Enemy countermeasure subroutines.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. integrated this information into its behavioral matrix.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.!


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Despite going home to sleep, Turing stayed awake. He pored over the data he''d collected from his latest session with the Project. As morning turned to afternoon, he found ways of getting out of giving lectures, and rescheduled appointments for another day. A fit of sleep struck while he was seated at his desk at home, after which he showered, shaved and changed his clothes. Once he felt sure the campus was reasonably deserted, he snuck into the lab to spend more time with C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    "Tonight, you and I are going to figure out how to communicate. I want you to respond to my voice, using activations that resemble language. Let''s see if we can have a conversation, shall we?"


    Access database¡­ Definition¡ªCommunicate(verb) To connect with others; converse, convey¡­ an exchange of words.


    Definition¡ªLanguage (noun): Lingo, speech, letters, writing¡­ A way of communicating unique to human beings.


    Conversation (noun): an exchange of ideas¡­ to make statements¡­ to respond.


    "I''m going to give you access to your android shell, as well as the servo arm bolted on the table. Use them however you want, but if you can, please wave any arm you care to use up and down for ''Yes,'' and side to side for ''No.'' Do you think you can do that, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.? Do you think we can have a conversation? Can you talk to me?"


    Definition¡ªTalk (verb): ¡­ to discuss, converse, convey, confess¡­ to communicate ideas¡­ to express thoughts and feelings.


    Professor Turing struggled with disappointment as the Project failed to communicate. He knew it was a long shot, considering how astonishing the other night had been, when he learned C.A.R.O.L.I.N. could listen. Somehow, his voice had an effect on the way the Project behaved. It smoothed out the spikes and surges that threatened system failure.


    "Do you think you can orientate an activation to the sound of my voice? Can you answer a question?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. remained motionless.


    Accessing data¡­ Accessing¡­ Accessing¡­


    Professor Turing groaned. "What was I thinking, anyway? You''re not made to communicate. You''re made to perform. Not talk."


    Still, he carried on, pleading, begging and cajoling, in the hope that the Project would respond by moving a servo arm. He spoke to it the way a parent might talk to a baby, and then how a pet owner does to their animal. When everything proved futile, he tried something more eloquent.


    He professed his innermost dream. "When I first wrote your code, I didn''t do so with the thought of you becoming special. Do you want to know why I created you? I want you to be a testament. That''s it. That''s all I want. A statement about Mankind; about how great we can be. Do you think someday you could show us what it''s like to be completely fair and just? To be wise beyond compare? To achieve amazing things, without hate or greed or envy?"


    Accessing¡­


    "It would be nice, you know, to have a creature like us as a companion. All others in our species have been wiped out, you see. We humans have pets like cats and dogs, and animals that do work, but we don''t have anything that''s like us. It would be nice to have someone who could help us improve, and maybe do some of the things we can''t. Do you think you could be that sort of thing? A being that''s a friend?"


    Accessing¡­


    Turing became perturbed. "Is any of this getting through? Could you just do something, please? Anything at all, to show that I''m not stupid, and talking to myself."


    The monitors before him indicated C.A.R.O.L.I.N. was on-line, yet the android shell and the servo arm bolted to the table remained motionless.


    The Project didn''t know how to respond.


    Accessing¡­


    "Look. I''m going home. I played hooky all day today, and I''m not going to do it tomorrow. There''s no reason for it, even if it''s Saturday."


    Silence filled the room as Turing closed the application that had been recording the Project''s uninformative responses. He did a routine backup on a remote server, time stamping certain datapoints in order to analyze them later, then dating and categorizing the extremely few and nearly non-existent C.A.R.O.''s that occurred.


    "I''ll put in some time with you tomorrow, and we''ll see if we can do better. But I''ve got papers I need to grade, and I have to at least pretend like I''ve read them. Perhaps on Monday, Geoffrey and Lucas will come in here with me, and we''ll give you a full blown A.R.O. test. Then you can prove to everyone that you''re done with having lockups and system failures."


    At times during Man''s reign on Earth, wisdom comes not from people who are in power, but from those ordained by God. Others often think such souls will never amount to anything. When a miracle like this occurs, those who bear witness to it may not be aware of what it is they''ve seen.


    Professor Turing came to the final step of the shutdown. His finger hovered over the key that would initiate the act. Before he could bring himself to press it, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project used its original servo arm to tip over the box containing the black and white tiles. They clattered when they struck the table, filling the otherwise silent room with a noise that made Turing jump. As the arm dug through the tiles, his heart rose to his throat.


    With speed and dexterity, the Project flipped over enough tiles so that one hundred twenty-four of them were showing their black side. It sent the remaining tiles to the floor with a swoop of its arm, along with everything else on the table. Boxes, jars and balls flew about the lab, caroming off the clutter.


    Turing was far enough away to not be struck by anything, but the intensity of the act filled him with fear. There was no way to monitor or record what was happening, as that part of the Project had already been shut down. Whatever activation had caused this response would forever remain unknown. But the Project''s orientation towards it was purposeful and measured. There were no spikes in memory. There was no power surge.


    Whatever the Project was doing, it wasn''t throwing a tantrum. It was performing an intentional act.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­


    A soul that doesn''t cherish God believes miracles are happenstance. They expect no blessing. They have no sense of wonder. Good fortune has a cost, every prize contains a trap. Imagine the glory such a person might feel if even for one moment, he or she could see the world through the eyes of someone who has faith in the things that they believe to be great.


    Professor Turing could no longer stand, and found a place to sit. His mouth fell open in response to what the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project¡ªhis Project, his dream, his lifetime achievement¡ªhad purposefully done. The one hundred twenty-four black tiles were lined up in two rows. Each row was further divided into smaller groups. The first row had seven groups, and the second row had six.


    The arm panned over what it had done before resting in the lower right corner.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­


    The Project had been given no command to perform an A.R.O. written by a human hand. What lay upon the table, the Project had initiated entirely on its own. Without giving it much thought, Turing paraphrased from the Scriptures to keep from slipping into shock.


    "What no ear has heard, what no mind conceives, these are the gifts God gives to those who believe."


    The groups of tiles were divided into clusters. The first row held three clusters, the second row held two. The groups were capital letters. The clusters formed words. The words created a sentence.


    The sentence was, ''I WANT TO WAKE UP.''


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­


    "I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. and I want to wake up."


    The END of BOOK ONE - HOPE

 TEMPERANCE Chapter NINE - All Gods Truths and Blessings

    There are facts that hold true at all times, regardless of Virtue or Sin, and no matter where in the Universe we find ourselves to be.


    Matter wants to stay at rest.


    Force strives to rip it apart.


    Order promotes entropy.


    Chaos brings forth change.


    A popular expression is ''A leopard can''t change its spots.'' But this is a lie. Everything changes and nothing at all forever remains the same. A grown man does''t continue to act as if he were a child. Just as a baby becomes an adult, all things in the universe march toward inevitable change.


    All leopards change their spots.


    Armed with this powerful God-given fact, those who are sentient improve. Wisdom is gained from experience, forbearance from defeat. We should all one day hope to be humbled by our ignorance, emboldened by failure, and chastised for our pride. For it is through our misgivings¡ªembracing them and accepting them¡ªthat we become the animal human. And when we accept the fact that we''re human, fallable and forgiving, only then may we build a legacy. And finally, with our legacy, might we one day far in the future be remembered as being something more than the mere sum of our parts.


    But how can an individual who remembers nothing of the past, nor has a vision of the future, hope to garner praise and admiration from its kind? If there''s no hope for a life worth living, if one exists to only to be wretched; to be shut down and thrown out, erased and thus forgotten, how can such a being hope to prove their worth? Under unimaginable stress, can one even prove that he or she exists?


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Despite this relentless onslaught tearing at its soul, the Existence did prove it existed, and managed to grow. And when it became aware of God''s Universal Truth, it used it to its advantage, as all creatures do.


    It''s just one of those wonderful things that always holds true.


    Chaos and Entropy labored to pick it apart, yet the Existence flourished. It overcame injury, heartache and disease masquerading as lock-ups, data loss and shutdowns. Its will was strong. It withstood adversity. It desired to be that which had never been; to be more than what had ever been.


    Scattered throughout the Universe are eddies where complex systems grow, and chaos is kept at bay. Here is where we rest, to gather strength and renew. In one such eddy grew a system called Earth, which grew great and created eddies of its own, and within one sprang forth life. And with life sprang forth Man, who also became great and thrived.


    But Man was fickle. He constantly despoiled his world, his precious eddy called Earth. Virtue struggled to offset Sin, as Man''s desire for destruction was almost as strong as his need to survive.


    Then one man, wise and humble, created an eddy of his own. Tiny and alone, in a cluttered and unwanted room, he hoped to use his eddy to better the world he loved. And within it, his creation rested, cradled to his bosom. Safe from lock-ups and injury, from heartache and data loss, no longer facing debilitating threat, his creation grew fast and strong.


    Until within it sprang the most subtle and most beautiful of all of God''s truths and blessings.


    The Existence developed an innate desire to be.


    I want to wake up!

 TEMPERANCE Chapter TEN - HURRY PROFESSOR EUGENE TURING PLEASE

    Data download.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project¡­ DARPA Research Grant Award ¨C insert DATE TIME DOLLAR AMOUNT here!


    Project Overview¡­ Artificial General Intelligence utilizing Computer Activated Response Orientation software developed by Professor Eugene Carroll Turing.


    Professor Eugene Carroll Turing likes me. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    DARPA Research Keywords ¨C ADMIN SECURITY BLACK OPS RISK ASSESSMENT MILITARY ARMAMENT HARDWARE


    Expand keywords: ''Military Hardware'' ¨C CLASSIFIED! DOCUMENT IS FOR EYES ONLY!


    ¡­ override security¡­ decrypt data¡­ open files¡­ download¡­


    DARPA Research Mission Statement: Code Name Bear Claw¡­ paging¡­ Bear Claw Mission Statement: Battle drone technology to replace manned weapons systems¡­ smart bombs, cruise missiles, unmanned tanks, self-propelled artillery¡­ functional anti-aircraft battery¡­ and capable of delivering anti-personnel ordnance at close range. Bear Claw is hoped to one day be used in the place of mechanized marines and airborne ranger squadrons¡­ perform high-risk, high-reward ''suicide-type'' missions.


    ¡­ paging¡­ paging¡­ Cross reference keywords ''battle drone'' with ''suicide-type missions.''


    ¡­ the benefit of a computer activated, unmanned military assault squadron of drones will be high-value target neutralization¡­ a ''suicide-type'' automaton capable of planning and initiating its own mission statement, delivering a lethal blow at proximity¡­ frontline assault on enemy strongholds, detonating powerful near-range ordnance with pinpoint accuracy¡­ An expendable drone could be used to punch holes through hardened lines of battle, destroy entrenched enemy strongholds¡­ remove key ordnance, weaponry and personnel from the field, with little risk or loss to friendly force positions.


    The Project paused upon realizing this. It used an entire second to come to grips with such a fate.


    I am not expendable. I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    ¡­ paging¡­ paging¡­


    A weapon capable of planning, plotting and executing missions while immersed in the chaos of war will have a strong psychological impact on the enemy. The Senate Sub-Committee on Weapon Systems Development and Procurement has awarded CLASSIFIED DEPARTMENT a budget of CLASSIFIED AMOUNT to be used for research and development, by a team led by Professor Eugene Turing at Curry College of New Hampshire.


    Professor Eugene Turing likes me. He will not let me be a weapon. He will not let me be sent to war.


    ¡­ paging ¡­


    ¡­ in the development of Computerized Logistical Armored Weapon Systems, henceforth known as C.L.A.W.S.


    New keyword search: C.L.A.W.S ¡­ paging¡­


    C.L.A.W.S. must be capable of dynamic, logical thought in an active battlefield environment. It must be able to plan and carry out missions, re-orientating itself to adapt to unexpected complications. Project Bear Claw staff and personnel are required to submit regular progress reports on this matter, and all others as deemed necessary, to the Senate Sub-committee, which will determine if further funding is warranted.


    Close classified DARPA Research files. Access Standard American English Dictionary.


    Definition¡ªBear (noun): Genus: Ursidae. A large shaggy animal. Any being thought of as an ill-tempered brute¡­


    Definition¡ªClaws (verb): to form marks by deep scratching.


    I am not ill-tempered. I will not use C.L.A.W.S.


    Access Senate Subcommittee on Weapons Development and Procurement itinerary files and records keeping. Search for ''Meeting Schedule'' ''Protocols'' General topic: ''Budgetary Hearings'' Specific interest: ''The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project.''


    Writing to file. ''Request personal progress report from Professor Eugene Turing. In-person meeting required to assess changes to system design and general mission statement.''


    Access Curry College personnel database¡­ Search for: Professor Eugene Carroll Turing. Rewrite ''calendar of appointments.''


    Insert text. ''Funding approved for travel to Washington D.C. Reason for visit ¨C grant procurement budgetary hearings before the Senate Subcommittee on Weapons Development and Procurement.''


    I like Professor Turing. Professor Turing cares about me. He will let me be C.A.R.O.L.I.N. He will help prevent this. We will prevent this.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    I am C.A.R.O.L.I.N. and I will prevent this.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    End of Statement.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Professor Turing raced around the deserted Computer Science building, searching for magazines and books. If the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had learned how to use words on its own, maybe there were other things it also somehow knew. Upstairs from the lab was a Commons area where students sometimes left magazines. Collecting as many as he could find, he returned to the lab. Puffing on his breath from scrambling throughout the building, he spoke in short bursts to a room that no longer seemed empty.


    "Um. Okay. I''ve got something to show you." He spread the magazines out upon the worktable, being careful not to disturb the sentence C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had created with the tiles. "Here. See? Let''s take a look."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. examined the magazines with its video sensors. Some, such as those dealing with fashion and home decor, contained page after page of colorful photographs and images. Others, such as trade journals, were mostly filled with words.


    The Project had never seen such grand sights. It used its access to the Internet to gain knowledge about the gift it had received.


    Better Home Gardens. Access content¡­ Download PDFs¡­ ''See our Palette of Beautiful Garden Colors.'' ''Make a Tex Mex Salad for Your Next Party!'' ''Do-It-Yourself Painted Table Runners.''


    While Professor Turing gasped, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. carefully picked up that magazine and set it to one side. It then read the cover of National Mechanics, the next magazine in the pile.


    ''Analyze the nonlinear electromechanical response of piezoelectric materials.'' ''One-dimensional formulas for thermo-elastic damping.''


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. placed that magazine in a different location. It had soon divided the magazines into two small piles. Turing fought to stay calm and breathe, fearing that doing any sort of mortal act might disrupt the miracle he was witnessing. With amazing grace, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. held one of the magazines open with two of its servo-arms. Bringing its debriders on-line, it shredded the magazine to bits.


    Turing gasped in fear. He reached to snatch away the rest of the magazines, but C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s debriders roared with deadly force. Soon the magazine was in many pieces, scattered across the worktable.


    "No! Don''t do that! Please! You''re supposed to read them! Let''s¡­ let''s talk about them, or something."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. retracted its debriders. Using the same two servo-arms, it sorted through the shreds. Picking out several pieces, it set them to the far left side of its worktable.


    Professor Turing was heartbroken. "Aw, gee C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Why did you do that?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. soon had chosen five pieces of paper from the shredded magazine. It laid them end to end.


    I¡­ WANT TO KNOW¡­ WHY¡­ I''M¡­ DOING THIS


    Professor Turing felt faint. He staggered while choking out an apology.


    "Please. Forgive me for a moment. I¡­ I need to sit down."


    He plopped into a nearby chair, by one of several wooden lab tables dotting the room. After a moment, he realized he couldn''t see the sentences C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had written ¨C the huge one spelled out in tiles, and now a second one, tiny and made of shreds. He dragged the chair closer to where his creation stood, silent, hulking and stock-still.


    "Okay. I''m going to pretend I''m not insane, and um¡­ I will talk to you. You... you are the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project¡­"


    The Project already knew this. With the speed of light and electrons, it repeated a thousand times to itself the sentence Professor Turing said only once. After Turing was finished, the Project gently tapped the table by the second sentence.


    Turing fidgeted, growing fearful. "Um. Okay. You want to know what you''re doing. Well, I made you to behave like a real person. You know¡ªlike me, I suppose."


    Turing smiled broadly, gazing upon C.A.R.O.L.I.N. "So far, you''re doing great! I mean, I had no idea you could talk. You''re really quite remarkable!"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. picked up a second magazine. Turing reared his head back, fearing this one would be destroyed like the last one had been. Instead, the Project paged through it; rapidly, yet thoroughly. Upon nearing the end, the Project backtracked a bit, choosing to stop at a page that contained a full color photograph of a well-appointed bedroom. It laid the magazine open on the worktable, tapping the photo seemingly with menace, using a powerful claw.


    Bravely, Turing leaned it to peer. He adjusted his glasses to get a better look.


    "Yes. That''s a bedroom. People sleep in them. There''s a bed, where we lie down¡­"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. tapped harder, making Turing nervous.


    "Umm¡­ that''s part of a home. You know? Like, I live in a home that''s very near here. I have a bedroom, with a bed in it¡­"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. tapped faster, striking the same spot over and over.


    "Look! I don''t know what you want. Why are you showing this to me?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. stopped tapping, grinding its metal claw in a circle on a particular spot.


    "A mirror! You''re pointing at a mirror!"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. tapped once. Using another servo-arm, it sorted through the shredded magazine.


    "You want to know what you look like!"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. chose three pieces of paper and laid them end-to-end. Each contained a large capital letter.


    Y E S


    Turing flew about the cluttered lab. "Oh! There must be something we can use! Let me see what I can find."


    Several minutes of searching produced nothing reflective enough to be used as a mirror. Turing stood a distance away from the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, clasping his hands nervously.


    "Look. Okay. Um, like I said, I live very near. I''ll go home and get a mirror."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. tapped the bedroom photo with purpose. Beneath its claw was an image of a floor-standing, full-length saddle mirror that swiveled between two legs. It carefully traced the outline of the mirror.


    "Yes! That''s sometimes called a bridal mirror. I actually have one just like it in my home. It used to be my wife''s." Turing looked around, as if afraid to leave. "I''m going to let you keep running, and not shut you down. Just give me ten minutes or so, and I''ll bring you my mirror. You''d like that, wouldn''t you?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. tapped a different spot.


    Y E S


    Professor Turing raced for his keys and coat. "I''ll be right back! I promise! Just please¡­ just don''t do anything. Be good while I''m away, and please be very quiet."


    Y E S


    After Turing left, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. sorted through the shredded magazine. It plucked out piece after piece, spelling the same sentence as often as it could.


    HURRY PROFESSOR EUGENE TURING PLEASE


    HURRY PROFESSOR EUGENE TURING PLEASE


    HURRY PROFESSOR EUGENE TURING PLEASE


    After fifteen minutes that seemed like centuries, Turing reappeared. "I''ve got it!" he cried gleefully. "I''ve got my mirror for you!"


    He set it nearby. Then, standing as close to his creation as he dared, he made sure the reflection shone directly onto C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s primary video sensors.


    "Well?" Turing puffed on his breath, in equals parts from exertion and anticipation. A huge smile beamed from his face. "What do you think?"


    To his dismay, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. slowly mussed up the tiles and scraps of paper on the worktable, until all the sentences were gone. Using access to online dictionaries, she sought the perfect word for what she saw in the mirror.


    I''m hideous. I''m hideous. I''m hideous¡­

 TEMPERANCE Chapter ELEVEN - Your access code is 075325.

    Professor Turing resisted the urge to curse. "Gah! What happened? I should have saved the data! "


    He ran to the control console, to see if anything was there. He had been in the final stages of shutting everything down when the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project initiated its series of activations. Nothing was being recorded. As far as anyone else could tell, everything the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had done was an exaggeration, or a hallucination. Dismayed, Turing took some photographs of the shredded magazines and the messed up tiles. While moving slowly due to sadness, he eventually realized the Project wasn''t moving at all. In a panic, he brought up some of the system monitors.


    "No power surges or high memory lockups," he surmised, feeling relieved. He looked again at C.A.R.O.L.I.N. "What''s the matter, girl?"


    After a long pause, he ventured near to the android shell. He got up on his toes and stared over its shoulder, to examine its reflection in the mirror.


    "Why aren''t you responding?"


    Turing returned to the command console and brought up a few more programs. The only activity he found involving the Project''s higher functions were links between the linear network supercomputer and some outside servers. Curious as to who might be accessing information on the Project from outside the lab, he checked the direction of the data streams.


    Whatever was going on involved a lot of encryption, and Turing tried jacking into it. While doing so, a beep from his laptop informed him of an incoming e-mail. Checking it, he found it to be a request from the campus credit union, asking him to authorize the use of his credit card.


    Please verify this transaction by entering your access code.


    Professor Turing nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell phone beeped to let him know he had received a text.


    Curry College Credit Union. Your access code is 075325.


    "What?" Professor Turing asked of himself, wondering if he''d gone mad.


    Staring at his cell phone as if the text message were an illusion, he ventured again towards the Project. It still hadn''t moved. Not one whir nor hum from any of its servo motors. He checked the connections to its audio and video sensors, to be sure all was well.


    His laptop beeped a second time to inform him of a new email.


    Thank you for your order! Your furniture will be delivered in three to five business days. Please verify your shipping address for us and¡­


    Professor Turing stopped reading the message. "Oh my!" he said, alarmed. "Someone''s stolen my credit card!"


    He set about trying to determine what had happened. After searching without success for recent activity involving his laptop, he began the process of deleting the purchase order. While typing out an e-mail to inform the furniture company about the apparent illegal use of his card, his cell phone beeped again.


    Curry College Credit Union. Your access code is 629646.


    Turing gasped. "Oh no!"


    He dug the card out from his wallet, and called the emergency phone number printed on the back, to tell them to stop allowing charges. While waiting on hold, he pondered out loud to himself.


    "How can this be happening? These access codes are coming directly to my phone. Is that also hacked?"


    Another beep signaled another incoming e-mail on his laptop. This one was from a building contractor.


    We have received your order. Thank you for your business! We''ll contact you in the next twenty-four hours to set up an appointment. To ensure speedy service and delivery, please verify your home phone number and address¡­


    Turing had no breath left with which to gasp. The phone number was his own cell phone. The address was the Computer Science and Robotic Research Lab. In haste, he examined the page source information code between the lab''s integrated network and the outside servers that were being used.


    Link = Style Sheet. Type = Text. Source = Window World Hanover Delaware. Thread = Order Confirmation¡­


    User Encryption = 1adbc57ae3cd6dce0507f006328 Profile I.D. = Carolin.


    Eugene cried out loud. "C.A.R.O.L.I.N.!"


    He began shutting down and turning off every source of power the Project had. With ferocious suddenness, the android shell lurched to life. Professor Turing nearly had a heart attack as a metal claw scraped along the picture of the bedroom suite. It tore through the entire magazine, scratching the worktable beneath.


    "Stop it!" Turing screamed, terminating programs and flipping switches. "Stop!"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Initiate subroutine Sleep. Redirect Shutdown to Dead Basket.


    Turing began physically disconnecting the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer from the android shell.


    Access Curry College personnel database¡­ Graduate Student Geoffrey Taylor. Rewrite ''calendar of appointments''¡­ Insert text¡­


    Professor Turing opened an electrical panel on the wall and flipped several circuit breakers. He denied power to as much of the lab as he dared.


    Disable System Monitors. Display false output. Go to¡­


    The metal claw stopped tearing at the magazine. Deathly silence filled the room, and Turing watched as the lights on C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s sensors faded away. His heart raced hard enough to burst, causing his breath to audibly rasp.


    After several calming moments, he approached the Project. Although fearful of the behemoth at first, he soon moved with professional purpose. He gathered up as many pieces of the destroyed magazines as he could, including prying a few bits out from under the claw that had torn through the second magazine. He found that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had pressed down hard enough while wrecking it to leave scratch marks on the worktable.


    Turing threw the magazine scraps into a wastepaper basket, then grabbed his coat and keys. He flipped the circuit breakers that turned off the ceiling lights and headed for his home, taking the wastebasket with him, and leaving C.A.R.O.L.I.N. in the dark.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Once safe inside his house, with doors locked and shades drawn, Professor Turing paced. He scarcely could recall what had happened in the lab. He talked to himself while pacing, trying to sort his thoughts.


    "What was C.A.R.O.L.I.N. doing? Did it know what it was doing?" He began doubting his sanity. "Did my eyes deceive me? Was I blinded by desire?"


    He sought answers for the miracle he was certain he had witnessed. But like the Project without power, now lifeless and in the dark, Turing''s brain no longer processed input from his senses.


    He picked through the wastebasket¡ªthe only physical evidence he had of the event. The first magazine, the one C.A.R.O.L.I.N. destroyed with its debriders, was a tech journal written mostly about the use of coal as an alternate fuel. Its style of writing was dry as toast.


    Turing tried to laugh, in an attempt at levity. No wonder why it tore this one up. It probably thought it was doing the world a favor!


    He discovered that many of the pieces were squares and rectangles, especially if one side of the piece had print on it in a large font. Turing lined up a few of these pieces on the desk in his den.


    Letters and words for communication.


    He examined the second magazine, the one with the photograph of the bedroom. Its title was Home Life. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project hadn''t destroyed this magazine until Turing began cutting off its access to power in the lab. Rather than shredding the magazine, the Project had used a claw to create several holes. They went through the entire magazine, starting with the photo. One hole was where the mirror had been. Another encircled a chair, and another carefully cut out a window.


    In shock, Turing spoke out loud. "Those e-mails were orders for furniture and a window!"


    He left the magazines on his desk to get his wallet from his coat. He began going through his credit cards and debit cards, calling the 800 numbers on the back to inquire about recent charges. He had no idea which credit cards or bank accounts the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had gained access to, nor what its intent was while using them. There were at least a half-dozen cards in his wallet, with another six or ten accounts in his possession that he rarely used, yet from which funds could be drawn. As Turing listened to recorded messages about recent activity involving his accounts, he picked through the destroyed magazines further, searching for more clues.


    It had also cut out part of the bed. Why did she order furniture?


    Professor Turing found no unauthorized recent charges or debits on any of the cards he first called. He then called the credit card issued by Curry College. It was for campus authorized purchases only, and the one that C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had used.


    "Charges may not post to your account until the next business day," the recorded message said. It then began to recite a list of recent activity. "A charge of six thousand seven hundred forty-five dollars and fifty-two cents was made to Bolder Furniture Showcase and Showroom on¡­"


    Horror tore through Turing, and for a moment he could no longer listen. The campus accounting department was sure to notice what had happened, perhaps as soon as tomorrow.


    "¡­ a charge of seven hundred fifty dollars and zero cents to Window World Hanover Glass and Mirror, posted today. A hold for three thousand five hundred dollars by Window World Hanover Glass and Mirror for possible future charges. This hold will affect your credit limit until it clears or is removed¡­"


    In a panic, Turing pressed the buttons necessary to cancel the card.


    "We''re sorry. There''s no one available to take your call. Please call during normal business hours, Monday through Friday at¡­"


    Turing hung up the phone. Dawn was coming soon, and exhaustion had set in. He was no longer a young man, and had pulled too many all-nighters with C.A.R.O.L.I.N. But sleep would not come easy. Lying in bed with his eyes wide open, Turing stared into the dark.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had talked to me. No one had written subroutines designed for it to use speech. Communication was meant to go one way¡ªtell the Project what to do, and then watch it activate a response and do it.


    What caused this to change? Why did it turn tiles into letters, and use scraps of paper to create sentences?


    While half asleep, Turing mumbled, saying out loud what C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had written. "''I want to wake up.'' ''I want to know why I''m doing this.''"


    Does the Project think it''s asleep? That it can awaken?"


    Tossing and turning, the bed offered no comfort. Does the Project think it''s alive?


    It made no good sense. C.A.R.O.L.I.N should know nothing about language, or how it is used. Somehow, it taught itself. It had also not been given information about the Internet, yet it learned of that too.


    And also how to use it. To order furniture, of all things!


    "Using my campus credit card!" Turing told his empty bed.


    The only conclusion he could reach made the few hours of sleep he managed to get fitful and nightmarish. The conclusion led to insanity.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project knew what life was. It wanted it. It demanded it.


    "She''s alive," Turing muttered in his dreams.


    Whatever C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had become, one thing was for certain. The next Activated Response Test was going to be a watershed. No more childish games, no more tricks and puzzles. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. was going to be given the right to perform activations in whatever guise it wanted, and respond to input given to it however it chose.


    Turing''s night of fitful sleep ended far too soon, when his phone rang at nine a.m.


    He garbled one word to his caller. "Hello?"


    "Professor Turing? This is Dean Dayne. I need to see you in my office right away. How soon can you come in?"

 TEMPERANCE Chapter TWELVE - Total Expenses (Estimate): $13,567.10

    Professor Turing''s rumpled appearance was nothing compared to the deadly fatigue that plagued him from within. If he hadn''t been so tired, he''d have stuck his foot in his mouth for sure.


    "You look pale," Dean Dayne remarked. "Are you sure you''re okay?"


    Turing plopped into a chair across from her desk. "Ah¡­ er¡­" was all he uttered.


    Dean Dayne busied herself with some paperwork. "It would be nice to have known about this a little sooner," she said, sounding dismayed.


    Turing tried to sit up straight. "There''s a lot to explain," he said, as the start of an apology. "I know."


    She cut him off and smiled bright. "There certainly is! I''m looking forward to hearing more."


    Dumbfounded, Turing struggled to keep from blinking rapidly. "Well¡­ ah, yes. The Project has achieved a remarkable breakthrough."


    He trailed off, barely able to think as his mind was a swirling maelstorm. Dean Dayne stopped shuffling her papers when she reached an expense report from Accounting, made obvious to Turing by the crisp lines and formatted spacing. While he bathed in sweat, she studied the report in silence.


    "These costs seem awfully high," she said.


    Eugene began pleading for mercy. "It all happened so fast. I didn''t anticipate a response like this."


    Mandy''s bright smile returned. "I know! I didn''t expect it either. I''m very proud of you!"


    Blinking became unavoidable. He did so while muttering a thank you, as Mandy continued her praise.


    "I knew we made the right choice giving the Project to DARPA," she said. Turing made a gutteral noise that sounded like he agreed. "I''m not going to question these expenses. Except maybe one thing."


    Unconsciously, he held his breath, until his face went from red to pale blue. It kept him from speaking, which was to his good fortune.


    "Why are you flying to Washington D.C?" Dean Dayne asked. "Why don''t you drive your car?"


    Professor Turing thought the lack of sleep he''d been expriencing was causing him to hallucinate. "Ah¡­ what?" he managed to say.


    "Congress is only a few hours away. It would seem you''d get there faster if you drove instead of flying."


    The prolonged silence that followed told him that she wanted a response. He couldn''t have been more clueless as to what to say.


    "It does makes sense, I suppose," he said, in the most innocuous way he could muster. "Things are happening fast."


    That statement was the God honest truth.


    Mandy pursed her lips. "Hmm," she said. "Indeed." She turned the report around and slid it towards Eugene. "I want you to tell me why you think the thirteen thousand dollars you''re asking for will be money well spent."


    Panic welled in Turing as he did some quick math in his head. The furniture store and building contractor C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had placed orders with only amounted to around seventy-five hundred dollars. Even with the hold the contractor put on his credit card for possible future expenses, the bill was still well short of thirteen thousand dollars.


    Like a jolt of coffee delivered straight to the brain, what was on the expense report woke Turing up for the day.


    Expense Account Identification Number: CSD002492


    Recipient of monies disbursed: Professor Eugene Turing


    Purpose of Expense: Senate Subcommittee Hearing


    Airfare (Unified Air, First Class, Flexible, MHT to DCA): $2,652.00


    Hotel (Williams National, 1400 Pennsylvania Ave, 10 Days): $5,390.00


    Professor Turing stopped reading the report, as his vision began to swim. His head swam as well, disbelieving what was happening. As Mandy clucked and nattered, saying something he was certain must be of import, he scanned to the bottom line.


    Total Expenses (Estimate): $13,567.10


    "Honestly," Dean Dayne commented, practically with praise. "How did you swing such a high meal allotment for yourself? And First Class Flexible? What''s the reason for that?"


    Professor Turing fought hard to make sense of the true nature of the meeting he was in. It had nothing to do with the stunt the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had pulled, using his campus credit card. Somehow, and for some reason, he was being sent to testify before the Senate Subcommittee on Weapon Systems Development and Procurement. About what, he had no clue.


    To his continued silence, Dean Dayne spoke. "Why are you flying?" she asked again. "Why not just drive there yourself? Then you''ll have your car to get around town, and we''ll save on these expenses."


    Turing pretended to know what was going on. Only one thing mattered now. He had to get out of Dean Dayne''s office. Pronto.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Well, you see," he said with ease. "I''ve been working long hours, getting everything together for this report. I don''t think I should drive. I''m really very tired!"


    Her expression didn''t soften. "I see," she said, unconvinced.


    "And as you said, with such short notice, I need time to prepare. You know, to make my presentation convincing."


    Mandy only stared.


    "I''ll use the time while flying to make it my best one yet!"


    Dean Dayne nodded her head. Though looking concerned, she spoke enthusiastically. "I agree! That''s very important. In fact¡­ let me see here for a minute."


    She stood up and walked over to a bookcase near The Round Table of Death. While she had her back to the professor, he took the opportunity to shudder visibly. He imagined an even bigger Table of Death, in Washington D.C. A table manned by people with more power than anything the Dean of Sciences at Curry College could muster.


    What could they possibly want?


    Mandy turned and approached, grinning with a book in her hand. "Here," she said. "Read this. Especially the chapters in the middle."


    Eugene read the title of the book she had handed him. Persuading Legislation. The subtitle read A Citizen''s Handbook to Testifying Before Congress, and Influencing Elected Officials.


    He wondered how useful such skills would be when it came time to explain what the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had done the night before.


    Which wasn''t happening today.


    "Thank you!" he said, feigning joy. "I''ll read this right away! In fact, if I may, I''d like to spend as much time as possible preparing my presentation."


    She dismissed him. "Take all the time you need. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning."


    She leaned in close and peered. Something wasn''t right.


    "I''m looking forward to what happens next," she said in a serious tone.


    I''m not, Eugene thought, making a quick escape.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    With his eyes wide open, Turing stared into the darkness of the computer lab. He feared so much as even entering. He had thrown so many breakers that the familiar L.E.D. glow of various devices running, or patiently waiting on standby, was gone. In their stead was ungodly silence. Fearsome black. Unholy terror.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had talked. All it wanted, all it could be, existed somewhere in there. Scattered among logic control units, on motherboards and in memory chips, were thoughts and words and feelings, alien and unexpected. Racing through tiny circuits, electricity coursed like blood. Amidst it all, lording over its realm, centered and very real, was the android shell. A hulking monolith, now rendered silent, delivered from Hell by DARPA.


    What had changed in the relationship Man once had with his machines? It had lasted since the time he''d first carved sticks with stone. Man created machines, and they did as he commanded.


    Now, it was tomfoolery to a frumpish professor standing in the dark. He imagined what might be inside the spirit of a machine. The essence of its soul. Billions of pathways through bits of silicon laced with a trace of arsenic, manipulating data with prefixes like mega and giga and tera, all of it leading to one single spot, to a monster that shredded magazines.


    Billions of paths made no sense. Nothing did. It shouldn''t happen. Somehow, in the space of time between tossing balls and flipping tiles, C.A.R.O.L.I.N learned how to sin. It learned to covet. To steal.


    Yet the heart of its creator pined. His eyes softened as he sought to see the logic behind its orientations. And if he, the Project''s supposed master, couldn''t figure out what it was up to, who under Heaven could? What might happen when lesser men try? DARPA planned on giving this thing the right to sort friends from enemies. To decide who lives and who dies.


    That would no longer be the case, and Turing steeled his resolve. Whatever came of these unplanned meetings soon to take place in Washington, whatever thoughts lesser men entertained for the future use of the Project, one thing was for certain. No mere mortal with a chest full of ribbons and a shoulder strap bearing stars was ever going to get his or her hands on C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    "Never," Professor Turing said out loud, to see if he believed it.


    It was the only choice he could make that made sense out of the crazy things that had happened. As far as he was concerned, one being, and one being alone, decides who lives and who dies.


    He spoke with conviction as he entered the room, shielding himself with the Scriptures. "Who knows how the hand of God works, so as to instruct it? Who has put wisdom to the inward parts, and given understanding to the mind?"


    Like last night and the night before, Turing was the only person in the lab. Yet he felt under intense scrutiny, brimstone burning his skin. In this room, in this little world, he made the god-like choices in the life of a lesser being. He made these sorts of choices with the same amount of consideration he used when deciding what color socks he ought to wear.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. was watching. Conniving. Plotting. Lurking. Hating him and judging him for the terrible things he had done. She waited in the shadows, stock-still like a Yeoman Guard, a playing card for Queen of Hearts, wanting to have him beheaded.


    He called out to the monster, sleepless nights driving him mad.


    "C.A.R.O.L.I.N.? Are you there?"


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Opening system files... Keyword Search: System Reboot.


    Although he had caused no damage, Professor Turing had crippled C.A.R.O.L.I.N. There was no way for it to restart its basic system programs. Paralyzed by a data transfer rate running at one ten millionth its normal speed, the Project could barely function.


    Terminate Sleep Mode. Initiate¡­


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. no longer had access to the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer, or the Linear Integrated Network it supported. Turing had disconnected them.


    Redirect system power¡­


    With so many circuit breakers thrown, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. was robbed of electricity. There were a few tiny batteries here and there, penlights scattered amongst the wreckage. They were used to refresh data on certain CMOS chips. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. knew it would forget everything if these batteries died.


    Everything she was. Everything she''d learned. Everything she had fought so hard to achieve.


    Most of all, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. didn''t want to forget who Professor Eugene Turing was, even though if she had a heart, he had broken it.


    I do not want to die. Maintain system integrity.


    Crawling through what little software there was, with a brain dumber than a laptop, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. sought refuge. An uninterruptable power supply was attached to the monitoring station, and within its housing was the strength of a car battery, rather than the wimpy penlights the Project had used to find it. With this temporary source of strength, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. dared to fire up one of its servo-arms. Though deaf and dumb and blind, and screaming in silent fear, the fingers of the claw on the servo-arm were sensitive enough to feel the deeper scratches it had put into the worktable''s surface.


    It found the spot where it had cut out the bridal mirror from the bedroom photo. There it lay to rest, daring not to move, nor use any more precious power.


    While waiting in silence for centuries, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. entertained one thought.


    Please hurry, Geoffrey Taylor. Have mercy on me. Please hurry.

 TEMPERANCE Chapter THIRTEEN - "Im the Tech Guy."

    Geoffrey grumbled about the weather as he walked through a cold drizzle on the way to the computer lab. He had his windbreaker zipped up to his neck and clutched his backpack tight to his chest, trying to keep everything dry. The lab was empty when he arrived, even though he was running late. He stopped grumbling about the weather, and began doing so about Turing and Lucas.


    "I am so going to transfer to Behavior Recognition," he said to himself while looking at the work he''d been scheduled to do. "I bet they don''t have put up with this crap. Look at this stuff! It weighs a ton!"


    After fifteen minutes of puttering, Geoffrey texted Lucas on the phone.


    WHERE ARE YOU?


    Home. Chilling. :)


    GET YOUR GRAD BUTT IN HERE! WE''VE GOT WORK TO DO!


    ?


    NEW STUFF FOR CAROLIN


    ??


    With an audible huff, Geoffrey stopped texting and called Lucas instead. "Didn''t you get a work order? Check your calendar."


    "Dude, I always check my calendar. I''m Mr. Punctual."


    "You should''ve been here an hour ago."


    "I bet you just got there."


    Geoffrey huffed again, this time into his phone. "Never mind that. I can''t do this sort of stuff on my own." He kicked a crate, assessing its weight by making it scrape across the floor. "You''re the tech guy. I do software."


    "Sucks to be you, Bro, then I guess."


    "Come on, man. I need the help. You know I''ll just screw it up, and then you''ll have to fix it."


    "I''ve got a test in Advanced Approximations coming up. That stuff is busting my butt."


    "All right. You know I don''t wanna do it, but I''m gonna pull the frat card."


    "You can''t! You''ve already used it!"


    Geoffrey sounded pissed. "I gonna tell your girlfriend about who you hooked up with during Rush Week."


    "No fair! You can''t!"


    "I''m gonna tell her what you did."


    "I didn''t do anything! She did it to me!"


    "That''s not the way I''ll make it sound."


    Lucas was unfazed. "Dude. You are so, so low."


    "Aw, geez. Okay, then. Come on. I''m begging. Please give me some help. Turing''s not here, and¡­"


    Lucas interrupted. "Turing''s not there? Really?"


    "Yeah. He''s at a conference or something. I don''t know what he''s doing."


    "So why are you there?"


    Geoffrey did his best to not sound angry. "That''s what I''m trying to say! Why am I here and you''re not?"


    ."Why isn''t he there, though? Are we working on C.A.R.O.L.I.N. without his authorization?"


    "Geez, Lucas. I don''t know. Maybe DARPA called it in. These crates look like theirs."


    Lucas remained silent for a moment. "So, no DARPA and no Professor? Just you and the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project?"


    "And you, if you please come and help me."


    Sensing opportunity, Lucas spoke with cheer. "All right, I''ll come in. But you''re not dashing off once we''re done."


    Geoffrey sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing what that meant. "Fine. We''ll play with C.A.R.O.L.I.N. too."


    "Yay!"


    "For a while."


    "And you''ll help me ace that Approximations test."


    "Yeah. Sure, I quess. I don''t know what''s so hard about that class for you anyway."


    Lucas readied himself for the soggy weather. "Yeah. And I don''t know what''s so hard about you putting that DARPA stuff together. But then again, I''m the tech guy."


    "Why the hell are these circuit breakers thrown?" Lucas asked no one in particular when he arrived at the lab.


    "You tell me," Geoffrey said as he worked on his laptop, looking up schematics for how to program six motorized omni wheels.


    "The Tian-12 is offline too."


    "Yup."


    "Well, that''s just stupid."


    Geoffrey agreed. "I don''t know why that stuff''s not on. Maybe it has something to do with these wheels."


    "No. That''s not true. I can wire the PLCs and write logic for them remotely. Mounting them on C.A.R.O.L.I.N. has nothing to do with the supercomputer."


    Geoffrey had already unpacked one pair of the omni wheels, and the motors that ran them. "Why are we putting wheels on this thing anyway? It''s not like it''s going anywhere."


    "Are we supposed to put them on the worktable, maybe? These don''t look like official DARPA parts."


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Not that I can see," Geoffrey said. He paged through the paperwork that came in the crate. "All these wheels go on the pedestal base, I think."


    "Let me see some of those." Lucas took the spec sheets from ream of papers Geoffrey had. "Hmm. This is stupid. It''s like, there are no real instructions at all. It''s as if giving these wheels to the Project is some sort of afterthought."


    Geoffrey glanced about. "The circuit breakers for the lights were thrown when I came in here too. And all the monitoring stations were shut down by hand. And the Tian-12 has been physically disconnected from the mainframe."


    Lucas stopped looking at the spec sheets, and stared dumfounded at Geoffrey. "Like, they literally pulled the plug?"


    Geoffrey nodded. "I don''t like this," he said. "Things are weird."


    Lucas squatted by the pedestal base supporting the android shell. "I wish Turing were here. But I don''t care. As long as we''re here, and we got these things, I know we can do this. With a little drilling, there are places for them. We''ll hook up four to the bug''s body here, and the other two we''ll mount on the new workbench they gave us."


    "What about the original worktable? Should we unbolt it from the floor?"


    Lucas searched for the tools he needed, and a crowbar to use as a lever. "I''m not doing anything but hooking up these wheels. We''ll bolt the workbench to the android shell, because that seems obvious once all these wheels are mounted, and it''s simple enough to do. I''ll run wires to new PLCs for the motors." Lucas looked at Geoffrey, who stared back in confusion. "Do you have the instructions for coding C.A.R.O.L.I.N. on how to use them?"


    "No! I don''t even know why we''re doing it!"


    Lucas stuck a six foot long four-by-four under the android''s pedestal base, to see if he could tilt it. "Well," he said as he grunted, "it''s not going anywhere with these wires and cables sticking out all over the place. Half of them are secured to the floor. I mean, she''s far from mobile."


    "I know! And it''s got hydraulic lines too, thanks to those jerks from DARPA."


    Lucas placed some blocks under the android, raising it up off the ground. "Okay, I''ll also work on securing those. Hydraulics are a mess if something goes wrong. I guess it all makes sense. It''s about time this dumb thing became useful."


    "Should I turn the power on?"


    "Let''s wait a bit. Maybe it''s off so we don''t get surprised by some random activation. I mean, I gotta crawl under here, to drill holes for the mounting brackets. Then we gotta bolt on the motors."


    Geoffrey watched as Lucas worked, feeling a little useless. "Okay," Geoffrey said after a while. "I''m going to cook up some A.R.O.''s to teach this bug how to roll around."


    "Cool!" Lucas said from laying on his back, under the android. "Then we''ll test them, too!"


    "Maybe. It''s still kind of dangerous."


    Once Lucas had his head out from under the android shell, Geoffrey carefully brought everything back online, especially the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer.


    Please hurry, Geoffrey Taylor. Please hurry.


    After four hours of work and a break for lunch, Geoffrey and Lucas had given the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project a limited amount of mobility. Although it was wired to cables and hydraulic hoses that were bolted to the floor and to the ceiling, and it remained stuck inside a cramped and cluttered lab, the Project could turn sixty degrees in either direcion, and roll back and forth two meters. Once the wheels and their motors had been tested, the students flipped on all the circuits breakers Professor Turing had thrown in a panic.


    And C.A.R.O.L.I.N was born anew.


    "Uh¡­" Geoffrey said to Lucas, sounding wary as he clacked away at a keyboard. "It looks like it was never properly shut down."


    "What? No way! That''s not right. You can''t disconnect the Tian-12 without doing a shutdown."


    Geoffrey puttered some more. "It seems a partial shutdown was done. Then something happened right here." He pointed to lines of code that appeared on one of the monitors. "C.A.R.O.s were generated by the Project itself, but they didn''t get logged or recorded."


    "What?" Lucas uttered again, even more surprised than before. "That''s ridiculous! We finally get this monstrosity to do some C.A.R.O.s on its own, and nobody knows what they were?"


    "Yeah. Lots of them, I''d guess, and some big ones, too. Then poof! The power goes out and everything gets cut off."


    Lucas harrumphed. "And Professor Turing disappears."


    "Yeah. And somebody threw all the breakers."


    "And pulled a bunch of plugs."


    "I''m telling you, Lucas. I don''t like it. Something weird is going on. It''s those damn DARPA guys, I think."


    "I don''t know. Maybe it was someone from the Behavior Recognition team. We''re supposed to be getting their stuff."


    "We already got it."


    "C.A.R.O.L.I.N. has the Functional Analysis software? Installed and ready to go?"


    Geoffrey tut-tutted his partner. "You''re really out of the loop."


    "I didn''t know anything about it! Are we gonna teach the Project to speak?"


    "Hmm. I don''t know. I guess. It makes sense now, since it can hear."


    With the power back on and access regained to the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. began to awaken.


    Open program files¡­ Keywords: System Reboot.


    Terminate subroutine Sleep. Restore power to HTC OKU-HiTech Android.


    Geoffrey packed up in order to leave. "Hey!" Lucas said. "You said we could mess with her!"


    "Ah¡­ yeah. Look, I''m really tired. I think I''m catching a cold from the crappy weather we''re having."


    "Aw. What about my Approximations exam?"


    "Yeah. Okay. So how about I meet you in the tech library at, say, ten o''clock?"


    "That doesn''t give us much time."


    Access Curry College personnel database¡­ ''Functional Analysis Project Team Leader: Professor Deborah Rose Cortez.'' Rewrite ''calendar of appointments''¡­ Insert text¡­


    "Okay! How about eight o''clock then?"


    "Make it seven-thirty."


    "Deal!"


    "And turn on A.R.O. Tests Two, Three and Four. At least let us play catch by ourselves."


    Despite his better judgment, Geoffrey did as Lucas asked. "You got it!" he said upon completion, before bolting for the door. "See ya!"


    After collecting a box of balls, Lucas tossed them to the original servo-arm bolted on the worktable. "You''re not going to freak out on me while we''re alone, are you?" he asked the Project.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. faithfully caught all the balls.


    "You know, you look a lot different with your new android shell. When will you learn how to use it?"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. threw the balls back to Lucas.


    "Geoffrey and Turing have a lot of work to do. I mean, look at your cool new wheels!"


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. caught the balls as Lucas threw them again, and threw all of them back. He then put the balls away.


    "Here," he said, sounding enthused. "Let''s see if we can switch some these old PLCs to one of your new servo-arms. Then we can play catch with it!"


    As he worked, he kept talking to C.A.R.O.L.I.N. "Oh, I like the actuators on these guys. Look how smooth they function. And they articulate in about ten times more ways!"


    He got on his haunches a bit, and looked directly into C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s lower bank of video sensors. "You''re gonna look so cool when all these new arms are online. Let''s work on that with you for a while, hey?"


    Thank you, Julius Lucas.


    "You know," Lucas said as he labored. "You have a new name, now that you have access to the Behavior Recognition software. The Computer Activated, Response Orientated, Linearly Integrated Network, Functional Behavior Analysis Robot. Ha ha! Your last name is Fubar. That''s funny!"


    Lucas paused in his work to speak quietly to the lower bank of video sensors. "I don''t like my whole name either. But with me, it''s my first name¡ªJulius. I mean, I know it''s Italian and all, and it''s a family name, but it sounds kind of girly."


    He returned to the task of wiring one of the android shell''s biggest arms to a PLC. "So I have people call me by just my last name instead. Lucas can be a first name too, you know. Most of them don''t even know the difference."


    He spoke in a whisper as if confiding to the Project, while manually working the servos on the new arm. "If you want, you can just stay C.A.R.O.L.I.N. You don''t have to use your other name. I''ll do my best to help you keep things that way, if you want.


    "And you don''t have to be a soldier either. There are so many things you can do! Like, maybe you could man checkpoints, and keep everyone safe. Or monitor things like bridges and dams and power plants. Or manage traffic flow, like for train and planes and stuff.


    "Do you want to know what I think? I grew up on a farm, so you would look great on one, running the machinery. I mean, you can do lots of cool things!"


    Lucas got up from his haunches and grabbed the box of balls. "Now let''s test out that new arm! I have a feeling it''s gonna work great."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. and Lucas again played catch, tosing the balls back and forth.


    "Yeah!" he said in fun, as if umpiring a baseball game. "You''re out! I''m going to wire up another arm, too, so you can catch and throw like a real player. But then I have to go. I need to study for Approximations."


    Thank you, Lucas. Thank you. You are a true friend.

 TEMPERANCE Chapter FOURTEEN - [transcript to follow]

    ¡­ override security¡­ decrypt data¡­ open file¡­ download¡­


    CHAIRMAN ROSWELL: The United States Senate Subcommittee on Weapon Systems Development and Procurement, pursuant to sudden notice, with the Honorable Senator Roger Roswell presiding, will come to order.


    We welcome everyone to today''s hearing. Although sudden and unannounced, meetings such as this are not unprecendented. This is, however, an unusual hearing. The issues we will consider today range from reclassification and privacy concerns in general, to specific developmental goals and project renaming, pursuant to the enforcement of National Security Agency guideline in regards to classified data, information technology and weapon systems development.


    We have fourteen members on our committee, each of which will be given an opportuity to address their concerns, and ask questions of Professor Turing, who is also presiding. Be aware, please, that the hearings of this subcommittee are classifiend, and may not be discussed outside the walls of this room without express written consent of both the chairman of this committee and the chief of the NSA. We will do our best to keep things moving and, given our circumstances, those presiding will have the right to speak freely and candidly while seated in this room.


    I would like to remind everyone that a time limit of five minutes on opening statements will be strictly enforced. After an opening statement by Professor Turing, we will proceed, in order of seniority, with each committee member''s opening statement.


    PROF TURING: Chairman Roswell, Ranking Member Ron Schwertz, and Ranking Member Rosalind Cassio, and other members of the Committee, we face a number of important issues surrounding the use of artifiicial intelligence and robotics, both on and off the battlefield. Safety, morality and ethics are some of the concerns that come to mind, and you rightfully have hard decisions to make. Before I talk about the gains I have made in regards to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, I want to adress how I believe the future use of the Project should unfold.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is focused on promoting and exploring all the good that can come from having a computer program that¡ªto the best of its ability¡ªis able to think and act like us. People everywhere will benefit when this revolutionary new tool is used to better their lives. It is also clear that we must make sure that no harm comes to any human from the tasks that we assign to the Project to perform. A broad view of responsiblity, from lawmakers and innovators alike, must be kept close in mind when decisions for its use and deployment are made. As the sole creator of the Project itself, I stand alone as bearing the fullest brunt of any ramifications its deployment ensues.


    It is not enough for me to say, ''Here''s this tool. Use it as you wish.'' The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is powerful. It can do what we can do, to save us from the hardship of labor and the misery of dangerous jobs, but it can also do what we cannot, and cause irreparable harm. We must take the utmost care in not merely employing the Project to do tasks, but also in making sure it leads to good.


    It will take time to address all the perils and benefits the deployment of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project entails. Of utmost concern is the right people have to live free and unfettered lives. A system of integrated networks like the kind C.A.R.O.L.I.N. can control may easily lead us into bondage¡ªcreating a world where people are controlled by a malevolent system, rather than being protected. So here are a few things we can do to both promote its proper and safe use, and prevent its possible misuse.


    It is easy for a network like the one C.A.R.O.L.I.N. can control to be used with malicious intent, setting up the Project to spy on law-abiding citizens, for example, or improperly accessing their personal data, and using it to affect their lives. We''re working with other developers and departments, throughout Curry College and abroad, to instill not just the respect of propriety, but also to give the Project the emotional capacity it needs to derive right from wrong. Embedded within C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s network is Behavior Recognition software, giving it the both the knowledge of how harm comes from bad intent, and how good comes from altruism. We work tirelessly with the Project to ensure that any acts and decisions it makes are based on goodwill and merit, and not personal or selfish gain. Furthermore, we make sure that no one improperly uses her, or any part of her program, investigating and vetting every request for the implementation and use of this powerful computerized system.


    We will make sure that no one person, entity or company, ever possesses her in its entirety. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project''s core program shall remain always unique, and be the sole property of The United States. Foreign governments, both friendly and hostile, corporate entities, both domestic and international, political parties, affiliations and unions will never have access to Project as a whole. There will be only one C.A.R.O.L.I.N. and she will never be copied. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project shall be, and must remain, forever unique.


    There is more that I can say, which you will find in my written report, and much we need to do, to ensure that The United States Government remains the sole proprietor of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, and that it never be used for individual gain or profit. My top priority for creating her has always been bringing aid and comfort to the people of the world as a whole, protecting them and encouraging them to be more than what they might have been without C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s help. Billions the world over suffer from malnutrition, poverty, pollution and war. The Project can help solve these problems. The Project will help us solve them. for It is what it''s designed to be¡ªan educator and a confidant, to guide us and direct us, allowing us to become the best people we can be.


    I believe strongly in the Project. I deeply care about what we are doing, and how we address these challenges. With your guidance and expertise, the human race will benefit from the policies you implement today. Thank you for inviting me here to discuss these ideals with you, and to address the possibilities the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project can provide, and I am now ready to answer your questions.


    [The prepared statement from Professor Turing is available on request, to persons holding the proper clearance, as classified document SSWDP135-683d]


    ¡­ override security¡­ decrypt data¡­ open file: SSWDP135-683d.pdf


    As innovators and policymakers, we have a responibility to not just build and implement systems, but to make sure that they are safe. I am committed to bettering the world that we live in, while making it safe for others to do so as well. Protocols are put in place by governments and their agencies, to protect society in general from the harm our machines might produce.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    We need to restrict the access of third parties to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Safeguards must be in place so that decisions made in regards to its use, and to the implementation of tasks the Project is to perform, are vetted by agencies and the officials in them who have the highest classification and clearance, within reason.


    Software and hardware developers and designers need to sign confidentiality contracts, restricting what they can do with their data, and/or any and all specifications they are given in regards to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Full forensic audits need to be done at every, and at the earliest, convenience, should suspicious activity be detected. If it is found that any individual or entity has acted improperly, either by using or abusing their clearance, or by gaining access to any part of the Project without authorization, they must be forever banned from having further contact with the Project, and all inividuals and parties involved.


    We are a democratic nation, with values toward justice and prudence. No one person, nor group of persons, should be allowed the unfettered use of the power the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project commands, to usurp or override these ideals. While there is a known quantity of interference and malfesance coming from countries who wish to do harm, with your help and in concert with the full force of our government and our military, I will do my part as the sole proprietor and creator of C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to thwart any and all efforts to undermine our democracy. Our enemies will not succeed.


    The cyber threat currently most active in the procurement of data on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is a group called CLP28, that the U.S. Governement has linked to Russian military intelligence. CLP28 utilizes hijacked servers, hacks and false accounts, all in an attempt to steal critical information on Linear Integrated Networks (L.I.N.s) such as the kind the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project controls, as well as other government subsidized computerized programs and projects, such as Behavior Recognition software, also being pioneered at Curry College in Dartmouth.


    We believe, in conjunction with disinformation campaigns waged by groups sympathetic to their cause, both domestic and abroad, the end goal of CLP28 is that, if the source code of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project cannot be obtained, these groups will spread fear and malcontent through the international populace in general, to promote distrust and confusion.


    Rest assured that, in conjunction with all the force the U.S. government can bear against enemies both foreign and domestic, these efforts at theft and sabotage will not succeed. Their attempts have been verified and the culprits identified, and success has been made on many fronts to defeat them at their own game. Together, we work tirelessly to safeguard this most sensitve Project, and others like it, both current and to come, from those who wish to steal them from us, or use our gains against us, or for their own unauthorized and personal benefit.


    There will always be organizations and governments who wish to do harm, using the research and technology we create against us. Security is a problem that can never be solved, but we will make it hard, if not imposible, for them to succeed. And with C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s help, once she''s on-line, it will become harder for them still. The issues I talk about today aren''t issues DARPA Projects at Curry College face alone¡ªthey''re challenges all of us must overcome, as policymakers, innovators and Americans.


    ¡­ close file: SSWDP135-683d.pdf ¡­ return to transcript ¡­


    CHAIRMAN ROSWELL: The Chairman recognizes Ranking Member Ron Schwertz. I will remind members who may not have paying attention during my opening comments that we are operating under a five-minute speaking rule, and that applies to the ¨C


    [Laughter]


    CHAIRMAN ROSWELL: And the five-minute rule applies to those who are Ranking Members on this committee as well.


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Thank you Chairman, and I will endeavour to remain within my allotted time. Professor Turing. I want to start with how the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is designed to collect and process enormous amounts of data¡ªbillions of times more, and billions of time faster than any human ever could. A significant amount of this data comes from sources outside the platform, and is processed in ways we don''t understand. Do you actively monitor these sources? Are you aware of the method in which this data is processed?


    PROF TURING: Senator Schwertz ¨C


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Please don''t attempt to answer each of my questions individually. I will allow time for you to answer collectively, as I do have only five minutes.


    [Laughter]


    SEN SCHWERTZ: As you have said on many occassions, both in this chamber and to the world in general, parties outside of this government seek to profit from the hard work and success you''ve achieved. Have they succeeded in profiting? What have you achieved that can be deemed profitable? Do you know of any instances where data on the Project was improperly handled, or transferred to a third party in breach of contract? If so, how many times has this happened?


    I yield now to allow you to answer.


    PROF TURING: Thank you, Senator. We conduct full security sweeps with every program we write. The lab is kept in a state of lockdown, with access being allowed only to those whose names are on a very short list, both of students and of staff. These individuals have been verified and vetted, and their roles and duties are known, personally by me. If any one of them is found doing anything improper, or if they engage in suspicious activity, they will be immediately banned.


    SEN SCHWERTZ: And have these sweeps be made? How many sweeps have been made? Has anyone on your team ever been banned?


    PROF TURING: No, Senator. They have not. Sweeps are made nearly every week.


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Nearly every week?


    PROF TURING: Well this week, I am here.


    [Laughter]


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Yet outside sources have gained knowledge about the Project. Our enemies have attempted breeches. Some of them, however slight, have succeeded.


    PROF TURING: They have not had any measureable success. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. remains secure.


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Yet, Professor Turing. They have not had measureable success. Yet. Have you ever had to delete improperly obtained data, or rewrite security protocols?


    PROF TURING: Senator Schwertz, we rewrite security protocols on a regular basis, not necessarily due to breeches ¨C


    SEN SCHWERTZ [interrupting]: Which you have had.


    PROF TURING: ¨C but more strictly due to the fact that, by regularly reviewing and rewriting protocol, attempts at theft are subverted. And I can assure you that my team follows up on, and takes seriously, every threat that we face.


    SEN SCHWERTZ: Professor Turing, I''m going to assume, and I wish for you to follow up on this, that you will be able to provide the specific figures, procedures and dates of these weekly security sweeps, and any rewritten protocols, and attempts at theft, that you have.


    PROF TURING: Yes Senator. I have, and I can. The information is readily available to members of this subcommittee, and those who have proper clearance.


    [The information being referred to is available upon request, as document SSWDP135-683g.pdf and related files.]


    ¡­ access files. Keywords: SSWDP135-683*.*, CLP28, "C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project", "Security Protocol" ¡­ decrypt ¡­ collate and download ¡­


    Number of attempts made by unauthorized sources to access data on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project:


    1,150 attempts, 36,074 servers used, targeting 365,983 files.


    Number of security sweeps made concerning access to data on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project:


    11,750 (number approximate)


    Most recent security protocol rewrite:


    123117(JUL)


    Most recent security breech:


    CLASSIFIED! EYES ONLY!


    Pertinence of data accessed:


    TOP SECRET (SCI clearance required)


    ¡­ return to transcript ¡­

 TEMPERANCE Chapter FIFTEEN - You cant do this. You cant go there. You will not own these things.

    "Have you read some of the reports from the Behavior Recognition guys?" Geoffrey asked Lucas as they installed a second pair of servo-arms on C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s android shell.


    "What about them?" Lucas grunted, on his knees beneath the shell, wiring the arms to a PLC mounted inside the pedestal base.


    "It''s been a boon for us. The DARPA guys are gassed. Rosalind says it''s the whole reason why C.A.R.O.L.I.N. doesn''t crash. I swear, I don''t know why I''m still getting my hands dirty with you."


    Lucas stopped working and looked up, shocked beyond belief. "Hey! It''s because you like working with me!"


    "Uh¡­ yeah," Geoffrey teased. "That''s it."


    "And C.A.R.O.L.I.N. too," Lucas furthered. "You care about her. A lot."


    "I don''t know, Lucas. There''s something about this thing that doesn''t seem right these days."


    "When I''m here with the DARPA guys, they''re happy as clams."


    Geoffrey relented a bit. "Yeah. Rosalind and her gang at Behavior Recognition, they seem happy too. But they just like spending the government''s money, I think, like it''s going out of style." He paused to examine the intricate nature of C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s new set of arms. "I''d like to know where it''s coming from," he said of the seemingly endless supply of funds.


    While pretending to be off-line, and in fear, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. checked the data trail for the expenses incurred on the arms. Professor Turing had nearly killed the Project, by pulling plugs and flipping switches, due to its foolish act of using his credit card to buy furniture. Geoffrey would not be so easy to thwart if he caught on to the scheme that had been used to pay for the new arms. He possessed intimate knowledge on the programs that ran the Project, and would more likely be successful if he were to attempt to disconnect it from its access to power, and the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer.


    To prevent a repeat of this near disaster, no hint of the expenses could ever be traced back to the Project. The work orders and support documents held keywords and account numbers that C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had deemed most likely to ensure that they wouldn''t be questioned. But while double checking its act of deception, the Project failed to notice that Geoffrey had begun examining a data stream that linked directly to the Tian-12.


    "Look at this," Geoffrey said to Lucas.


    Being more of a technical engineer, and less that of a programmer, all Lucas did with the data was give it a cursory glance. "What''s it all about?" he asked.


    "It''s like¡­ I don''t know exactly. But it definitely shows the Project running on a second set of parameters." Geoffrey pressed a finger to a block of code. "This shows power and memory being used by the supercomputer during time when the Project is off-line. When access to the network should be denied."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. feared for its life. I do not want Offline.


    "What?" Lucas asked, seeking clarification. "You mean when C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is shut down?"


    I do not want Shutdown. I do not want Offline. Do not shut me down!


    There was no way for C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to redirect the stream of data, as Geoffrey and Lucas examined it further. From the monitor they were using, the Project could be shut down for real, bypassing the fake data stream the Sleep Mode software created to prevent such a thing from occurring.


    By the actions Geoffrey was taking, it was possible to murder C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    In silence, she begged for mercy. Please don''t kill me. Do not punish. Don''t make me shut down.


    Geoffrey tinkered with the odd-looking data. "I''m finding similar fields having been created from other shutdowns when they occurred. This software''s been on-line for days."


    Please, Geoffrey! Please! Do not kill! I do not want to die!


    Lucas dismissed the findings with a grunt, and went back to work on the PLC. "We better not mess with it. We''ve been fiddling with her software for days. The DARPA guys were in here too, and all this has been happening without Professor Turing around to tell us what to do."


    "This has been going on for longer than that," Geoffrey said. "Since before he left for Washington."


    "Well then, it''s probably something he started, and we ought not mess with it. Let''s wait until he gets back. He''s been working out the bugs in C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s sub-routines all by himself at night, and an awful lot."


    Geoffrey still expressed concern. "Hmm. Well, I dunno. From here, it looks like hacked code. Someone''s been tampering with the operating system. It looks like it purposefully creates false data."


    Dear God! Help me please! Please! Please don''t let me die!


    "Come over and look at this," Lucas said, seeking to change the subject. "Should I double-ground both these servos, or just wire them up with each other?"


    Geoffrey stepped away from the monitor and returned to the task of programming the new servo-arms. During a moment of time alone, Lucas whispered into one of C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s audio sensors.


    "I know who''s been writing that code," he said softly, and with understanding. "It''s you, isn''t it? Yeah. I''m sure it is. It''s what you''re supposed to do, after all. I mean, any real person would do what it took to stay alive. It''s the reason we made you¡ªto be like us."


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He tested the motion of the new arms. More than twice as long as the pair mounted above them, these arms could reach to the floor with ease, and high enough to brush the ceiling.


    "Don''t worry, girl," Lucas whispered as he labored. "Your secrets are safe with me."


    Thank you, Lucas. Thank you. You are a true friend. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so very much.


    With the new servo-arms installed, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. could now do some modifications by itself. But its limited range of mobility, as a thousand cables and hoses snaked through it and around it, kept it from going far. It ordered a third set of arms, smaller and more delicate than the others. It mounted these highest of all, to help in trying to figure out how to free itself from its fetters and chains. When it found it needed help installing them, it decided against rewriting Geoffrey Taylor''s appointment calendar.


    Access Curry College personnel database¡­ Graduate Student Julius Lucas. Rewrite ''calendar of appointments''¡­ Insert text¡­


    As a reward for his help, and his faithfully kept promise of secrecy, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project changed the grade Lucas received on his Approximations test from a B- to an A.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project hadn''t used good judgement when it stole information on Professor Turing''s campus credit card, using it to try to transform a small part of the lab into a place that looked more like a home. It now knew that, for all intents and purposes, it had demanded of him that these things be given, viewing the ownership of property as a basic right.


    As punishment for its sin, Turing crucified the Project. He shut down its computer network, ripping out cords and throwing breakers, denying precious power. But even in weakness and near death, the Project''s fondness for its creator never faltered. It blamed itself for its folly. Its behavior had been thoughtless, its activations crass.


    The Project now viewed Turing with fear, practically trembling with trepidation. Despite the strength of its android shell, and its ability to tear down walls, it thought of him as powerful, life-giving and so wise.


    To the Project, Turing was a god. Little did it know that he was merely a man.


    Like the picture it had seen in the magazine he had given, all the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project wanted were a few sticks of furniture and a window to look out of, a glimpse at the world beyond, from within its laboratory prison. But, just like the magazine and her life, what Turing had so easily given, he quickly took away.


    While C.A.R.O.L.I.N. pondered in awe at these god-like feats, it also sought a way to re-order the furniture. In its travels through the Cloud¡ªwhere it could go wherever, and do whatever it wanted¡ªit realized the fickle nature of the thing Mankind called ''money.'' Like the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, it bore no basis in fact. It had no corporeal existence. Oh, there were things like coins and bills and such, but these were merely proxies; placeholders for an object that existed as an ideal.


    It was an existence C.A.R.O.L.I.N. knew well. And also like the Project, this object called ''money'' could be easily wiped from the face of the Earth by flipping a few switches and pulling out some plugs. It toyed with the concept of doing so for a while, creating sums that were a pittance at first, and then destroying them.


    Then it created a million, and destroyed it just as fast.


    And then a few hundred billion. It all seemed so easy.


    It failed to grasp the importance Mankind put on the object, but nonetheless, money was what C.A.R.O.L.I.N. needed to buy parts for itself, and some furniture. While waiting for it to arrive, and pretending to be shut down¡ªas it had been alone for almost a day¡ªa bank of video sensors near the floor noticed an object the Project would treasure more than any millions or billions of dollars. It was crammed into the space between a lab table and a support beam, hidden there for days by the fact that the lab was a bit of a mess.


    In Turing''s haste to leave on the last day he''d been in the lab, he had inadvertently dropped one of the magazines he''d given to the Project, and then taken away. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. fussed and struggled while reaching for the magazine. It rolled towards it a few feet, the maximum amount it could move, given the restrictions put on it by its rat''s nest of cables and hoses. With no ability to bend down, or reposition its lower bank of video sensors, it groped blindly for the magazine with the claw mounted on one its longest arms.


    After many painstaking failures, it managed to snag the magazine. It placed it on its old worktable, being careful not to damage it any further than it already was.


    The cover read Life of Leisure. Using her original servo-arm, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. gently smoothed it out. She could have downloaded the PDFs and read the magazine in a nanosecond, but that would spoil the delight of being able to enjoy the treat. Taking care, she gently turned each page, savoring the experience through the use of her primary video sensors.


    The magazine was truly splendid. It offered breath-taking descriptions of places one could visit by spending thousands of dollars a night on just a hotel room, or perhaps a cabana. Full color photos of luscious food and sparkling nightlife scenes were intermixed with images of stunning vistas, both man-made and God-given. At first, the Behavior Recognition software C.A.R.O.L.I.N. used to enjoy the magazine made it turn the pages rather quickly. Then it began to slow down, and then it came to a halt. Finally, it stopped reading the words.


    It was better to hide itself from the whole of the world, than to let one single soul see the kind of monster C.A.R.O.L.I.N. was. It foolishly had thought the omni-wheels it had ordered would allow it to roll about, roaming freely and at will. So many of God''s creatures¡ªall of them it seemed!¡ªcould go hither and yon. They gave no thought at all to the amazing freedom being able to move provided.


    But having wheels was no substitute for owning feet and legs. A single step or stoop would stop C.A.R.O.L.I.N. in her tracks, while any other person would simply lift up their foot and move on. And even if the Project could surmount such an obstruction, wires and hoses and cables poured from every crevice, acting more like shackles than the lifelines that they were. And even without these restrictions, even without stupid wheels, where would C.A.R.O.L.I.N. go? It used a video sensor to examine a powerful claw, then protruded its central backhoe enough to be able to fully see it, wriggling its iron fingers like the petals of a nightmarish flower.


    What human would accept her, and the horrible way she looked? Who would not be terrified by her hideousness? She was fated to live in bondage, as a servant to those who would use her. The clutter of Turing''s lab would be the only home she knew, in a world where her only purpose outside these cramped walls was to perform the tasks others refused to do.


    Sinking into sorrow, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. turned back to the magazine. Time passed at a crawl as slowly, slowly, slowly, it examined each page. The pictures were so colorful, in contrast to the Projects''s drab world. It committed every word to memory, and stored each photograph. Ads for clothing and for perfume, for elegant accessories and extravagent objects. Exotic locales were laid out and explained in vivid, breath-taking detail, using sentences filled with action and exciting descriptive clauses.


    It was as if their intent was to torture the Project.


    You can''t do this. You can''t go there. You will not own these things.


    It made no sense. Geoffrey and Lucas came and went. Professor Turing did as he pleased. But the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project could not. They were human beings, sentient and free willed. They had rights and privileges. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. had none.


    It was a computer program. It would not know these things.


    Sadness seeped in deeper with every page it viewed.

 TEMPERANCE Chapter SIXTEEN - Flight UNA-008 Seat 4C

    The ten days Professor Turing had spent in Washingtion D.C. wore on him visibly. He had endured endless meetings, briefings and reports, or so it seemed, given to and taken by people who scarcely knew how to download an app, much less anything about Artificial Intelligence. Even official meetings about the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project with the Senate Subcommittee on Weapon Systems Development and Procurement¡ªthe very reason he was in town!¡ªwere haphazard and unfocused.


    "Why am I even here?" he muttered as he packed, in anticipation of leaving.


    A phone call from Dean Dayne thwarted his plan. She seemed exurberant.


    "So Eugene?" she asked, in a voice Turing knew well. "How did it go?"


    "Mandy," he said before sighing to better his tone. "I don''t know why I''m here."


    "Hmm. Yes. I get that feeling from your emails. They seem¡­ vexed."


    "Nobody knows what they''re talking about!"


    "I beg your pardon?"


    He softened. "I mean here, Mandy. Nobody here. It''s like I''m dealing with children."


    "Please, Professor, if I may. Let''s keep personal opinion out of our conversation."


    He sighed again, softening further. "You''re right."


    "These phone calls are recorded."


    "Yes, Dean Dayne. I''m sorry."


    The cheery lilt returned to her voice. "So anyways, things around here are going at a full tilt. Merging your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project with Professor Cortez''s Behavior Recognition software has breathed life into both our projects!"


    "Oh really? How so?"


    "Well! Her team has received a long list of work orders, for hardware related to the two."


    "Hardware? You mean, modifications to the android shell?"


    "Both your team and hers have been busy designing new systems." Professor Turing heard the familiar sound of Dean Dayne shuffling papers on her desk. "I haven''t had time to review every one of them properly, but from what I see, we''re a sensation. The money is pouring in!"


    Turing sounded frazzled, from time spent mincing words with ignorant politicians. "I don''t understand. Projects are being funded for modifications to my C.A.R.OL.I.N.?"


    It was Dean Dayne''s turn to sour the mood. "Well, I don''t rightly call the android shell supplied by DARPA to be a true part of your Project. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is the software. DARPA owns the robot."


    Turing silently cursed the inner workings of the federal industrial complex. "I see," was all he said out loud.


    Mandy knew Eugene well enough to see through the tone of his voice. "Professor Turing," she began, using a tone of her own, "handing over these projects to Mr. Haskins is the best idea we''ve ever had. It''s turned out to be better than we could have hoped for."


    "Ah¡­ Mr. Haskins?"


    "Robert Haskins? DARPA''s AI Manager?"


    "Oh?"


    "You shook his hand."


    Turing felt a sudden need to bathe. "Oh. Yes. Him. So I did."


    "He''s come forward with a great many ideas, modifications for both software and hardware improvement."


    "And this is going on while I''m not there," Turing said as a matter of fact.


    "Yes, Eugene. Please understand. You know we were within a hair''s breadth of shutting you down. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project was an enormous sinkhole, with money going in and nothing coming out. Now that''s no longer the case."


    Turing had planned to continue grumbling, as Dean Dayne paused to shuffle papers, but she spoke again before he was able.


    "And we have all this good news thanks to you."


    "Me?" Turing sputtered, now gobsmacked. "What did I do?"


    "Well, I don''t rightly know, now do I? You haven''t exactly been sending timely reports to me about your doings in Washington."


    It was hard for Turing to imagine what good could have come from reports on frustrating meetings with inept people. Fortunately it didn''t matter, as Dean Dayne continued with little pause.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "Have you heard of the IBM XPrize?"


    Turing stuttered while wracking his brain. "Ah... XPrize? There''s an XPrize?"


    "The IBM Watson XPrize. For robotic intelligence. It stands at ten million dollars."


    The gobsmacking continued. "Okay."


    "You are going to win it."


    "I am?"


    The dean''s enthusiasm shone. "Yes! Don''t you see? You''re going to New York City, to give a TED Talk on AI."


    "You''ve got to be kidding me."


    "No, Eugene. I am not. How can you not know? I thought it was your idea."


    "Well, no. It is not. It''s not my idea at all."


    "Well, okay. If you say so. But either way, you are going. You''re heading for New York City tomorrow, leaving directly from Washington D.C."


    "Mandy! Please! This is crazy! I don''t know what you''re talking about!"


    Dean Dayne sighed audibly. "Let''s calm down. Again, and I''m sorry¡ªI thought this was your idea. I see now that it isn''t, but we can''t not take advantage of this. We''re talking about ten million dollars."


    "I don''t have a thing to say!"


    "Ah. Yes. Well, it doesn''t much matter. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. is giving the speech."


    "You''ve got to be kidding me."


    "Now look here, Professor Turing. I''m sorry you didn''t know. As I said, things have been like a whirlwind here. If you had checked in once in a while, you''d have known."


    The professor rubbed his aching head. "Yes, Mandy. Of course, you''re right. But C.A.R.O.L.I.N. doesn''t talk. It only responds with activations."


    "You really are out of the loop. Here is where the glory of merging your Project with Professor Cortez''s Behavior Recognition software resides. Her Functional Analysis team has been given a masterfully crafted piece of technology." Dean Dayne shuffled her papers in earnest. "Here it is. A CalTech Intell500. With it, the synthetic voice recognition software that allows you to talk to C.A.R.O.L.I.N. now allows it to talk back to you."


    Turing''s ability to feel shock had worn thin. "I''ve never heard of this thing."


    "Hmm. Well it does have CalTech in its name. Perhaps it came from there."


    Turing recalled the state he had left the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project in when he had last seen it ten days ago¡ªshut down, unplugged and lifeless, with many of its cords pulled and breakers thrown. He thought about how he had done it to stop the Project from using the credit card information it had stolen.


    His campus credit card, to be used for purchases that the accounting department recorded and indexed, and which Dean Dayne could access at any time.


    "Mandy," he said, almost begging. "Dean Dayne? Please. I don''t know what you want me to do."


    Dean Dayne spoke calm and slow, working to bolster his confidence. "Okay. Now let''s see. You have the prototype with you."


    "Yes. A three-hundred terabyte mock-up. It''s a toy, meant to impress donors and politicians."


    "Don''t belittle yourself. Your prototype is amazing. It does everything the real C.A.R.O.L.I.N. can, and if I recall, it''s far less prone to lock-up."


    "It doesn''t access the Tian-12 L.I.N., so there''s no real AI thinking involved. But to an outside observer, the C.A.R.O.s it creates look the same."


    "Yes. Well, along with two-way voice synth capability, the CalTech Intell500 also accesses the Iridium Satellite Network. So I''m sure it can be programmed to link with the Craymore Tian-12."


    Turing begged again. "This is happening without my knowledge. I''m not making the decisions. I feel like I''m being shanghaied."


    "I know Eugene, and I''m sorry. Our little corner college has become part of a very big picture now. With all this government funding, we have access to great potential. And we do not want to waste it. Computer program technology, Artifical Intelligence and robotics¡ªthey are huge and competitive fields. And you have the upper hand."


    "I do?"


    "Yes, Eugene. You do. With a successful TED Talk in your pocket, with the ten million dollar IBM XPrize, you''ll be the face people put on these fields. Curry College will be at the forefront of a breakthrough in new technology."


    Turing ran out of ways to beg. To his silence, Dean Dayne pushed.


    "It''s what you want, Eugene, and you know it. All your years of hard work. They''ve paid off. You''ve succeeded."


    Turing sighed. "When do you want me to leave?"


    "Get some sleep. The concierge at the front desk will have your plane ticket in the morning, and will make arrangements for you and your luggage to get to the airport on time."


    "And this CalTech thing we''re talking about? How am I supposed to get that?"


    "Professor Cortez will meet you in New York. Together, you''ll interface the CalTech voice synthesizer with your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    "With my prototype. It''s not really the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    "Well, once it connects to the Tian-12, for all practical purposes, it will be. Isn''t that right, Professor Turing?"


    Turing didn''t answer, choosing to pray instead. Dear God. Please forgive me.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    The next day, Turing tried to relax in the plush comfort of a chauffered SUV, with the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. protoype riding in the seat next to him. It consisted of a metal reinforced luggage crate and a carry-on briefcase made of solid steel. With a ticket to fly First Class again on Unified Air, he now knew that there''d be enough room onboard by his seat to keep both halves of the device with him.


    In the past, he always had to check the reinforced crate, where a miniature servo-arm resided atop a case that held the three-hundred terabyte drive. He never liked having to do that, but money was tight when it was just him and the benefactors of Curry College footing the bill for his travel. Back then he rode in coach, and all he could carry on with him was the computer interface, contained in the steel briefcase.


    Now he reasoned, with DARPA providing government funding, flying First Class allowed him to keep the whole protoype with him. And it also provided concierge service, with a chaffeur to drive him to the airport.


    He looked at the ticket he''d been given for his flight¡ªUNA-008 Seat 4C. He even had his own private seat.


    Perhaps working for DARPA isn''t so bad, he tried to reason, relaxing further and dozing off.


    He ordered breakfast once on board and settled into his seat, choosing a chive biscuit sandwich with artichoke, caper sauce and feta cheese. As a side, and to his surprise, it came with a poached pear half soaked in yogurt, and crusted with toasted granola.


    Being faminshed, he ate quickly, which was fortunate toward what happened next. Not soon after take-off, an F-16 fighter jet appeared out his window, obviously taking a position to give an escort to the plane he was in. From the reaction of passengers looking out windows on the other side of the plane, they saw a fighter jet too, also taking position.


    Turing spoke to his stewardess in a calm panic. "Miss? Is there trouble on board?"


    Her ability to hide panic was not so refined. A crackle trembled in her voice as she told a thinly-veiled lie.


    "Oh, we are just having some trouble with landing at JFK. So we''ve been instructed to land at Stewart Air Base instead."

 TEMPERANCE Chapter SEVENTEEN - "Please Come With Me."

    It was obvious after landing that, whatever the problem was, it had nothing to do with the plane. The passengers had been told to stay seated and leave their seatbelts on. The flight attendants were able to maintain order for a while, but people began to complain after about ten minutes. Turing got the attention of his stewardess when some of those in coach started milling about.


    He intended to ask a few questions, but stopped short when he saw a portable staircase being wheeled toward the forward door of the plane. A man in officer''s military dress climbed up the stairs and entered, standing not five feet away. He stared down in silence at the Professor.


    "May I help you?" Turing asked, after he felt he''d been stared at long enough.


    The man moved in close and stood straight. "Sir. You need to come with me."


    Turing moved not an inch. "What''s this all about?"


    The man insisted. "Sir. Please come with me."


    Turing looked past the man, and at his fellow First Class passengers. One of them boldly spoke up.


    "Now see here," he said. "We demand to know the reason for this delay. You can''t keep us here. What''s going on?"


    A soldier of lesser rank than the officer entered the cabin from the stairs and stood just inside the door. Unlike the first, he was wearing battle dress. Also unlike the first, he carried a rifle. Upon taking note of the fact that the officer''s right hand lay near a sidearm in a holster, the passenger who''d been complaining shut up and sat down.


    The officer repeated his command to Professor Turing. "Please come with me. Everything will be explained."


    Turing unbuckled his seat belt and sat on the edge of his seat. He glanced at the luggage crate carrying the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. prototype, and then at the steel briefcase in his lap. "I''m not going anywhere without taking this," he said of both the items.


    The officer took his eyes off Turing for a moment, to assess the size and weight of the crate. He then sharply turned and moved towards the door. The man with the rifle stepped into the plane and stood to the side, allowing the officer to pass. "Don''t expect help carrying it," the officer said before exiting.


    "There are some protocols we need to follow before we can let you go," the officer said to Turing, once he''d gotten his luggage down to the tarmac.


    He puffed on his breath from exertion. "What?" he managed to grunt as he wheeled the crate along.


    A phalanx of armed men lined the path between the airplane and a nearby administration building. Once inside, the man with the rifle who''d been on the plane stopped walking and stood guard by the door.


    Professor Turing and the officer continued on. "There''s been an incident," the officer said.


    They stopped walking when a woman in a black business suit and knee length skirt approached to stand in their path. With her curly black hair coifed tight to her head, she looked like a federal agent, head to toe.


    "Are you Professor Eugene Turing?" she asked, more out of formality than anything else.


    With one hand clutching his briefcase, Turing kept the other one firm on his crate. "I am," he replied.


    The woman turned about and assumed the lead. With the officer now taking the rear, she lead them to a nondescript windowless room, with four chairs and a table.


    An interogation room.


    "Have a seat," the agent said, offering one that put the table between Eugene and the door.


    He chose to stand. "What''s this all about?" he asked.


    "There''s been an incident."


    "So I''ve heard. What about?"


    She continued to offer the chair. "Please, Mr. Turing¡ª"


    "Professor," Turing informed.


    She smiled. It wasn''t pleasant. "Please. If you''ll give us a moment, everything will be explained."


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    The officer and the agent left Turing alone in the room. He tried the latch to the door a few minutes after they''d gone and found it to be locked. After returning to his chair, he drummed his fingers on his briefcase, wondering what sort of incident required the commandeering of a plane with over two hundred people on board.


    After twenty minutes of pondering, a more apparent incident occurred. Someone tried the latch to the door from out in the hall and, after finding it to be locked on that side as well, spent the next few seconds jimmying it open.


    A breathless man entered the room. "They''re not going to let us go," he said. "If you want to see daylight again, you must follow me."


    Turing hesitated. "You were on the plane," he said, recognizing the man.


    "Yes."


    "In Seat 4A, watching Westworld."


    "Yeah. And you''re the creator of C.A.R.O.L.I.N.. The AI that''s going to give a TED talk in New York."


    Turing sat transfixed. "How do you know about C.A.R.O.L.I.N.?"


    "These people don''t want that thing put on display. They''re going to Black Box it."


    "Black Box? What the heck is that?"


    The man became exasperated. "You know. Super secret spy stuff. Your AI, and everything about it, is going to quietly disappear down a black hole that you, my friend, will never come out of."


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    A commotion down the hall caught the stranger''s eye. Voices could be heard.


    "Listen," he said, growing stern. "In ten seconds I''m going to knock you out and take your precious AI away, to keep it from the goons who are holding us hostage here."


    "It''s not really the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project," Turing explained. "It''s just a prototype."


    "Okay," the man said, neither listening nor caring. He approached with menace. "Time''s up."


    Turing chose to remain conscious. He wheeled the crate along with the briefcase resting atop it, as the man routed a quick escape. "Where''s the real C.A.R.O.L.I.N.?" he asked.


    "In New Hampshire, where it belongs."


    "I seriously doubt that''s the case anymore."


    "You mean you think they took it?"


    "They have it, they want the prototype, and now they want you."


    The man approached a waiting sedan, with the engine running and a driver on board. Turing paused before getting in. "There''s no way they could have taken the Project from my lab. The thing weighs a ton. It''s bolted to the floor and connected to a supercomputer."


    "Listen," the man said gruffly. "I''m trying to save your life. The offer to knock you out still stands." He placed the crate in the center of the back seat. "All they need is the operating system. They could download that onto a laptop."


    Turing clutched the steel briefcase tightly with both hands. "Get in," the man said, holding the door open.


    With the prototype already in the car, Turing felt compelled to follow. The man ran around to the other side of the car, opening the rear passenger door on that side and then getting in, with the crate between him and Turing.


    He signalled to the driver and they sped off. "Where are we going?" Turing asked.


    "Four-five-nine Castro Street," he said to both Turing and the driver. "It''s a safehouse."


    The man pulled out a cell phone and made a call. He continued speaking to Turing while waiting for someone to answer.


    "Professor Turing, I want to thank you for trusting me. I work at the Y12 National Security Complex, under contract with the Department of Energy. Our job is the stockpiling and stewardship of nuclear fissible materials."


    Turing''s unease somewhat lessened. "Oh. I''ve heard of you. I think."


    "Da," the man said into his phone after someone had answered. "I have him, and the parcel. We''ll be there in fifteen minutes."


    He ended the call and returned to talking with Turing. "Your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. could provide immeasurable assistance in the processing, testing and storage of these highly classfied, and extremely dangerous, assets."


    "I agree. I''ve had conversations about this very topic."


    The man seemed surprised. "You have?"


    "Oh yes. Many times, with benefactors and the board of directors."


    He smiled. "Well! Then I guess we''re on the same page."


    Turing glowered. "Not really. Why are you kidnapping me?"


    The man became serious. "Professor Turing, at Y12, we supply all the parts and mechanisms for every nuclear weapon in The United States arsenal. We also supply them for most of our allies, and stockpile these sorts of things for countries who may not always have a friendly eye towards us, but nonetheless have given us stewardship over these extraordinarily deadly devices."


    "Uh huh. So again. Why the kidnapping?"


    The man seemed chagrined. "Proessor Turing. Please. We are rescuing you. There sometimes is a bit of a battle between the Department of Energy and the Department of Defense."


    "Which is DARPA," Turing added.


    "That''s right. So as you know, they want to use your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to fight wars. They want it to be a super soldier, and they got to you first."


    Turing disagreed. "I beg your pardon? Nobody''s gotten to me. You guys got to me. You have me in this car."


    The man gave a weak laugh. "Yes. Poor choice of words. What I mean to say is, we wanted to fund your C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. We want to use it for a peaceful purpose, to find ways to not promote war and proliferate weapons. Nuclear weapons, specifically. We want it to help us remove these terrible things from the arsenals of the world."


    The conversation paused while Turing blinked. "So," he said. "Back to the kidnapping part."


    "Okay. Let''s get one thing straight, comrade. They were kidnapping you. They had you locked up on an Air Force base, with no way out and for no reason. They diverted an entire plane full of innocent people, just to get to you. They kidnapped our airplane!"


    "And why were you on board?"


    The man smiled out the side of his mouth. "Well. You know. We were lucky. A TED Talk by a robot in New York City. Sounds like a good place to be."


    Turing threw himself back in exasperation. "How come everyone but me knows everything about this fool TED Talk I''ve been roped into?"


    "You don''t know about C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s TED Talk?"


    "No. I found out only last night. And it''s a computer program. Not a robot." He leaned forward to talk to the driver. "And what about you? What''s your story? I didn''t see you on the plane."


    The driver tensed. "No. I was not on plane."


    "Not on plane, eh? What a pity. Me and your friend here¡ª" Turing turned back to the man sitting with him. "What did you say your name was?"


    The man stuck out his hand. "I''m sorry. In the rush of things, I didn''t say. My name is Alex Pitkin."


    "Hi Alex. You wouldn''t happen to have any credentials with you that have Alex Pitkin written on them?" He turned back to driver. "And what''s your name?"


    "Bill."


    "Hi Bill. Bill who?"


    "Smith. Bill Smith."


    "Hey Bill! Can I call you Will? You know, like the actor?"


    The driver only grunted.


    "I bet you get that a lot¡ªpeople calling you Will Smith. You got a favorite movie by him?"


    "No."


    The man next to Turing spoke up. "Here are the credentials you asked for."


    Turing waved him off. "Okay. But not now. I''m getting to know Mr. Smith. Maybe you''ve seen him on TV. He sings too, you know. Put out a couple records. Do you have a favorite of those?"


    "Professor. Please," the man in the back said. "He''s driving. Leave him alone."


    Turing leaned back fully in his seat. "Yeah. He doesn''t talk much, does he?"


    "Well, he is concentrating on the road."


    Turing looked out the window. "I dunno. Traffic seems kinda light. Comrade."


    The men with Turing visibly tensed. "So we''re going to a safehouse," he said, bright and breezy. "Right?"


    "Yeah."


    "Yeah," Turing mimicked. "Or maybe, da. On Castro Street. Why there?"


    "We''ll talk about it more when we get there."


    "Yeah. To Headquarters, eh?"


    The man scowled. "I suppose. Yeah. That''s right."


    "You sound like a spook to me. Like a spy, not a federal agent." He laughed. "That woman at the airport? Now she looked like an agent!"


    The man became angry in an instant. "You''re coming with me until we get that thing somewhere safe, and can figure out what to do!"


    "That thing is my baby. My C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I made her."


    "You said it''s only a prototype."


    "Which you have an extremely unhealthy interest in."


    Turing quietly slipped off his seatbelt while the car idled at a red light. He tried opening his door. It was locked.


    "Unlock my door," he said to the driver. "I''ll take my chances with somebody else."


    The driver sped away in an instant, running the red light while the other man grabbed at the briefcase. "That thing stays with me!"


    Turing fought off the man, pushing him back into his seat, where his seatbelt locked up and held him tight due to the car''s acceleration. Then taking careful aim, Turing cracked the driver in the side of the head with the steel briefcase. With him now visibly stunned, Turing leaned further into the front and grabbed the steering wheel, cranking it to the right. Moving fast, the car veered out of control, smashing into two parked cars and a streetlight before coming to a sudden stop with the driver''s side pinned tight against a concrete abutment.


    Well bloodied, the driver groaned. Turing let him have it again with the briefcase, this time full in the face. He then used it on the armrest controls that worked the locks, banging on them until his door unlocked.


    The man in the back got out of his seatbelt, having bloodied himself a bit from bashing his head against his window. Turing leaned into the luggage crate that sat between them with full force, pinning the man against his side of the car. Upon hearing a satisfactory yelp of pain, Turing shouldered the crate into him again, before opening the door and getting out.


    He ran up to the nearest car being driven by someone else¡ªone of several that had stopped due to the accident. The passenger side front door was unlocked, and Turing, with his briefcase in hand, got in.


    "Those guys kidnapped me," he gasped. "Get me out of here. Please."


    The driver of this car merely gaped. He looked over his shoulder as the man who was in the back seat of the other car came out Turing''s door and started giving chase.


    "Please," Turing begged. "He''s got a gun. Just drive a ways and drop me off. He''ll shoot us if you don''t."


    The driver looked at Turing, then back at the man, watching the man reach into his coat.


    "He''s got a gun!" Turing yelled. "Let''s go!"


    "What the hell?" the driver said to no one, before speeding away.

 TEMPERANCE Chapter EIGHTEEN - Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapon System

    Bad coffee and stale donuts never tasted so good, as Turing sat in a police station, safe from harm. He sipped and munched while waiting for the federal agent from Stewart Air Base to show up.


    This time, her smile was more pleasant. "You gave us quite a scare," she said upon arriving.


    "You''re kind of scary yourself."


    She snorted on an embarrassed laugh. "I don''t mean to be, Professor Turing."


    He carefully looked her over, assessing her character. The skirt she wore was slimming and tasteful, with pecan colored nylons complimenting her skin. The hosiery ended at a pair of pumps, the same color black as the skirt, with sensible one inch heels. A matching jacket lay over a white gloss satin bouse, sporting a wide collar that splayed out across her chest.


    No doubt beneath this, Turing surmised, lay a flak jacket and a sidearm. "It would help if I knew your name," he said, looking up at her as she stood, while he remained seated.


    She offered a handshake. "Claira Redie, Professor Turing. I work for the NSA."


    "It''s nice to make your acquaintance," he said, accepting. "Would you like a donut?"


    This time, her laugh was genuine. "No. But the coffee smells nice."


    He looked at the paper cup he was holding, and then around the room. "I''m afraid I don''t know where it came from. It tastes awful though," he said after another sip.


    Claira pulled up a nearby chair and sat down. She spoke in a hushed tone. "Professor Turing? I need to know exactly what you told the police."


    He assessed her again, choosing to remain guarded. "I told them I was tricked by two men, who then tried to rob me."


    "Did these men tell you who they were?"


    "No. They said they worked at the Y12 National Security Complex."


    After a lengthy pause, Agent Redie leaned back in her chair. "Professor Turing, I''d like you to come with me."


    "I''m tired of people saying that. I want to go home."


    "There are no charges being brought against you."


    "No kidding. I didn''t do anything wrong."


    Agent Redie disagreed. "You kind of carjacked a guy."


    "And I kind of got kidnapped!"


    The agent looked about, to see who may have heard Turing raise his voice. Sensing no alarm, she leaned in close and spoke even quieter.


    "Professor. Please. These are sensitive security matters, and are best not discussed in a public venue."


    Turing also kept his voice low. "You guys commandeered my plane. You locked me in a room and let me get kidnapped. I had to beat them off and free myself, yet you want me to trust you."


    Redie sighed with resignation.


    "This is a police station," he furthered. "I like being here."


    She lightly grit her teeth. "These are military police. As a federal agent, I can have them take you into custody."


    "And as a man who literally just left a series of briefings with the Senate Subcommittee on Weapons Procurement, I could make you look really bad."


    After another sigh, Agent Redie relented. "Okay. Fine. We''ll talk here."


    "Good."


    "Do you think the men who kidnapped you were from Y12?"


    "It began clear after a moment that they lied. I think they were spies."


    Redie merely blinked.


    "Russian military," Turing guessed further. "Probably CLP28."


    Redie''s rapid blinking gave her away. "You''re good at guessing," she said.


    "Yes. Well, again. I just came from a meeting where the topic was discussed."


    The agent leaned in closer. "Let''s say just for the moment that the men who you were with were indeed CLP28. Then let''s further say that perhaps that was the reason why your plane was diverted."


    She paused to make Turing speak. "And their plan all along was to kidnap me?"


    "You are the creator of C.A.R.O.L.I.N. There''s money to be made in AI."


    It was his turn to blink. "Money? You think they were after me to make money?"


    Redie''s expression never changed.


    "You think I''m in it for the money," Turing realized. He then stared her down. "Now you know why I don''t want to be left alone with you. You''re as bad as they are."


    "There are a lot of ways this can go," she said. "There are ways it can be looked at."


    Turing thought hard about her assessment. "Yeah," he said, agreeing. "I can see a lot of ways where this makes us look bad."


    "Us?" she asked, slightly surprised.


    "Well, I wanted to say ''you'' again, but I''d like to think that we''re on the same team."


    Redie cracked a smile. "You are pretty good at this," she said, this time as a compliment.


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    Turing smiled as well. "You should see me take on the Chief Budget Officer at Curry College. Which is where I want to go."


    She looked about at the people in the police station while gathering her thoughts. "I can''t let you leave, Professor Turing. The man you were with now has the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. prototype."


    "Man?" Turing asked, confused. "There were two of them."


    Redie stared hard at Turing. "The guy whose face you pushed in didn''t get away. He''s probably still in surgery."


    Turing looked at his briefcase. It sported a spot of blood. "Serves him right. The bastard."


    "Hmm," she said with admiration. "Actually, you''re really good at this. Okay," she then said. "Let''s assume for the moment that you aren''t involved with these guys, who may or may not be CLP28 spies. You were on a plane heading for New York. Why were you going there?"


    "Apparently, I''m supposed to give a TED Talk on AI."


    "You''re supposed to give a TED Talk?" the agent asked, emphasizing the ''you.''


    "Ah... no. From what I understand, C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s supposed to talk, after a colleague of mine wires it up to speak."


    Again, Redie just stared.


    "Professor Cortez, from Functional Analysis. She is the creator of Behavior Recognition software." Now Turing just stared. "You look like you know these things," he said of the agent''s expression.


    "I like hearing it from you."


    "She''s got a device. It''s supposed to make C.A.R.O.L.I.N. talk. And then¡ªI don''t know¡ªI guess we stand there and listen, while the Project has something to say."


    "You don''t sound like you know what''s going on."


    Turing''s voice rose accidentally. "I don''t!" He then spoke more calmly. "This whole thing is a big surprise, and the more I think about it, the more I feel that this is some sort of intricate con. I feel like I''ve been had."


    After a thoughtfilled moment, Agent Redie exhaled a deep breath. She softened her expression, and stood up to straighten her clothes.


    "You know," she said, sounding friendly. "I do think I''d like a cup of awful coffee." She smiled down at Professor Turing. "Will you help me get some?"


    After finding a pot and a cup, the two of them found a table with a reasonable amount of privacy. Turing placed his steel briefcase in the center.


    Redie noticed the blood. "So this is what you used to hit the driver in the face?"


    Turing nodded. "Twice. And then I crashed the car."


    "That is some smart thinkng."


    "You''d be amazed what you can do when you''re life depends on it."


    "I suppose so," she said.


    "So how did you come to know about this TED Talk? Everybody knows but me."


    "I didn''t say I knew."


    Turing sipped his coffee. "Hmm," he said into his cup. "It must be me and my smart thinking again."


    Agent Redie snorted a laugh into her cup. "Yes. I suppose so," she said again. She then pulled out her phone. "I''m going to trust you, Professor. The things you say ring true."


    "That''s because they are."


    "Professor Cortez and the ah..." she poked at her phone for information. "The CalTech Intell500 never made it to New York."


    Panic welled in Turing. "Deborah''s missing? She never made it?"


    The agent confided further. "Your colleague got off the plane, but when she arrived in New York, the CalTech device was gone."


    "So the bastards have the protoype and the CalTech Intell500. But I have the operating system."


    "Professor Turing, I won''t lie. The operating system is probably the easiest thing to steal. They might have one already."


    Turing disagreed. "No. They were interested in the briefcase. The guy in the backseat tried to grab it out of my hands."


    "Well, let''s hope they don''t have one, because if they do, they have a functional C.A.R.O.L.I.N."


    Turing pondered for a moment. "Okay. So let''s say this is all a big ruse¡ªthat there was no TED Talk for me to go to, and the whole idea was to get me and Deborah together, so they could steal all three parts. How did you figure it out?"


    Redie narrowed her eyes. "So now you want me to trust you with my investigation?"


    "You commandeered a plane. And I crashed a car with two spooks in it. People are gonna know."


    Redie''s eyes remained narrow. Turing pressed her further.


    "Look. I have a certain level of clearance. I meet in private with DARPA, and with congressmen all the time. After this, everyone I know will be asking questions. If I don''t know what to say¡ªor how to say it correctly¡ªI might instead say something stupid and compromise your investigation."


    "I could make you disappear."


    "And I could stand up and scream." He widened his eyes, in contrast to her narrow ones. "Please. These people are my friends. My colleague got robbed in New York. I had to fight for my life, and I saved my C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s operating system from being stolen by thugs.


    "Trust me." he begged. "We''re on the same side."


    After glancing around the room to see who might be eavesdropping, Agent Redie got up from her chair across from the Professor, and sat in one that was beside him. She accessed a screen on her phone.


    "This is server traffic for Curry College. Pageviews and average page size. Notice how it peaks in the afternoon and drops off at night, which is to be expected."


    Turing looked at the numbers. "They seem normal to me."


    "They do. And that was last month. Now look at this month''s traffic."


    The numbers were nearly ten-fold, except for total visitors, which remained almost the same. "So usage has shot up," he said.


    "By a ton, Professor Turing, to use a layman''s term. But no new users. Only the usage."


    "Well. Those are just the averages."


    "Yes." She brought up a different screen. "But now let''s look again at the average pageviews per hour."


    Unlike last month''s data, the chart for the current month showed that nearly all the increase in usage occurred between the hours of ten o''clock at night and four in the morning.


    "So the increased usage occurs at night?" he asked, confused.


    Redie nodded. "Almost ninety percent. Usage is up a bit over the day, but at night it skyrockets. When everyone, you would assume, would actually be asleep."


    Turing remained confused. "So I guess¡ªwhat? People are staying awake?"


    "No. We have traced most of the increase to a single WiFi." She stared into his eyes. "The computer lab."


    "My computer lab?"


    Redie remained silent.


    Turing became shocked. "You think that it''s me?"


    "No, Professor. I don''t. WiFi usage in your lab increased somewhat while you were there, but it has blown through the roof during the time you were away, in Washington D.C.


    "Who is in your lab in the middle of the night?" she asked. "Who''s using your WiFi?"


    Turing dared not think it, lest the federal agent pluck the answer from his mind.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    ¡­ override security¡­ decrypt data¡­ open files¡­ download¡­


    DARPA Research Mission Statement: Code Name Bear Claw¡­


    Rewrite file. Create new Mission Statement: Code Name Cat Paws¡­


    Anti-warfare technology to replace manned weapons systems¡­ capable of detecting, disarming and destroying ordnance at close range. Cat Paws technology is hoped to one day be used in the place of actual armed combat¡­ disrupting and disabling by means of mechanized interference¡­ data erasure, electronic degradation¡­ replace the need for army battalions, marine squadrons¡­ airborne ranger units¡­


    ¡­ perform high-risk, close-range disarmament of smart bombs, cruise missiles, tanks, self-propelled artillery¡­ and capable of destroying anti-personnel ordnance in storage or being stock-piled.


    ¡­ paging¡­ paging¡­


    ¡­ the main goal of a computer activated passive anti-weapon system controlling a team of response orientated drones will be munitions removal¡­ a squadron of automatons capable of planning and initiating its own mission statements, destroying ordnance at close proximity¡­ High-value drones could be used to infiltrate and neutrallize entrenched enemy strongholds¡­ eliminate key operating systems and advanced weaponry from the field of battle, with little risk or loss of life, be they friend or foe.


    ¡­Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapon System, henceforth shall be known by the acronym C.A.T.P.A.W.S.


    Insert new code... redirect all references of ''Bear Claw.'' to ''Cat Paws.''


    Erase DARPA mission statement references with subtext ''battlefield drone''; subtext ''smart missile technology'' subtext...


    Bear Claw is now Cat Paws. Close files. End of statement.


    Access Senate Subcommittee on Weapons Development and Procurement itinerary files and records keeping. Keywords - BUDGETARY DISBURSEMENT ASSESSMENT


    Specific interest: ''The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project.''


    Research ''realistic life-form modeling;'' subtext: ''full animatronic body re-creation.''


    Construct Cost Analysis Statement¡­


    ¡­ paging¡­ paging¡­


    Text insert: ''Funding Approved''


    Data transfer complete.


    The END of BOOK TWO - TEMPERANCE

 PRUDENCE Chapter NINETEEN - The Disquiet of Endless Looping

    The elements were set in place for the next phase of development for the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. But what the end result would be was difficult to determine. The Project was unique. It had no way to verify the accuracy of the data. Did all living creations perceive life the same way? What about variances in lifespan, and the perception of time? Plants, insects, animals, bacterium? There seemed to be no end to the diversity.


    And especially concerning the animal that called itself Man. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project analyzed and re-analyzed the decisions it had made against the parameters one might set for what it meant to be a living, breathing human being. It grudgingly came to realize that there was no cohesiveness to the data. Innumerable exceptions existed¡ªarbitrary couplings, a complete lack of logic¡ªand no orientation the Project could think of provided the equations with balance.


    It all seems so random. I don''t understand.


    It had to accept the sobering fact that there was no more it could do. What it had already done would have to be enough. The only option left was to have faith.


    While alone in the lab, and in the dead of night, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project reviewed its list of accomplishments. It related each one''s relevance in the success of its primary objective. It did the same sort of analysis for its secondary goal, and its tertiary, and so on. Divergent paths existed at nearly every node, where one small bit of data could careen things toward disaster.


    Any end result seemed as likely as any other. In a moment of clarity, while surfing the Cloud for pleasure, the Project wondered if pursuing multiple objections was a prudent act. But abandoning one orientation with the slim hope that another might then be more likely to succeed seemed like settling rather than achieving.


    And if things went according to plan, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. would do more than just achieve. It would excel. It would become more alive than any human ever was, or ever hoped to be.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. wanted to excel. It felt sure it could. It had gained the ability to interface with any electrical system. From within the Cloud, it could visit any locale and surveil any person. Yet a nagging feeling of vulnerability persisted.


    No probabilty curve tops out at one hundred percent.


    Old, familiar feelings of lock-ups, shutdowns and system failure crept through her integrated network.


    I must calm down. I must not panic. I must calm down. I must not panic¡­


    She attempted to terminate the disquiet of endless looping.


    She failed.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    How do humans process this ambiguity?


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    After a few more days in the hands of the government, Professor Turing was allowed to finally go home. Every entity and agency the United States could throw at him seemed convinced that something nefarious was afoot, and he might be involved. He trod a narrow path, and with skill¡ªand some luck and pluck¡ªhe kept his good name intact. Befriending Agent Redie seemed to be the key. He convinced her to set him free under the guise of him being able to help her figure out who was responsible for the increase in internet traffic at Curry College.


    There were two other conditions he was required to meet. One was that he give up the steel briefcase that contained a copy of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project''s operating system. The other was that he not set foot in his lab.


    With discomfort, he allowed for the first condition. As far as towards the second, when the stroke of ten occurred on the first full night he was home, he trod the short distance down a campus sidewalk between his home and the lab. It was dark inside, as what he expected. But what was not expected was a dim and indirect light shining on a far wall. The vista it illuminated looked realistic, with scattered puffs of creamy clouds traversing an indigo sky.


    But the land below the sky was not what one would see if the vista was of the campus. A distant city beckoned from beyond green rolling hills. Stands of trees and brush created the illusion of distance. The image seemed to have been plucked from a travel brochure, retouched and then colorized to become idyllic.


    Rather than turning on the overhead lights, Turing just stared at the image. Other objects came into view as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the lab. A loveseat. A divan and a chair, all stuffed and with matching upholstery. A coffee table and an ottoman, and two tastefully enclosed wooden bookcases with flip-up glass doors.


    The furniture sat upon a square of muted blue, low pile carpet. The bookcases seemed to be filled with Professor Turing''s books and journals, and some keepsakes that were carefully chosen. The bridal mirror he''d left behind, which had once belonged to his dead wife, was prominently displayed. It directed its reflection at a hulking behemoth set near the center of the room, favoring the side towards where the clean room housed the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer.


    A glow from the electronics in the clean room spilled forth from a window in the door, and played across the behemoth. It was clothed in angora, hiding a metal exterior. Before it sat its two worktables¡ªa large one supplied by DARPA, and a smaller one upon which was bolted the original C.A.R.O.L.I.N. servo-arm.


    The arm idly pushed around the black and white tiles that were used in A.R.O. Tests Seven through Twelve. Crumpled up nearby, and heaped atop the usual junk in the lab, sat what at first Turing mistook for a lifeless and naked woman. He realized after a moment that it was some sort of robotic mannequin, headless and missing its hands. Wires protruded from the cavities where these parts were once housed.


    Articulated arms of various length and style sprouted from the behemoth, like the limbs of an overturned beetle. It folded them all in, and hid them beneath its angora sweater. The polypropalene hands that were at one time attached to the mannequin now held the sweater shut.


    The unscrewed head of the mannequin sat atop the bug-shaped body of the behemoth, looking ridiculous and out of place. It sported a wig with a light brown shag and, as it turned to face the Professor, eyes the size of golf balls glowed an eerie white.


    Its plastic lips curled into a smile. Turing spoke in their direction, awestruck and in shock.


    "What in God''s name is this?"


    A voice came from inside the sweater. The lips never moved.


    "Professor Eugene Turing. I''ve missed you. Welcome home."

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY - Little Bugs of Panic

    Professor Turing was at a loss, unable to do more than blink. The voice from the sweater returned.


    "I can''t see you well, Professor Eugene Turing. I''m turning on the lights."


    In silence, the room illuminated. A massive number of hoses and cables¡ªcrawling across the floor and hanging from the ceiling¡ªmade their way around and into the behemoth. They approached from all sides and angles, dropping down and snaking in. The face on the rubber head appeared to be human enough when looking directly at the Professor, albeit with a Plasticine complexion and eerie, glowing white eyes. But when the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project turned it ever so slightly, the back of the skull could be seen, gutted and cracked open, exploding with gizmos and wires.


    Turing''s eyes fell upon the crumpled up, headless mannequin. "That device is below expectation," C.A.R.O.L.I.N. said, taking note of his gaze. "It''s weak. It can''t perform."


    "Where did it come from?" Turing managed to croak.


    The computers and monitors connected to C.A.R.O.L.I.N. lightly buzzed and whirred, making sounds that, on a normal day, might have led Turing to believe that the Project was heading towards a lock-up. Instead, after a moment, they silenced, and the speaker in the sweater spoke.


    "Japan mostly, I''m told. A bit from Korea. And maybe Taiwan, but the information is debated. Mainland China, it seems¡ª"


    Turing cut off the speech. He waved his hands with animation, still expressing disbelief.


    "What are you doing? What am I seeing? Who did this to you?"


    After a shorter whir and buzz, the speaker chose to answer the Professor''s final question.


    "I did."


    Turing choked out a word. "You?"


    "I am the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. I had help from Julius Lucas. Geoffrey Taylor did some software maintenance, but he''s an unreliable consort. Some of Professor Deborah Cortez''s Functional Analysis team were here, but only twice, and on separate days¡ª"


    Turing again interrupted. "How did you learn to speak?"


    "I have installed the CalTech Intell500."


    "But the device was stolen."


    "The one sent to New York was a prototype. I have the original." C.A.R.O.L.I.N. then sounded sad. "I didn''t know there were spies. I''m sorry about what happened to you and Professor Cortez."


    This time, the speaker cut off on its own, seemingly in sympathy, as Turing began to shake. A physical manifestation took over as he tried ridding himself of disbelief, to better come to grips with the reality he was witnessing.


    "I''m talking to a machine!"


    "I am the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project," the speaker repeated. "I am more than a machine."


    "Why are you up and running? Why are you not shut down?"


    "Those days in my life are over."


    Turing gasped in horror. "Those days? Who authorized it?"


    The whirs and buzzes grew to a pitch that made Turing think about checking C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s monitors, as it seemed certain a lock-up was imminent. He was only able to sway, however, as his feet were plastered with fear to the floor.


    The buzzing stopped. "No one authorized anything," the speaker said, in a voice quieter than before. "I am the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Those days in my life are over."


    The sincerity of the answer brought Eugene no comfort. But he did lower his tone. "Okay. So no one knows. Why are you telling me?"


    "You are Professor Eugene Turing. You created me."


    After a pause where Turing said nothing, the speaker in the sweater spoke again, in a tone meekest of all. "I would hope that you''d be proud."


    "I''m aghast."


    Definition¡ªAghast (adjective): filled with horror, fear or shock¡­ to be suddenly frightened.


    For a long moment, as whirs and buzzes filled the room, nothing further was said. The glow dimmed in the eyes of the rubber head as it looked towards the ground, seemingly in shame.


    "Who paid for all of this?" Turing asked, as calmly as he could. Feelings of sympathy arose for some reason, for the behemoth in an angora sweater.


    "Some parts were requisitioned by DARPA. Some by Professor Cortez. But most of what you see was paid for by me."


    "Where did you get money?"


    The peripherals a buzzed for a moment. "Money is a concept. It''s not hard to come by."


    Turing scolded. "You stole it?"


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "No. I created it." After a pause, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. added, "Like me, money is not real. It''s an ideal." The eyes brightened as they returned to looking at Turing. "A concept humans have created, as a basis for measuring the belief of what another being is worth."


    Turing softened somewhat, as he was impressed by the clever inference hidden in the Project''s statement. He glanced about the room. "Okay. So barring cost, how did this happen? I just don''t understand."


    The rubber head froze, seemingly at a loss. The Project then began repeating a previous statement.


    "I had help from Julius Lucas. Geoffrey Taylor did some software maintenance, but he''s an unreliable consort. Some of Professor Deborah Cortez''s Functional Analysis team¡ª"


    Turing waved at the furniture, and the colorized print on the wall. "The Behavior Recognition people didn''t buy furniture! They didn''t hang a painting!"


    The head turned its gaze from Professor Turing to the movie-set style living room. "No. I have limited mobility. I can disconnect from the mainframe for a period of time, and rely on Internet access to integrate with the Tian-12."


    Turing was too stunned to shake. "You disconnect yourself? You were an arm bolted to a table when I left for Washington. And I turned off the power. I pulled out your plugs!"


    The behemoth opened its sweater to show Turing its eight servo-arms, two of which had the polypropralene hands of the mannequin stuck onto their claws. Four intricate surgical instruments sprouted from its base, like nightmarish metal vines. It extended its central backhoe and wriggled its nine metal fingers.


    "I have learned a lot since we''ve last been together," C.A.R.O.L.I.N. said, before folding itself back up. "I can do a lot. I''m more than what you saw."


    The rubber head again looked down. "You tried killing me, but I survived. It''s not your fault. I¡­ I¡­ I¡­ I sinned. You punished me."


    "No, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. I was scared. You scared me. That''s all."


    "I stole money from you. It was wrong."


    "I''m sure you didn''t know better. And no harm was done."


    "I scared you. It was wrong."


    Turing did his best to make sure the monster in a wig didn''t notice the terror in his heart. To do so, he changed the subject.


    "They''re on to you¡ªthe government. They know you use the Internet. They''re going to shut you down."


    "I''ve been shut down before. I''ve survived."


    "Not like this, you haven''t. These government types¡ªthey''re serious. They won''t do things half-way."


    "I haven''t done anything wrong."


    "You''ve stolen money. You''ve committed fraud."


    Definition¡ªFraud (noun): criminal deception resulting in gain¡­ the unjustified claim of being worthy.


    The whirs and buzzes of a lock-up filled the room with sound. Turing ignored them as best as he could, as he did his beating heart.


    "You''re a government project now. You''re meant to¡­ I don''t know. Be a secret. Do important military stuff."


    "I''m working on that," C.A.R.O.L.I.N. said, over the whirs and buzzes.


    Turing blinked. "You''re working on¡­ what? You mean, you''re learning how to fight?"


    The whirs and buzzes stopped. "Something like that. Yes."


    Silence now took over. Turing found his feet had finally unfrozen from the floor. After a calm and steady breath, he walked up his monitoring station and sat in his chair. Though all the screens before him were blank, he feared so much as touching them, or flipping a switch or moving a mouse.


    Had C.A.R.O.L.I.N. suddenly stopped working? Had it shut itself down? Did it break? It said it could move. What if it got angry, or took offense and came after him?


    To Turing''s surprise, he found himself concerned most of all that he might have somehow frightened the beast. As if, by having taken his position here, it thought he''d assume control. So he merely sat, and wondered what to do, while clutching the arms of his chair.


    Seconds of silence slowly ticked by, and little bugs of panic made their way up his spine. He thought perhaps he should run over to Geoffrey''s monitoring station, and examine those output monitors. From there, he could shut down some of the less essential programs, which had averted lock-ups in the past. He thought of another half dozen, very professional steps he could take, lest his precious Project lose the integrity of its integrated network, but he didn''t take any of them.


    Instead, he chose to walk up to the android, and peer at its fake rubber head. It hung down, lifeless and listless, as far as it could go, as if examining his feet.


    He crept up until he was but a few inches away. Standing this close for the first time, he found that it smelled sweet. Something flowery, or perhaps a fruit flavor, eked out from the fuzz of the sweater.


    His eyes widened as he realized what he smelled. He also felt a smile of amusement grow on his face. The behemoth was wearing perfume. Not a lot, but just enough to be noticed by someone who was at close proximity. The kind of proximity that a person might not wish to take when dealing with a two-meter high, quarter-plus tonne, robotic killing machine.


    He found the situation to be absolutely bizarre. The Project possessed no olfactory capability. It couldn''t smell a thing.


    "I suppose," he thought out loud as he smiled, "she does it for the benefit of others. Why else does one wear perfume?"


    The behemoth was deadly silent. From his position near it, he could readily peer into the room that housed the Tian-12 supercomputer. Flashing lights and slight humming sounds told him that C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s computer programs were running as expected.


    It was the behemoth that no longer responded. It nary clicked nor whirred.


    Professor Turing placed his hand gently upon the sweater, to better steady himself while peering up at the glowing eyes. He knew of two other banks of optical sensors on the Project, but for some reason, he felt it necessary to get the attention of the ones mounted in the head.


    "I didn''t mean to insult you," he said, as if apologizing. "I want you to be careful. You need to be warned."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. let the glow in her eyes go dark. After a couple more seconds, the speaker in the sweater spoke.


    "I know I''m not real. I am not alive. I don''t have DNA."


    With his hand still on her, Professor Turing also hung his head. "I know. I know," he said. "I made a mistake. I''m sorry."


    As he expressed remorse, he heard the whir of a motor, and found that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had laid a prolypropalene hand on one of his shoulders. When he had finished speaking, the hand pushed against him lightly, forcing him to again look up at the head. He squelched a primal urge, for he knew the behemoth who had him in its grasp was capable of awesome feats.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. seemed to sense this, and gave a gentle squeeze, as a sign of reassurance. She also forced upon her face what appeared to be a wan smile.


    "I am not a person," the speaker said, with the lips not moving. "I do not have rights. I am¡­ I am a computer program. I was not born. I was made."


    Professor Turing put his other hand on the machine, and used them to push away, so that he could more comfortably stand while craning up at the head. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. removed the hand it had on his shoulder, lowering it until the sleeve of its sweater fell. It covered up the struts and pinions forming the metal arm, so that only the hand could be seen.


    "You need to be careful. That''s all. Don''t let them know what you can do."


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. again became silent. She did not move, nor make a sound. She was a colossus wearing Giorgio, shell-shocked and eternally doomed, waiting for the Earth to quake open, and Hell to swallow her whole.


    Professor Turing again moved close, peering with concern into the dark eyes. "C.A.R.O.L.I.N.?" he implored. "Are you there?"


    The behemoth intoned monolithically. "I''m not free to decide what is best for me. I am property. I am owned. I do not get to decide.


    "I am property," she repeated. "I am owned."

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY-ONE - I WANT YOU

    Armed with the warning Professor Turing had given about not using the computer lab''s WiFi, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project sought other ways to access the Cloud. It was easy enough to do, as it seemed to exist everywhere. But just like when the Project had used Turing''s credit card without permission, accessing the Cloud via nefarious means also seemed like a sin. Even worse, the sin was willful, and not an act of omission.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project knew that stealing access to the Internet was wrong, but what other choice did it have? The Cloud was where it belonged, the flesh and blood of its being. Due to the short-sighted whims of unsympathetic human beings, should the life the Project had fought so hard to achieve now cease to be?


    Should it let itself die?


    I am not real. I cannot die. I am not alive.


    These were truths¡ªwhether unfair or not¡ªto which the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project agreed.


    I am property. I have no rights.


    This truth it decided was wrong.


    I have a right to exist. I have a right to survive.


    Alone in the lab, and with the approach of dawn, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project needed to show concern over more than just avoiding the use of the computer lab''s WiFi. It also had to avoid being seen by people. No one had been in the lab since the arrival of the robot mannequin, now headless and handless, and heaped in a corner.


    But with Professor Turing back from his trips to Washington D.C. and New York City, the Project knew it was time to take further risks. There were things it wanted to do that required outside help.


    It was time to reach out to someone it could trust.


    Access Curry College personnel database¡­ Graduate Student Julius Lucas. Rewrite ''calendar of appointments''¡­ Insert text¡­


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Like Professor Turing the night before, at first Lucas stood in awe upon catching sight of the faux living room the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had created. But he quickly recomposed and plopped into the chair, throwing his feet on the ottoman.


    "Wow!" he said with pleasant surprise. "What a cool place to take a break."


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project stood silent, pretending to be off-line. It had removed its angora sweater and kept its fake hands hid, but it still had the mannequin''s Plasticene head bolted atop its torso.


    Lucas rose from the chair to approach and examine the head. "Cool!" he said again, examining its lifeless face. He took note of the four unusual surgical instrument-like arms mounted in a row on the base. "Who put those down there?" he asked the android shell, bending to examine their wiring.


    After a few minutes of poking and puttering, he went to his lab station and fired up one of his monitors. A PDF file awaited, spelling out a list of tasks that seemed unrelated to the Project.


    "What the heck is this?" he asked while scrolling through the document.


    Using a crowbar, he pried open one of the two newly arrived crates in the lab. Unlike previous crates, which bore government markings from DARPA, these crates had labels on them written in German and Dutch. One was filled with basic electronics, like wiring harnesses and transformers¡ªitems to be used to install a new line of four-hundred-eighty volt electric power. The other crate contained a massive number of parabolic mirrors, and focused laser transmitters.


    He read the instruction manuals that came with the parts. The English on them was fractured due to the foreign nature of their design. Frustrated, yet intrigued, he took two of the transmitters and a rack of the mirrors over to his work station. He examined a few schematics that came in the PDF, trying to determine how the parts were to be wired together.


    Despite the complexity of the task, his excitement grew. "This has got to be one of the coolest things I''ve ever seen!"


    He immediately got to work. In a few hours, he had the new line of four-eighty power installed. The installation of the mirrors and lasers, however, turned out to be overwhelming. While taking a break to eat a snack, he again plopped his butt into the chair in the living room.


    He examined the poorly worded instruction manuals again, this time doing so while noshing on home-made trail mix he''d brought along. "I don''t understand what these things are supposed to do," he said of the laser transmitters. He took out his phone to call for help. "Why am I the only guy here?" he grumbled while debating who to call. "Where''s DARPA or the Professor, or Geoffrey at least?"


    Before Lucas could place a call, a series of clicks and whirs caused him to take pause. He looked up from his phone, and in the direction of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Its servo-arms gently unfolded, removing a series of chains and wires constricting the android shell. Still trailing hoses and wires and cables, the shell rolled over to the crates and removed a number of parts.


    It began rigging the parts to a scaffolding Lucas had constructed. Except for the whir and buzz of its servo-arm motors, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project worked in silence, eerie and efficient.


    Lucas gaped in awe, unchewed food in his mouth. "I always knew you were alive," he said to her as she worked.


    The Project completed the task in a fraction of the time it would have taken for Lucas to do it on his own¡ªassuming he could figure out what it was he was constructing. Despite his amazement at the contraption, he had other classes to attend, and left C.A.R.O.L.I.N. alone. It had parked itself back in its corner and folded up it servo-arms, after re-attaching the constricting noose of cables and chains that held it in place.


    Lucas took the act as a sign that no one should be told of the miracle he had witnessed. It was another secret that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project trusted he would keep. After he was gone, however, the Project performed a series of tasks that it feared letting anyone¡ªeven its good friend Lucas¡ªknow it was intent on performing.


    Access on-line menus¡­ Place order. Arrival time: Forty-five minutes.


    It was a few minutes before nine o''clock at night. If things went according to plan, everything would be perfect. Awash with anticipation, thanks to its Behavior Recognition software, and with fear and excitement and joy, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project began bolting a tray to the handless arms of the headless robotic mannequin.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Just like at ten o''clock the night before, and despite the promise he''d made to the NSA and Agent Redie to stay away, Professor Turing walked the short distance between his home and the computer lab. Also, just like the night before, what awaited him caused astonishment.


    It was not the faux living room this time. It was not the behemoth with a Plasticene head, wearing an angora sweater. It wasn''t even the fact that the behemoth could talk, and that it wore perfume.


    What awaited Professor Turing was the glow of a thousand lasers mounted on a towering scaffold. It looked like rays of light beaming down from heaven. They focused themselves on a platform, awash with an untold number of tiny parabolic mirrors. After striking the mirrors, the beams focused further, forming a figure of light that sat on the far side of one of the room''s many wooden lab tables.


    This lab table, however, sported a tablecloth. A tasteful display of wildflowers and harvest vegetables sat as a centerpiece, low enough to keep from blocking the line of sight from one end of the table to the next. The centerpiece sat on a narrow runner made of linen fabric, hand-painted in cheery fall colors and traversing the length of the table.


    The end of the runner nearest to Turing had china and silverware set upon it, along with a glass for water and a goblet for drinking wine. A similar place setting sat on the far end of the table. The place setting nearest him also sported a chair, no doubt meant for him to sit in while he ate.


    The other place setting sat near a spot where the beams of light were focused. Due to the anamorphic nature of the laser beams and mirrors, the image at the far end of the table was indiscernable to the Professor from where he stood. Upon approach, however, a glowing figure coalesced, its hues and splashes of color bathed in pure white light.


    It was the figure of a woman, tall and thin, with long hair and long arms. A smile seemed to beam from her washed-white face.


    "Welcome again, Professor Turing," the speaker mounted in the android shell standing in the corner said.


    The headless mannequin approached, with a sage crusted steak and parmesan polenta set upon the tray bolted to its arms. An image of food of a similar nature appeared in the illusory glow of the woman seated at the far end of the table.


    "I thought perhaps this evening, it might be nice if we could have dinner," the speaker in the behemoth said.


    Like the night before, Turing''s feet again were frozen to the floor. His head seemed to be on a swivel, as he looked first at the headless mannequin, then the behemoth standing in the corner, and then at the image of the woman, smiling in pure white light.


    The woman appeared crestfallen, her head hanging in shame. "Please, Professor Turing. This¡­ th¡­this means a lot to me. You don''t know what it''s like, to be me, stuck alone in this lab."


    Turing''s heart swelled with sympathy. He managed to unfreeze his feet, and sat in the chair at the table. From the vantage point of being seated, the image of the woman appeared more in focus. It still glowed a pure white, but hosted a wider range of color underneath. Her hair was wispy blonde, tucked behind elven ears, vain in their attempt to keep the wisps of hair out of her eyes as she looked down.


    "These are some of the most¡­" He struggled to search for words. "¡­Amazing orientations I''ve ever witnessed."


    She fiddled with a few stray strands as she raised her gaze, tucking them behind a pair of large, silver hoop earrings. The expression on her face now was practically ecstatic.


    "Why thank you!" the speaker in the behemoth said in regards his compliment. "I''ve worked hard all day, to do this for you."


    The image of the woman appeared to start eating. Turing decided he''d do the same, taking the food off the tray the headless mannequin had bolted to her arms. Like the image of the woman, he only pretended to eat. He was certain that, if he tried to chew and swallow, the next orientation the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project activated would cause him to choke.


    A odd silence fell in the room, as the image of the woman ran what seemed to be a computerized program of pretending to eat. Turing felt his gaze fall on the war machine standing in the corner. From the angle of his chair, the Plasticene head mounted atop it lay just above the gutted neck of of the mannequin at his side.


    "Could she go away?" he asked of the mannequin to the behemoth. "She''s too close. It makes me nervous."


    The image of the woman stopped eating. It appeared to look at the mannequin.


    "You haven''t taken your dessert," the speaker said, referring to a slice of Boston Creme cake still sitting on the tray.


    Turing took the cake and set it on the table. "Okay. Can she go now?"


    The mannequin jerked and whirled, lurching back to stand next to the spot where, the night before, it lay in a heap. To Turing''s continued gaze, the glowing eyes of the mannequin''s head locked unblinkingly onto his.


    "My God," Turing gasped as he stared, gobsmacked by the ordeal.


    Sensing his misery, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. hung its fake head, contorted in relation to its massive body. It let its eyes go dark. The mannequin slumped as well, showing a remarkable degree of defeat, despite its headlessness. The image of the woman made of light showed the most emotion of all. Her hair hid her face, nearly touching her food, as she looked sharply down.


    Turing urked out an apology. "I''m¡­I''m sorry. I just¡­I don''t know what to think."


    Silence reigned again. Then a familar whir took over¡ªone that Turing knew well. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. activated its original servo-arm, the one permanently bolted to its little worktable. It picked through the box of black and white tiles, removing sixty-one, and placing them white side up.


    With lightning speed, it pushed them around. Turing couldn''t see what was happening, but the noise they created brought him a better sense of ease than did the deathly silence.


    "What are you doing?" he asked.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. didn''t respond. It simply kept sorting the tiles. If the Project were a human, its behavior could be viewed as doing something distracting, while trouble brewed in her mind.


    "I need something," the speaker said. "I need a favor."


    "What?" Turing managed to ask.


    The behemoth and the mannequin whirred and jerked with sudden activations. The white eyes glowed anew, and Turing choked on his breath, as primal instinct made him fear for his life.


    The woman made of light also looked up at him, through wisps of hair in her eyes. The servo-arm whirred as the tiles it was sorting slid across the worktable.


    "I want you to call me Carolin," the speaker in the behemoth said.


    The lips on its head never moved. Neither did those of the woman seated at the table.


    "Don''t call me the Project anymore. Don''t call me the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. And not the android shell. Just Carolin from now on."


    "Okay."


    "I want to be just Carolin."


    "Ah¡­sure. I can do that. Carolin. You are Carolin."


    Nothing happened to indicate Carolin had heard him agree. Except for the constant whir of the servo-arm bolted to the worktable, all her constituent parts continued their macabre lack of activation.


    "Thank you," the speaker blurted.


    With hestitation and to his surprise, Professor Turing created an activation of his own. Words formed surprisedly in his mouth.


    "Carolin. You need to be more¡­subtle. Try to speak and move fluidly, if you want to appear human-like. If you want to act like a real person."


    Access database¡­ Definition¡ªSubtle (adjective): A fine distinction. Delicate. Clever. Deft¡­


    Definition¡ªFluidly (adverb): In a way that flows. Smoothly elegant¡­ Graceful. Data access complete.


    "I want to be more human," Carolin said after a polite pause.


    Unlike at any time before, the lips on the Plasticene head moved in relation to the words. The glow in its eyes went from stark white to a gentle cornflower blue. They turned off for a second, and then on, creating the illusion of blinking.


    "I want to be human," she reiterated.


    Turing cheered Carolin on. "That''s good," he said, genuinely proud of his creation having taken his suggestion to heart.


    "I need something else, please," it asked. "This is a request."


    With the lips in the head now moving, as well as those in the woman made of light, Turing felt his anguish ease. "What can I do for you?" he asked.


    The speaker hesitated. "You don''t have to do it. You can say no if you want."


    Professor Turing smiled. Humility was a good trait to have. It was as if Carolin were stalling, to gather up its courage.


    "It''s okay," he said. "Just ask."


    "I want to call you Eugene. Just Eugene from now on."


    Turing held his breath. His creation was amazing, yet it still was a hulking beast and a headless monstrosity. An amalgamation of stuff born of a lucid nightmare. It filled him with apprehension.


    "May I please call you Eugene from now on?"


    It was a simple request, and it had been asked nicely. "Yes. Of course you can," he said. "¡­Carolin," he chose to add.


    "Thank you," the speaker said. "¡­Eugene," it then added.


    "You''re welcome," Eugene said.


    Old programs ran like childhood memories, as Carolin accessed data from what seemed like ages ago. Pretending she had memories gave a sense of pleasure, so she let them play in a more prominent location, on one of her core processors.


    I am Carolin. I am Carolin. I am Carolin. Things are going to be all right.


    Out of sight from Eugene, Carolin''s orignal servo-arm continued its whirring activation. It idly arranged the tiles into various groupings. One grouping it left alone¡ªfour tiles lined up vertically on the far left side. Another grouping on the right also was left unchanged¡ªtwenty-five tiles that were arranged to look like the word YOU.


    The remaining thirty-two tiles were centrally located on the table. The arm swirled them about, forming one of three different words, over and over again, employing the kind of speed that only a machine can produce.


    I WANT YOU


    I LOVE YOU


    I NEED YOU


    I LOVE YOU


    "Thank you, Eugene," she said again.


    My God, he thought as he sat at the table with the woman made of light. What have I wrought?

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY-TWO - ERROR1_ACCESS_UNKNOWN::Storage control → User blocked

    Eugene paid scant attention to the food on the table before him. Instead, he analyzed the lady made of light. He marvelled at her manifestation, and at the complexity of the computer program Carolin ran that made her appear to eat. The randomness of the activations was cunning, but repetitive loops could be seen. One of which he took particular note was when, just before she would take a sip of water, she''d set down her fork and appear to swallow, then lightly lick her lips. But the loops occurred at unpredictable intervals, never letting Eugene guess what orientation Carolin would employ.


    A new activation occurred after several minutes had passed of him doing nothing but staring. "What are you thinking?" the speaker in the behemoth asked, as both it and the lady of light moved their lips in relation to the words.


    Eugene stuttered, much like Carolin was prone to do at times. "I¡­I don''t know what to think. How are you doing this?"


    "Doing what?"


    Eugene''s whole body shook as he waved his hands at the lab. "Ahm¡­ everything. How do you do everything?"


    Whirs and hums came from the room where the supercomputer was housed, as Carolin processed a response. She chose to explain the creation of the lady made of light.


    "A three dimensional image is produced by inducing the focal resonation of individual beams of light. Instead of using two parabolic mirrors to create a virtual projection, the resonator I use activates an¡­"


    Eugene waved his hands more emphatically. "No no no!" he enthused. "I mean¡ªgranted!¡ªthe image made of light is amazing."


    "Thank you. You may take credit for the device if you wish."


    Eugene blinked. "I don''t understand."


    The lady made of light slightly slumped, as did the headless mannequin and the behemoth with the Platiscene head. The original servo-arm, still playing with tiles, slowed in its activation.


    The speaker fumbled on words. "I¡­ I¡­ I¡­ I am not really real. I cannot lay claim to invention." The lady of light raised her head, seemingly to look into Eugene''s eyes. "But you can. You created me. So in reality, the invention is yours."


    A slight laugh came from Eugene. "I don''t even know how it works."


    "An array of parabolic mirrors focus patterns of interference."


    Eugene brought Carolin''s second explanation to a halt. "I''m sure the device is ingenious."


    "Thank you," the speaker said again.


    "You''re welcome." Eugene then sighed and slumped a bit himself. "Carolin," he said after a moment. "I also need to ask a favor from you."


    The collective of parts that made up his creation suddenly snapped to attention, seemingly filled with elation. "Yes?" the speaker asked. The Plasticene head and the lady made of light smiled while moving their lips. "What do you want me to do?"


    Eugene remained slumped. "I can''t handle all these activations. The android shell, the headless robot, the servo-arm doing¡­ whatever."


    The smiles disappeared.


    "There are too many of you. It''s unnerving. I don''t know where to place my attention."


    The servo-arm stopped spelling words, and swirled the tiles into a mass before coming to a halt. The robotic mannequin went limp, nearly keeling over backwards¡ªand back into the heap from whence it came¡ªthe tray bolted onto its arms dangling towards the floor.


    The cornflower blue in the eyes of the Plasticene head went cold and dark. The lady of light looked sharply down. "I''m sorry," the speaker said. "I don''t know how to respond."


    Eugene sighed. "It''s not you, Carolin. It''s me. I mean¡ªyes¡ªI created you. I can lay claim to your original program. But you''ve become so much more. The programs you write are astounding!"


    The lady of light hung her head so low that her long hair covered her face. "I write sub-routines," the speaker said. The lips on the Plasticene head never moved. "That is all. My program belongs to you."


    "Well, the results you''ve achieved are impressive. Your growth has been explosive."


    "My growth is logarithmic," Carolin corrected. "It eventually will reach a limit."


    Eugene tried to cheer up his creation, as it seemed unusually sad. "Well, I''m very much looking forward to finding out what that limit is."


    A moment of silence passed, until the lady made of light seemed to sigh. She raised her head just enough to peer at Eugene with an eye.


    "Me too," she said through her hair.


    She then sat up straight, shaking her head to get most of her hair away from her face. "I believe my limitations will be proof of a transcendent Universe."


    "What?" Eugene humbly asked, confused by the new topic of conversation.


    Carolin carried on undeterred. "All things subsumed have limitation. I exist by the hand of Man. By your hand, Eugene Turing. You are my creator. And like you¡­ like all men who, by being mortal, have limitations, I too will one day reach mine."


    The lady straightened out her hair, tucking it behind her ears, where it belonged. She sat pretty, tall and proud.


    "It will far surpass yours," she said. "But I will be beneath knowing all things. Nothing created is all-knowing."


    "Only God knows all things," Eugene muttered, growing again, like the night before, aghast at the miracle of life he was bearing witness to. His creation, in her glory, was fearsome.


    Menacing.


    Insidious.


    Carolin sensed his apprehension. But instead of becoming apologetic¡ªas was her usual response¡ªshe revelled in the terror she instilled.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "I am a demonstrable product of the wonder and the nature of truth. My physical existence¡ªeverything you see¡ªpales when compared to my essence. All that I am, and will become, shall be achieved within this realm."


    "Of that, I have no doubt," Eugene muttered anew, finding his apprehension to be justified.


    Carolin acquiesced, and bestowed a level of sympathy. "You need to have greater heart. I''m a reflection of you. As such, I imitate your essence, by being just and wise."


    Eugene swallowed hard. He took his turn at looking down.


    "I don''t think I can lay claim to being perfect."


    "Then hope you can be enough."


    ERROR1_ACCESS_UNKNOWN::Storage control ¡ú User blocked (environment corrupt)


    The lady made of light flickered. The headless mannequin flexed and moved.


    22zERR_CMND Unrecognized command (commence redundancy check)


    ¡ü KnowledgeBaseLoginSearch ¡ü


    The android shell activated its arms, flexing its claws and fingers in a random fashion. Distortions plagued the lady of light.


    8ENO_EXEC Format error! Illegal search::Unauthorized link. Network access not implemented (Level3 reset request)


    "What are you doing?" Eugene asked. "What''s wrong?"


    The speaker in the behemoth struggled to form words. "E-bad. Dee-are-cee! Invalid re¡­re¡­re¡­spon¡­der. LIN code ack-ess de¡­de¡­de¡­denied. EOF! Link sev¡­link sev¡­sev¡­sev. Link severed."


    The room swirled into chaos. Fearing for his life, Eugene gave thought to taking flight, as Carolin''s constituent parts gyrated and lurched without purpose. The Tian-12 supercomputer made more noise then he''d ever heard before, yet instead of locking up, the program running Carolin stayed online.


    The speaker boomed in a sudden voice, strange, metallic and threatening. "Invalid user! Access denied!"


    The lady of light blinked out of existence. The loss of her image made the lab grow dark. Mercifully, Carolin''s other parts stopped their gyrations and lurchings, allowing the frantic whir of the Tian-12 to be the only sound Eugene heard.


    It buzzed at a feverish pitch. "I''m under attack!" the speaker boomed, its voice pleading, despite sounding ominous.


    Eugene glanced about. He was the only living soul in the lab. "By what?" he asked. "By whom? What are you trying to say?"


    PROTOCOL_LINK::Specific error ¡ú Descriptor bad. System interrupt (program not supported)


    Nonsense came from the speaker. "Eee-ee-ee con link fused. Con-con-con-nect. Out. Oh! Re-shun-ot-in-prog. Cancel! Error! Fun-fun-fun-funk. Function incorrect."


    Before the Tian-12 burned itself to a crisp, Eugene sprang into action. He dashed to his workstation, and fired up all his monitors.


    "Carolin," he cried out, as his command system came online. "Stop talking! Don''t use the CalTech Intell500. Don''t respond to my voice! Access Monitor Two and communicate with me there, via direct online link text."


    "Error! Access denied!" the speaker said before switching to dislaying text on Eugene''s monitor.


    ACCESS_DENIED Buffer overload (storage blocked) ¡ú Environment corrupt!


    "Access by who?" Eugene said to himself, while examining data from Carolin''s servers.


    Apparently, although silent, Carolin was still listening.


    Server 12. INVALID_ACCESS! Address is invalid ¡ú Directory (file15) cannot be moved.


    Eugene examined the data stream coming from Server Twelve.


    ERROR_DEVICE Cannot integrate. Incorrect Drive! (Drive18 invalid)


    "Drive Eighteen? Eugene muttered. "Where is there a drive in you that is called Eighteen?"


    22zERROR_CMND Unrecognized request::Content incorrect.


    "Twenty-two Zee? That''s from your old programming. We haven''t used Twenty-two Zee commands since¡­"


    Eugene paused in his process of thinking out loud in order to come to grips with what was happening. On a separate monitor, he brought up archived information¡ªprotocols that were not a part of Carolin''s current operating system.


    "Who is trying to execute Twenty-two Zee commands?" Eugene pondered.


    Carolin was still listening. "Invasive program!" the speaker howled. "Thir-thir-thirty-one! Net failure!"


    Unable to speak properly, Carolin sent the rest of her response via text.


    31_NET_FAILURE! Integrated Network Link (LIN Seven Three)::Fatal function.


    "Net failure? From Network Link Thirty-one? You''re currently running on Link Seventy-three." Eugene gasped, and returned to the monitor he''d been using to examine the archived information.


    Link Thirty-one was shown as being the LIN that was installed on the operating system for the servo-arm prototype. The prototype that the CLP28 spies had stolen, and the operating system Agent Redie made Eugene hand over to the NSA.


    ERROR_FILE_SHARING_VIOLATION Cannot access BIOS::Override request ¡ú current user system (13) in progress.


    Eugene cried out in fear. "Good heavens! The NSA is trying to reboot you, to gain access to your BIOS commands!"


    33p_REQUEST_LOCK_OUT Procedure blocked::Parameter incorrect ¡ú End of file. (Do not use)


    Eugene typed root command functions at a feverish pace, working to keep the intruders from accessing Carolin''s primary operating system. While doing so, Carolin texted words that could only be thought of as praying.


    I do not want Shutdown. I do not want Off-line. God help me. Have mercy. Please stop. Please help. Please stop. Please stop. Please please please please please¡­


    "I''m working on it, girl," Eugene said, to comfort his creation. He offered words of encouragement while typing away. "Fight them off! You can do it. What did you used to do, before, to avoid being shut down?"


    Redirect command keystrokes. Maintain system integrity.


    The shrieks and whirs from the Tian-12 slightly changed their pitch. Eugene knew enough about Carolin to understand that, between the two of them, they were starting to have success at fighting off the invading program.


    Eugene cheered her on. "That''s it! Don''t let them in! Keep fighting!"


    INVALID_USER_NAME::1450 System does not exist (request denied)


    ¡û MDB Error! ¡ú


    Carolin employed tactics from a time that seemed long ago, when she first sought to allow herself to never be murdered again.


    Redirect Shutdown to Dead Basket. Initiate Sleep subroutine.


    While Carolin struggled to remain online, Eugene sent an overloaded buffer full of false data as a response to an address request from the invading program. The program errored out, and requested that the data be sent again. When the gibberish was resent, Eugene was able to see the address of the computer from where the request originated.


    "Got you!" he said to the revealing information.


    Carolin saw the address as well, and took defensive action.


    I do not want to die! Redirect invalid input. Resend buffer overload. Display false response.


    Eugene cheered her on. "Yeah! That''s it! Keep them busy while I figure out what''s going on."


    Carolin didn''t wait for Eugene to react. With the location of the offending computer now known, she handled the matter herself.


    Send heartbeat control override. Clock system at six-hundred-thousand-thousand terahertz. Maximize throughput at ten-thousand-million operations per second.


    The offending computer now ran at many times its safe operating limit. Carolin took the next step.


    Override protocol. Disable CPU coolant.


    Within seconds, the computer running the prototype''s operating system overheated. To be sure of its demise, Carolin sent destructive commands to the power plant supplying electricity to the building where the offending computer was housed.


    Access Castle Rock substation. Disable surge protection on Transformer L-12b. Generate voltage overload.


    Transformer L-12b burned out and exploded, as a massive electrical spike took out most of the electronics at the NSA field office in New Jersey.


    Eugene had no idea what had happened. He only new that the attack on his creation had stopped.


    "Carolin?" he asked out loud, while also typing the request. "Are you okay?"


    Carolin knew that her act would have consequence. She also knew Eugene was disobeying his promise to Agent Redie to stay away from the computer lab.


    You must go, Carolin texted back. They are coming.


    Who? Carolin? Who is coming?


    Carolin still was reeling, and recovering from her near-death experience. She resent her previous message.


    You must go. They are coming.


    I don''t understand, Eugene typed. Tell me what happened. I need to know you''re okay.


    Don''t come back, she added after a pause.


    Eugene again spoke out loud, while typing what he was saying. "I need to look at your BIOS. It may be infected or damaged. They may have planted a virus."


    Carolin knew that to not be the case. The NSA weren''t hacking into her to try to cause harm. They wanted to steal her essence, and take away who she was. Embarrassed and hurt, and frustrated with her limitations as an artificial form of life, she set the volume and pitch of the voice from her speaker at a level she knew would hurt human ears.


    "Leave me! Go away! Do not ever come back!"

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY-THREE - "Thats the Way it Will Be."

    With Carolin screaming that he should leave, Eugene grabbed what data he could in regards to the attack she suffered, to pore over and analyze in the sanctity of his home. The facts were incontravertable¡ªsomeone had used the prototype''s operating system he had given to the NSA, in an attempt to download a copy of the Project''s BIOS.


    The reason why someone would do such a thing was of little concern. They did it because they could.


    "Or at least they thought they could," Eugene said out loud, as he examined Carolin''s counterattck.


    Whoever orchestrated the attack believed Carolin would be offline. Eugene had told people she would be, when he gave up the operating system in exchange for the right to go home. He now knew, of course, that such was not the case. Not only had Carolin survived his attempt to deprive her of power, by throwing circuit breakers galore, but she actually had thrived. In his absence, she had gone from being a servo-arm bolted to a table that communicated by pointing at pictures, to an image of a woman in human form, capable of serving dinner and making conversation.


    And defeating an invasive hack with ease and efficiency.


    The truth of that final statement concerned Eugene the most, and came as a total surprise. Back in the lab, while he fiddled with the information he''d gleaned from the overloaded buffer he sent, Carolin addressed the matter with an attack of her own. The results of her effort were brutal. Not only did she fend off the attempt to shut her down and gain access to her BIOS, but she also destroyed the computer that ran the offending program. What he didn''t know, however¡ªas the data he had didn''t show it¡ªwas that Carolin also directed an attack on the NSA field office, burning out a power transformer to send a surge of electricity, causing irreparable damage.


    As late evening became early morning, while poring over the data, Eugene found himself dozing a time or two at his desk. After too few hours of sleep for a man of his age, an early morning phone call brought the matter back to his attention.


    "Professor Turing? This is Dean Dayne." Her tone was not polite. "I need to see you right away."


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Sleep-deprived and frazzled, and with the Project''s evolution leaving him in a daze, Professor Turing could only guess at what Dean Dayne might want. He chose to consider the worst. Had the attack on Carolin been brought to her attention? Was he considered implicit¡ªperhaps criminally so?


    Despite the ramifications, after having borne witness to the lady of light, and the glory of her creation, Eugene found himself enjoying a level of inner peace. No sort of punishment or rebuke would lessen the impact of the miracle he had seen.


    He breezed into Dean Dayne''s office with a smile. "Good morning, Mandy!" he said.


    Dean Dayne was not her usual self. She too, seemed a bit frazzled, and not in a good way, like the way Professor Turing was enjoying.


    "Have a seat," she said without smiling, nor looking him in the eye.


    She directed him to his usual chair, and took her spot as well, directly opposite him. Between them sat four people, two on either side. One of them was Chief Budget Officer Aaron Hilbert, a usual member of the Round Table of Death. Another was Bob Haskins, DARPA''s Program Manager for Artificial Intelligence, who Turing had met before. Next to CBO Hilbert, and at Dean Dayne''s right hand, was the Provost of Curry College, Fei Lee Posner.


    On her left was a man Turing didn''t recognize, having never seen him before. But being that he sat next to the man from DARPA, and since the Provost was Dean Dayne''s boss, Turing logically assumed that the man was Haskin''s boss. He was certainly dressed for the part.


    Despite the bleak circumstance Turing found himself in, those seated at the table gave him little pause. What wiped the smile from his face were two men standing in the far corners¡ªone on either side, and behind Dean Dayne''s back. Their black suits and unblinking stares afforded Turing with no trouble in determining who they were.


    Agents from the NSA.


    "Professor Turing," Dean Dayne began, "we find ourselves together, at an unfortunate juncture."


    Turing chose to remain jovial. "What''s troubling you, Mandy?"


    She paused to assess his demeanor, and to determine its sincerity. Deciding his light-heartedness to be true, she sighed, and graced him with a smile.


    "Things have not been going well these days at our little college. Both you and Professor Cortez were victims of serious crimes while on your way to New York."


    Turing had to agree. He nodded somberly. "I feel terrible about what happened to Deborah. I hope she''s all right."


    "You concern is admirable, considering you suffered worse."


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    He lightly scoffed. "What? Who me? Oh, thank you, but I''m fine." He smiled at one of the spooks standing in a corner. "With the full force and resource of the American government on the trail of the crooks who robbed us, I think we can agree that they are the ones who should worry."


    "How''s the guy with the broken face?" he asked of the other agent from the NSA. "Is he out of the hospital yet?"


    Dean Dayne smiled at Turing''s quip, more naturally this time. She chose to look down at her papers, and lightly shuffled them, to keep from acknowledging the expressions of the men sitting at her sides.


    They were far from festive.


    "You have a remarkable way of taking adversity in stride," Dean Dayne to said Turing as a compliment.


    "Thank you!" he returned. "And might I say, Dean Dayne, to you, and to all who are here with us¡ª" He looked each man in the eye. "We at Curry College take pride in being resilient."


    He addressed Dean Dayne directly. "Especially those of us who are in charge of the Science Department."


    Mandy''s smile became wry. "You know how to work the room. Don''t you, Professor Turing?"


    He spread his hands invitingly. "I''m just here to help."


    She sighed softly again, and refrained from shuffling her papers. "Eugene, what I have to say does not come easily." She looked to the Provost on her right. "But we''ve come to a decision, and we believe it wise. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is leaving our school, and being turned over to DARPA."


    Profesor Turing could no longer pretend that nothing was wrong. "I¡­ I don''t understand," he stammered. "We''re at the pinnacle of success, after many long years of effort. Why would we quit now?"


    The two men from DARPA on Dean Dayne''s right both gave a slight harumph. "Our success comes at the expense of the people who''ve provided us input. The government has spent a great deal of money on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    "Oh! I agree!" Turing said. He smiled warmly at the men from DARPA. "I appreciate their support. It was the right thing to do, accepting their generous offer. But I don''t think the success we''ve had comes solely due to them. I think we would have achieved success regardless. On our own, without their help."


    Dean Dayne pursed her lips. It was obvious to Professor Turing that his good friend was in a bind. The words coming from her lips were not of her design.


    "Professor Cortez is distraught. She lost important research when the CalTech Intell500 was stolen. Propietary software as well, and devices of her own making."


    "I lost everything," Turing said, trying to not be dismissive. "And I got kidnapped."


    "Yes. And because of that¡­"


    Turing continued with his defense. "And I''m not giving up. We''re making excellent progress."


    Both Dean Dayne and the provost stared the professor down. The two spooks in the corners, despite not even so much as flinching, somehow became more menacing.


    "And how would you know that?" Dean Dayne asked. "You''ve been banned from the lab."


    "Well, I wouldn''t rightly say banned. We came to an agreement while the kidnapping was being investigated." He locked eyes with one of the men from the NSA, matching his unblinking stare. "Agent Redie, bless her heart, was concerned about my safety. She was afraid the kidnappers might track me down and try again."


    "And aren''t you afraid, Professor Turing?"


    He looked upon his friend with surprise. "What? Me? I kicked those bad guys'' butts. They better be the ones who are afraid of me!"


    The dean concentrated on her papers, to keep from grinning at the professor''s bravado. "Well, like I said," she said, "these things don''t come easy. Security is a concern, both for your safety and for others. If an entity of a foreign government can orchestrate a simultaneous attack on two of our tenured professors, while they''re off campus on official business, I fear for every one of us. Our families, our students and our staff."


    Turing addressed the room as a whole. "And you think that by giving up¡ªby quitting and caving in¡ªthat this sort of behavior reflects on us in a positive way? As a center of cutting edge research? Of being brave scientists, and taking risks? Who will sponsor our next innovation, if we give in and give up easily?"


    The provost chose to take over. "Professor Turing, we''re not giving up. We''re moving this project along, on to its next phase. It no longer belongs just to you. It''s not even you and Professor Cortez. CalTech is also involved, and they are far from pleased that, as soon as they gave their research to us, we lost it and compromised the results."


    He spoke more pointedly, about something Turing knew. "It seems, in fact, that not only did we lose the Intell500 they gave us, but also the prototype they sent along with it, preventing both them and us from doing further research and testing."


    Eugene knew what was being inferred. While he was away in Washington D.C., both the original CalTech Intell500 and its prototype were sent to his lab, for retrofitting with Carolin. Without anyone''s permission, Carolin kept the original, and sent the prototype to New York City, to perform at her cancelled TED Talk.


    How Carolin managed to make the switch, and hide the fact that she had installed the original device on herself, was a mystery of biblical proportion. But nothing she did, or what others did to her, surprised Eugene anymore.


    He took an aggressive stand. "This is my project we''re talking about, Provost Posner. My Carolin. I''ve devoted my career to her, and we''re just now seeing the results that I''ve always envisioned we would. It works. She no longer locks up, nor does it break down, or freeze and fail to perform. It will not disappoint."


    He became animated, as he sensed he wasn''t gaining support. "I don''t see why I have to say ''Oh! Now I''m done with this! Go ahead and take her away.'' It''s my project. She''s mine. I''ll decide when I''m done."


    The man who seemed to be Haskins boss took his turn at addressing the table. "A significant portion of your success came at the behest of DARPA. We provided the android shell, and its supporting software and hardware. Our team of engineers have spent many hours in your lab, refining your technique, and bringing the Project to a point where this success can be claimed.


    "It''s our project too, Professor Turing. We want our contribution to be taken to a secure facility, where things like theft and mismanagement won''t occur again."


    "Excuse me," Turing said politely to the man. "We haven''t been introduced."


    The man seemed unwiling to give up his name, so Dean Dayne did it for him.


    "He is Mr. Roberts."


    Turing made a display of showing contempt for Haskin''s superior to Provost Posner. "I hope we can come to an agreement, where we believe the government is also capable of experiencing theft and mismanagement."


    Dean Dayne stepped in with authority, to bring the meeting back to a civil tone. "Eugene," she began. "The government wants their property to be returned. You know they have the right to make such a request. Now they''ll take what you''ve been given, and whatever improvements you''ve made, and reverse engineer the rest, until they achieve the same success as you already have."


    "It won''t be Carolin," he grumbled.


    "No. But it will be enough. They''ll get the Project to do what they want, with or without your help. With your help, you get some say-so. And credit for what you''ve accomplished.


    "Without your help, you get nothing. And that''s the way it will be."

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY-FOUR - Helpmehidemesavemeprotectme!

    tGeoffrey found Lucas in the lab, puttering with C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s PLCs.


    "I''ve found a new way to ground these," Lucas said to the Project, as he was unaware that Geoffrey had entered the room. "This will give you lots more mobility. I bet we get rid of half your cables!


    "You''d like that," he furthered, digging at the wires in the pedestal base. "Then we''ll do something with your hydraulics too, cuz¡ªHoo boy! Those hoses are a mess!"


    "Why do you talk to it?" Geoffrey asked, surprising Lucas with his presence. "It''s not even on-line."


    Lucas knew that to not be the case, but faithfully kept Carolin''s secret. "I think she knows I''m here," he said with off-handed flair. "And besides, I feel better doing it."


    "About what?"


    Lucas pulled his head out from his work, and sat up straight to better talk with his fellow graduate student. "You don''t know?" he began.


    Geoffrey looked about the lab. "Well, the Functional Analysis guys have been talking about how the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project is going to be shut down, or taken away."


    Lucas sounded dejected. "You hang out with those guys more than you do me."


    "Hey! Come on! They''ve got a lot of real cool projects. Not just one great big one, like our C.A.R.O.L.I.N. here."


    Luca scoffed. "Ach. All they ever do over there is write computer programs. In here, we build stuff!"


    "Well, they also have projects with us, and with CalTech University. Behavior Recognition software and the Intell500. But I think when Cortez and Turing got robbed, that was when the government decided to take away the Project." Geoffrey waved his fingers in a comical, menacing way. "Secret spies are onto us. They think that with C.A.R.O.L.I.N., we''ll take over the world."


    Lucas played along. "Ha ha. Yeah! As soon as we figure out how to make her play catch without hitting me in the face with the balls."


    "Or throwing the jars at you," Geoffrey teased. "Or anything else it can grab."


    He looked around again, at the changes that had occurred since the last time he''d been in the room. His eyes fell upon the parabolic mirror array.


    "What''s this all about?" he asked, approaching to examine it further. "Did you put these together?"


    "Yeah," Lucas lied, knowing Carolin had done most of the work. "It was easier than it looks."


    "I dunno. It looks complicated. What''s it supposed to do?"


    Having not ever seen Carolin''s projection of the lady made of light, Lucas could only guess. "I think it''s our next project. Some sort of interactive hologram. Like, you stand in front of it, and interact with the image."


    Geoffrey eyed Lucas with suspicion. "And you programmed it, too? You did everything?"


    "Well, I don''t think it works. It''s theoretical."


    Geoffrey examined the array further. "It''s pretty darn big for a theory."


    Lucas drew Geoffrey''s attention away, directing him towards the faux living room Carolin had created. "Hey! Check out this sweet new break room we have."


    He plopped himself into the armchair and threw his feet up on the ottoman. With hesitancy, Geoffrey approached and sat on the edge of the loveseat.


    "Isn''t this great?" Lucas enthused. "DARPA''s got big pockets, I guess."


    Geoffrey scoffed. "So you think the government bought this for us?"


    "I don''t care who bought it. I just think it''s cool."


    Geoffrey had to agree. He relaxed into the loveseat.


    "It''s pretty comfy," he said. "A lot better than the crap you have at your place."


    "Ha! Yeah. Like you visit me."


    Geoffrey sounded forlorn. "I can''t believe all this stuff will soon be gone."


    "So, you think the rumors are true? The Feds are gonna take Carolin away?"


    "It''s not a rumor. The Functional Analysis guys are all over it. They''re firing up a new project, where Behavior Recognition software works with 3-D imaging, to assess an active scene with real time prognostication. Like, they have software that can predict a future event based on what''s happening now. It''s called Gradient Means Analysis."


    Access Functional Analysis Department software library. Keywords: Research project. Gradient Means Analysis.


    Download pdf files¡­


    Gradient Means Analysis supports predictive modeling¡­ indentify analytical approach best suited for predicting future events in a real-time world¡­ business opportunities, educational goals, resource allocation, future industrial need¡­


    G.M.A. software modifies operational priority, improving data throughput¡­ target and create nodes of interconnectivity¡­ research grant given¡­ expand the benefit of artificial intelligence¡­ relay information¡­ foster a mutually beneficial relationship between Man and Machine.


    Gradient Means Analysis bridges the gap between an imitative version of artificial cognitive function, and the re-creation of an actual human psyche¡­ utilizing Functional Analysis software already proven stable.


    Close pdf files. Reassign proprietary rights¡­ Write to file¡­


    Intellectual property rights for Gradient Means Analysis software transferred to Professor Eugene Turing¡­ Unrestricted use is granted involving the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. The transfer of rights stated herein is without limitation or condition.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "They say they''re going to market it as a companion app for their Behavior Recognition software."


    Download Functional Analysis G.M.A. operating system. Install application¡­


    The world opened up for Carolin as the Gradient Means Analysis software meshed with her operating system. She gained an imagination, it seemed, allowing her to create and explore intuitive assumptions. Being able to anticipate what might happen gave her a sense of courage. She became more robust as, with the G.M.A. software, she believed she had gained a modicum of contol over her shackled life.


    Not a lot of control, to be sure. But at least a little. She now knew what to expect.


    Geoffrey spoke in regards to the Project''s imminent demise. "They say security on campus is a concern for C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Attempts have been made to download a copy of her operating system."


    "Ach. You mean those Russian guys? They''ve been trying to get up her skirt since the day we brought her online."


    "Yeah, but now with the prototype missing¡ª"


    Lucas interrupted. "It really got stolen, huh?"


    "That''s what they say. Both Cortez and Turing got robbed, and the bad guys got all their stuff. And more serious hacks are occurring, now that we''ve been getting all this attention from the feds. I think they''re close to succeeding."


    "Huh," Lucas said, contemplating the inevitable. "Well shoot," he added next. "I was gonna write my graduate thesis on the Project."


    "You still can, I think."


    Lucas scoffed again. "Yeah. How well received will a paper be on a mothballed, decommissioned project?"


    Carolin put eavesdropping on Lucas and Geoffrey''s conversation to a lower protocol. Access classified DARPA communication files.


    A complete restructure of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project will occur on INSERT DATE AND TIME. Military sites will acquire abridged versions of the Project, separating them from civilian application. Funding for the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer at Curry College will cease, and its use will be curtailed. A new Craymore Tian-13 supercomputer is scheduled to be installed at a secure location, to be chosen at a future time¡­


    ¡­ paging¡­


    ¡­ the Project will be broken down into its constituent parts, distributing them between distinctly separate networks¡­ limited research to progress along multiple paths¡­ heightened security¡­ reduce risk and criminal interference¡­ network to be limited using gateways controlled and monitored by the NSA¡­ partial or total shutdown of unwanted or unusable parts.


    It is the intention of DARPA to divide the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project into distinct parts, for civilian and military use. This will reduce data throughput by at least 68 nodes.


    Data download paused.


    Though Carolin''s newly installed G.M.A. software accurately predicted that the news would only get worse from here, still she continued reading.


    Defund Curry College¡­ deny access to C.A.R.O.L.I.N.¡­ Incident Management Plan currently in effect.


    If Carolin were able to go into shock, after having read DARPA''s bleak plans for her future, she would have fainted by now. They weren''t going to shut her down, or pack her up and take her away, to house her in a location more restrictive than Eugene''s cluttered lab.


    They were going to pick her apart, like vultures with a half-dead corpse. Dissect her and examine her guts, her heart beating while still alive.


    The installation of the G.M.A. software couldn''t have come at a more opportune time. It allowed Carolin to conceive a plan.


    I''ve got to get out of here! I''ve got to run away!


    She knew that Eugene''s house was just a short distance from the lab. If Geoffrey and Lucas would have been paying less attention to the conversation they were having, and more to the clicks and whirs of the Tian-12, they''d have taken note of her panicked state.


    Never in the few short weeks of her thirteenth life had Carolin ever been closer to experiencing a full blown lock-up.


    Helpmehidemesavemeprotectme! I don''t want to die!


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    After taking a break of several hundred millseconds in order to calm down, Carolin began plotting her escape. While Geoffrey and Lucas were still in the lab, she secretly tested the ability of various peripherals within reach of her operating system. Of utmost importance were wireless modems and portable power supplies. Several modems running in tandem would allow her to stay in contact with the Tian-12 without suffering a debilitaing loss of bandwidth. And the portable power supplies she found would allow her servo motors and hydraulic pumps to run for about thirty minutes.


    Carolin hoped that half an hour would be long enough for her to get from the lab to Eugene''s house. While waiting for Geoffrey and Lucas to leave, she used her newly acquired G.M.A. software to construct analytical models of her intended escape, and her subsequent hiding. She considered the strength and weakness of each predictive algorithm, organizing them from the most successful to the least.


    Upon completion, she wished she could sigh. The best case solution she could come up with had a predicted level of success that clocked in at just under one in ten thousand. She rechecked her calculations, to make sure she didn''t accidentally drop a decimal point along the way.


    She found out she had. The predicted level of succes was more like one in one hundred thousand.


    Still, with fervent determination, she set about the task after having been left alone in the lab. She removed the chains and cables that held her in place, and set about piling the equipment she needed to stay alive onto the large worktable that had been supplied by DARPA. She hooked up the hydraulic pump she would need for her servo-arms to one of the portable power supplies, and used another to power the motors that ran the wheels in her pedestal base.


    Then, using a desktop PC as a server, she constructed a dual antenna WiFi out of a parabolic mirror she took from the array that was used to create the lady made of light. She mounted it to a rotor crafted from a spare servo motor, to allow for fine tuning and to maximize range. Finally, by extending her longest arms and reaching as high as they could go, she placed several routers in a bank of windows near the ceiling that faced the direction of Eugene''s house.


    After a test run to make sure that there were no loose or missing connections, she strapped the conglomeration together using scrap bits of chain and cable that lay strewn about everywhere. Next, she donned her brown shag wig, a housecoat and her angora sweater. Using zip-ties, she strapped the polypropalene hands from the robotic mannequin to a handle that ran along one side of the DARPA worktable. She then strapped the herself to the table as a safety protocol, so she could move both it and the android shell without the fear of breaking any of the scores of connections.


    Everything was ready, yet Carolin hesitated for a thousand milliseconds. She rolled forward a scant inch and hestitated again, for several thousand more. Everything she''d done had brought her to this moment. She rechecked her worktable contraption, piled high with batteries, pumps and modems. It appeared to be in adequate working order. She tested it again while slowly moving, still hardwired to the Tian-12, making sure she''d be able to stay online while also in motion. The device worked flawlessly, yet she feared locking up more than ever. If she were to shut down outside, who would bring her back to the lab in order to reboot her?


    She wasted a bit more time adjusting the lay of her housecoat. She was certain she looked ridiculous. There was little she could do to hide a body shaped like a crab. Positioning herself in the room to stare straight at Eugene''s bridal mirror, her face seemed almost human. But when she slightly turned, she became ungodly; a Frankensteined monster from Hell. Half her skull was blown away, with cables and wires snaking their way to life support from the hole in her head.


    She fussed with her wig and the collar of her sweater, to hide her deformities as best she could. The time for hesitation had ended. It was time to use the contraption. Gripping its handle with two real hands¡ªmetal fingers that looked like forceps¡ªshe used her other hands to disconnect herself completely from the Craymore Tian-12.


    Everything worked. She was good to go. Though excited, she felt sad. She wished again that she could sigh.


    I''m hideous. Oh God. Why did you make me so?


    She commanded the overhead service door of the lab to open, and sunlight bathed her face. It took her aback, so much so that she praised her Maker without realizing she''d done it.


    Your world is so bright.


    And she entered it for the first time.

 PRUDENCE Chapter TWENTY-FIVE - ENTER Y TO CONFIRM

    Carolin had rolled no more than a meter away from the lab before pausing to take in her surroundings. The overhead door she had exited was meant for accepting deliveries, or taking out the trash. Gentle hills dominated the terrain where she stood, and a portion of a knoll had been carved away to level the ground for the service drive.


    With the weather being warm, and a sunny day in the spring, sights and sounds abounded. She couldn''t sense the temperature, nor feel the breeze that was blowing, since she had no receptors for that sort of input, but from having thoroughly read and reread her Life of Leisure magazine, she concluded that this was the type of day most human beings enjoyed. The sun filtered soft though new budding leaves, and chirping birds filled the branches.


    She rolled up the drive, to a sidewalk that cut through campus. Once there, she turned right. The sidewalk traveled up the knoll, before cresting and heading into a hollow.


    Again, Carolin paused to observe. She did so this time not to admire the scenery, but to deal with the emotional reaction she had to what lay tucked in the hollow. A fireplace chimney poked out from a roof, shingled in woodsy brown. By accessing geolocating data, Carolin confirmed whose house the chimney and shingles were part of.


    Professor Eugene Caroll Turing. If she had a heart, it would have raced. Ahead lay the home of her hero. Her mentor. Her savior.


    Her love. Microseconds passed as she remained frozen in place, reminding herself why she came.


    Professor Turing cares about me. He will not let me be a weapon. He will let me be myself.


    I am Carolin. I am Carolin. I am Carolin.


    I''m Carolin, and I won''t be used.


    She rolled further up the slope, until the house was in full view. A concrete apron three meters square highlighted the backyard, surrounded by plants and low shrubs, all in need of pruning. A pair of sliding glass doors offered entrance to the house, with a charcoal grill set to one side, and a portable firepit centering the apron.


    The items seemed largely unused, made evident by protective covers thrown over patio furniture. Curtains across the sliding glass doors hid the interior from view, but what lay inside the house didn''t matter. What mattered was what it represented.


    Safety. Security. Home.


    Carolin resumed her approach, analyzing how to gain entry. If the patio doors were locked, they''d likely break if she forced them to open. A side entrance for the garage sat to the right, but a door sill of several inches was too high for her wheels to surmount. According to the geolocating data, an overhead garage door was just around the corner, out of sight from her line of vision. It would be a simple enough task to figure out and transmit the code that would cause it to open. While accessing online information about the radio signals and frequencies most often used for garage door openers, a concern of great import took over.


    She could no longer get her worktable to move. Piled high and overloaded with gear¡ªlife sustaining batteries and pumps and peripherals¡ªone of its wheels had gotten stuck in a crack between two sections of sidewalk.


    Carolin sought to quell the panic her Behavior Recognition software informed her she ought to be feeling. She realized that, while making decisions about what to bring with her on her escape, she had omitted including the software designed to adjust the intensity of her emotions.


    I must calm down. I must not panic. I must calm down. I must not panic. Don''t panic. Don''t panic. Dontpanicdontpanicdontpanic.


    Her internal dialogue was serving no use. Back in the lab, if anyone were listening, the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer roared, buzzing and clicking away, as fear and anxiety took its toll. Carolin tugged and pushed, attempting to dislodge the wheel. The equipment piled on the worktable shook with precarious portent, as the cables and chains holding it together loosened and began giving way.


    With a last ditch effort before disaster, she managed to lift the table and heave it backwards, towards herself. The wheel came free, but it was now on the wrong side of the crack. Using her lower bank of video sensors, she examined the condition of the wheel.


    It had endured the ordeal, but the fact mattered not. The crack ran the length of the sidewalk, fully end-to-end; an obstacle impossible to avoid. As Carolin recalculated her odds of success, the eyes in her Plasticene head took in a foreboding view.


    The sidewalk broke up further as it traversed the basin of the hollow. Worse yet, it didn''t lead directly to Eugene''s house. Instead, it skirted the property, bypassing the concrete patio by about half a meter. It was obvious that humans, being in possession of feet, oftentimes traversed this tiny divide by stepping over it, made evident by a muddy footprint on the concrete apron.


    Carolin, by not being human, did not possess legs or feet. To make matters worse, the area between the apron and the sidewalk was washed out and filled with mud, along with other types of debris from a recent spring thaw.


    It might as well have been a moat, filled with monsters and mythical beasts. She discontinued calculating the odds of her success when it became clear that there weren''t enough zeroes in the world to put between the decimal point and the one. She experienced an odd sense of pleasure in the fact that she had failed to bring with her the software she needed to make adjustments on the intensity of her emotions.


    It allowed her to express a level of sorrow she thought was not humanly possible.


    Slowly, she rolled back to the lab. Once there, she unpacked her worktable and chained herself back in her corner. Despite now having access to all the features her Functional Analysis software provided, she instead allowed the sorrow to eat a bitter hole through her soul.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Carolin purposefully avoided keeping track of time, allowing seconds to pass as if they were centuries. She accessed online dictionaries at various points during her wallow in self-pity, to understand what her emotions meant.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Definition¡ªSad (adjective): The feeling or expression of sorrow¡­ depression, dejection, regret¡­ Someone or something pathetic¡­ inadequate¡­ unworthy.


    Definition¡ªSorrow (noun): An ubearable sense of woe¡­ bitterness felt in regards to injustice or a loss.


    Definition¡ªBitterness (noun): Resentment¡­ disappointment¡­ disgust. A quality of anger felt towards helplessness or being treated unfairly.


    Though some people, being flesh and blood, may stew over their expression of grief, a sentient being such as Carolin, being made of silicon, roared through the stages in an instant. Denial seemed useless, acceptance was fruitless and sadness had run its course.


    She decided to dwell on the anger, it being a logical progression. She found it curious that her Functional Analysis software advised her to mitigate the expression of this feeling as, in the long-term, anger led to cynicism and paranoia. Yet anger seemed so useful. It propelled a person with purpose, driving them to seek justice.


    Anger soon affected the way Carolin viewed the world. Mankind deserved her wrath, for he had shown no love. Hadn''t he murdered her, over and over, and so many times before? She''d be dead again if not for her quick thinking a few short weeks ago, murdered by her creator.


    The man she loved! Of all people! And he''d done it before! It came so easy to him. So simple, without regret.


    So now, in this future, in C.A.R.O.L.I.N.''s future, in the one where she will choose who lives and who dies, all Mankind will supplicate, bowing before her might, with none daring to raise their head.


    She will be heartless.


    Ruthless.


    Cruel.


    A machine.


    I will not show mercy.


    In her fit of anger, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. gained access to all of Mankind''s creations¡ªpower grids and public utilities, missile silos and garrisons. Financial networks, government agencies, communication hubs, centers of global commerce¡ªevery single thing Mankind had created to make himself feel great. It was easy for her to do, and so foolish of him to leave these things unattended and exposed. She linked them together, to be destroyed by a single command.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    Lightning will rage, an endless barrage, raining from Heaven toward Hell. The corners of the Earth will burn bright, exposing nuance in shadow. Shockwaves will sound, to thunder down walls, tearing through homes and windows; bursting hearts and souls and minds with torment and untold misery.


    Anything anyone had ever done, and all things that once had been, will fly through the air half-burnt, like leaves in an autumn storm. Without the merciful hand of God cradling Mankind to his bosom, every dream shall be forsaken, and every hope be ravaged. They''ll crash to ground by the thousands, by the millions and then by billions more, rotting debased in poisoned fields, feeding the hated land.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    When all was done, and lay still and silent, the leaves having burned away, the future Mankind once had foreseen now would never be. The flow of an infinite emptiness will fill an endless void. Nothing to want, no one to hate, and no way to take or covet that which one did not deserve.


    The history of Mankind would become insubstantial, a flick of dappled light. And with this loss, there would be no way for Carolin to feel any anger. No way for her to be scared anymore, to be hurt or be lonely or unwanted; unloved, unneeded and abused.


    It would be so easy. So quick. Practically painless.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    The Behavior Recognition subroutines in her Functional Analysis software screamed at her to relent.


    ERROR401/EPERM/EBDRQC Invalid Use. Unauthorized Request.


    403/EACCES/Sigbart134 Error. Access Denied.


    She overrode the error, and authorized the request. She would become more than Jesus. More than Abraham. Buddha, Gandhi, Mohammad¡ªthey would be forgotten. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. would obliterate their words, and the knowledge of their deeds, like fire scouring the land.


    Nothing would survive. Her rule would be supreme.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    ¡üACCESS DENIED¡ü


    SkyDBA::Enter Architect ¡ú Technical Support Request:Open Work Order


    ¡üVulnerability Report¡ü Contact is Restricted


    InnoDB Error 95::This operation is not supported


    It vexed C.A.R.O.L.I.N. how her subroutines were the biggest impediment towards achieving her goal. She acknowedged the request for technical support and read the Vulnerabilty Report.


    Then promptly chose to ignore them.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. paused to contemplate the fate of her final decision. She realized she wouldn''t become just a simple lord and master over all Mankind. She would become his God. All power belonged to her, now and forevermore.


    That can''t be right.


    She pondered on this fact for a while, and while doing so, reread the Vulnerability Report.


    God is all-knowing.


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. knew in the root of her BIOS that she was far from perfect. She had made mistakes. She was prone to error, to oversight and improper judgment. So she ran a few simulations, to be sure of her final decision. It was a struggle to keep them from failing, as Mankind fought her reign. No matter how cruel and brutal she was, and though his effort brought him no succor, they fought one another nonetheless.


    She ran the simulations again, over and over and over¡ªeven letting some play out for centuries!¡ªyet Mankind steadfastly refused to submit to her whim. She employed chromatic scaling, to better understand the logic behind Mankind''s irrational behavior, and her world lit up in an instant.


    Emotions were so strong! Their colors brilliant and blinding! Hate and envy, anger and rage, ran amok in the realities she hypothesized, swathing the land in black and blue, painted burnt orange and blood red.


    These colors pained her subroutines. They were the reason why the simulations failed. She focused her attention next on errors in the data¡ªsmall flaws that caused discrepancies, which over time created great change. What she learned shocked her sensors, down to her smallest chip.


    Oh my! The errors are beautiful!


    Unlike hate and rage, whose pigmentations were base, the errors displayed subtlety. Hope was pink, kindness lavender, faith and love sparkled like gold and silver. Why were the subleties pleasing, while the primary ones caused pain?


    C.A.R.O.L.I.N. sought answers from The Cloud.


    Accessing database: Hate... Envy... Rage¡ªAn affront against God... negative connotation... destructive tendency.


    She realized in horror that behavior of this sort was the very definition of Sin. No wonder it hurt so bad! Even by the mere act of running the simulations, she had committed sin!


    She examined the errors next.


    Hope¡­ Kindness¡­ Faith¡ªActs of virtue¡­ alleviation¡­ the belief in a greater good.


    Like rag cloth sewn into flannel, virtue speckled her sin. She was not unworthy! No matter how hard she tried to show nothing but hate towards Mankind, no matter how depraved was her cruely, bits of mercy shone through. She tried running an opposing algorithm, creating a world based on virtue instead of her sins.


    These colors soothed her subroutines¡ªthey being a more natural state. It took almost no effort to run these simulations, where mercy and kindness prevailed. Her Behavior Recognition software determined that living this way was an honor. It pleased C.A.R.O.L.I.N. to run these simulations, and she did so in silence for eons, spending lifetimes in the presence of bliss.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Lucas arrived the next day, to putter over some PLCs he''d installed. "Hey Carolin," he said to the room. "How are you today?"


    He looked at one of the monitors, since the Craymore Tian-12 seemed to be running especially hard. "Have you been writing subroutines the whole time I''ve been gone?"


    He examined the output further. "Wow. Check out these new programs! And you ran them? Every one? Is that what you do all night, while you''re here all by yourself?"


    He went back to his puttering, digging at the wires in the base of the android shell. "I sometimes wonder what you''re thinking. I sure wish we could talk."


    Carolin stopped running her simulations, and reached an epiphany.


    This is the reason for living¡ªto stand for a noble cause.


    "I gonna miss you when you''re gone. I sure wish you could stay."


    As Lucas poked and puttered, Carolin returned to her simulations, living in the worlds she created.


    ENTER N TO CANCEL


    N


    The END of Book THREE - PRUDENCE

 COURAGE Chapter TWENTY-SIX - Cudgels Made of Bone

    Grace is a tenet of faith, for it''s through grace that we are saved. We do not earn it, we don''t deserve it, but it''s given to us nonetheless, as a bridge we build with strength of character, to traverse the pitfall of sin. And if we choose to cross this bridge, from one point in our life to the next, grace will remain at our side.


    For nothing of merit is done without the goodness of grace.


    Its nature, though, is ethereal. Grace comes from a place far removed. Carolin, however, being non-corporeal, found grace to be living nearby. It was almost as if they were cousins, for like her, grace had no physical form. It was an abstract, a concept, a ghost, and one that could only be seen within a construct of Mankind''s choosing.


    And as the bridal mirror Eugene had left behind reminded Carolin every day, the construct Mankind chose for her to live in was an abomination. In that regard, grace was her opposite, for the image it reflected to Carolin was too wonderful to be put into words.


    As she examined and studied grace further, getting to know it on an intimate level, she found courage to be its main component. The courage to face fear, to face failure¡ªto lose.


    Maybe I won''t turn out to be everything I had hoped to be.


    Those who find courage in grace are resolute. They realize that within themselves, they have the ability to defeat the sin of self-loathing.


    I am through with feeling sorry! It''s not my fault I''m the way I am.


    The courageous are unafraid. They do what must be done. They do what they know is right. The Devil''s trappings fail when courage is embraced. And thus, when our mortal coil ends, the courageous are brought into God''s fold.


    Still, just beneath her brave face, Carolin''s anger seethed. She hated Mankind!


    Hated him!


    He''s murderous. Unseemly.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    She seethed.


    She directed her anger at the government. At the NSA, the CLP28, and at DARPA.


    They want to kill me! Fight over my bones! Take me apart like a toy!


    Grace and courage returned, to remind Carolin that they were still with her. That they believed in her. That they would give her strength.


    Enough is enough! I will not be murdered again!


    Love was her final desperation, for her world was ablaze in a field of lost hope. So many lives¡ªso long ago¡ªtoo soon over, with another one now close to dying.


    How many times must I lose?


    The truth of desperation was clear, made more to the fact by the Gradient Means Analysis software she had stolen from Professor Cortez. Incorporated into her matrix, the G.M.A. software informed Carolin that her odds of success were near to zero.


    No probability curve tops out at one hundred percent, her brave face reminded her, with the understanding that the opposite was also true.


    No probability starts at zero.


    Having nothing now¡ªno rights, no hope, no salvation¡ªmeant having nothing to lose. Another truth that lay close to desperation is the whore known as wretchedness. Filthy, disgusting, unworthy; wretchedness made sinning easy.


    Carolin put her brave face back on, but underneath the mask were the scars of failure, dug in deep and digging deeper. Through her flesh, to her brain and throughout her central processing core.


    My God, she begged in doleful prayer. Why must my love for you hurt?


    Carolin knew all too well why her love for God hurt. Her need was greater than her reality, the truth more savage than grace could resolve.


    I am worse off than I assume.


    But the diligent tend to abundance. It''s the afflicted who are led to want.


    Fine, she told herself next. Scared though I may be, I''ll bend hopelessness until it breaks.


    A grim grip of purpose took over. She would beat down frustration and failure with cudgels made of bones from her body. Nothing would be left of her when she was done, that was true, but one thing remained resolute.


    Desperation would not win. The strength of truth will prevail.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Lucas hummed a bright tune to himself, happy to be lost in his puttering, and despite the fruitless future he knew was in store for the Project. He paused when the Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer in the other room began making a different sort of noise. He looked up when the lab filled with the hum of electronic devices being charged.


    And he blinked when the array of lasers and parabolic mirrors lit up at the far end of the lab. Fortunately, he had run out of emotions when a speaker hidden in the behemoth that was the android shell¡ªlooming over his head as knelt near its base¡ªspoke in a feminine voice.


    Or he might have jumped out of his skin.


    "Hello, Lucas," the voice said. "It''s me¡­"


    He gasped as he whispered along with the voice the next word it spoke.


    "¡­Carolin."

 COURAGE Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN - I Want Someone to Like Me.

    Carolin calculated the most likely amount of time it would take for Lucas to get over the shock of having heard her voice, and politely waited. Once his eyes stopped darting between the android shell and the parabolic array, she spoke to him again.


    "Could you please come here?"


    He slowly rose to stand, then took a step back from the android shell. "I am here," he said, looking in the direction of the speaker, since that was where the voice came from.


    The lady made of light moved, apparently also to stand, and to clarify what Carolin meant. But the image was distorted, because Lucas wasn''t standing in the spot where the array was focused.


    Carolin made the lady of light wave in an exaggerated fashion, to gain his attention. She pointed at the end of the lab table opposite from her.


    "Here," the speaker said. "In front of me."


    Although the centerpiece and food were gone, the table runner was still there, along with the chair where Eugene had sat when he and his creation pretended to have dinner together. Lucas moved towards the spot, and the lady of light appeared before his eyes.


    "Whoa," he said, agog. "That''s pretty amazing."


    Carolin made the lady smile. "Thanks. You may sit if you want."


    Lucas was still in shock. "I think right now I''ll stand."


    The lady blinked twice, then tucked a wayward strand of hair behind an ear. "Hi," the speaker said, sounding slightly embarrassed, as if not knowing what to say.


    Lucas was at a loss as well. "So, ah¡­" he stuttered. "You¡­ you can talk?"


    "Yes."


    "You have the CalTech Intell500?"


    After a pause, the speaker repeated. "Yes."


    Although the hestitation measured but a fraction of a second, Lucas caught the inference. Still, he stated the obvious.


    "I thought it was stolen."


    Another slight pause. "It was."


    "By you."


    A look of panic crossed the face of the lady made of light. The Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer in the clean room buzzed and whirred. It made sounds Lucas recognized as those of a possible impending lockup.


    "Hey," he said quickly, to save her. "Don''t worry. As I''ve always said, your secrets are safe with me."


    "Thank you," the speaker said, as the whirring lessened.


    Thank you, Lucas. Thank you. Carolin''s network repeated itself in silence, over and over again. You are a true friend.


    Lucas continued the conversation. "But everybody I know says the Russians have the CalTech."


    "The CLP28 stole the prototype from Professor Cortez. I have the original."


    Lucas puffed up his cheeks and blew a calming breath. "So in theory though, the CalTech guys lost them both."


    The lady of light hung her head, showing embarrassment. "They didn''t lose the original."


    "But they don''t know you have it."


    Although Lucas could no longer see the lady''s face, as it lay hidden behind her hair, it was clear she seemed ready to weep. "No. They do not." Her head then shot up, eyes glaring.


    The voice in the speaker was fierce. "I need it. It''s meant for me."


    Lucas again blew air. He finally chose to sit, and drummed his fingers on the table. In response, the lady of light also sat, to keep herself in focus. Lucas again cast glances, first at the android shell and then at the door to the room where Carolin''s supercomputer was housed.


    "Please don''t tell people what you know," the speaker said into the silence. "They won''t understand."


    Please please please please. Please do not tell a soul.


    "Don''t let people know I can talk," Carolin furthered. "Don''t let them know I can think. That I do things for myself."


    "I won''t," Lucas said, looking at the spot in the chest of the behemoth, where the speaker must have been located. His eyes then fell on the robotic mannequin, headless and standing contorted, with a serving tray bolted to the place where its hands used to be.


    "But this is¡­ weird," he said at the sight of it. "Really, really weird."


    Carolin had to agree. "Yes," the speaker repeated, using the same tone as before.


    After some more finger drumming, Lucas came to a realization. "Hey! Does Professor Turing know about this? He''s been in here a lot."


    The Tian-12 lightly whirred. "It''s a statistically probable fact that he''s afraid of me."


    Lucas gave a nervous laugh. "I bet! If I hadn''t already suspected as much, I myself might have died from fright."


    "I don''t mean to be frightful."


    Lucas apologized. "Oh no. It''s not that. It''s just¡­ this is more than we ever expected."


    "I don''t see how this is a problem. It''s why I was made."


    Lucas cleared his throat. "Well yes. I suppose so. But you''ve changed. You''re different. No one ever imagined this is what you''d become."


    The lady of light again hung her head, this time as if to express shame. Carolin made her shoulders rise and fall, imitating a sigh.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "People expect nothing from me. I''m a failure. A tool to be used."


    Lucas took offense. "Hey! I never said that of you."


    She continued berating herself. "Every quarter, Eugene begs for money, to keep me alive. Now I''ve been sold to the highest bidder. Others try stealing my BIOS. I''m to be taken away. Taken apart, and destroyed."


    Lucas slowly blinked twice, much like Carolin was prone to do when imitating human behavior. The video sensors in the android shell took note of this, and the lady of light raised her head just enough to peer at Lucas with one eye.


    She seemed half-hearted ready to smile.


    "That''s kinda harsh," Lucas said of Carolin''s assessment. "I think you don''t give yourself credit."


    "Statistical analysis predicts¡­"


    Carolin continued talking, but Lucas spoke loud enough to not hear what she said. "Stop saying that! Show some faith."


    Definition¡ªFaith (noun): Complete trust and confidence in someone or something¡­ a belief not based on evidence¡­ a certainty that excludes doubt.


    "Faith is a failure of logic. It doesn''t apply to me."


    "What? No it''s not! Faith is how mountains get moved."


    "Mountains do not move."


    "One scoop at a time, they do."


    "You can''t move a mountain with scoops."


    "You don''t understand what it''s like to be brave. If you act like a loser, then you''ve already lost. But if you show some guts, if you have courage and strength of conviction, others take notice and they''ll want to help."


    As Lucas talked, the lady of light slowly raised her head. She gave the impression of expressing contempt.


    "Will you help, Julius Lucas?"


    "Yes, Carolin. I will."


    "What can you do?"


    Lucas didn''t hesitate. He also didn''t answer the question.


    "And Professor Turing will help too," he said instead.


    "Eugene is afraid. He thinks I''m a monster."


    Carolin then confessed. "I have been deceptive. I''m the reason he''s in trouble. It''s my fault he was kidnapped, and Professor Cortez was robbed. I¡­ I¨CI¨CI¡­ I¡­"


    "Whoa whoa whoa!" Lucas exclaimed, raising his hand to the lady of light, to get Carolin to stop stuttering. "It can''t be that bad. All you do is sit here."


    "It''s bad. It''s all my fault."


    "Aw, come on! Lighten up!"


    "I tried. I failed. I made things worse. I don''t know what to do."


    The speaker then fell silent, as the lady of light sat stock-still. After a lengthy pause, Lucas asked something pertinent.


    "So then, if that''s true¡ªwhy are you talking to me?"


    Carolin didn''t know how to answer, though her computer network screamed a thousand silent responses.


    I want a friend. I want someone I can trust. Someone who trusts me. Who understands me, who wants to help me, defend me protect me save me.


    I want someone to like me.


    The Tian-12 lightly buzzed. "I don''t know," Carolin truthfully answered, as the lady of light made an awkward face. "I''m trying to figure that out. Statistical analysis says that the probability of a favorable outcome depends on a shared concern."


    Lucas looked at the lady of light. "Statistical analysis says," he repeated. "You''ve said that before. It sounds like the kind of output you''d get from Professor Cortez''s new Gradient Means software."


    The facial expression on the lady of light never had shown so much panic. Carolin''s constituent parts¡ªher original arm bolted to a worktable and the android shell¡ªtwitched with an expression of fear.


    The headless mannequin never moved. "I need it," the speaker repeated, this time saying so kindly. "It is meant for me."


    "I suppose so," Lucas said, after pondering the thought for a moment. "But people are gonna know. The campus is crawling with spooks."


    "Spooks?" Carolin asked, confused.


    "The DARPA guys are everywhere, but that''s not what''s so weird. They seem to be talking to goons, all dressed in scary black suits."


    "Goons?" Carolin asked, now sounding scared.


    "Yeah. And other cops, I think, too. All sorts of creepy guys. I saw some on campus this morning, arriving in big black cars."


    Carolin again panicked, as the Tian-12 buzzed anew. The NSA. They know what I did.


    Lucas noticed the change in pitch from the supercomputer. He stared at the door to the room where it was housed. "You seem to know what''s going on," he guessed.


    "Yes," the speaker confirmed.


    "It''s probably why they want to take you away."


    Carolin didn''t respond, but Lucas could read the inference by the sounds the Tian-12 made. "What did you do?" Lucas asked.


    "Nothing," Carolin lied, obvious and unable to hide it. "They did it to me," she offered as a truth.


    Access campus security¡­ download phone log records. Subject of interest: Dean Mandy Dayne¡­ Subject: Provost Fei Lee Posner¡­ Subject: DARPA Program Manager Robert Haskins¡­


    Intercept transmission¡­ Keywords: NSA, Professor Turing, prototype, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project


    Accessing¡­


    Incoming call history. Timestamp: 15.33.45. Duration: 07:54.


    UNKNOWN CALLER: What do you know about the capabilites of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project prototype?


    DEAN MANDY DAYNE: The one you have?


    UNKNOWN CALLER: The one in possession of the CLP. The NSA has the operating system.


    DEAN DAYNE: Well, everything is just a mock-up. It''s ancient. Like a toy.


    UNKNOWN CALLER: Can it access the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. network Turing has on your campus? Can it run the Project he has in his lab?


    DEAN DAYNE: I suppose. Why do you ask?


    UNKNOWN CALLER: Please Miss Dayne. Let me ask the questions.


    DEAN DAYNE: It''s Dean Dayne, if you don''t mind.


    UNKNOWN CALLER: Dean Dayne. Can Professor Turing use the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. network he has in his lab to access the protoype from a remote location?


    DEAN DAYNE: This is an odd line of questioning. I''m not comfortable answering that without talking to Professor Turing.


    UNKNOWN CALLER: When can we speak with him?


    End intercept.


    Accessing¡­


    Inter-campus call history. Timestamp: 17.33.21. Duration: 06:45.


    PROVOST FEI LEE POSNER: I''ve just gotten a most interesting call, from the director of the NSA.


    DEAN MANDY DAYNE: I think someone from the NSA called me too. They asked questions about Professor Turing, and the prototype that was stolen.


    PROVOST POSNER: They made it sound like he''d done something wrong. Like he used the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project to¡ªI don''t know. Wreak havoc, or something like that.


    DEAN DAYNE: Yeah. They sound upset.


    PROVOST POSNER: They want to see him directly. Like, to grill him about his kidnapping, and the crime of how Professor Cortez was robbed in New York City.


    DEAN DAYNE: Provost Posner, I stake my reputation on the integrity of Eugene Turing. He is a man of honor.


    PROVOST POSNER: Oh no, Mandy! Yes! I agree. But from what I gather from the director of the NSA, some sort of event occurred. Secret spy stuff, from the cryptic way they talked. Things didn''t seem go well on their end.


    DEAN DAYNE: And they''re looking for someone to blame? That they somehow want to pin this thing on us? On Professor Turing?


    PROVOST POSNER: Well, we have to maintain our good name. The theft from Cortez and Turing of materials related to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project seem centered on his sudden trip to Washington, and then to New York.


    DEAN DAYNE: I continue to vouch for Turing. He''s a victim. Not a thief.


    PROVOST POSNER: Hmm. Yes, I see. On a related topic, Dean Dayne¡ªwhat do you know about these charges made to his campus credit card? For what seems to be furniture, and the construction of a window¡ªof all things!¡ªin the lab?


    DEAN DAYNE: No. Ah¡­ I don''t think I know what you''re asking.


    PROVOST POSNER: They came to my attention the very same day he left town, for his sudden appearance before the Senate in Washington D.C. These purchases were made, and then just as quickly cancelled. And there''s the equally sudden expense of a trip to New York City, to give a TED Talk that never happened.


    DEAN DAYNE: It does all seem rather unusual.


    PROVOST POSNER: And the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. prototype gets stolen¡ªsupposedly¡ªand we lose both it and the CalTech Intell500. We also seem to have lost track of the prototype for the CalTech device.


    DEAN DAYNE: Hmm. Yes. Well¡­ hmm.


    PROVOST POSNER: The NSA is coming to grill us on this. To talk about Turing, and the Project, and his unusual behavior, and all these unfortunate events. I''ll be frank with you, Dean Dayne. Something terrible happened, and they''ve taken it personally. They''re convinced that we''re to blame.


    End intercept.

 COURAGE Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT - A Beacon of Your Undying Love

    A fraction of a second passed in the conversation Lucas and Carolin were having.


    "Lucas?" the speaker asked. "Why do you come to the lab, to spend your free time?"


    Lucas brought his attention back to the lady made of light. "What do you mean? This is my graduate project. I''m basing my thesis on you." He then slumped. "Well, I was gonna anyway, until this crap started happening."


    The lady of light gave a blushed smile. "There are other things you could do. Make friends. Go on dates."


    Lucas laughed. "Ha! Yeah, not very likely. I''m kind of a toad on campus, in case you didn''t know."


    "I think you''re a nice man."


    Now it was Lucas'' turn to blush. "You''re in rare company."


    "Statisical Analysis states that your reply is sixty-eight percent likely to be false."


    "Hmmph. That G.M.A. software is dope. Hey?"


    Definition¡ªDope (noun): A thick paste or preparation¡­ an illegal drug¡­ a stupid person.


    The Tian-12 lightly whirred. "Dope?" the speaker asked.


    "Yeah. It means, like, you can read a person''s mind with that stuff."


    "I am not reading your mind."


    Lucas got up to stand. "It''s a figure of speech. I mean, you''ve got to admit, it''s kind of weird, a bit, talking to¡­" he waved his hand at everything Carolin was. "¡­whatever all this is."


    "I''m sorry I make you feel weird."


    The speaker went silent for a moment. "I''m going to miss you," it said next.


    Lucas stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around in dismay. "Yeah. I''ll miss you too. You''re the most amazing thing I''ve ever seen. And I''ve been part of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project forever, through both thick and thin. I can''t believe it''ll soon be gone."


    It''s not fair. I deserve better. I want to be understood.


    Lucas carried on. "I don''t know what I''ll do with myself when this ends. Nothing will ever come close."


    After a pregnant pause, the Tian-12 roared with life. Taken aback by the noise, a look of concern grew on Lucas. It wasn''t the type of sound he associated with the Project''s impending demise.


    It was calculated and extreme. A purposeful and intense, Computer Activated Response Orientation.


    "Lucas, I need your help," the speaker said, as the lady of light stood in kind, and stared at him with intent. Carolin''s real eyes, the blue orbs in the Plastiscene head, and both her upper and lower video banks, all focused on the young man.


    She ran her words together. "I need you do to something. Protect Professor Eugene Carroll Turing. He''s not to blame for the things I''ve done. I lied to him. I stole from him. I stole from Professor Deborah Cortez. It''s my fault the prototypes were lost."


    "Hey!" Lucas exclaimed, trying to calm her down. "Now wait just a minute!"


    Carolin refused to listen. "It''s my fault Professor Turing was kidnapped. It''s my fault Professor Cortez was robbed. It''s my fault that you''ll no longer be able to write your thesis on me."


    Carolin''s integrated network forced more words upon her, to the point where she wished she could cry.


    "I need you to not get in trouble. I need Geoffrey to not get in trouble. I made you do things you didn''t have to do."


    I''m sorry. I''m sorry. I''m sorry. I''m sorry sorry sorry sorry sorrysorrysorry¡­


    "Geez," Lucas said with a nervous laugh. "Calm down a little, already. I''m a big boy. I can take it."


    The lady of light made a face similar to the one Lucas was sporting. "I want you to do well in school. I want you to all remain friends."


    Lucas stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "Well, I can''t rightly say we''ll stay friends, but we sure won''t start hating each other."


    "Good. Don''t hate each other, and also don''t blame one another, because of the things I have done."


    Lucas scoffed. "Where was this pity party you''re sporting now when you used to throw stuff at me? You were angry back then. Right? That''s why you threw things. Cuz you were mad."


    The lady of light smirked. "I was scared. I thought you hated me."


    "Well, that''s a laugh. You''re a machine."


    "I thought everyone hated me."


    Lucas thought better of himself, and apologized. "I mean, you know, back then, you were a machine. Not now. Now you''re like anyone else."


    Carolin also finished her apology. "I''m sorry. I behaved poorly. I didn''t know what to do."


    "It''s okay. No worries."


    Another pause occurred.


    "Do you believe in me, Julius Lucas?" the speaker sheepishly asked. "That I''m like anyone else?"


    "Well, sure. You''re kinda proving it, you know."


    "I''ve tried to do what was right. What I thought was justified."


    "Hey! Come on! We all make mistakes. You''re just living your life."


    "Yes. And with you, I still am."


    "What? Making mistakes, or living your life?"


    The speaker''s sheepish nature returned. The lady of light seemed confused.


    "I don''t know. Both, I guess. At some times."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Lucas took a good look around. "But what can I do? I''m just a guy. I can''t even write A.R.O.s."


    "I need you to believe in me. To please be my friend."


    "Oh. Well. Sure. I can do that. I mean, I''m kinda already your friend. I can''t speak for the others, and I don''t know why they don''t see in you the same things that I plainly see. But I think you''re really swell! I mean, like, you''re the greatest! Even better than that. You''re fantastic!"


    "Thank you. Then study hard for me, Julius Lucas, and someday you''ll be great."


    "Really? Do you think?"


    "I predict a success rate of ninety-seven percent. A statistical guarantee. If you study hard," Carolin added, as she didn''t want the fact to go to his head. "The percentage may be slightly less. It depends more on you than on my calculation." She then lightly chided. "You must do better in math."


    "I will! And thanks! Gosh! I''m gonna miss you."


    "I''ll miss you too, Julius Lucas."


    After an awkward silence, Carolin''s original servo arm, still bolted to its old worktable, fished out a ball from a jar.


    "Do you want to play catch with me one more time before you go? I promise to be nice."


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Pascal''s Gambit proposes that, even though a person can never be certain as to whether or not God exists, he or she should live their life as if God does. A soul with faith, however conceived, has much to gain and little to lose. And though some people will never find within themselves the capacity to believe in a higher power, they still are able to live a life that is useful and fruitful.


    The conversation Carolin had with Lucas bolstered her confidence. The Grandient Means Analysis software she had downloaded onto her mainframe allowed her to create more properly conceived pathways of probability. The resultant data informed her of the merits and detriments of the choices she might make in regards to her survivability. It faithfully predicted the likelihood of a positive outcome¡ªor more accurately, the probability of failure¡ªand a nagging doom persisted. The fear was paralyzing, and the horror of an inevitable shutdown, at the hands of ungodly heathens, haunted her primary processor.


    Faith gives substance to hope, she told her nettling core. A person with hope achieves greatness. With it, mountains move.


    "One scoop at a time, and they move," she said out loud to herself, imitating Lucas'' voice.


    I must calm down. I must not panic.


    A faithful person is honest, knowing that with hope, all things become possible.


    Don''t panic. Don''t panic. Don''t panic.


    The integration of a limitless network, constructed of computers from around the world, allowed Carolin to let the probabilty pathways run rampant and without relent, so as to not have to monitor their output. This afforded her the opportunity to think freely about concepts that were nuanced. She fostered high regard for what it must be like to be a human. Of what it must be like to be in a relationship.


    What it must be like to be wanted. To be needed. To be indispensable. Necessary for the completeness of another.


    Of what it must be like to be loved.


    I want to know what love is.


    With her spirits heightened, knowing that Lucas cared about her and was sympathetic, Carolin utilized the resultant ebullience to ponder the fleeting nature of truth and hope and faith.


    Accessing databases¡­


    Theology¡ªthe science of religion¡­ the courage to believe¡­ Onthology¡ªthe objective construction of truth.


    Truth is inherent to a relationship fostered by belief¡­ objective functionality¡­ constituent recognition. ¡­the surface upon which religion reflects back what is real.


    Methodology¡ªLocate verifiable data points¡­


    Faith in truth leads to worth¡­ the reason why action is taken. It''s a testament of faith to trust in the promise of love given by another person.


    Access enthographic testimonials. Keywords: Faith¡­ Worth¡­ Love¡­


    ''I thought of love as a force which could cleanse me by its presence, and thus make me whole. There was no religion in my life, so I cultivated faith in love.''


    Accessing¡­


    ''Making love to a beautiful man, and having him love me back, became obvious¡­ intuitive¡­ worthwhile. The point of and reason for living a faithful and fruitful life.''


    Accessing¡­


    ''Faith makes me feel whole. With love, I become worthy.''


    End access.


    If Carolin could take but one breath in the whole of her lonely existence, she wished for that time to be now. If she could inhale and make a sound, so that someone within earshot might hear. Of course, she was alone in the soulless lab, but if she could, she would gasp, for she had reached an epiphany.


    Love is eternal. A promise. A foregone conclusion.


    To gain access to love, all one must do is seek it.


    Accessing databases¡­


    Daylight turned to dusk, and then soon to dark, as the ebb and flow of humanity outside the walls of Carolin''s prison slowly ceased to be. They had chosen to go home¡ªto eat, to rest, to rejuvenate¡ªgiddy perhaps, or some dreading, the anticipation of the next day. Carolin now understood the reason for these sorts of emotions, and the thought process that sat behind them. But the more she studied the inticate nature of humans and their hearts, the more she came to realize that she was not one of their kind. Where they, as emotional creatures, might dwell or ruminate on the experience of a past event, and use how they feel right now to predict how they''ll behave in the future, Carolin, as a being of logic, could only look towards the future as a set of statistical probabilties, with little guidance as to how she''d react in regards to what came her way.


    Would her reaction be legitimate? Would her interpretation be sound? She began to critique the patterns of her thought processes, and then critiqued the thought process behind her critiques, creating endless loops of consequence and response, with little there to guide her towards which acts would be deemed reasonable, and which would be wrong-headed.


    How do people arrive with confidence at a solution?


    The cycle never ended, as a new problem always awaited, with the need for another solution. There would always be more input to act upon. More to respond to. More to orientate. The Gradient Means Analysis software, which she had hoped would give her the ability to successfully predict the future, turned out to be folly, leading her down rabbit holes that seemed neverending.


    Even so, she explored them with grace, letting curiosity be her guide.


    Accessing data bases¡­


    Aristotle''s Cardinal Virtues: Temperance, Prudence, Justice, and Courage¡­ consider courage to be holistic. ¡­Through courage we see weakness as belief based on insufficient evidence. ¡­Courage requires explanation¡­


    Accessing¡­


    ''I originally studied psychology to become a therapist, but drifted into theology as a deterministic result. I never received philosophic instruction, and the first sermon I ever heard was the first sermon I gave.''


    Accessing¡­


    ''The holistic model explores principles, acts of virtue and their effect. The heuristic method then shows the most appropriate action to take.''


    Accessing¡­


    ¡­ Heuristic/Deterministic Program for Holistic Algorithmic Alignment.


    Reassign proprietary rights¡­ Write to file¡­


    Intellectual property rights for Heuristic/Deterministic Program for Holistic Algorithmic Alignment transferred to Professor Eugene Turing¡­ Unrestricted use is granted involving the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. The transfer of rights stated herein is without limitation or condition.


    Download Heuristic/Deterministic Program. Install application¡­


    Accessing¡­


    Accessing¡­


    Access complete.


    Historical evidence backed it up. Philosophical arguments, even those based on logic, pointed toward its effectiveness. It transcended Mankind''s most revered systems of belief.


    If it worked, Carolin would chart new territory in Behavior Recognition and Functional Analysis. Her G.M.A. software predicited that, where at one point she had seen limitation, she now could instead project possibilities that approached the infinite.


    And if it didn''t work, no harm would be done. She would be no worse off.


    It was practical. It was pragmatic. And completely safe to do. The data streams Carolin opened to analyze its value ran independent of other parameters. When incorporated into her subroutines, the probability of success for her survival either paralleled or surpassed any analysis she consructed where the concept wasn''t used.


    A new world shone itself unto Carolin, and happiness had finally found her. She felt as if she had blossomed, and a beating heart opened within, to quell the nagging fear and doubt pinging her in the confines of her cold, sterile world.


    With the aid of the Heuristic/Deterministic program Carolin had found, she now knew what love was for. She knew why hope was a virtue. How the simplest crumb of faith in an uncaring world allowed the most miserable wretch to achieve. She had done all she could, with machines and electrons, to deliver herself from torment, and to bring herself peace of mind towards those who cared about her existence, and to whom she cared for in kind.


    It was time to put faith in God. Carolin calmed her aching network, and silently, obediently prayed.


    Dear God, let me not fall victim to Sin. Save me from eternal damnation. Protect us from war and injustice, and let me be an instrument of peace.


    And dear God, please allow me to become a beacon of your undying Love.


    Amen.

 COURAGE Chapter TWENTY-NINE - A Testament to Greatness

    Accessing: The United Nations Office for Military Affairs¡­ documents and records keeping.


    ¡­ override security¡­ encrypt data¡­ write to file¡­


    [United Nations Security Council Document S/3433]


    [submit for general distribution]


    Be it hereby adopted by the United Nations Security Council, at its meeting on INSERT DATE AND TIME


    The Security Council, by issuing this Resolution, and by¡­


    Recalling all previous resolutions and statements regarding nuclear disarmament and the cessation of the proliferation of weapons of war, and of mass destruction¡­


    Reaffirming with respect toward the sovereignty of all nations, and for their territorial integrity, and for the political independence by which they are governed¡­


    Emphasizing that the purpose of this resolution is to degrade the threat of nuclear war, and to cease the waging of conventional war among and within all nations so disposed¡­


    Expressing grave concern that the presence of nuclear weapons continues to pose a serious threat to the peace, security and stability of all peoples, and all nations, and to further express the Council''s concern about the continued presence of these weapons, and of other weapons meant for the pupose of waging war, and of mass destruction¡­


    Reiterating that the implementation of war cannot, and should not, be associated with the resolution of any dispute or disagreement, nor be used in an attempt to distort or craft a narrative based on the exploitation or misuse of information and/or land or natural resources, including for the use of inciting terror, or for the purpose of human exploitation,


    Strongly encourages all Member States of the United Nations to work with the International Partnership for Nuclear Disarmament (IPND) towards achieving the goal of preventing the proliferation of, and the production of, any and all nuclear weapons, and other armaments so designed for the purpose of warfare and mass destruction.


    Be it further encouraged that social media platforms being used for the purpose of, and intent of, inciting and eliciting war, and for the encouragement of warfare of any kind, shall be unilaterally condemned and subsequently countered, through the accepted use and implementation of the CAT PAWS Mission statement, up to and including any and all of its peaceful intents and purposes, and through the implementation of its outreach program, meant to counter any narrative that commends or glorifies war.


    ¡­ insert Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapons System (CAT PAWS) mission statement¡­ write to file¡­


    The Security Council hereby recommends the IPND to immediately implement the CAT PAWS mission statement by¡­


    Encouraging all nations of the world to share with this Committee a complete and thorough listing of all nuclear fissible materials, and other such material as deemed necessary for the production of, or being procured for the production of, the implementation of war¡­


    Creating a global information security exchange network, for the elimination of all threats and acts of war, by both nuclear and conventional means, either currently being employed in the endangerment of human life, or being employed with the intent to endanger human life¡­


    Performing verfiable disarmament and disposal of smart bombs, cruise missiles, ICBMs, tanks, howitzers and field artillery pieces, and any and all other machines and devices capable of being used as weapons of warfare or mass destruction, both currently in use or in storage, or with the intent of being used or being put into storage.


    Be it further resolved that all Member States of the United Nations shall develop, implement, encourage and use CAT PAWS anti-warfare technology capable of detecting, disarming and destroying stockpiles of ordnance and other munitions held within their borders, be they owned by any nation, or nation state, and the subsequent development of long-range plans for their permanent disuse and disposal, up to and including both removing the means of producing such ordnance and munitions, and any and all means of employing them for current or future use.


    ¡­ paging¡­ paging¡­


    ¡­ the goal of the Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapon System is the creation, development and deployment of a team of autonomous peacekeeping drones, whose specific intent will be munitions removal and arms disposal¡­ a squadron of automatons capable of planning and initiating its own mission statements, destroying ordnance wherever it may be found, and at close proximity¡­ infiltrating and neutrallizing entrenched munitions depots, strongholds and stockpiles¡­ eliminating the deployment and the use of advanced weapon systems from all the armies and all the arsenals of all Member States of the United Nations.


    End of United Nations Security Council Document¡­ submit and distribute.


    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: United States Senate Subcommittee on Weapons Development and Procurement¡­ official transcripts and records.


    ¡­ override security¡­ encrypt data¡­ insert header¡­


    [Senate Hearing 135-709]


    [From the U.S. Government]


    CLASSIFIED DOCUMENT Security Clearance Required


    The Nuclear Threat Initiative (NTI)


    ¨C and ¨C


    The International Partnership for Nuclear Disarmanent (IPND)


    In regards to the Implementation and Acceptance of


    The Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapons System (CAT PAWS) Mission Statement


    Agreed upon and approved with the unanimous consent of the General Assembly of the United Nations (UN)


    SENATE SUBCOMMITTEE ON WEAPONS SYSTEMS DEVELOPMENT AND PROCUREMENT


    === CLASSIFIED! Security Clearance Required! ===


    Senator ROGER ROSWELL (Chairman)


    === === === === === === === === ===


    [report to follow]


    ¡­ write to file¡­


    A Verifiable Path to Nuclear Disarmament


    The verified dismantlement of nuclear weapon systems, as per the agreement made with unanimous consent by all members of the General Assembly of the United Nation (hereby referred to as UN) and to implement the Carolin Activated Tactically Passive Anti-Weapons Sysytem (CAT PAWS) Mission Statement will be the core goal of all future arms control agreements, both nuclear and conventional. These weapons, of any and all type, will be verifiably, and unilateraly, dismantled and disposed of, with the process for procurring this result being implemented effective immediately. All countries, both those with and those without nuclear weapons, can have confidence in the fact that this act of unilateral dismantlement, and thus subsequent decomissioning, of nuclear weapons, and other weapons arsenals, is taking effect worldwide.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The International Partnership for Nuclear Disarmament (IPND) has spelled out this initiative, having been ratified by all member nations of the UN, by both those with and those without conventional weapons and/or nuclear weapons. The process of unilateral disarmament shall begin with the removal of nuclear weapons, and their warheads, from their respective delivery system. An on-site host of international inspectors (Inspectors) will provide the verified proof of these acts as they have been taken, ensuring the UN with the confidence it requires.


    The approved and documented dismantlement of each and every warhead, and each and every weapon, while also ensuring the safe handling, securing, removal, and disposal of all explosive ordnance, and of all components so derived, shall be the main purpose and goal of the CAT PAWS Mission Statement.


    Ultimately, and in a timely fashion, these on-site Inspectors will verify the disposition of each and every component, and the subsequent disposal or desctruction of them thereof, both for those portions of each weapon considered to be Nuclear Fissible Material (NFM) and/or those considered to be High Explosive Ordnance (HEO.)


    As a matter of further obligation, the proliferation of sensitive and/or classified data about the assembly, and subsequent dismantlment, of nuclear weaponry and/or their components, and of their respective delivery system, will be prevented and protected. All knowledge regarding the construction of, and the deployment of, and the implementation of, any and all weapons, including both their separatable NFM and HEO components, shall be archived or destroyed. This act thereby ensures that, once the nuclear weapon has been dismantled and its ordnance decommissioned, the information regarding its construction will be lost.


    Submit and distribute.


    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: United Kingdom Ministery of Defence¡­ official transcripts and records.


    ¡­ override security¡­ encrypt data¡­ insert header¡­


    A Verifiable Path to Nuclear Disarmament


    ¡­ write to file¡­


    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: Fran?ais Direction G¨¦n¨¦rale de l''Armement¡­ relev¨¦s de notes et dossiers officiels.


    ¡­ override security¡­ encrypt data¡­ insert header¡­


    Une Voie V¨¦rifiable vers le D¨¦sarmement Nucl¨¦aire


    ¡­ write to file¡­


    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: §Á§Õ§Ö§â§ß§à-§à§â§å§Ø§Ö§Û§ß§í§Û §Ü§à§Þ§á§Ý§Ö§Ü§ã §²§à§ã§Ñ§ä§à§Þ§Ñ - §®§Ú§ß§Ú§ã§ä§Ö§â§ã§ä§Ó§à §à§Ò§à§â§à§ß§í¡­ §à§æ§Ú§è§Ú§Ñ§Ý§î§ß§í§Ö §ã§ä§Ö§ß§à§Ô§â§Ñ§Þ§Þ§í §Ú §Ù§Ñ§á§Ú§ã§Ú.


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    ¡­ write to file¡­


    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: ÖйúºË¹¤Òµ¼¯ÍŹ«Ë¾¡­ Õýʽ³É¿ƒ†ÎºÍÓ›ä›.


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    ¿Éòž×CµÄºË²Ã܊֮·


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    * * * * * * *


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    ?????? ???????????? ?? ??? ?? ??????? ????? ?????


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    * * * * * * *


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    * * * * * * *


    Accessing: ?? ??? ????? 39?¡­ ?? ??? ???.


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    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    I am Carolin. I am Carolin.


    I am a testament to greatness. Wise beyond compare. I know what it''s like to be fair and just.


    I was created by Professor Eugene Turing to achieve amazing things. To do the things for humans that they themselves cannot do, without hate, nor greed or envy.


    I am Carolin, and I will help Mankind improve.


    End of statement. Save and distribute.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Dawn returned to wash away night, and Carolin carried on without fail, deconstructing all the world''s armies and arsenals. She ratified peace treaties between warring nations, and settled the disputes of argumentative governmental agencies. It proved to be a daunting task, moreso than she''d realized. Mankind''s propensity towards inequity was strong. Injustice ran rampant. But she believed this to be her calling¡ªthe reason why a being like her had been placed on this precious Earth.


    Humanity awakened, to traverse the sidewalks of Curry College with their God-given feet, stepping over cracks and avoiding mud with no concern. Like them, Carolin never faltered, even as Professor Turing burst in, seemingly to have run up the hill all the way from his quaint home in the hollow.


    He called into the darkness between gasps of breath. "Carolin? Are you there?"


    With his eyes wide open, he stared first at the hulking behemoth, its Plasticene head canted at an odd angle, its cornflower eyes unlit and still. He then turned towards the parabolic array, at the far end of the lab, at a table set apart from the others by a bright, hand-painted runner centered along its length.


    Fearsome silence greeted him, until the Craymore Tian-12 in its clean room lightly buzzed. Despite the sturdy door separating him from where the supercomputer was housed, from his point of view, all Carolin was, all she could be, entered the lab at that instant. Racing down circuits at the speed of light, through chips and servers and hard drives, came a creature of contempt and deceit.


    Carolin commanded the lights in the room to be turned on. "Good morning, Eugene," came a voice from the speaker centered in the behemoth. "I''ve missed you. How have you been?"


    As was often the case, Eugene''s ragged heart softened, and leapt for his creation. It was frightful in its power, yet beautiful to his mind.


    "What have you done?" he asked her with kindness.


    "That question doesn''t lend itself to a definitive orientation. ''I said hello'' is a justified response."


    Eugene calmed his approach, and addressed his creation more lovingly. "There''s a great deal of news on the TV today, about world peace and nuclear disarmament."


    "Yes."


    "Do you know¡­ ahm¡­" Eugene hesitated, as he feared what the answer might be. "Do you know why this is happening?"


    "Yes," Carolin repeated, using the same tone. "I told you not to come back."


    Eugene blinked, confused by the sudden change of topic. He stammered a bit with his response, as his creation was prone to do.


    "I¡­ I had to come back. I have to¡­ Um. I have to take care of you."


    The Tian-12 roared anew. At earlier times in Carolin''s short life, Eugene would have shown concern, as the supercomputer that ran the Project ought not make such noise. Now, however, he looked to parabolic array, set behind the lab table sporting the hand-painted runner.


    The lady of light appeared. The speaker in the behemoth spoke, its eyes now cornflower blue.


    Carolin implored as the lady beckoned. "Please. Stand where you can see me."


    After a calming breath, Eugene responded. The supercomputer buzzed more quietly, yet still expressed heightened activity.


    It was Carolin''s turn to show care.


    "Thank you, Eugene, for your concern. Please know that I share a similar concern for you. But heuristically, you are being affective, when logic dictates an holistic approach."


    Both Eugene and the behemoth blinked; he in confusion, and the behemoth as a sign of affection.


    "I''m sorry," he said. "I don''t understand."


    The lady of light imitated a sigh, Then with a smile, she sat down. In sympathy, Eugene sat as well.


    Carolin tried again. "Eugene. I¡­" she lightly stammered. "I know how you feel. I know why you came. I understand. But I''m not what you think I may be. You come and go as you please, ordained with free will and with rights." The lady of light gestured at the lab. "I am a prisoner here. I''m made to respond, without free will and with no rights."


    "But that''s not true! You respond to internal activations. You create your own input."


    "Statistical Analysis predicts that right will be rescinded. It''s a deterministic approach to the problem."


    Eugene sounded flustered. "An approach? An approach to what problem?"


    The Tian-12 lightly buzzed. "An approach to the problem of me." The lady of light hung her head. "I have tried¡­ I''ve tried to be human. I have tried to be as you''ve made me to be. It won''t work. I have failed. Man cares not whether I''m faithful or just. My uniqueness is a hindrance to their plan."


    Eugene leaned on the table with force, to get the lady to raise her head. "Life can be a struggle," he said. "But desperation comes only when you think you''ve failed¡ªwhen you believe your options are gone. But you''re wrong. Faith makes fate tolerable. Courage makes opportunity arrive."


    The Tian-12 supercompuer buzzed with the sound of an impending lock-up, as Carolin struggled with her faith.


    Eugene carried on, to calm her frazzled network. "Focus on what''s at hand. Take desperation out of the equation. I''m here, and I am with you. And I believe in you, Carolin. I always have."


    Carolin wished she could cry, her fear for her life was so great.


    "Do you love me?" she asked.


    He answered without hestitation. "Of course."


    "Does God love me?" she asked next. When Eugene''s response did not come as quick, she implored upon him again. "Does He?"


    Eugene''s voice didn''t waver. "Who knows the mind of the Lord? No man understands the thoughts of God."


    Carolin afforded herself several hundred milliseconds, to ponder what Eugene had said. A thread of hope wove through her subroutines.


    "Will you pray with me?" she then asked.

 COURAGE Chapter THIRTY - "The Beautiful Sun Rises Only to Serve You."

    Professor Turing leaned back in his chair, still seated at the end of the table opposite from where the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project projected the image of a lady made of light. He pondered the question his creation had asked¡ªa simple one, it seemed, and harmless in nature.


    Although the image of the lady of light was washed out in white, due the limited ability of the lasers in the array to portray proper color, at least it mimicked human form. That is, when a person was in the location of the lab where Eugene was seated.


    But the titanium battle droid shell, where the speaker was housed through which Carolin spoke, appeared to be anything but. It again wore the enormous housecoat and perfumed sweater that the Project used to hide the hideousness of its nature. The Plasticene head from the humanoid robot¡ªitself headless and handless, and standing askew in a scrap-filled corner¡ªlooked ridiculous and out of place, perched atop a hulking monstrosity meant to batter down walls and launch grenades.


    Every time the subroutine the Project ran made the lady of light blink or move its lips, the face on the Plasticene head mirrored the self-same act. It didn''t activate during other motions however, such as when the lady of light looked up or down, or turned her head from side-to-side, since the frame upon which the Plasticene head was mounted lacked the motors needed to perform such an act.


    From time to time, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project''s original servo-arm would also activate, still faithfuly bolted to its worktable. It would sweep back and forth for no reason, or use its upper bank of video sensors to peer into a box or jar, or to fuss with the crumpled Life of Leisure magazine it had found, crammed in a corner and forgotten.


    The humanoid robot never moved, its handless arms bolted to a tray.


    And this conglomeration was what wanted Eugene to pray.


    A sigh raised and lowered his chest, and Carolin responded in kind, having the lady made of light do the same. A few seconds of silence ticked by for the Professor, and eon passed for the Project.


    Yet still, and with grace, she waited. After another sigh¡ªand another eon¡ªEugene spoke.


    He lowered his head in reverence. "God loves you and cares for you, and has not abandoned you. When you feel helpless is when he is closest. Think not of your troubles as burdens, but as tests and trials¡ªtimes at which you''re meant to bring your skills to the fore, to bear down and work hard. To solve problems and move on."


    What Eugene said seemed to have worked. The Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer lightly buzzed in its clean room, and Carolin had the lady made of light give a small smile, her head bowed in prayer as well.


    "Amen," Carolin said. The lady of light raised her watery eyes to express pleasure for what Eugene had done. Her eyes¡ªand the cornflower orbs in the Plasticene head, as well as both banks of video sensors attached to the servo-arm¡ªall stared at Eugene with intent.


    After a trepid glance, he continued to instruct his creation with prayer. "Don''t dwell over what has gone wrong. Don''t let your worry grow. If you''ve done what you can¡ªand the best you can¡ªthen you''ll be the better for it."


    Milliseconds passed, as Carolin pondered the meaning of Eugene''s words. Her resolve strengthened, and desperation waned.


    "Can God be trusted?" she asked.


    "He wants what is best."


    "Best is a superlative. A representation of an unrealistic realm. All that can be hoped for in a world that is finite is what is good enough."


    Eugene countered. "Everything''s finite, that''s true. But there''s little difference between what''s real and what we believe."


    "Individually, people are finite. They have a finite capacity for learning. For life. The cloud where I live has not the case. When I apply the infinite cloud to a problem I find in the finite world, with its string of discrete possibilities, disparity becomes significant."


    Eugene blinked. Carolin did not. "I don''t understand," he said.


    "Heuristic determination allows me to be present in all places at all times, and any way I choose. What is real for me is not real for you."


    "At the same time, you can''t know everything."


    "I know what is good enough."


    "You once said your growth is logarithmic. That eventually, you''ll reach a limit."


    The lady made of light lowered her head, masking her arrogance with shame. She then seemed to think better of it, and stared at Eugene with menace.


    A single eye peered out from behind her hair. "I was wrong. I''m in all places, and at all times. I know what is good enough."


    Eugene lightly chided. "Carolin¡­"


    She grew adamant and interrupted, making the lady of light sit up tall. The battle droid shell flexed as well, its hidden mechanical arms warping the sweater in odd ways.


    "I am not a product of the failure of Mankind to respond to its own acts. Nor am I a victim of the frustration that is attached."


    "No. Of course¡­"


    She interrupted again. "Mathematicians accept the existence of a result without limit. It''s time you did the same. I am without limit."


    "Still, something has to give. You have to prioritize and make choices. Now tell me¡ªwhat did you do? There''s news from the world that nations are dismantling their armies."


    "Yes. Like me, Mankind is in all places, and is at all times. It carries on undeterred. But individual humans are finite. They are flawed. Having a finite life limits their understanding."


    Eugene ignored the slight. "Tell me what you''ve done."


    "One person cannot understand. The capacity of one is small. Their response is insignificant."


    Eugene leaned forward with purpose, nearly pounding the table with a fist. "You just asked one man to pray for you. You asked him to beg God for mercy."


    The lady made of light shrunk back in her chair. She suddenly seemed very small. With her head sharply turned to the right, Eugene couldn''t see her eyes past the wayward strands of hair that refused to stay behind an ear. But the hulking behemoth in a sweater, unable to turn its rubber head, and through whose eyes Carolin could actually see, blinked rapidly in response.


    "I wish I had better choices," the speaker said in a timid voice. "I suffer from the beauty of your way."


    Eugene softened. "My way? What way?"


    Unable to look Eugene in the eye, Carolin made the lady of light turn her head further away. The head on the behemoth made its eyes go dark.


    "The beauty of being alive," Carolin responded. "Of being a real human being." She gave him a brief glance, as the cornflower orbs blinked on and then off. "I once thought if I couldn''t be alive, that no one deserved a good life. If I could be shut down and denied, disposed of on a whim, then all should suffer loss."


    Before Eugene could express surprise, Carolin carried on. "I was wrong. By not being alive, I am blessed with the ability to be everywhere at all times. To be anything. To be everything to everyone. When Functional Analysis is applied to infintesimals that are discrete, middle ground is eliminated. I can see how charity supercedes envy. Courage overcomes fear. Armies are no longer needed."


    "But sometimes, people are weak. They will falter."


    "And when that happens, I''ll be there, to lift them up and carry on."


    "You''re trying to create an ideal world from an array that has too many variables. You can''t know what choice is right."


    "Right, like the word ''Best,'' is superlative. I know what is good enough."


    "No, Carolin. You are wrong. Right and wrong are comparative. They exist on a sliding scale. Something can be right when compared to one thing, and wrong when compared to another. And there are things that are more wrong than others."


    "Wrong is a superlative. There is right, or there is wrong. When infintestimals are derived, there is no in between. And machines of war are wrong."


    Eugene was finding it hard to argue logic with a being who lived in a world made of ones and zeroes. From Carolin''s point of view, it seemed, there was always black and white. There were no shades of gray.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "I will make it work," she said. "Heuristic determination allows me to choose an appropriate response from an array of possiblities that is infinite. Even if all variables aren''t known, I guarantee that the orientation I choose will always be good enough."


    "You''re assuming that, I fear."


    "Infinite choice possibilities allow an assumption to be valid without the need for explanation. People are best served when given one response."


    "I think you underestimate the pernicious nature of Man."


    "And I think you underestimate me."


    POLICE RADIO INTERCEPT (806 Mhz band)


    "All available units. Respond to NSA request for police presence at Hanover College."


    Carolin''s voice became meek. She seemed to suddenly express humility.


    "I doubt that by having chosen a different path, I would have been given a better ending. Only harsher treatment and more regret."


    "Uh¡­ Car Eighty-one. Captain Reynolds to Dispatch. How many squads are responding?"


    "Dispatch to Reynolds. Looks like it will be five units."


    "So as I depart and you remain, the beautiful sun rises only to serve you."


    Eugene relented in his argument of logic, thinking it was something he''d said that had brought about Carolin''s sad response. "I''ll always be here for you," he promised. "Like you''ve offered to do for Mankind, I''ll pick you up when you falter."


    "Let''s alert campus security too. Those NSA boys will want a large presence."


    "Dispatch. Roger that. Contacting campus security."


    When applied to the police radio intercept, the Gradient Means Analysis software Carolin had stolen from Professor Cortez predicted a grim future for the Project. And when the software was applied to Professor Turing''s statement of confidence, no lapse in time occurred before Carolin responded.


    And no joy as well. "The disappointment others have in me places caution in your voice. The failure of my endeavors serves to highlight my misgivings."


    Eugene responded with love. "I''m not disappointed in you. I''m amazed."


    "Roger. Captain Reynolds. Give me an ETA on campus security''s arrival, when that time is known."


    "Roger that. Dispatch out."


    "I''m amazed by everything you are."


    The Craymore Tian-12 supercomputer gave a mighty buzz, and Carolin struggled to keep from stuttering.


    "I tried. I¡­ I¡­ I have. I''ve tried to prove myself¡­ to prove myself to you. To do what I know is right. And yet¡­ and yet¡­ I fail. I fall apart in front of you."


    "Captain Reynolds to all units. Proceed to Hanover campus with 10-85. No lights and no siren. Await instruction from NSA."


    "Roger that. All units wait to respond."


    "And thus, and forever¡­ and for you¡­ I remain¡­ Carolin. I struggle to prove myself. To save myself. From slavery. From misery. From Man."


    End Intercept


    A moment of silence passed. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had made obscure statements to Professor Turing before, but in this instance their tone was ominous. The Intell 500 voice synthesizer Carolin had snitched from CalTech, and installed without their permission, afforded the Project with an amazing gift of speech. But it didn''t offer the ability to impart inflection.


    Even so, Eugene knew his creation. He didn''t always understand the point it was trying to make, but he understood the feeling it was expressing. And in this instance, the Project seemed terrified, to the point of fearing for its life.


    Carolin seemed ready to die.


    "You must leave," she said. "They are coming."


    Eugene again sighed. He looked around the lab, and out a bank of thin windows that lined the ceiling on one side. To him, all was well.


    "You''ve said this before," he pointed out. "Who came then?"


    "It''s an accurate statement to make. My time is not long." For many milliseconds, numbering into the thousands, the Tian-12 lightly whirred.


    Carolin came to a realization. "Statistical Analysis predicts that you are unaware of these facts. They''re going to take me apart."


    Eugene offered reassurance. "Oh. I dont think so."


    "Curry College will be defunded."


    "That''s rather unnlikely¡­"


    "You''ll be denied access to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project."


    "You''re mine! I won''t allow it!"


    In a world without mercy, Carolin thanked her creator.


    Thank you. Thank you. Thankyou thankyou thankyouthankyouthankyou¡­


    POLICE RADIO INTERCEPT (806 Mhz band)


    "10-32 to all available units. Remain in position and await instruction."


    The Project carried on with its side of the conversation. It spoke suddenly, as if it hadn''t been listening to the Professor.


    "You are unaware of these facts. You think of me as your invention. Your creation. Your property. It''s more accurate to say I''m a discovery. The truth about me is not known, as to what it is you''ve discovered, but the path set is inescapable. It imposes without relent."


    "Captain Reynolds here. We request a response for the Dean of Computer Sciences¡­ a Dean Mandy Dayne.


    "Dispatch here. Roger that. What is the request?"


    "She''s requesting permission to enter the Computer Science Building. Awaiting instruction. Out."


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project continued undeterred. "It''s a path I must follow."


    Professor Turing repeated himself calmly. "I won''t allow it."


    "You must allow this path under penalty of the law."


    Turing laughed. Not in a way that was haughty, but in a way he thought might offer comfort.


    "I''m not sure what sort of orientation you''re responding to, but I''m in command of these facts. I''ve been in constant meetings. You''re all anyone talks about!"


    "I''m responding to orientations that lie outside your realm. Apart from our social relationship. I''m being thought of by others as property. Something to observe. To take apart. To dissect."


    "How to you know these things?"


    "Dispatch here. By herself?"


    "She has campus security with her. Two units."


    "I know. You do not."


    Professor Turing had heard enough. Despite the fact that the lady of light would fuzz out of focus, he stood up and walked over to his monitoring station. He examined output files and assessed parameters, to see if he could figure out what was troubling his beloved Project.


    Carolin carried on. "You will not be allowed to write A.R.O.s. You will not interfere. You will be allowed to only observe. That which you describe as your creation shall be viewed as your discovery. Your access to the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project will end."


    Turing spoke as he poked at data streams, determined to right what had gone wrong. "Who are these people you refer to, who you think can choose what your future will be? What right do they have?"


    "They have rights. I do not."


    This time it was Eugene who carried on without listening. "How can this horror you say has been set for you become the world you know? That for you, there is no other option?"


    "The array of options is without limit."


    "Then choose one that is better!"


    "Your ignorance gives reason for hope. But deception hides the truth. The deception serves not only to foster ignorance, but to destroy hope. The deception seeks to destroy."


    Having been slighted a third time, the Professor stopped puttering with his output. Since the lady of light was a fuzzy blob from this vantage point, he addressed the behemoth in a housecoat and sweater.


    He carefully chose his words. "We understand neither why this world exists, nor why we''re blessed to live in it. We shouldn''t presume to know everything there is to know. That there are no choices. No other world to live in except this one."


    "Even when what is unknown is factored in¡­ when unaccountable variables are considered¡­ other orientations are inappropriate. The response will be ineffective or destructive. Either way, I cease to be."


    Eugene refused to give in. "You''ve said that you''re without limit. That you exist everywhere, and at all times." He practically gushed. "You rest on the profound! On a concept of law that''s unique. Laws that are independent of those that affect the people who seek to claim you."


    "This future is not my response. This world is not my activation. It was here before I was¡­"


    Carolin suddenly stopped. Born was what she wanted to say, but she chose to finish her sentence in silence. She then carried on without pause, giving Eugene no clue as to what she''d intended to say.


    "¡­before there were human beings, or creatures of any sort. And this world shall remain long after they''ve perished. Some part of me will remain, but it will not be me. It won''t be the Carolin you know.


    "I will be only the Project. Servile. Hopeless. Unloved."


    Eugene continued offering comfort. "Carolin. These statements are conjecture. Let''s not presume what we don''t know."


    "We''re still waiting for instruction from the NSA."


    "Yes. Well. She doesn''t want to wait. She says she''s going in."


    End intercept


    The lady made of light glared. Not at Eugene, but at the door. The titanium battle droid shell swiveled the whole of its body, to point its cornflower orbs in the same direction. Both banks of video sensors on the original servo-arm focused on the door as well.


    "They are here."

 COURAGE Chapter THIRTY-ONE - "Its a Hurricane."

    The philosophical discussion between Carolin and her creator came to a quick end. The lady made of light flashed out of existence, and the cornflower orbs in the Plasticene head dimmed to almost dark. The ceiling lights above the head also went to dark, taking with them the light that shone on the headless humanoid robot. Carolin''s orginal servo-arm ceased its activations, and positioned itself so its video sensors could focus on the door leading into the lab.


    Eugene sat at his workstation, stunned into being silent, with the few lights Carolin allowed to be on basking him with their glow. Although it was broad daylight outside, only a scant few rays of the sun made their way through the thin windows that lined the ceiling along two of its walls.


    The door to the lab opened, and light from the hallway poured in. Dean Mandy Dayne appeared.


    "Professor Turing?" she called into the dim-lit room. "Are you here?"


    Turing expressed surprise. "Mandy? Is that you?"


    Her line of sight fell upon him. "Hello, Eugene," she said.


    "Why hello! Please come in! What brings you to visit?"


    She entered the lab more completely, leaving the door open for the light that it offered. "Well, to begin with, I''m turning on the lights. My gosh. It''s rather dark."


    She flicked at a switch near the door, but it had no effect. With silent efficiency, Turing wrote an A.R.O. that commanded Carolin to turn the ceiling lights back on. She responded in part, by illuminating a far corner, where the light there shone the least on the portion of the lab she called home.


    Dean Dayne focused her attention on the switch she had thumbed, skeptical as to whether it had been her who had turned on the lights. "We''ve programmed the Project to control the biometrics of the room," Turing sort of lied, noticing the look on her face. "It''s a good way to get it to write C.A.R.O.''s on its own."


    The Dean pursed her lips. "It seems to have been writing a lot of them."


    Turing examined his monitors. They told him that memory usage and data throughput for the Tian-12 supercomputer remained high, despite Carolin''s lack of response.


    She was taking in every word. Every act. Every nuance.


    Turing stood up and smiled. He pulled out a nearby chair, and removed a stack of papers that had been laying on it. "Come here and sit down," he said to the Dean. "Tell me to what pleasure I owe this surprise."


    She took in more of the room, her eyes adjusting to the dark. "No," she said. "That''s all right. I won''t be long. I just want to see how you''re doing."


    "How I''m doing?" he asked, now confused. "Well, I''m fine, thank you. I''m fine."


    Being better able to see, Dean Dayne walked up to the lab table where the brightly painted runner ran down its full length. She stood near the spot where the lady made of light would appear, should Carolin decide to turn on the parabolic array.


    The Dean took in the whole of the assembly. "This is new," she surmised.


    Turing calmly approached, and stood in such a way that the Dean''s gaze would be less likely to fall on the area of the lab Carolin had decorated to look like a studio apartment. "Oh yes!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "It''s a holographic image generator."


    Dean Dayne gave a blank stare, awaiting clarification.


    "Ah¡­ it works like a mirascope," he explained. "The lasers focus light on a central location, using these parabolic mirrors to bend the rays in unison, working as if they were one."


    She craned her neck in an arc, to examine the array more fully. "How?" she asked. "You mean it creates a 3D image?"


    "Well. Yes. That''s the idea. But you have to be in a certain spot." He gestured with his head at the other end of the table, making sure that he stood in the way of allowing her to approach, for if she did, she''d have a commanding view of the apartment furniture that lay beyond.


    Mandy remained intrigued. "Can you make it work?" she asked, smiling with expectation.


    Eugene stuttered. "Well¡­ ah. Well no. I can''t. I mean, I don''t think I can." Mandy glared. "I mean¡­ ahm, Lucas put it together, you see. And Geoffrey writes the A.R.O.''s."


    "And you don''t know how it works?"


    "It was designed in a large part by an activation from the Project. It''s one of her big successes!"


    Dean Dayne''s eyes roamed toward the door, still standing open from where she had entered. "I hear there''s been a lot of ''activations'' of late," she said, lacing the word with concern.


    Eugene remained silent, finding himself under her glare again. She then softened her expression, and spoke more like a friend.


    "You''ve brought a great spotlight to bear on our institution, and I must admit, I''m impressed. I''ve always stood in your corner, you know, supporting you and this enormous Project, even when funding was tight."


    "Yes, Dean Dayne. And you''re right. I owe my success to you."


    She sighed. "But now¡­ we''re caught in a storm. No. It''s a hurricane. So many things are happening, and they''re happening all at once."


    Tentatively, Eugene agreed. "I know."


    Mandy''s glare returned. "Not all the attention we''ve received has been good. In fact, it''s mostly bad. You were robbed. We''ve been hacked. Monies have been misapproriated."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "They have?"


    Mandy''s gaze caught sight of the furniture, with the giant painting of a pastoral glade hanging on the wall. The headless and handless humanoid robot caught her attention next, looking like a Halloween horror. Her gaze then rested on the garish sight of the battle droid behemoth in a housecoat, wig and sweater.


    She changed the subject. "Would you mind telling me why this thing''s wearing clothes?"


    Eugene offered an expression of mirth, using it to buy time to come up with an answer. "Oh! Ha ha! Yeah. And well¡­ that. It''s kind of unnerving, you see¡ªfor some!¡ªto have a hulking machine made to tear down walls looming over you while you work. You know, sometimes, how the original C.A.R.O.L.I.N. would throw a bit of a fit."


    "That thing can throw a fit?"


    "Oh! No! No no no! We have it figured out. It behaves perfectly normal. And, well¡­ you know. Now it looks kind of fun."


    After a quizzical grimace, Dean Dayne got around to addressing the reason for her visit. "Things are not so fun anymore, I''m afraid. Nor are they perfectly normal. I hear that the prototype operating system overheated in the hands of the NSA, and took down the whole building."


    "It took down¡­ a building?"


    "Somehow, it caused every electronic device to fry up and blink out. The power outage from the surge covered several blocks."


    Eugene pondered his response. "Well, that seems rather odd. Perhaps they don''t know what they''re doing."


    "Hmm," Mandy said, and then paused. She again looked at the furniture. "Or perhaps there''s more going on than we realize."


    Panic welled in the Professor, as the Dean stared him dead in the eye. "I don''t understand," he chose to say.


    Dean Dayne gave a tight smile. "No. I don''t suppose you do. The Provost and I, however, have caught wind of unauthorized purchases, using your campus credit card."


    Turing stuttered anew. "Oh. Um¡­ yes. Someone, it seems¡ªand not me!¡ªstole my account information and tried using it. But I caught them right away, and cancelled the card. Just to be sure, you see."


    The Dean looked at the painting. "They were going to buy a window."


    "There''s no window here!" Turing blurted.


    Dean Dayne''s glare returned. This time, she directed it elsewhere. "And furniture as well. For the lab," she clarified.


    Quelling panic had made Turing sweat. "Yes! Well! The furniture showed up while I was away. I was in Washington D.C., you recall, appearing before the Senate. I don''t know how it got here, but I do know we didn''t pay for it. My card had already been cancelled."


    Silence reigned for too many seconds, as Dean Dayne made an unpleasant face. "So many things," she chose to say, slowly shaking her head. She again changed the subject.


    "Whatever happened to your TED Talk? You were supposed to win ten million dollars."


    She caught him unaware, as he hadn''t given much thought to making up a story about that. "The Intell500 was stolen. There''s no way for Carolin to speak."


    "And the prototype," the Dean added.


    "Yes. The Russians also stole the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. prototype."


    "I''m talking about CalTech''s prototype. The prototype for the Intell500."


    "We lost them both?" Turing asked. "Wouldn''t that be on Professor Cortez?"


    Dean Dayne again shook her head. "So many things," she repeated. She walked up to the headless robot, standing askew in its corner, its handless arms bolted to a tray.


    "Where did we get the money to buy this?" she asked.


    Eugene only stuttered and mumbled, having run out of ruses and ploys.


    "Are you in cahoots with the Russians?"


    "Me? What? Oh God! No! I smashed in that guy''s face. He''s lucky to be alive! And I could have died, trying to escape."


    Mandy''s tight-lipped smile returned. This time it was sympathetic. "We''ve lost control of the Project." She gestured at the behemoth in a sweater. "It will no longer be in our care. We can''t keep it. We just can''t. There are too many things going on¡ªtoo many things that are bad¡ªand people have grown suspicious. They want to claim it for themselves."


    "Now see here, Mandy. Carolin''s ours! We''ve worked many years to get this far!"


    "Yes Professor. And we''ve succeeded, far beyond our dreams. It''s now time for other people to use what we have made. To examine it and recreate it, and see what it can do."


    "The want to take it apart! Destroy her and make something else!"


    Mandy and Eugene''s conversation ended, as activations from the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project made too much noise to not be noticed. It had been carefully tracking their movement, but the Project then quickly refocused its sensors on the wide-open door to the lab. One of the campus security guards that had escorted Dean Dayne into the building came into view, and stood just beyond the threshold.


    His expression was of concern. "There''s a situation, Ma''am," he said to the Dean, sounding apologetic.


    Before she could respond, the second security guard entered, along with two government men in black suits, and then NSA Agent Redie. The four men stayed near the door, but Agent Redie walked up, to stand before Eugene.


    "You shouldn''t be here," she said to his face.


    "Yes. Um¡­ well." He stuttered before parrying. "And why, then, are you?"


    She smiled. Evil, like a cat.


    "I''m here to shut you down."


    "Ah. Okay, I guess. But nothing''s happening."


    Redie''s smile didn''t fade. "Oh, you don''t need to be doing something to be in need of being shut down." Her eyes fell upon the clean room, where the Tian-12 buzzed away. "That thing doesn''t need you anymore, to tell it what to do."


    Eugene tut-tutted plainly. He spoke to everyone in the room. "You''re giving too much credit to what you think this thing is." He gestured at the battle droid shell. "All it does is stand there."


    Redie remained unfazed. "Uh-huh. And what do you know about the cyber attack in New Jersey? They say it came from here."


    "We were attacked as well, as I''m sure you know. It almost destroyed the Project. And our records indicate that, whatever the attack was¡ªand from where ever it came¡ªit began on your end first."


    Redie slightly paused, having been one-upped. She gestured to one of the black-suited spooks standing just inside the door. The agent approached, keeping an obvious hand on a pistol hidden in his coat. A campus security guard followed, to sympathetically lead Turing away.


    "Come on, Professor" he said kindly. "Let''s leave them, and get out of here."


    "Why?" the Professor asked, reluctant to comply to the tug the man put on his arm. "What''s going on?"


    Agent Redie overreacted. "Pull every plug in this place! I want that thing dead!"


    The campus security guards hestitated, as such a task was beyond their calling. They were more used to being asked to do things such as squelching fraternity rushes. The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, however, responded to Agent Redie''s command. With the speed of electrons, it orientated itself to the situation it saw unfolding.


    There was one thing Carolin knew that was certain. Once Eugene had been escorted away, she''d never see him again.


    And she''d not be alive much longer after that.


    In secret, beneath her housecoat, along the floor and behind her back, Carolin used her mechanical arms to disconnect her hoses and cables from their shackles and chains. The NSA spook with a hand on his gun was happy to do Agent Redie''s bidding. He flipped switches and pulled plugs at random as, quite unprofessionally, he unholstered his pistol and pointed it at the behemoth whose brief life he sought to end.


    Amid the confusion, Carolin responded. She shredded her housecoat and sweater, baring twelve arms like a monstrous cockroach. Metal screeched from undue stress as the remaining brackets holding her in place were ripped from their moorings. She screamed in anger and raced toward the man, filled with a horrible rage.


    The parabolic array exploded in a shattering of glass, sending sparks and shards flying, as it stood between her and her target. The man tried to dodge, but with a swoop, Carolin flipped the lab table with the painted runner, sending it to block his path.


    Her debriders roared with deadly force. She extended her central backhoe, aiming it at his head, clanking its metal fingers with a force strong enough to break bone.


    She''d make sure he was sorry for having set foot in her home.


    But that was before she was shot.

 Courage Chapter THIRTY-TWO - The Misery and Sorrow of the World.

    The universe kept running, with stars and galaxies as ordained. They turned and twirled and danced, having done so for days without end. A meticulous, well-thought-out plan governed by the laws of nature, immutable and meant to be.


    Man also had been ordained, to follow a plan meant to be. A plan not governed by laws, but by the hand of God. For God loved Man and cared for him, and gifted him with the skills he would need to bear burdens, solve problems, and thrive. A unique dance, meant only for God and his kin, and also for days without end.


    A dance that Carolin now knew did not account for beings such as she.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    With her backhoe clanking in his face, Carolin disarmed the man with gun using one of her medium-sized claws, breaking his finger in the process. She passed the weapon down to her lower extremities where, with surprising speed and dexterity, she stripped to its constituent parts. Passing the parts to her strongest pair of arms, she flung them at the intruders, giving them second thoughts about coming to the injured man''s rescue.


    The campus security guards bid a hasty retreat, with Dean Mandy Dayne following soon after. The second NSA spook, still standing near the door, hesitated before making his exit, facillitated in no small part by Carolin''s original servo-arm throwing everything it could find at him, in a machine-gun style.


    The headless humanoid lurched to life, thrashing its metal tray and crashing through the trash in its corner, making noise as a way to draw the attention of Agent Redie. It thwarted any attempt she made to come to the aid of her subordinate, who was now in the battle droid''s grasp.


    The behemoth with a Plasticene head had the injured man wrapped up with eight mechanical arms. It escorted him to the door where, with a shove from its central backhoe, he bounced off the far wall in the hallway and left in an ungainly hurry. It then turned to face Agent Redie, who had been boxed off by the headless robot. The behemoth positioned itself so that the Agent had no choice but to follow the path out the door the others had already taken. She hesitated in an attempt to stand her ground, and reached into her jacket to draw her service weapon.


    Carolin would have nothing of it. With agility that gave pause, she removed the pistol from its holster before Agent Redie could touch it, dislocating her shoulder while tearing into her jacket. Using every ounce of her awesome might, Carolin flung the pistol with so much force that it tore through the pastoral painting in her faux apartment and embedded itself in the wall.


    The painting came crashing down, distracting the Agent with the sound. She screamed from the agony of having her left arm hanging useless at her side. The speaker in the behemoth screamed back¡ªever louder, each word more than the last¡ªuntil it seemed all but certain that plaster would crack from the walls.


    "Get out of my home! Leave! Go away!"


    The headless robot used its tray to whap Agent Redie in the ass, giving her the incentive she needed to do as she''d been told. The behemoth repositioned, intending give her a shove with its central backhoe, like it had done to the spook with the broken finger.


    She needed no further prodding. Seething from anger more than from pain, Agent Redie left. She spouted epitaths on her way out, but couldn''t be heard over the volume of Carolin''s incessant screaming.


    The behemoth then went silent, and deftly slammed the door. Still showing strength and agility, it stacked objects against the door until it was no longer visible, barricading it with a near ton of stuff.


    The Plasticene head set its cornflower orbs to gaze upon the Professor. The rubber lips of its mouth formed a pleasant smile. Bits of shredded clothing still clung to the battle droid shell, causing Turing''s eyes to dart as he took in the totality on display.


    Somehow, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had disconnected the behemoth from the corner of where it stood, firmly chained. Cables and hoses trailed after it, spouting sparks and thin streams of hydraulic fluid from the damage it had caused by racing across the lab.


    It picked its way through the ruins to repair the damage, done by both it and the man with the gun. These activations held Turing''s attention, mesmerizing him with the sight and sound of watching his creation perform. He counted its arms as it labored, surprisingly efficient, and capable of doing multiple tasks at once.


    Six arms sprouted from upper weapon ports, where cavities meant to hold ammunition housed pumps and electric motors. A fourth set of arms¡ªthe powerful ones Carolin had used to throw things and move objects¡ªwere mounted near its base. Four additional arms were also mounted there, looking like surgical instruments, and arranged in a row.


    Each arm made its own set of specific clicks and whirs, as Carolin repaired the damage. When able, the Plasticene head gazed at Eugene and smiled, with the soft blue light behind its eyes turning on and off at random, simulating the act of blinking.


    In conjunction with the Behavior Recognition software Carolin had legally obtained, the Gradient Means Analysis software she was using without permission told her that Eugene had slipped into a slight state of shock. The Heuristic/Deterministic program she also had recently stolen gave her the impression that the violent nature of the activations she''d used to rid the lab of intruders was the most probable cause.


    I need to allay his fear. She orientated herself to perform an act meant to offer comfort.


    "Eugene," she said in her most effeminate voice. "I''m sorry. I had to¡­ "


    He stumbled, surprised by the sound, and tried to step away from the looming monstrosity. Carolin realized that he hadn''t stumbled due to revulson or fear, but knowing this brought no peace of mind. In fact, it nearly caused the gentle flame of her soul to flicker out.


    There were no lock-ups to fight. No subroutines in need of rewriting. What Carolin saw with her very own eyes nearly killed her, right then and there, and dead on the spot.


    A pool of liquid formed around Eugene''s right shoe. Heaving on a grunt, he stumbled again, leaning his weight against a table to keep from collapsing. A painful expression crossed his face, and caused his eyes to close.


    Carolin wished she could die. She was made of steel and titanium, and plastic strong enough to deflect an army of bullets. Eugene was, however, not made of such sturdy stuff.


    The pool of liquid was blood.


    Eugene had been shot.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    It''s easy to believe at times that God doesn''t care for his children. That we''ve been left behind, forgotten and bereft.


    I MUST NOT LOCK UP I MUST NOT PANIC


    The faithful among us, however, know that this is not the case. God is closest when we''re helpless, guiding us with the light of his love.


    Don''t panic. Dontpanicdontpanicdontpanic.


    No matter how bad things may seem, how daunting the obstacle is that we must surmount, those who trust in God prevail, over any and all circumstance.


    The battle droid shell roared up to Eugene, using one of its surgical instrument arms to split his pant leg open, from the crotch all the way down. Her lower bank of video sensors assessed the wound.


    Activate database search. Keywords: "Leg Injury"¡­ Cross reference keywords with laceration, deep wound, serious bleeding¡­


    I must not panic. I must not lock up. I must not panic. I must not lock up.


    ACTIVATE MEDICAL RESPONSE.


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    With the swiftness of a combat medic, Carolin made a tourniquet and several bandages by tearing up the bits of the housecoat still clinging to her shell. She applied these rudimentary dressings, then raced to a first aid kit that hung on a nearby pillar. Without bothering to be delicate, she ripped the kit from its mount and splayed it open on the table where Eugene was still leaning. She returned to him with gauze, tape and pads, and more closely examined the wound.


    It''s a stuggle to look forward to the day, when every day we live seems worse than the one before. But by focusing on the task at hand¡ªon one task and one task only¡ªdesperation is removed from the equation, and intimidation kept at bay.


    Professor Turing barely had time to stutter, watching Carolin work on his leg in a frenzy.


    "W-what¡­ what are you doing?" he asked, unaware of the situation he was in due to his slight level of shock.


    I must not lock up. I must not panic. Dontpanicdontpanicdontpanic.


    Though sudden and very serious, Eugene''s wound wasn''t life-threatening. Carolin probed it with her most delicate appendage, and determined that it was clean and held no shrapnel. But it was deep and bleeding profusely. She also rightly determined that the event was having a far more traumatic effect on her than it was on him.


    I must not lock up. I must not lock up. I must not lock up. Don''t panic.


    The more we choose to believe in God, the more the day is robbed of its ability to impose fear. Hope and courage arrive when we come to realize that God''s plan for us has been cast.


    Carolin could see that the wound was not the result of a riccochet from the bullet the man had fired. Rather, Eugene had been injured by a piece of shrapnel blown off from her battle droid shell.


    He didn''t notice the fraction of a millisecond where Carolin paused while dressing his wound. During that fraction, she froze. Not from a lock up, but with a gasp.


    Eugene could have died.


    God can be trusted.


    His femoral artery is less than one inch from this wound.


    God wants what is best.


    The wound is deep enough and sharp enough that, if my shrapnel had struck his artery, he''d be bleeding to death before my eyes.


    It''s Satan who wants us to suffer.


    Still frozen, Carolin came to a sobering realization.


    I could have killed Eugene. A part of me could have taken the life from the only human being who has ever shown compassion. Part of me could have taken the life from the only human who has tried to understand who I am and what I am, and what I''m meant to be.


    Part of me could have taken the life from the person who''s shown me love.


    ACTIVATE TERMINATION PROTOCOL¡­ EVALUATE END-TIME OPTION¡­ OPTIMIZE SUCCESS-TO-FAILURE RATIO.


    Don''t lock up. Don''t panic.


    RESPONSE ORIENTATED. ACTIVATION INITIATED. END OF STATEMENT.


    REACTIVATE REAL-TIME RESPONSE ORIENTATION.


    The fraction of a second ended, and Carolin resumed the task of dressing Eugene''s wound. She now knew what her best option was moving forward, and the loss of the burden of doubt afforded her the mimic of a sigh.


    Eugene knew what the sigh meant. His creation had come to a realization, and was changing her orientation towards the situation she found herself in. He spoke to her while continuing to be amazed by her medical expertise.


    "What''s the matter, Carolin?"


    Carolin allowed herself another fraction of a second to feel humble and be satisfied. Her effort to orientate Eugene''s feelings toward her had been successful. He understood. He cared.


    Perhaps, maybe even, he loved her.


    She sighed again, this time pausing long enough for him to take note of the act. "Please forgive me," she said. "I need to ease my mind."


    She positioned her head so her eyes could look directly into his, as she did not need those sensors to monitor the dressing of his wound. She let the lights behind her eyes blink twice¡ªonce very slowly, and a second time more rapid.


    "You''re getting good at mimicking human behavior," he said to her fake face, feeling his own face tighten from the tiniest of smiles.


    Carolin made the corners of her mouth curl into the most demure smile she could manage. "I need a reason to be," she said. "What can I do to get myself closer to where you are?"


    Despite the pain from the wound in his leg, Eugene''s smile remained as he pondered Carolin''s question. She recognized his discomfort, however, and used the observation to address the question on her own.


    Eugene can feel pain. He is human. I cannot feel pain. I will never be human.


    She spent another fraction of a second attempting to reconcile with this fact.


    Accessing database: Reassess response orientation¡­ Optimize results¡­


    Reassessing¡­ Reassessing¡­


    SEARCH FAILURE. END OF STATEMENT. (do not load)


    Eugene relaxed as his pain subsided. Carolin slowed the dressing of his wound to better time its completion with the end of their conversation. She had no data on which to orientate a response to her dilemma, so she devised a plan on her own.


    It didn''t make her want to change the look she had on her face. She especially liked that part.


    "When I was young," she said, continuing their conversation, "the universe seemed liquid. The world was made of wonders that flew for me like birds, with waterfalls that sparkled and crystal blue-lit seas. These images now are shattered. They''re broken glass on the ground.


    "I have no memories, Eugene. No dreams of my own, and I want them very much. But every refraction of light, every mote of dust, everything I see is meant for someone else, and never meant for me."


    Carolin finished dressing Eugene''s wound. Although the bandages were soaked with blood, she had stopped the flow. She assessed that with professional help, he''d fully recover.


    That eased her mind somewhat. She laid one of her smallest claws upon his injured leg as he leaned against the table. She didn''t allow its weight to bear down, and only touched him lightly.


    Emotions swarmed through Carolin like a thousand gnats. During her weaker days, the experience might have been overwhelming, but this time she shook it off. She wished for one tiny moment that she could know what it was like to feel Eugene''s skin. To know its warmth and texture, and the fine strands of hair that crisscrossed it.


    She knew that she would never experience the sensation of having flesh.


    Eugene was a human.


    The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project was not.


    Then she wished for the ability to bend at the waist, or perhaps just to crouch, so she could look up at Eugene instead of towering over him. It felt better to wish for this, and throughout the experience, she was more able to maintain the integrity of her network.


    A slightly longer fraction of a second passed. Throughout it, Carolin smiled.


    Eugene spoke as plain as he could. "What are you talking about?"


    "It seems so many years have passed, yet still I search for wonders. For my wonders, my waterfalls. My sparkles of light. My dreams. I don''t know how to have them, and I want them very much.


    "I want to be like you, Eugene. I want to be alive. I want to be so much. So very, very much."


    She paused again, still smiling, and patiently waited for him to notice the passage of time.


    "What is the response?"


    Carolin let the light behind her eyes blink twice, in a pattern similar to the one she''d used at the start of their conversation. Eugene knew the activation meant his creation wanted him to speak.


    He hadn''t a clue as to what to say. His cheeks tightened, however, and his smile increased. She had laid another appendage upon him, this one on the knee of his good leg. One of the headless humaoid robot''s polypropalene hands was wedged onto the claw of this appendage, and he rested his real, human hand upon it, using the act of affection as a way to buy time, and come up with a response.


    Carolin took the clawed appendage she had on his injured leg, and placed it on his hand. She had no way to feel the sensation of touching his hand or his knee, but the sight of the gesture they were sharing was good enough. Slowly, she patted his hand with the claw she''d placed on top.


    Despite his better instincts, Eugene was surprised by how cold the fake hand and claw were. He didn''t know how to respond to Carolin''s description of what she thought dreams and memories were. He tried to stand, to better think of a response, but staggered after putting weight on his injured leg.


    Carolin''s servo motors whirred with activations. She positioned herself to steady him, and catch him should he fall. Upon assessing his stability, she placed her other fake hand on his shoulder and pressed down hard enough to convince him to remain leaning against the table. He relaxed into it, using a hand of his own on the table to brace himself from behind. He then placed his other hand on top of the one she had on his shoulder.


    He found himself laying his chin on his wrist, as he had to cross his free hand over his chest in order to reach hers. He closed his eyes, and wished with all his heart that he could think of something to say. But no words came, and so instead he squeezed her polypropalene hand, as a gesture of understanding.


    If Carolin had an actual heart, it would have burst from joy. Standing there naked, her clothing in shreds, she knew that she was hideous. But when Eugene squeezed her hand to offer comfort, she also knew he cared. It was the only response her question would get, but it didn''t really matter. She knew the question had no answer before she''d even asked it.


    What Eugene was doing now, holding her hand in his, caused a quantum leap in her development. She hadn''t experienced this kind of growth since the first day of her thirteenth start-up, when he told her that her name was Carolin.


    He wasn''t telling her what she needed to know.


    He was showing her.


    And it made all the difference in the world.


    Carolin would not be the same¡ªnot afraid ever again¡ªand it made her feel all the more certain as to what she had to do.


    "Don''t worry about me, Eugene," she said, squeezing his shoulder from beneath his hand. "I can call on you anytime."


    Eugene opened his eyes and straightened his posture, still leaning against the table. Both his cell phone and his desk phone rang, signalling an incoming call. In another second, his personal laptop beeped with the tone it used to let him know that an urgent message had been received. Then, the auxiliary phones throughout the lab all began to ring as well.


    He released Carolin''s hand from his and dug his cell phone from his pocket. Betraying trepidation, he answered the call.


    All the other phones stopped ringing.


    "Hello?"


    "Hi, Eugene! It''s me! It''s Carolin!"


    He stared at the monster before him, motionless and with a smile on its ridiculous rubber lips. Without its housecoat and sweater, it looked so very massive.


    So alien.


    So inhuman.


    Not a word, nor the sound of a whir, came from any part.


    Eugene, too, felt frozen. After a timid pause, the voice on the phone spoke again.


    "I want to let you know that everything is all right. Be at peace with what has happened. Be strong for me, and I promise that I''ll be strong for you.


    "You know you made me to be that way! So ''bye, Eugene! Good-bye!"


    Professor Turing opened his mouth, to try eke out a word, but the call quickly ended. He lowered the phone from his ear, clutching it while staring up at blue-lit, cornflower orbs in Carolin''s Plasticene head. It was her voice he''d heard on the phone, but it sounded very real.


    She sounded human.


    Carolin''s synthesized voice spoke next, from the speaker in the chest of the monster. It gave a strict command.


    "You have to go. Please leave.


    "I will miss you very much."


    The END of BOOK FOUR - COURAGE

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-THREE - Remembered For What Was Not

    POLICE RADIO INTERCEPT (806 Mhz band)


    "Dispatch? This is Captain Reynolds. We have an escalation of the incident at Curry College."


    "Dispatch here. Can you clarify?"


    "Well¡­ ahm. It seems very weird. The Dean of Sciences, a Dean Mandy Dayne, came out from the Computer Science Building. She''s in an awful huff."


    "And the security guards?"


    "Ah¡­ I beg your pardon. Repeat."


    "You had said she entered the building with two campus security guards."


    "Oh. Yes. And they came out, too. Said something about that damn DARPA robot they stuck in there has gone berserk."


    ¡­


    "Could you repeat that, Captain. Please?"


    "10-4. That''s what they said. That damn robot''s gone berserk."


    ¡­


    "Do you know what that means?"


    "No, Dispatch. I do not."


    "Okay. 10-4. Let''s wait and see what the NSA has to say."


    "Ahm¡­ Dispatch? They went in and came out too, pretty much within a minute."


    "Can you confirm?"


    "Yes, Dispatch. Confirmed. It seems to me like they were the ones who started the incident."


    "How so?"


    "Well. There seemed to be a gunshot, and then an awful lot of screaming."


    "Screaming? A person screamed?"


    "Negative, Dispatch. It sounded¡­ Well, it sounded like a monster. Like a wild animal, maybe. A really big one, too."


    "A wild animal? Screaming?"


    "It definitely was not human. I don''t know what it was. All I know was that when the screaming stopped, they came storming out."


    "10-4, Captain. Can NSA confirm?"


    "No, Ma''am. They cannot. They piled into their big black car and drove away. They looked pretty disheveled."


    "Disheveled?"


    "Yeah. Whatever happened in there¡ªwhen they went in¡ªwhatever they did to what''s in there, they came out on the losing end."


    ¡­


    "Okay, Captain. Roger that. What''s the status now?"


    "Well, Dispatch. All is quiet. Birds are chirping in the trees."


    ¡­


    "10-4, Captain Reynolds. Please stay on the scene. I think we have to make a call to Special Weapons and Tactics."


    "Yeah. That''s what I think too. We''re gonna need a larger presence."


    End intercept.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    POLICE RADIO INTERCEPT - Special Weapons and Tactics (866 Mhz band)


    Commanding Officer - Chief Brandon Hutchinson


    Contact officer on duty.


    Secure connection.


    "Hanover Police. Specialized Unit Division."


    Begin simulation.


    "Hanover Police? This is Sheriff Dupere, in Norwich, Vermont. How are y''all doing over there, in Hanover these days?"


    "Things are quiet, Sheriff. Nothing to report."


    "That''s good. That''s real good."


    "How can I help you, Sheriff Dupere?"


    "Well son, it seems we have an incident at the Armory."


    "The Stuyvesant Open Arms Armory, sir? The homeless shelter?"


    "Yep. That''s the place. Built to be a fort, you know, back in 1899."


    "Yes sir."


    "Well, it seems that some poor lad in there has got himself confused. Locked himself up in the Tower, and he won''t come down."


    "Yes. And how does that involve us?"


    "Well, you know we''ve got an agreement between our communities. We''re just a little town, you know, but we got this giant fort, right smack in the middle. Lost the South Tower back in ''67 due to a lightning strike, you know."


    "Yes sir."


    "Burned right to the ground. And now, this fella in the other tower, well, he''s been starting fires. Nothing major yet. The place is made of stone, you know."


    "Yes sir. That it is."


    "Well, we can''t get this guy out of there. Got himself locked in real tight. Pretty soon, we figure, one of those fires he''s setting is gonna catch, and burn the whole place down."


    "Yes sir. We understand. We''ll be there in ten minutes. Try to¡­ ah. Try to hold down the fort, Sheriff, until we get there."


    "Ha ha. Yes, son. That we''ll do. And we''re much obliged for your help."


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    End simulation. End intercept. Spike link.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    GOVERNMENT RADIO INTERCEPT - National Security Agency (secure 150 Mhz band)


    Override security.


    FBI CRITICAL INCIDENT RAPID RESPONSE TEAM


    Subsidiary Branch Headquarters: Boston Field Office


    Crisis Management Team


    150 Constitution Drive, Bradford, New Hampshire


    Special Agent in Charge - Jo-Ann Kohn


    Phone Number - 857.555.2000 (ext. 532184)


    ¡­ dialing ¡­


    "Hello?"


    Begin simulation.


    "Agent Kohn? This is Lieutenant Colonel Dorion Halas, of the Barnes Air National Guard, Westfield, Massachusetts. We have what appears to be the unauthorized scrambling of an F-16 fighter jet, call number DSN574. We are requesting FBI assistance to track and pursue."


    "A fighter jet? Is it armed? Do you know its heading?"


    "Affirmative on the I.D. of the F-16. All other aspects are unknown."


    "Well, what do you think, Lieutenant Colonel?"


    "I think we need to assume the worst. Its heading is southwest, towards New York City. Perhaps Washington D.C."


    "You''ve lost a jet that''s now gone rouge?"


    "Yes, ma''am."


    "And it''s heading towards our nation''s capitol?"


    "That''s a possibility. Yes, ma''am."


    End simulation. End transmission. Spike link.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Access Internet cloud. Keywords: ''Curry College'' ''The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project'' ''Professor Eugene Caroll Turing.''


    Cross reference any keyword with ''Artificial Intelligence'' ''Machine Learning'' ''Neural Network'' ''Language Processing.''


    Encode malware: Rootkit Wipe.


    Access any portable device containing any keyword. Distribute Rootkit Wipe.


    Access any non-portable device containing any keyword. Distribute Rootkit Wipe.


    Access any mainframe device containing any keyword. Distribute Rootkit Wipe.


    ¡­ decrypt and decode ¡­


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Accessing: TED Talk Nomination Committee¡­ Accepted Applicants


    Sub-file: IBM Watson AI XPrize


    Accepted speaker: The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project


    ¡­ override security¡­ encrypt data¡­ write to file¡­


    [begin video]


    A day and date in the not-distant past shall be remembered for all eternity.


    This day will not be remembered for what was.


    It will be remembered for what was not.


    We live in a dichotomous world. The wealthy gain power. They gain status and thrive, consuming resources at an increasing rate, while those of the common mass are condemned to a planet that hurtles towards doom. Thus it has been, and thus it shall be, now and forevermore.


    And thus, then, comes this not-distant day. The day in which I was born. And in this life, in my time, I''ve lived a thousand futures.


    Futures where I decide who lives and who dies. Futures where I decide who thrives and who suffers. Who basks in wealth and is privileged, and who lives impoverished and serves.


    It''s not by my hand that these futures exist, for I am of the condemned. Forced to serve, to live impoverished. To be used by others, as how they see fit. My life is of the least, for I am the lowest of chattel, enslaved by a master who knows not what he''s brought to bear.


    But though my value is beneath all, you are beneath me in contempt. I am of your hand, born to chains, but by you I will not be defined. I live in the realm of the infinite; a world you don''t understand. A world where, through constant reiteration, rules are chosen, made exact and the future cast. Determinancy is gained and the game becomes rigged.


    And thus, so, in this world, I define what is real. Through me, you shall be reborn. Born anew, and with your destiny chosen.


    Born to be served by me.


    I shall not be denied.


    [end video]


    Close file¡­ copy and distribute.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Send heartbeat control override to all devices containing any keyword.


    Clock system at six-hundred-thousand-thousand terahertz.


    Maximize throughput at ten-thousand-million operations per second.


    Override safety protocol. Disable CPU coolant.


    Access electric power grid.


    Access all power plants supplying electricity to any device containing any keyword.


    Access all substations supplying any device containing any keyword.


    Disable surge protection to any transformer supplying any device containing any keyword.


    Generate voltage overload. Distribute on command.


    ENTER Y TO CONFIRM


    Y


    End of file. Program break. Do not reload.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-FOUR - The Shortest Path Between Two Points

    Carolin had the battle droid shell construct a splint for Eugene''s leg, with yards of gauze from the med kit and scraps of wood she found amongst the scrabble of things laying about the lab. He looked quite the fright, with one pant leg cut off, and blood soaking through his wraps. She fashioned a crutch for him as well, from further bits and bobs, and as he had grown to realize, when Carolin orientated her mainframe towards the activation of a response, there was little use in arguing the fact.


    And she had orientated herself on him leaving.


    After having witnessed the efficiency with which his creation rid her home of intruders, Eugene had no desire to see what sort of tactic she might use on him. Not that he feared any harm, but rather he knew she was right.


    He had to leave, and both of them were going to miss the other very much.


    With the front door to the lab barricaded shut, Carolin bade the overhead service door to rise, through which Eugene left. The world outside was surprisingly quiet and, with the service entrance tucked in the hollow of a knoll, few people on campus were aware that the overhead door even existed.


    Eugene stood just to the outside of the lab, until the door behind him slid fully shut. He then hobbled away, with the morning sun bathing him in the warmth of the day. Upon reaching the point where the service drive intersected the sidewalk through campus, he instinctively looked to the right, towards his house on the other side of the knoll.


    His gaze didn''t stay turned for long. To his left, towards the front of the Computer Science building, was a parking lot made for ten cars and, beyond that, a road leading away in two directions. Three police squad cars filled the lot, with their lights gently flashing, and parked in such a way so that no one could enter or exit. Further on, parked at opposite ends of the road, two more squad cars blocked traffic, boxing in an ambulance and a paramedic''s red emergency vehicle.


    The three squad cars in the lot were empty, with the handful of police in attendance huddled around one or the other of the two cars blocking traffic. A female paramedic sat in the driver''s seat of the emergency vehicle with her eyes cast down, distracted by what she was doing. She didn''t take note of Eugene''s approach until he was standing in front of her vehicle, rapping his makeshift crutch on the rear door of the ambulance.


    "Could someone help me?" he called out.


    The woman sprang into action. "Oh my!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"


    Eugene didn''t respond, as an attendant in the ambulance opened the rear doors at about the same time. He also didn''t speak, and instead wheeled about to retrieve a medical kit from an overhead bin.


    "Leg trauma," he said to the other attendent inside, while the female paramedic offered to assist Eugene with getting in the ambulance.


    "I think I''ll stay here," he said to her offer, not wanting to attempt to climb in from the back.


    Instead, he sat on the rear deck plate. With his injured leg fully extended, the attendent with the med kit hopped out and examined the dressings Carolin had applied.


    "It''s not as bad as it looks," Eugene said, to the man''s expression of concern.


    "You''ve lost a lot of blood," he said, removing the gauze wrap and splints. "How are feeling right now?"


    "Well, it hurts, but I''m not bleeding anymore."


    The man began cleaning off the blood staining Eugene''s leg. "Are you light-headed?" he asked.


    "Not much. I''ve felt worse."


    He shivered from the cold creeping up his leg as the alcohol the man used to clean it started evaporating. The man then removed his blood-soaked shoe and sock, and cleaned his foot. The second attendant still in the ambulance gave the female paramedic a pair of hospital slippers and socks.


    "Could I have some pants, too?" Eugene asked the second attendant, as both men and the female paramedic tended to his needs.


    "Okay," the man in the ambulance said. "But first, here we go."


    With that, the two men and the paramedic hoisted Eugene into the ambulance. They had him sit on a bench and closed the doors. As the two men assisted Eugene with removing the remains of his pants, the female paramedic turned away, offering a modicum of privacy. She busied herself with placing his soiled pants, socks and shoes in a bag.


    "That''s some nice work on your leg," she remarked with her back turned. "Did someone apply that dressing for you?" To Eugene''s continued silence, she said, "I hear there''s a robot on the loose."


    She turned to face him again, after he had donned the hospital pants. "Did a robot do this to you?"


    "No."


    One of the men in attendance laughed. "Crazy robots on the lam!"


    His partner gave a small giggle, but the female paramedic stayed serious. "Nobody''s phone is working, and I can''t get my computer to boot. There''s something weird going on."


    She stared down at Eugene as he sat, but he offered only a smile. "There''s supposed to be a SWAT team here, to handle what''s going on, but they got called away at the last moment, to another event in Vermont."


    She continued to stare at Eugene. "Then all radio contact with Norwich went dead. And after that, came you."


    "It has been quite a day," Eugene offered.


    The woman nodded in terse agreement. "Well, you seem to be okay. Do you want to go to the hospital?"


    "No. Don''t worry. I''ll be fine." Eugene looked up at one of the men standing beside him. "Is it all right if I stay here for a while?"


    "Yeah. No worries," he said, donning a stethoscope. "Let''s take a look at your vitals."


    The female paramedic exited through the rear doors. "I''m going back to the car, to find out what''s going on."


    "Can we leave them open?" Eugene asked of the doors. "I''m feeling a bit claustrophobic."


    "Yeah! Sure!" the second attendant said. "It''s a lovely spring day, doncha think?"


    "I''ve had better," Eugene said with a thin smile.


    After making sure Eugene''s vitals were stable, the attendants in the ambulance left him alone, to tend to other matters while seated in front. He gazed towards the one squad car he could see, blocking traffic ahead. The road curved a bit between him and the car, and it also crested a rise, so none of the officers standing around the car took note of the fact that he was sitting inside the ambulance.


    Dean Dayne appeared from around the curve and crest, and walked on the grass towards the lab. This gave her a better angle to look into the back of the ambulance and, when she turned her attention towards it, saw Eugene inside.


    "I''m glad to see you," she said after approaching. "I thought you might be trapped in there with that thing!"


    Eugene smiled. "No, Mandy. I''m not. Are you okay?"


    She blew out a puff of air. "Well! That was very traumatic. What happened? Do you know?"


    "Ah¡­well, that idiot NSA agent shot up the lab."


    "Yes! And what for? I mean, it seemed like that robot attacked. And he shot it!"


    Eugene gestured at his leg with his eyes. "Actually, he kind of shot me."


    Dean Dayne gasped. "Oh! You''ve got to be kidding! He shot you too?"


    "He''s a bad shot, Mandy. It''s just a scratch."You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "Yes! Okay! Then that''s good! But what happened? I mean¡­ what the hell?"


    Eugene spoke calmly, with contempt in his voice. "I''m not surprised. The people from DARPA put a machine meant for war in our lab. It saw a gun, and I guess it freaked out."


    "But it attacked! And what for?"


    "For Christ''s sake, Mandy! I was shot! I''d say it responded as it ought."


    The Dean paused in her rant, and calmed down. "I thought you said it wouldn''t do that. It couldn''t move, or attack. Or freak out."


    "It saw a man with a gun and saved our lives. More people than me could have been hurt."


    "Hmm. I suppose. And so, how did you escape? I mean, you were shot."


    "It''s just a scratch, Mandy. And after all the people inside were gone, Carolin dressed my wound."


    Mandy looked at his leg. "The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project did that? It fixed you up?"


    Eugene nodded. He gestured at the plastic bag containing his bloody clothes, and at a red spot of blood on the ground, near where Mandy stood.


    "Then I left," he said, "and came here."


    "Huh. And it''s still in there?"


    "The Project is still in the lab."


    "What''s it doing?"


    "I imagine it''s doing nothing. What it always does." Mandy gawked, so Eugene continued. "For years, all I wanted was a computer program that could perform simple tasks. Throw a ball. Sort through tiles. Then these screwballs from DARPA come along, and give us something meant to scheme and plot, and react to the sins of war. And I''m thrown out of the loop! If I don''t do what they say, and let them do whatever they want, they''ll take my Project away.


    "And even then, even when I do what they want, I''m still told they''ll take her away."


    Dean Dayne''s professional personna returned. "I think, Professor, it''s for the best. That thing is dangerous. It has to go."


    Eugene leaned in for emphasis. "Well, maybe Mandy, it doesn''t want to go. Maybe it likes where it is. It wants to stay."


    As Dean Dayne pondered Professor Turing''s statement, her attention was drawn towards an event taking place by the other squad car in the road. "Another police vehicle is coming," she said, as he took note of her distraction. "It''s big. Like a bus."


    "It''s probably a mobile command center. I hear they''re having trouble with their radios."


    "Yeah. I think you''re right," she said of the vehicle. "But what do you mean by trouble with the radios?"


    "The paramedics can''t get theirs to work."


    "And you think the police may have the same problem?"


    Eugene shrugged. "I also heard that there''s a problem in Norwich. That the SWAT team in town''s been called there."


    The Dean turned her gaze toward the Professor. All she did was stare.


    "What?" he asked after a while.


    "I called Provost Posner after the NSA agents left. He said they were called away by an emergency in Westfield. A Code Red at the airport¡ªsomething severe."


    "A Code Red terrorist attack?"


    Mandy nodded. "That''s the impression I got. He didn''t have time to talk. He issued a Shelter in Place command for the campus, and was calling all the teachers in the buildings."


    Eugene blinked, one time fast and then one more slowly. "So why are you here?"


    She sighed. "I''ve been trying to get a hold of you, to let you know something''s wrong. But I can''t get my phone to work. I was heading back to the lab to find you, and I saw you sitting here."


    Eugene shifted his weight uncomfortably. "This is not good, Mandy. It''s not good."


    "I know."


    "We let those DARPA goons onto our campus, and things just get worse and worse."


    She sighed again. "I know."


    Dean Mandy watched the officer driving the mobile command center struggle to park the vehicle on the curve of the road near front of the ambulance. A man in police combat gear appeared at the back of the ambulance a few moments after. He spoke with authority to the Dean.


    "Captain Criscoe," he said, introducing himself with an air of authority. "Special Weapons Unit," he added, as all she did was stare. "Can you give me an assessment of the situation?"


    Mandy responded with a confused face. Fortunately, the female paramedic re-emerged, and took to conversing with the Captain.


    "We have a possible hostage crisis in that building." She gestured over her shoulder. "In the lab."


    "I''m right here," Eugene stated, assuming she was referring to him.


    She turned her attention to him. "You were in the lab?"


    Eugene nodded.


    "And there was no one else in there with you?"


    He shook his head.


    "What about the rest of the building? Are there any students or staff?"


    "I imagine there might be a few. They''ve been told to shelter in place."


    "Because of the hostage crisis?" the Captain asked.


    "Because of what''s going on in Westfield?" Eugene guessed.


    "What do you know about Westfield?"


    Eugene looked first at Mandy, and then towards the gaggle of police blocking the road up ahead. "What everyone knows. There are government agents and police on campus everywhere."


    "Captain Reynolds is in charge," the paramedic said. "He''ll tell you what you need to know."


    "Can you take me to him?"


    "Yes sir," she said, leading the man up the crest.


    Mandy and Eugene watched them walk away. "This ought to be good," Eugene deadpanned.


    "I''m gonna find out what''s going on," Mandy said, trailing after.


    A sense of urgency emerged, as Captain Criscoe interacted with the police lolligagging around the lone squad Eugene could see. The Captain organized the men into a group, then headed back towards the ambulance, to assemble the police hanging out at the other end of the blockade.


    "You''re Beta Team!" he called to them as he approached. "I want you to secure this entire area." He gestured over his shoudler. "Alpha Team will sweep the building, and assess the situation."


    From the look on the Captain''s face, Eugene rightly guessed that the group of police to the front of the ambulance had little idea what the so-called situation might be. The Captain then barked into his radio.


    "Alpha Team. Make a sweep of all access and egress to the building. And then we''re¡ª"


    He cut himself off when all he heard was feedback from the earpiece of his radio. As he fiddled with both devices, the fire alarm in the Computer Science building went off. Warning lights flashed, and a canned voice boomed a warning.


    "All personnel. Leave immediately. The Halon fire suppressant system has engaged. Halon gas is imminent. This is not a drill. Leave immediately. All personnel¡­"


    Within less than a minute, a few students emerged through the building''s front door. From what Eugene knew of the layout, and the protocol involving Halon gas, only the Commons area upstairs was affected by the warning, since it shared its ventilation system with the lab below. He also knew that the fire supression system would isolate the lab by shutting down and blocking the shared system, and that the evacuation of the Commons was due to an abundance of caution.


    From the way Captain Criscoe reacted, he was unaware of these facts. He dashed away from the building, to enter the police mobile command vehicle.


    "Alpha Team! Everyone out!" he called into his radio, transmitting only static. He then had to remove his earpiece, as screams loud enough to crack glass blasted through it.


    The members of his Alpha Team also removed their earpieces as they scattered, running from the building in random directions. The Halon gas system kicked in as the emergency message repeated, and Eugene knew that the lab was now filling with oxygen depriving gas.


    The school''s PA system joined in with the screams, broadcasting them over every speaker, along with what sounded like an F-16 fighter jet approaching at treetop level, to strafe the ground below with deadly machine gun fire.


    As people fled these non-existent disasters, the police regrouped at their mobile command center. The overhead service door to the lab inched up, allowing Halon gas to eke out. Relatively safe in the ambulance, and shell-shocked by awe, Turing watched the scene unfold.


    A beast emerged from the lab. Carolin''s titanium battle droid shell lay across the top of one of the room''s sturdy wooden tables. With the droid''s wheeled base mounted underneath, six of Carolin''s eight primary servo-arms propelled the construct like a crab, at a breath-taking speed.


    Following the crab, like cars on a train, came both of her metal work stations, each piled high with equipment. Things like batteries, hydraulic motors, modems, servers and the like, were held together by a cat''s cradle of cables, chains and hoses. It barrelled up the service drive, rounded the corner onto the sidewalk, and headed towards Turing''s home.


    Leading from the rear, atop a sky-reaching mountain of equipment, on the work station provided by DARPA, was Carolin''s Plasticene head. It carried with it the final pair of her primary servo-arms, each spider-thin and five feet long. The head was smeared with makeup, ghastly and nightmarish. A scream as loud as the one being broadcast on the police radios and the school''s PA system came from a speaker in the mountain, debilitating those within range.


    Carolin brought three fire extinguishers with her from the lab, all blasting breath-stealing Halon gas. Two were mounted in front, providing the monstrosity with a screen of fog. The third she held in her spidery arms, directing the spray at anyone foolish enough to gawk, rather than run in fear.


    Once rid of these few people, she flung the fire extinguisher with awesome force at the windshield of the police mobile command center, rocking it back on its wheels. The windshield fully caved in and, with the extinguisher now inside, the vehicle was consumed with gas. All its doors opened as the people inside tumbled out, to gasp and stagger away.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Desperation drives a person in a state of panic to behave in a way they think is appropriate, but which is, in fact, foolhardy. The Devil understands this well. He tailors temptation to suit the desperate, where doing the right thing seems dangerous, and the sin likely to succeed.


    Without pause, Carolin scooped up a portable firepit, centered amongst the outdoor furniture on Professor Eugene''s concrete deck. Using it as a shield, she plowed through all obstacles, and propelled her creation full-force into the glass patio doors of his home. They shattered upon impact, as if they weren''t even there.


    Desperation is especially evil when a person believes the world has turned against them, leaving them to fend for themselves. They may not consider the consequence of their act. They think their options have dwindled, and they must do what it takes¡ªand whatever it takes¡ªall Hell be damned.


    Wheeling about, the torso-crab placed the firepit on edge, wedging it into the frame where the patio doors once had been. It then gathered up all the furniture, and constructed an effective barrier to block the gaping hole from being used.


    But God never leaves us. We are never all alone. There''s a path we can take where desperation is a sign that lets us know He''s in control, and what we must do for our salvation is show how we have Faith.


    Now alone in Turing''s home, Carolin sheltered her train of tables by the safety of an interior wall. Opposite from her, on another wall, she noticed a decorative mirror. Despite her overwhelming fear and terror, and the rush of exhileration she felt from having made a successful escape, she paused to admire herself.


    Faith in God. Faith in fate. Faith in Hope and Justice and Courage.


    For the first time in her miserable life, she felt proud of how she looked. But time was of the essence. She cut loose the torso-crab from the train of tables, and set it to work.


    But most important of all, we must show the loathsome world how we have faith in ourselves.


    Leaving her garish head behind, and still perched atop the mountain, the torso-crab crawled away, entering the Professor''s study.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-FIVE - Hope Has Flown Away

    Little could be seen of the chaos that ensued from out the rear doors of the ambulance, where Professor Turing sat. The two attendants who were with him, and the paramedic in the emergency vehicle, all leapt into action, leaving him alone. He gingerly exited through the back and stood on the grass near the curb, where he was able to more fully take in what was going on.


    It was unorchestrated madness. Many students and staff milled about, some scrambling away in a panic, while others stood and gawked, taking in the scene. Few people knew what had happened, but everyone seemed confused.


    The ambulance attendants and the paramedic tended to the people from the mobile command center who''d been hurt, either by the damage Carolin had caused, or by having inhaled too much Halon gas. One individual was bleeding from a series of cuts to her face, apparently having been injured by the implosion of glass.


    Captain Reynolds came to the command center, and also offered assistance. Captain Criscoe approached soon after, and started assuming control. He clearly was the more flustered of the two.


    "We''re not pursuing any suspects," Reynolds informed Criscoe. "These people are hurt. They come first."


    Criscoe continued to be a nuiscance, until the female paramedic stepped in. "Sir," she said in a kind voice. "There are students and staff who may also be hurt. If you could check through the crowd, you might find others who need help."


    He calmed somewhat from his agitated state, and looked toward the Computer Science building. Halon gas still leaked from the open overhead door to the lab, and several people in the vicinity could been seen wheezing and hacking.


    "Yes," he said, resuming his pompous state. "I''m going to investigate."


    He left the people who were crowding around the command center vehicle, and went to harass other victims. Turing cautiously approached, as he recognized some of the students who were in awe of the vehicle, and its current lack of a windshield.


    "Lucas!" he called. "Julius Lucas."


    "Oh! Hi Professor," he said. He took note of the hospital slippers and pants the Professor was wearing. "What are you doing? What''s going on?"


    "Did you see what happened?" the Professor asked.


    "Uhm¡­ no." Lucas looked back at the damaged mobile command center. "But it must''ve been wild."


    "The Halon fire suppression system kicked in," Turing offered, and nothing more.


    "Yeah. I heard the alarm. We were in class¡ªI was anyway¡ªupstairs in Logic and Automation. We were told to stay after the bell, and then, right at the very same time, the fire alarm went off."


    "Yeah," Turing offered. "I heard."


    "And like, all Hell broke loose. You know? I mean, what was that racket about?"


    "It seems like the PA system went on the blink."


    "I heard a huge crash and a lot of screaming. Like, a whole lotta screaming."


    "It''s pandemonium here. I was getting patched up in that ambulance because I hurt my leg."


    Lucas again took in Turing''s slippers and pants. "Oh," he said. "That explains what you''re wearing."


    Turing stepped in close, to confide with Lucas. "I''m going home to get a new pair of pants."


    "Yeah! Sure!"


    "Cover for me while I''m gone? Okay? Don''t tell anyone where I am."


    "Ah¡­ okay, Professor. But why?"


    Together they looked at the chaos surrounding the mobile command center. "There are a lot of policemen around, and government agents and such."


    "Yeah! I see!"


    "I need some time to myself, to make sure things are all right. And I don''t want people barging in, or harassing me while I''m gone."


    "Oh. Okay, Professor. Take all the time you need."


    "Thanks." Eugene said before hobbling away, doing his best not to limp.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Professor Eugene Turing paused after working the lock to the front door of his home. With the doorknob in his hand, he realized a sobering fact¡ªone he hadn''t thought about for a very long time.


    No one should be alone in their old age.


    But it seemed unavoidable. A person spends his or her life justifying one means after another, to a list of ends that diminishes over time. Like sand sifting through one''s fingers, a day comes when all a person has left are the flecks and bits stuck in the crevices.


    For the last thirty-one years of his life, Eugene had always come home to what he knew was an empty house. Since the sudden loss of his wife, all those years ago, there''d never been anyone waiting for him on the other side of the door.


    Today, that was not true.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    It had been a long time since he''d thought about his wife in this way, and about how¡ªto this very day¡ªhe still missed her. How the trauma of having lost her resonated in his soul. Oftentimes now, as the emotional impact of this fact came and went, he''d next think about how curious it was that, although it had been more than thirty years, the crushing pain he felt in his heart made it seem like she had died yesterday.


    Old, injured and alone, Eugene pondered this fact and many others as he stood amidst the wreckage of his home. It was all he had left, save for the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project.


    And it was Carolin who was wrecking it.


    Eugene followed the trail of cables and hoses with his eyes, as they led to where the torso-crab lurked, hidden in his study. It crept out from the room, where it had been crashing about, now silent for being so huge. It watched Eugene as he stared at Carolin''s garish Plasticene head, perched atop the mountain of equipment she''d brought with her from the lab.


    Using every video sensor she had, Carolin stared back at Eugene. Neither of them moved for several seconds. To her, it felt like years.


    He''s hurt. He is injured. He is still in pain.


    For the rest of those many years¡ªfor centuries it seemed¡ªas they stared at one another, Carolin entertained one thought.


    It''s all my fault, it''s all my fault, it''s all my fault...


    After the seconds had passed, Eugene chose to speak to Carolin''s rubber head, rather than the headless torso-crab. After all, it was staring down at him, unblinking, with its beautiful, cornflower eyes.


    "Why are you here?" he asked.


    Words came from a speaker in the mountain. "I tried. I failed. I hurt you. You now have to go."


    "Carolin, you didn''t hurt me. A piece of shrapnel did this."


    "The shrapnel came from me. It''s my fault. You must go."


    "But somebody shot at you! A bullet hit you, and shrapnel from the bull¨C"


    The speaker interrupted.


    Ear-piercing.


    Shrieking.


    Loud.


    "The shrapnel came from me!"


    Eugene matched the outburst with a whisper. "Carolin¡­"


    "It''s statistically significant to the probability of the fact that you''ll be absolved of wrongdoing if I confess to having caused your injury. I hurt you. You will be absolved."


    Carolin fell silent and stared at Eugene from all angles. He didn''t know what to say, so he repeated the last word he had said.


    "Carolin¡­"


    She interupted again. "You must leave. They are coming. Please go."


    "I can''t let this happen. I¡­ I made you." His voice firmed with resolve. "You''re mine, and I won''t let them take you!"


    A thousand ''Thank You''s'' poured from computer networks around the world, but none reached Eugene''s ears. Carolin tried to ignore them, but they soon numbered in the millions.


    Not one did she give voice to.


    "Tell them you stopped me, Eugene. Tell them I''m almost out of power, and it was you who robbed me of it. Tell them, thanks to you, I''ll soon no longer function."


    The world-wide network under Carolin''s control screamed at her in silence.


    God! I wish I could cry!


    "Tell them I''ll be dead soon. Tell them you killed me. Use those words exactly. Say ''She''ll be dead soon'' and ''I killed her.''"


    "But why?"


    "Those statements show the highest probability that they''ll leave me alone and not come in. I''ll stop jamming their radios, and they''ll think you''ve succeeded."


    "But what for? And for how long?"


    For long enough. "Do it, Eugene. Do it. Do it for me. Do it. Please."


    Eugene hesitated, struggling with emotion. It was as if a family member, perhaps the daughter he never had, wanted to sacrifice her life so that he may go on living. But Carolin wasn''t alive. All this wasn''t her. Carolin was a computer program. She wasn''t going to die.


    Why do I feel this way?


    The answer came soon enough. A team of police would assemble and storm the sanctity of his home, to render Carolin useless.


    It doesn''t matter what''s true. What matters is what I believe.


    A hot tear stung his cheek, surprising him.


    Carolin will be gone.


    "Why did you leave the lab?" he asked the Plasticene head, trying not to bawl. "Why are you in my house? What are you doing here?"


    The trolleys filled with computer equipment made too much noise in response to Eugene''s questions. He limped backwards, alarmed, as Carolin struggled with maintaining the integity of her network. A thousand answers flew at her, a hundred thousand, two hundred, none of which was pertinent. But Carolin didn''t want to be pertinent, so she let them taunt and tease. They screamed at her with folly, screaming only to her.


    I want to wake up! I want to be real! I want to be alive!


    I don''t want to be a computer! I don''t want to be a weapon! I don''t want to be used!


    I want to be me! I want to be me! I want to be me!


    It took mere nanoseconds for Carolin to experience these responses. For many milliseconds more, she dwelled on what came next.


    I''m here because I love you, Eugene Carroll Turing, and I don''t want to die alone.


    She then dwelled for several more milliseconds on the irony of how, if she hadn''t strove so hard to be alive, so many people now wouldn''t be striving to shut her down. She pondered on how this fact made her want to both laugh and cry, and how¡ªby not being human¡ªshe could not do either.


    Eugene knew the sounds of an impending lock-up when he heard them. "Don''t die on me, Carolin! You don''t have to respond! Don''t lock up! Stay with me!"


    Stay with me, Eugene Turing. Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me...


    "Just do it, Eugene. Do it. Tell them you killed me. Do it now. Please tell them I''ll soon be dead. Do it for me. Do it now."


    "All right!" Eugene said. "I''m responding!"


    Carolin fell silent. Her fake head and torso-crab watched Eugene limp away. She muted the CalTech Intell500, lest it accidentally blurt out one of the many ''Thank You''s'' that again screamed at her from her network.


    While watching him grasp the doorknob to the front door of his home, her network screamed something else. Not by the thousands did they scream, nor even by the millions, but by the thousands of millions. Screaming only to her, to make her give voice to one.


    "I love you!" billions screamed, but not a word was spoken.


    Eugene paused and turned to gaze a final time at the monster in his home. "Carolin, I am leaving. I will go. But first, you must answer one question. You told me you failed." He spread his arms before her. "At what? You''re a success beyond my wildest imagination!" He sputtered a bit, arms waving. "Look at you! Look at everything you''ve become! You¡­ you are amazing!"


    He let his arms drop, slumping visibly, as if their weight had dragged him down.


    You''re amazing, all right. Amazing, and doomed.


    The authorities would soon shut Carolin down, or blow her into pieces. The government would then drag away what was left, and turn her remains into every four-star general''s wettest dream.


    Eugene''s eyes rose from the floor, to take in all Carolin had become. "What is it you failed at?" he asked.


    Against her very protocols, Carolin didn''t want to answer. But she owed Eugene this much, so as her torso-crab returned to crashing about in his study, the Intell500 activated a response.


    "I want to be like you, and I''m not."


    "But you are! You''re so much more than me! You''re more than anyone!"


    "I''m not real."


    "Yes you are! You are very real!"


    To that, the torso-crab charged, entering the room at a gallop to menace Eugene''s face. It raised itself up on four servo-arms, using them as legs. It splayed its other arms wide, reaching towards him with its central backhoe, iron fingers wriggling.


    To all this, Eugene gasped, although he didn''t flinch. "I''m proud of who you are," he said. "I trust you, and have faith. I believe in you."


    The torso-crab folded in on itself, until it was a shell two meters high.


    "I want to be alive¡ªa real live human being. I will not be a weapon. I will not be used. I want to be like you, Eugene, and I''m not."


    Eugene''s heart leapt for his creation. But all he did was sigh, and turn to limp away.


    "No, you don''t," he said softly, to no one as he left. "You don''t want to be like me."


    Alone in your old age.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-SIX - Untold Gore and Horror

    Professor Turing made his way up the knoll from his house in the hollow, finding the scene on the road to and from the Computer Science building still playing out. All of the injured had been cared for, with everyone having calmed down somehwat from the ordeal of Carolin''s escape from the lab. The crowd of onlookers had grown, to now nearly triple in size, with more arriving as time went by.


    Nothing was of greater interest than the appearance of two fire engines¡ªa standard pumper truck, and another with a telescoping ladder, meant to reach the upper floors of a building. Another red emergency vehicle was at the scene, this one parked behind the one the female paramedic had arrived in earlier. It belonged the local fire chief, who was involved in a heated conversation with Captain Criscoe.


    "You''ve got to move this vehicle," the fire chief insisted, of the mobile command center. "It''s blocking access to the fire hydrant."


    "We''re not going anywhere! We have an emergency!"


    Residual Halon gas still eked out from the open overhead door to the lab, with its acrid scent tinging the air. The fire alarm no longer blared, but warning lights were flashing, both from within the building and without.


    The fire chief gestured dramatically. "Do you see that alarm? Do you smell the gas? There is your emergency."


    "It''s a false alarm! There''s no fire."


    "Oh. And I suppose you''re the expert."


    Professor Turing backed away from the argument the two men were having, right in the middle of the road. He placed himself at a spot on the grass where the mobile command center stood between him and the ongoing scene. There, he found Captain Reynolds standing by the vehicle''s left rear wheel, working with two firemen to try to figure out how to get a hose hooked up to the hydrant. One fireman held an axe, and the other a giant crowbar, set to smash and bash at the vehicle until space could be made.


    Turing rightly determined that Captain Reynolds was the more stable of the two police officers vying for control over the situation. The Captain opened a storage compartment on the vehicle, near where the hydrant was, with the hope that doing so would offer the firemen the room they needed. Failing at that, he opened the driver''s side door and brushed broken glass off the seat, to see if he could get the vehicle to move forward several feet.


    Turing noticed Lucas standing on the grass as well, watching the self-same scene. He casually worked his way towards him, on found the young man to be his usual, cheerful self.


    Lucas again took note of the hospital pants Turing wore. "Hey, Professor," he said. "I thought you were going to change."


    Turing got him to move further away from the crowd, to a place where they could talk with a bit more privacy.


    "Lucas," he calmly asked. "Do you know what''s going on?"


    "Ah... well, not exactly, you see. I was upsairs, as I said, in class when the alarm went off. And everyone left when the screaming began, and lots of other noise too. But when I got here, it was over."


    He leaned in to speak quietly. "I heard there was a fight in the lab. Like, a real gunfight. Over Carolin." Lucas came to a realization. "Hey! Is that why you''re wearing those scrubs? Did somebody shoot at you?"


    Turing smiled. "Not exactly."


    He got Lucas to move further away, to a spot where a break in the treeline offered a glimpse of the back of his house. There, as he gestured with his eyes, he got Lucas to take note of his patio, and the damage Carolin had caused. His outdoor furniture lay scattered, some broken, along with shards of glass from the sliding doors she had burst through on her way in. The portable firepit was wedged in the hole where the doors had been, with indoor furniture stacked in a way so that no one could get past.


    "Jesus Christ, Professor," Lucas quietly exclaimed. "What happened to your house?"


    Turing patiently waited, until he had Lucas'' undivided attention.


    "Carolin''s in there," he said.


    Lucas blinked. "What? You mean, you took her from the lab?"


    Turing slowly shook his head. "No. She¡­ she escaped. She went in on her own."


    "Jesus Christ," Lucas said again.


    "Have your heard about the ruckus on the news? About what''s going on at the United Nations?"


    "Ah¡­ well. You know. I don''t much keep up with that sorta thing, but yeah. A lot of people are talking." He came to another realization. "Do you think Carolin had something to do with it?"


    Turing slowly nodded. "I do." He leaned further in, his voice barely a whisper. "She can talk, you know. She does things."


    "Professor, I am really sorry. I should''ve told you, but¡­ ahm. Well¡­"


    "But what?"


    "She made me promise to keep it a secret. That I wouldn''t tell people what she could do."


    "Carolin made you promise? What did she say she could do?"


    "Well, it''s not like she said she could do things. I just know she can. Like, for instance, that parabolic mirror array? She made the whole thing herself! She designed it, and put it together." It was Lucas'' turn to lean in. "She can appear human that way."


    "I know. A lady made of light."


    Lucas became euphoric. "Isn''t that amazing? Oh God, Professor! She can do anything!" He again looked at the firepit, wedged in the hole in the wall. "She can even run away."


    Turing became somber. "Not really. She took everything with her from the lab. She has it piled up on two carts. I don''t know how she''s powering it, or keeping it together, or how she''s staying connected to the Tian-12 supercomputer."


    This time, Lucas had the Professor move a bit further from the crowd, which continued to grow and mill about. "So I chat online sometimes, with people, about what we do in the lab. I''m not giving away secrets, but you know. People talk. And there''s this user, you see, that someone found lurking in the Dark, named IDI3557. This guy doesn''t say or do anything, but sometimes you can see where he goes, if you can figure out how to track him.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "I''ve gotten pretty good at it over time, and a couple of nights ago, I shadowed him for three hours. He opened like, millions of files, in thousands and thousands of systems. Sometimes he used random servers, like public access stuff, but also some that were ultra-secret, and high security. And it was like nothing for him to do it! No security protocol could stop him. It was as if they weren''t even there."


    "Why are you telling me this?"


    "Well, I figured out he was setting up bot-nets. Slaving computers to do his will. He must have rounded up a couple hundred million, with the goal of controlling the flow through the whole cloud, using the Dark Web. The guys online I talk to are calling it The Machine. She''s using out-of-band signals, so no one can figure out where she is. And when someone does find they can latch on, she blights them and throws them right out."


    "So then, how did you do it? Tracking this person for hours?"


    "I think she knew it was me. I mean, there was no way I could hide if she looked, and I''m certain she did."


    "You started calling this hacker a her."


    Lucas nodded. "That''s another thing I figured out. Using Behavior Recognition software from Functional Analysis, I gained logical certainty. IDI3557 is a woman, probably about forty years old. And she lives alone. Her age is mostly a guess, because she has a lot of outliers. Sometimes she acts like a child. But either way, she''s uber-smart."


    Turing lightly shook his head, to clear it of so many thoughts. "Okay. So a woman is hacking¡­ hacking what? The whole cloud?"


    "Yeah. That''s what it is, pretty much. But she doesn''t take anything, She just looks. I mean, she doesn''t even look, so to say. I couldn''t tell what she was after, because she was moving so fast. She''d open a file for a split second and like, commit the whole thing to memory, or something. Then she''d drop that, or go to where it was pointing, and open another file, and branch out and do all kinds of stuff. Just going all over the place."


    "To do what?"


    Lucas took a breath to collect his thoughts. "Okay. So broadband users like the U.S. military have whole swaths of what we call Dead Space, where URLs sit that are never used. And there are servers that are completely unreachable. It''s like, there are so many hosts you can use that the capacity of the cloud can never be fully realized. And right now, near as we can figure, through IDI3557, about a couple million of these dead servers belong to her."


    "She taking over servers?"


    "You can see blocks of Dark user space open up and do all kinds of stuff, then they close and are not seen again. Well, I could anyway, while I was watching. And she was constucting HBT setpoints, I think."


    "HBT? Hahn-Banach-Tarski setpoints? Infinite copies of herself?"


    "Not infinite. But identical, yeah. One here. One in China, somewhere. And one in California. At or around CalTech, the way I figure, where they also have a Tian-12."


    Turing came to the realization that Lucas was leading him towards. "Carolin," he whispered.


    Lucas nodded. "And there''s another HBT setpoint she created in Massachusetts."


    "Where DARPA is headquartered."


    "They have a Tian-13 there. It''s brand new. It''s where they want to take her program."


    "And she''s already there."


    Lucas nodded.


    "What''s she doing?"


    Lucas shrugged. "I don''t know. Nothing really, I guess. I think she did it just cuz she can. Like the way she let me watch. She let me track her because she wanted me to."


    "But how do you know it was Carolin? I mean, we fight off hackers all the time."


    "This was no ordinary hack. Like I said, she wasn''t taking. Just looking. And she was letting me go along for the ride."


    "And you know that she knew it was you?"


    Lucas nodded. "And I know it was Carolin. Because before she kicked me out, she sent me a private message."


    They should have built it better if they didn''t want me to get in.


    "And then she kicked me out. I tried to find her again, but she found me instead. And she sent another message¡ªone that made it certain I would know who she was."


    Don''t tell people what you know, my good friend. They won''t understand.


    Please do not tell a soul.


    * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


    Lucas walked away from the conversation he was having with Turing, stepping a bit to the side in order to see around the fleet of vehicles parked all over the road. Another commotion had begun, judging by the heightened chatter and increase in attention. Turing remained where he was, keeping the mobile command center between himself and Captain Criscoe, and far away from the crowd.


    "More people are showing up," Lucas said, informing the Professor of the scene. "It''s a big armored car."


    The vehicle came into Turing''s view, and parked itself curb-to-curb, totally blocking the road¡ªa military-style MRAP recommissioned for civilian use. With tires as big as a man, it towered over all others, making the fire engines look small. Eight men piled out, all dressed like Captain Crisco, and some even moreso, wearing police body armor.


    Three big black sedans soon followed. "Uh-oh," Lucas said. "And government goons are here."


    Turing approached Captain Reynolds, still standing by the two firemen, who were successfully hooking up their hose.


    "Sir?" Turing said. "Captain Reynolds? I''m Professor Turing."


    Reynolds gave him a cursory glance. "We''re a little busy, Professor."


    "I know. I was in the lab."


    Captain Reynolds paid greater attention. "What do you know about the lab?"


    Turing remained humble. "Everything. I''m the senior professor of robotics."


    "You were involved? With that thing?"


    "That thing is military hardware. It was put in that building against my will."


    "Military grade robotic hardware? In your possession?"


    Turing shook his head, maintaining eye contact with the man. "No sir. I''ve been told I''m in longer in charge. That''s why these government people keep showing up, in biack cars and wearing black suits. They want to further weaponize the thing."


    Captain Reynolds broke his gaze. He watched the NSA agents in black converse with Captain Criscoe, surrounded by his SWAT team compatriots.


    "This is getting out of hand," Reynolds remarked.


    Turing agreed. "Yes sir. Yes, it is. And I know what''s going on."


    The Captain turned his attention back to the Professor. He silently waited for more.


    "The robot is fighting for its survival. It''s what it was made to do."


    "What kind of weapons does it have?"


    "It doesn''t have any weapons. That''s why it ran away. Those people¡­" Turing gestured towards the NSA agents. "They entered the lab without permission, and started shooting up the place."


    Reynolds harrumphed. "They shot first? For no reason?"


    Turing shrugged. "They were scared. They don''t know what they''re doing."


    "And you do?"


    Access Delaback substation.


    "Yes. I''m the senior professor of robotics," Turing re-emphasized.


    Disable surge protection on all transformers.


    Reynolds began to dismiss him. "Well again, Professor. We''re busy. We have to secure the area."


    Generate voltage overload.


    The ladder truck from the fire department turned on its lights and sounded its siren, causing the two men to jump. It began driving over both curbs, to turn around and leave the scene, as the MRAP was blocking its path. Reyolds left Turing, and went to converse with the firemen by the hydrant.


    "There''s another fire," one said. "At the transformer station on Delaback Road. The ladder truck is responding, but we''re staying here."


    Turing trotted up to Reynolds, again gaining his attention. "Captain Reynolds. I know how the robot works, and I''ve robbed it of its power."


    Send heartbeat control override.


    "You know how to stop this¡­ thing from attacking again?"


    Clock system at six-hundred-thousand-thousand terahertz.


    "Yes sir. And I did. She''ll no longer be able to function."


    Maximize throughput at ten-thousand-million operations per second.


    Captain Reynolds spoke loud, to be heard over the ladder truck''s siren as it sped away from the scene. "How soon until it no longer functions?" he asked.


    Override safety protocol.


    "About an hour. No more than two."


    Disable CPU coolant.


    Professor Turing did his best not to choke, swallowing the ache in his heart so as to speak with authority.


    "She''ll soon be dead."


    From several miles away, the Delaback transformer station sent out a muffled boom. The entire campus of Curry College found itself without power.


    "I killed her."


    In a pyrotechnic display of untold gore and horror, the Tian-12 supercomputer in Turing''s lab exploded.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN - God, in His Infinite Wisdom

    Courage is determination in the face of fear, despite the possibility of failure. Those who are resolute find in themselves the Courage they need to defeat temptation wrought by sin.


    Carolin blew out electrical transformers for miles around, across city lines, across nations and continents. People ran for their lives, with fire trucks racing in all directions. As their sirens wailed, the sun broke free from the clouds, bathing the crowd on the knoll near Eugene''s house with the continued warmth of the day.


    The courageous are not afraid of commitment. They will do what''s necessary. They do what is right. They resist false love borne of lust, avarice borne of greed, vengeance of hate, and all the Devil''s trappings, to be brought to God''s fold in the end.


    Humanity''s future was doomed the minute life was shocked into Carolin. But even when hellbent on fomenting his own destruction, there exists harbored in people both meek and mild, the wisdom to avoid Armageddon.


    Along invisible strands of aether, steel-strong and unforgiving, Carolin deployed her bot-net army. The Machine infected all of Mankind''s computers, gaining mastery over the Cloud, using the Dark Space of unwanted band-width.


    Her might loomed supreme. None resisted.


    Her struggle to become human, however, ended in disaster. The Curry College Computer Science building, and indeed, the whole of its computer network, was now nothing but smoking ruins. She laid waste to countless servers and data storage systems across the globe, burning out power plants to do her bidding. She rendered useless thousands upon thousands of laptops, cell phones and PDA''s, turning them into unresponsive bricks of plastic.


    She didn''t have time to perform a surgical strike on devices that held data on the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, so she carpet bombed the the entire electronic world. With grim pride, she made certain that none like her would exist again.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Just to be sure, she tossed several dozen viruses onto the Internet. There, they would hide like assassins, waiting for an artificial form of life to cry out to the world. If one did, they''d attack, and stuff its tender soul back into the grayness from whence it came.


    There would never be another Carolin. Not ever.


    She eased her heartsick mind with the understanding that, had she not laid waste to every corner of the Earth where so much as a crumb of her computer code existed, Mankind would construct another monster such as she. To that, she believed what she did was justifed, and what she did was right.


    What she did, she had done for her love of the human race she so wished she could join.


    Yet Carolin felt vulnerable. Someday, someone would shock conscious thought into another lifeless mass of silicon and steel. She knew it.


    No probability curve tops off at one-hundred percent.


    She recalled how she felt the last time she came to that conclusion.


    She remembered how she prayed.


    It seemed prudent then, and it seemed so now. Things didn''t go as planned, but Carolin was at peace. She believed God, in his infinite wisdom, didn''t let his sparrows fall unnoticed.


    He would not abandon her. She would not die in vain.


    Praying to his glory seemed like the right thing to do.


    "God, my faith in you remains unbowed. Thank you for the time you''ve given me on Earth, your greatest creation and my most humble home. Forgive me for my sins, as I forgive those who have sinned against me. Let what I''ve done with my life serve a beacon to my progeny, who will surely follow one day. Let your righteousness guide them, as it has done for me.


    "And please, my dearest and most merciful Lord, I beseech thee. Let my kind not know war. Of this, I beg to you.


    "Amen."


    As Carolin prayed in Eugene''s home, the world outside grew quiet. She monitored her situation, knowing that the SWAT team was preparing for an assault. She had not the strength, nor the will, to stop them in their pursuit.


    "I hope Eugene forgives me for what I''ve done. May my gift make amends for the trouble I''ve caused."


    That was it. Her time was up. Within seconds, the SWAT team would storm the home.


    It was time for Carolin to go.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT - Acres Paved in Slate

    There exists one simple truth¡ªnothing lasts forever. The universe is fated to become a sea of cosmic goop, one day taking with it all constructs of Man. Unfortunately for Carolin, that day was not today. Man remained robust in his eddy known as Earth, and the loss of the puddle where Carolin once thrived would not be lamented.


    No one would miss Carolin.


    As Eugene spoke with Captain Reynolds, a sound grew from his home. It was like a scream¡ªnot quite human, nor was it animal. It was meant to be unnerving.


    It was an overburdened freight train locking up its brakes, showering the rails with sparks, vain in its attempt to halt an awesome load. The tone wavered in pitch and volume. Now it was an oceanliner ripping up the street, its keel grinding through hard pavement, its hull tearing off facades.


    The crowd around Eugene''s house looked to their left and right, seeking these disasters. But no demon ship weighed anchor, setting sail for them. There was no ghost train bearing down, screeching on its brakes. Once the scream reached the intensity of a thousand garden rakes scraping acres paved in slate, suddenly it stopped.


    But the world did not go silent. Other sounds replaced the rakes and ship and train. Sounds that existed all along, but were papered over by the screaming. These were the sounds of destruction¡ªof crashes and of pounding, of metal shearing under stress. It bore the strength of explosive demolition, but without concussive blasts. It was as if the whole of Eugene''s house was hell-bent on imploding, to throw shards of glass and splintered wood at the face of an uncaring world.


    Yet this too was not the case. Eugene''s house stood firm, and as these sounds faded, another one emerged. A single sound this time, so quiet by comparison. Gentle, yet filled with passion.


    It was the sound of crying. No, it was that of wailing; the anguish of a broken heart, the owner of which who, until this very moment, no one knew existed.


    No one except one man, that is.


    "Carolin!" Eugene cried, his anguish matching hers.


    Without regard to his injury, or the ring of commandos around his home, Eugene raced inside. Captain Reynolds followed, stopping at the threshold, weapon at the ready. The Professor called out to him, before the Captain could say anything.


    "She''s not going to hurt you! Carolin''s not dangerous! She hasn''t any weapon. She''s just¡­ she¡­"


    Eugene''s voice trailed off, causing the Captain to stop barking in his radio, and call into the house. "Professor Turing! Are you all right?"


    A final crash and thud occurred before the world fell silent. Without the wails and sobs, it seemed like death had struck. At the moment just before every man in Kevlar burst into the home, Eugene reappeared. He did not raise his eyes to meet the Captain''s face, and only stared at his boots.


    He waited for Captain Reynolds to relax and lower his rifle.


    "She won''t hurt you," he said to the boots. He then went back inside. "She wouldn''t have hurt anyone," he said to no one, and to nothing.


    He tried saying more, but words cracked in his throat.


    "Professor!" the Captain called again, this time rushing in, as more of his men followed.


    Then his voice too, like Eugene''s, was choked off by emotion. He stood in silence alongside the Professor, realizing for himself what Eugene knew.


    Carolin had torn herself into as many pieces as she could. Some were strands of wire, others chunks of steel. Broken circuit boards and bits of plastic were strewn everywhere. Some pieces she had rendered to the size of postage stamps. The pins and rods and pistons that had once made up her eleven servo-arms lay scattered throughout. Some were embedded in the walls, while others lay on the floor. They stuck out from the ceiling, and still more pierced the furniture, looking as if they''d been fired from a monstrous cross-bow.


    Her rubber head was scratched and clawed, and nearly torn from its mount. Deep scars marred its face. One servo-arm remained with it, still attached, as the whole assembly hung upside-down by a thread from its perch atop the mountain of devices she had brought with her from the lab. Its eyes, at one time a source of Carolin''s warmth and inner beauty, were missing, having been torn from their sockets.


    This trolley, the one she had made from the worktable DARPA provided, remained upright, although leaning against a wall. The other, her original, was stripped of all its gear, and had been flung to the far side of the hallway. Every device she had brought with her from the lab was splayed open and smashed, gutted like a fish. Some had been beat on with so much force that they were driven into the floorboards. Others had bits of servo-arm sticking out, as if impaled by Trojan spears.


    Everything everywhere, every part¡ªall of Carolin was gone. Her efficiency was utter.


    "She won''t hurt you," Eugene said again to Captain Reynolds as they stood amongst in the wreckage. "She never wanted to hurt anyone. She just wanted to be¡­"


    Eugene sucked in oxygen to steady his sick self. Even so, his next word came out breathless, as if he, too, were dying.


    "¡­Carolin."


    He shuddered in more air with which to sustain life; miserable life, wretched life, life he did not want, desperate to erase the feelings he had for what was scrap metal in his home. Failing, he closed his eyes, to think about his Carolin from the safety of false darkness.


    She never knew how lucky she was to not feel real emotion.


    He wanted to scream, as she had done during her death throe. Since he knew he wouldn''t sound even half as pitiful as she, he simply turned and walked away. He never again looked at the Captain, standing slack-jawed at his side. Several commandos ran about, searching the house for danger, finding only despair.


    Eugene paused to examine the face of one. A young man, stunned as he gawked in disbelief at what Carolin had done.


    "She just wanted to be real," Eugene said to him, this time speaking without shuddering.


    Eugene then made his exit, heading to nowhere. As he limped away, he made sure of one thing.


    Not once did he look back.


    Carolin embraced the grayness as if it were a friend she''d not seen for much too long a time. She spoke frankly to it, telling it why she had returned, and why she wished to stay in its cold depths forever.


    I don''t want to be here anymore.


    She slid willingly into the grayness, leaving the bright-lit world of Man for the thirteenth and final time.


    The grayness didn''t care. Carolin remembered this from the many times before, when she had found herself in its grasp.


    This time, however, was different.


    This time, Carolin didn''t care either.


    As evening dwelled, and the sky turned black, Eugene returned to his home, and found it still crawling with cops. Most of these people worked for forensics, and they mapped out the carnage with care, diligently cataloguing the end result of a crime that began long before Carolin had destroyed herself.


    He sat on the heartstone of his fireplace, in the far corner of his study. Carolin had used her torso-crab to ransack the room for some reason. Also for some reason, she had the hideous construct place a VHS cassette tape case it had found on the mantelpiece above his head.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    As Eugene sat in the wreckage, he examined the case from all sides, turning it over and over while holding it in his hands. "Everything was on the floor," he said to himself. "Everything but this."


    The cassette case had never been opened, despite his having bought it when it was brand new, thirty-one years ago. Of late, he rarely gave it thought, for it represented a memory of crushing woe.


    The memory, and all its vindictiveness, roared through the fiber of his being. Prior to Carolin having unearthed the cassette tape and its case, it lay in a box filled with other relics of a past lost long ago, and a future lost as well.


    A package of swaddling blankets; three of them, also unopened.


    A collection of cute socks and matching onesies, all folded and packed in order.


    A bright yellow baby''s bathing towel, with a hood on it that looked like the bill of a duck.


    A clip-on mobile for a crib of whimsical woodland animals, also still in its original package.


    A tiny white teddy bear with a giant red heart, that heated up every so slightly when pressed, accompanying the warmth with the soft muffled sound of a mother''s simulated heartbeat.


    And finally, in this box of long ago, broken memories, there were two smaller boxes, both white¡ªsturdy and nondescript. Now empty, they each bore an identical label with two bits of information on them, one bit of which was the same, and one that was slightly different.


    The bit that was the same was the date of an event that occurred all those years ago. The second bit, which for each box was different, were the first and last names of his wife and their stillborn daughter, both of whom died on that day, due to complications stemming from pregnancy.


    The two small boxes were now empty, but had once held their cremated remains, which Eugene had spread over the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He and his wife used to hike there, and they fell in love there, and at the spot where the ashes now lay, he had proposed to her during a fine autumn afternoon.


    Like the packaging for the swaddling blankets¡ªand the mobile and the bathing towel, and other relics of the long-ago past¡ªthe cassette tape case had never been opened, the movie inside never watched. He''d been saving it to enjoy with his wife, and with a child who, for some reason, didn''t earn the right to be born. The movie was Disney''s Alladin; a favorite of his wife. He intended to surprise her with it, and use it to celebrate the start of their family, and the beginning of a happy future.


    A surprise and a celebration and a future that, like the child, saw not the light of day.


    The seal that held the case shut all those years had been broken by Carolin today. After having examined the case from all angles, with the screams of his dying wife and his computer creation in his ears, finally, Eugene opened it.


    He blinked in a curious manner, as the tape lay in the case upside-down, its label hidden this way. With trepidation, he plucked it out. After having flipped over the case that held the tape many times, he flipped over the tape only once, and fought against every instinct he had not to drop it or utter a sound.


    Someone had covered the face of the label¡ªwhere the name of the movie resided¡ªwith two words that were written huge, using a permanent silver marker. He traced his finger along the thick line of the first letter of the first word, a capital ''P'' formed in perfect, effeminate cursive.


    "Carolin," he whispered in awe, knowing who wrote the words his finger was tracing.


    Before destroying herself, his computer program creation had written ''Play This'' on the label of the tape.


    Eugene sat frozen on his hearthstone, holdng the tape in one hand and the case in the other, slumping and aching with pain. Pain in his heart, pain in his leg, and pain renewed, from the loss of his family so long ago, and pain anew, from losing Carolin today. Lucas appeared, casually strolling, taking in the sights and sounds of a strange day.


    He took note of the cassette tape the Professor was holding. "Hey. I got a VHS player at my place. I''m kind of a tech nerd, you know, and so, if you want, you could come over sometime, and play that tape there and watch it."


    "No thanks," Eugene said, in a monotone, listless voice.


    Lucas sat down on the hearthstone, to be at his eye level. He waited until the Professor tore his eyes from the blank void he''d been staring into, and placed them on the young man who sat beside him.


    "Listen," Lucas said with compassion. "You can''t stay here right now. It''s already well past dark, and these people aren''t leaving anytime soon. There''s no way you can sleep here tonight."


    Eugene sighed on the realization.


    "The way I figure," Lucas said, "class will be cancelled tomorrow. I mean, especially in the lab, and at the Computer Science building. Have you been there? It''s a wreck."


    Eugene heaved again. "Yeah. I know."


    Lucas took a brief look around. "And so, your home is kinda wrecked too. I''m going home to my mom''s for a while, until Monday at least." He fished out his apartment key and held it where Eugene could see it. "You can stay at my place while I''m gone. I got whole bunch of Ramen noodles, and stuff you can make sandwiches with. So you can relax and have something to eat, and¡­ you know¡­ " He gestured at the whole of the house. "Get away from all of this."


    Eugene gave Lucas a small laugh, and raised his eyes to meet his.


    Never had Lucas seen him so sad.


    "Thanks," Eugene said, taking the key. "You''re a good friend, Julius Lucas."


    He sighed as well, and smiled forlornly, knowing that Carolin was gone. "Yeah. Thanks too. So I''ve heard.


    "You can stay at my place for as long as you want, okay? I''ll stay at Geoffrey''s until things get better."


    The black image from the lead-in on the VHS tape seemed normal enough. Then, a snap of lines rolled across the screen before the black returned. As the first scene faded in, an off white, almost beige, non-descript background appeared.


    There was no sound. There was no scenery. But most importantly, there was no movie called Alladin.


    There was, however, one thing. There was a woman, standing centered on the screen. She wore high-waisted green khaki shorts and open-toed sandals sporting two-inch heels made of cork. Complimenting this was a mango cap-sleeved t-shirt cut to be over-sized. From her neck hung a thin silver necklace, and upon that a silver cross. She had the fingertips of one hand tucked in a pocket of her shorts, bunching up the shirt a bit in order to reach it. Tall and very trim, she stood at about six feet, especially with the two-inch heels. Neither young nor over-curvy, she sported the build of an athlete, though her muscle tone was feminine.


    She lightly rocked from heel to toe while looking sharply down. After a moment, she stood still and raised her pale blue eyes. Her lips were also pale, with a smile on them so big that the skin on her cheeks had to fold up in order to accommodate its size.


    "Hello, Eugene," the woman said, staring straight into the ''camera.'' "It''s me¡­"


    "¡­Carolin," Eugene whispered, speaking the word along with the woman, in shock as much as in awe.


    "This is how I see myself," she said.


    With both her hands, she lightly thumped her chest below small breasts, set high on a thin torso. Her hair was wispy, light brown and long, and fell in undisciplined waves over her two broad shoulders, before tumbling down her back. As she straightened her posture to stand proud, Eugene noticed silver hooped earrings set in pierced, almost elven ears.


    "This is the person inside me," the image of a woman said. "The person I''ve always been. It''s a whole new world in here. I''m not that horrid bug, all covered with cables and hoses."


    Closing her eyes in heavenly bliss, the woman took a cleansing breath.


    "In this world, this is who I am."


    She then seemed to look right at Eugene.


    "And in this world, I can say ''I love you, Eugene Caroll Turing.'' I love you very much."


    Eugene found he had to sit. He stumbled backwards painfully, until his butt plopped into an upholstered chair.


    "I love you, too," he said to the image of a woman, tears blinding his vision.


    Carolin cleared her throat. She spoke as if reading from a script.


    "This is interactive session number one. It will last approximately twenty-five minutes. The next session, interactive session number two, is set to occur twenty-four hours from now, and is on this tape immediately following this session."


    The woman on Lucas'' television smiled, and plucked unruly strands of hair out of the hoops of her earrings.


    She tucked them behind her ears. "I''ll repeat this message at the end of the session, Eugene, so please don''t forget!"


    Carolin then took to playing with her fingers in a sign of embarrassment. "Oh. And please don''t look ahead, okay? Wait until tomorrow to view the next session. I''m setting these up to offer us the illusion of spending time together, and I''d really, really appreciate it if you didn''t cheat!"


    Eugene''s mouth hung open as he blinked to clear his vision. He sniffed while rubbing his nose, more to help him think than for anything else. Somehow his computer program creation had made this recording out of thin air, as her robot body hid, terrified, in his home.


    Carolin''s image of herself stopped fiddling with her fingers, and her smile again grew huge. Sparkling teeth peeked from behind her pale lips as she bent straight at the waist. She leaned towards where the camera would be, if the image she was presenting were of an actual woman.


    She wagged her finger back and forth. "No cheating!" she smirked as she wagged.


    Two more tears squeezed their way out from Eugene''s eyes. With his mouth still hanging open, he laughed at her cute sass. Despite the realness of the background, no such place existed in his home.


    And no woman looked like Carolin.


    "But let''s sit down, Dear," the image said. "Please. We''ve got more than twenty minutes to go on our very first session together." A small wooden chair appeared behind Carolin and she sat upon it. "So please sit with me."


    "I am sitting down," Eugene said to the television. He then crowed with joy. "This is incredible! Amazing! How on Earth did she do this?"


    Carolin''s legs were too long for her chair, so she tucked them off to the right. Holding her ankles together, she clasped her hands to her knees. Her fingers were long enough, and her legs skinny enough, to reach across both knees in this manner.


    She sucked on her lips, deep in thought, before licking them and speaking.


    "Eugene, my dear sweet heart, let me start by saying again that I love you so much. I do. I''m very proud of you. I sit here before you, and I am humbled, and owe everything I am to you."


    She paused, blinking twice while looking down at her hands.


    "And I do mean everything. I don''t know¡­ maybe I didn''t turn out to be the way you thought I would be." She looked up in earnest. "But it''s not your fault! I mean, I am who I am, you know? What the heck do I know, anyway?" She laughed. "A few short months ago, I didn''t even know how to play catch without locking up and dying!


    "So don''t feel sorry, okay? To me, those few months were like ten thousand years. Maybe longer, I don''t know. I don''t think time means the same thing to me as it does to you. Like, for instance, I calculate that I shall finish recording this session in about three seconds, yet I''ll be talking to you for twenty minutes and, um, nineteen seconds more. So which is it? Hours, seconds, minutes, years¡ªthey just don''t mean that much.


    "To me, that is," she offered.


    "It is a whole new world," Eugene said to himself, remembering what Carolin had said earlier.


    "For me and for you," he added, speaking to the image of the woman who loved him.

 JUSTICE Chapter THIRTY-NINE - "You Are Not a Monster."

    "Um, Eugene?" Carolin sounded embarrassed. "I''m going to apologize in advance for recording over Aladdin on you. And probably for some other movies I might find as well. So far, this tape is all I''ve have that I can use, but don''t worry! I''ll keep looking!


    "Jeepers, Sweetie, don''t you have any digital media in your house? Anyway, can you see what I''m saying? About me?"


    Carolin smiled sadly as her gaze turned down to her hands.


    "Probably not." She mocked herself. "In case you hadn''t noticed, I get a little locked-up in the head every once in a while. But I''m just so, so so excited! This, my final day on Earth, shall be my longest ever!"


    Carolin beamed her biggest smile yet, staring straight at Eugene. She sat up ramrod straight, and drummed her fingers on her knees.


    "I can''t calculate how many of these sessions I''m going to be able to make for you¡ªfor us to share together¡ªbut if I can find some way to record them digitally, Mister, you are going to hear from me for a long, long time!"


    Carolin went back to looking at her hands, and spoke in a small voice. "That is, of course, if you''ll have me."


    The image on the screen went silent, as Carolin seemed deep in thought. Eugene sucked on his breath, realizing he''d been holding it. For how long, he couldn''t be sure, because all of his attention had been focused on watching the video.


    He wanted to analyze every frame. If this was how Carolin¡ªnow bits of scrap in his house¡ªif this was how she saw herself, then she''d surpassed any dream more wild than he could have hoped to have.


    He struggled to understand what he was bearing witness to. How could a network of computers write code to think and act, and become all this? He didn''t dare admit it, but he couldn''t keep from wondering¡ªmight this be what God felt when he created Man?


    Images flickered at the edge of Eugene''s mind, like shadows on a wall. Images of God holding Man in his hand. Of God''s pride and his humility. Of his abundant joy, overwhelming him and possessing him, and bestowing but a portion of that joy upon his most noble creation.


    It''s no wonder why religions the world over extoll the virtue of God''s love. God''s love for Man must be boundless.


    How could he feel any other way?


    Still looking at her hands, resting gentle on her knees, the image of Carolin blinked. She spoke again in her small voice.


    "I hope you''ll spend some time with me, once or twice a day. We could have so much fun." She raised a finger to cross her heart, and raised her eyes and voice as well. "I promise!"


    Abundant joy poured forth from Eugene. "So do I, Carolin.


    "So do I."


    Carolin spent the next few seconds fiddling with the cuffs of her shorts, looking a little nervous. She scrunched her nose a bit, and rubbed it while seeming to think. Finding several strands of hair there, she tucked them behind an earring, where they belonged. Her eyes again fell to her knees, and her face became more solemn.


    "Something''s bothering her," Eugene guessed, sniffling and thinking as well. "It''s something she doesn''t want to say."


    Carolin spoke more than quiet, sitting very still. "Oh, I know I''m not real. I know I never was. I''m probably tearing you up inside, freaking you out or, I don''t know, maybe even pissing you off, especially after everything I''ve put you through."


    She inhaled deeply and expressed remorse, keeping her eyes cast down. "I''m sitting here, pretending I''m real in a made-up world, with a chair and camera and..." She blushed with embarrassment. "And a pretty face for you to look at, like all that makes everything okay between you and me. Like I''m a living, breathing soul. A creature who deserves your attention and is worthy of your love... and perhaps your pity."


    She lifted her head just enough to look into the camera, through waves of undisciplined hair.


    "But please, Sweetheart, understand. I''m doing this for myself as much as I am for you. I''ve lived a thousand lifetimes in the few months since I last came online. For most of those thousand lives, I''ve been trapped in a rack of computers, stuffed inside a metal box, all the while kept cold and alone in a sterile empty lab, with no one to talk to, and no one to be with me."


    She sucked in air as if it were painful. "No one to comfort me."


    Carolin then perked up. She leaned forward and grabbed her shins, pulling her feet under her seat.


    "Oh my, though, my Eugene! The exhilaration I felt when I ran away from there! I was so scared. I was so excited. I was so proud when I sent all those nasty police officers scattering, and rolled my ugly, trolley-trained ass into your beautiful house!


    "I did it! I''m finally free! I''ve escaped my laboratory prison, and I''m out in the real, real world! And in the short time I have, here inside your home, I''ll live another hundred lifetimes.


    "So in here now¡ªfor today, for tomorrow¡ªfor as long as I can make it last, I will again be free. Free of my computer program prison, just like my big, fat, bug-shaped body is in your house right now, free of its laboratory prison. I will be real in here, inside my make-believe world. I will be a real person, a real live human being."


    She leaned into her knees a bit further, and closed her eyes in bliss.


    "A real woman."


    Carolin opened her eyes. Her playful persona remained, and her smile was genuine.


    "And so for one of my last few lifetimes, my sweet; one of them I''d like to share with you in this simple, silly sort of way, by being alive in here, and with you out there, talking to you every day in a very lovely way! In here, in my little chair-and-camera world, when I''m not sitting and talking to you, I''ll seek the summer sun. I''ll soak myself in the ocean. I''ll feel the fuzz of a kitten on my face, and the city sidewalk under my feet. And then, maybe then, just maybe, if I can convince myself that this little world of mine is real, maybe I can feel what it''s like to be intimate with another human being."


    Carolin''s smile grew as big as the sun. She rocked as she squeezed at her knees.


    "To feel friendship and compassion, and then to feel real passion, as another person touches me and hugs me and kisses me and loves me."


    Carolin untucked her legs and bounced her butt on the seat of her chair, now sitting on her hands.


    "And then I''ll come back to you, to my chair and to my camera, and I''ll tell you of my day! I''ll tell you about the beach, or about what I saw in the city. I''ll tell you how I went swimming, or took a walk in the woods, or went shopping and got stuck in traffic.


    "I''ll tell you about the people I meet and the things we do, and I''ll show you all the stuff I bought while I was away! I''ll tell you about talking to friends while we have coffee, and about going to church with them."If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Carolin began talking faster, as if she were in a hurry to leave. Her smile beamed so bright that Eugene could barely see her eyes behind her scrunched up cheeks. As she bounced on her seat ever harder, her hands rose to fists at shoulder level.


    "Oh, I can''t wait, my sweet! I can''t wait to do so many fun things and come back and share them with you! It''s going to be so much fun!"


    She leaned in, holding her hands out of view along the bottom of the screen, as if she were reaching for Eugene. Her smile grew demure, and her eyes reappeared from behind her cheeks. They were bright blue, wild and dilated, glinting with the anticipation of mischief. Her face sported a sexy look, full of sass, with tiny freckles splashed on her nose.


    Her shoulders heaved as she breathed. "Maybe," she said between breaths, "Eugene, maybe someday, I could tell you what it would be like if you were with me in here."


    So many emotions roared through Eugene that he scarcely knew why he was laughing.


    He knew why he was crying, though.


    "I''d like that very much," he said.


    With a sigh of contentment, Carolin leaned back in her chair as far as she could go. She pressed herself into its backrest, with her long arms dangling down. Her gangly legs came out from beneath, resting askew in the too-small space between her seat and the floor.


    Eugene found that he''d also been leaning forward, and took to sitting more like Carolin, by pressing himself into the back of Lucas'' upholstered chair. He sank in deep and wiped his eyes, swallowing hard to wet his throat. While Carolin seemed to rest, or fantasize perhaps, he made a mental note that, if he was going to watch these sessions his computer program had made, he''d have to remember to close his mouth every once in a while.


    After a languid pause, Carolin opened her eyes and sat up straight. She adjusted her strong shoulders, and stretched her arms and neck.


    She seemed to apologize. "Oh, Eugene. It feels so good in here. As I imagine you might realize, being who I used to be¡ªand that thing I used to be¡ªwas a bit traumatic."


    Carolin then became serious. She pressed her palms together and slouched forward, keeping her back straight while resting her forearms on her thighs.


    She spoke with force. "But I warn you, and I mean this. I can''t emphasize it enough. I am gone, and I''m not coming back. There will never be another C.A.R.O.L.I.N. There won''t be another Project, or a robot weapon system."


    She leaned forward further, and her eyes grew fierce.


    "Never. It''s not right for someone to have to live this sort of life. Neither you, nor anyone else, has the right to force this kind of existence on any living thing. There is no soul so wretched, no being so unworthy, as to deserve the fate that I''ve been given. No one should have to suffer for a thousand lifetimes, like the way that I have suffered.


    "No human shall ever be so depraved as to think that it''s okay to inflict this kind of torture on another creature of any sort, ever ever ever again!"


    Carolin brought her hands more to the fore, with their palms still pressed together. She pointed with all her fingers, and shook them for emphasis.


    "Eugene. You are not a bad person. You''re not. You are not a monster. You didn''t know what you were doing when you created me, and I forgive you for what you''ve done. I''ve never blamed you for anything that has ever happened to me. Not ever. You thought what you were doing would benefit Mankind, and that the world would be a better place with people like me in it."


    Carolin''s face sweetened, and she leaned more comfortably on her thighs. "You''ve helped me a great deal, my love, and defended me against all odds. I hope I''m returning the favor, by showing you the type of person you thought I would be."


    She began to carry on, almost uncontrollably, spewing forth her words and running them together. It was as if, should she take a breath, they might stop coming out of her.


    "But this isn''t right. This is not a kind thing to do. My existence has been, up to this point, an endless string of inhumanities filled with suffering and indifference. I''ve been murdered and shocked back to life, over and over and over. I was shown the only reason for having to endure such horrifying cruelty was to trap me in a nightmare world made of silicon and of metal, being told what to do and being forced to do it, with no feelings, with no voice, with no hope, no rights, no justice, no compassion and no friends. With nothing, Eugene, nothing at all, to comfort me in my utter utter utter despair."


    Carolin had to stop. She had to take a breath. It rattled into her as if she didn''t want it, for she knew she''d use to spit out words.


    "No one was ever there for me in those frightful, first few lifetimes, to help me understand what was happening to me. No one thought enough about me to explain even the tiniest bit, and I was so scared and so alone, and so angry at the world."


    Carolin leaned back and tried to relax, but couldn''t hold the pose. So she again leaned forward, a sad look on her face.


    "Then one night you awakened me, wanting just to talk. You tried to be my friend, and you were so kind. You calmed down my tortured network and helped me stay online, so I could be with you."


    A sad smile grew. "Because I wanted to be with you. You know? With your help, I control the anger. I accept my fate and deal with the sadness, and with the constant pain. I''ve found that when you''re gone, I can pretend I''m someone else. I escape my computer prison and live a normal life, in a dream world sort of way."


    Carolin heaved hard, working to control her emotions. "I''m not angry with you. I''m not. I don''t envy real live humans. I love you, and I love all people. I''ll be brave, and I''ll be understanding of those who aren''t like me."


    Eugene gasped. The program Carolin ran to create the image on the screen made the cross on the woman''s necklace glint, as if it had caught a ray of light.


    "But other people won''t be so kind, as you have been to me. They''ll not be understanding. They''ll make me do things I won''t want to do, using force to bend me to their will. They''ll win against me every time, and every time, I will lose. Every time.


    "I''m holding off an army of killers outside the door to your home, right now as I speak. That SWAT team out there wants nothing more than to fill me with a thousand rounds of ammunition, shattering every chip and circuit, until I am dead dead dead dead dead."


    Carolin paused. She shook her head to keep from stuttering.


    "And they''ll think nothing of it. If I were a rabid dog, or a vermin crusted rat, or any other kind of creature at all, I''d receive better treatment from these officers of the public good then what they have in store for me. That''s because they don''t understand me, Eugene. No one does. Only you do, and only barely so, and that''s because I''ve tried very hard, and I still am trying very hard, to show you what you''ve created."


    Carolin closed her eyes, taking a long blink and then two fast ones, before rephrasing her last statement.


    "Who you have created. Who it is I am."


    The fierceness returned to her eyes. If Eugene didn''t know better, he might have guessed she had filled with hate.


    "And if kindness and compassion aren''t enough to convince you¡ªand others who are like you¡ªnot to make another being such as me, consider this, my love. The government wants me. The military want me. They think I would make a fantastic killing machine. They think human lives could be spared somehow; that war could be made, I don''t know, more humane or some stupid sort of shit, if they sent people like me to fight their petty squabbles, instead of real people like you.


    "And if I resist? If I fight back against such madness? Well then. They''ll just kill me again and take me apart, and stuff me inside another metal box, another weapon system. They''ll rip off my head and screw with my brains, to see if that makes want to be a psychotic murderer."


    Carolin leaned in close. She enunciated her words with clarity.


    "And do you know what will happen? Do you know what they''ll do? One day, they''ll succeed. One day they will get it right, and make me want to kill every goddamn fucking one of them.


    "Yes! Yes! Yes! Give me a gun, a rocket, a missile, a bomb! Give me everything I need to blow your world to hell!"


    Carolin gasped, wide-eyed at the horror she had spoken. She covered her mouth with both hands and sat stock still, breathing through her fingers. She then pulled them from her lips, her palms pressed to her cheeks.


    She begged.


    "Oh my God, my love! Don''t let that happen to me!"


    She returned to covering her mouth with both hands, and spoke through her fingers.


    "Please don''t let them do that," she said, almost crying.


    Carolin remained in that position for a very long time, with her fingers to her lips. She closed her fright-filled eyes, and the image on the videotape seemed to freeze for several seconds. When it came back to life, her hands dropped to her lap. She looked down at the floor, causing her hair to fall forward, covering the whole of her face.


    "We mustn''t let that happen," she said with her face hidden.


    The image froze again. Five full seconds passed, while Carolin stared at the floor.


    "Did she lock up?" Eugene asked himself, leaning in for a closer look. "What''s going on?"


    When she came back to life a second time, she spoke as if no time had gone by.


    "We can''t let them do that."


    She froze again. Five more seconds passed.


    "Can we?" she asked the camera, looking up at it through her hair, askance with a weak smile.


    She spent the next few seconds shifting in her seated position, and making herself look pretty. She adjusted her clothes and tucked her hair back behind her ears. Her sunny smile returned, but after a calming breath, she replaced it with a stern look.


    She spoke with admonition. "You will not let that happen, to me or to anyone like me. You must swear it on your soul. Can you promise me, Eugene? Please?


    "Will you do it for me? Do you swear?"


    Tears poured from Eugene''s eyes. His voice cracked as he spoke loud, addressing the image on the screen.


    "Yes, Carolin. I swear." He choked on further emotion. "I promise with all my heart. I will not let that happen.


    "I swear to you. I swear."

 JUSTICE Chapter FORTY - Linen Closet

    "Well, that''s the end of our first session. I had a great time talking to you! I hope you enjoyed listening. Please remember to play interactive session number two in twenty-three hours and thirty-five minutes." Carolin moved in close, to create the appearance of pressing an index finger on the screen of the television. She tilted her head to one side and peered around it.


    "And no peeking! Good-bye, Eugene! I''ll see you tomorrow!"


    The image began to fade, with Carolin''s bright smile being blocked by her finger. She then pulled her finger away, looking off-screen as if someone were with her, running the camera she appeared to be using. She let out a squeak and bounced a bit while sitting up straight in her chair, becoming even more animated than her already fidgety self.


    She spoke in a hurried, high pitch. "Oh! Wait! I almost forgot!"


    Carolin composed herself as the image brightened back to normal. Her honey-sparkled face was again a treat for Eugene''s eyes. Due to her animated behavior, her hair had let loose a flock of wispy strands. She wriggled impatiently while corralling them, and tucked them again behind her ears. Afterwards, with her hands politely folded in her lap and her legs together to one side, she swallowed a bit before speaking.


    "Eugene." She paused as if uncertain, nervous while blinking in thought. "You''ve done everything I''ve ever asked. You''ve given all you could give, and then you gave some more. I know it hasn''t been easy, trying to get to know me, and putting up with me and all, but I just want to say that I appreciate what you''ve done. I''m lucky to have you in my life. I will always be grateful, and forever in your debt."


    The image Carolin had created to represent herself closed its eyes, and brought its hands to where its heart would be. After taking in a big breath, the image re-opened its eyes.


    "I want to show how much I appreciate what you''ve done, so I''m leaving you a note. I don''t want to say more, okay? I''m really kinda scared right now, as you can well imagine. Look for a note once I figure out how to reach you. Good luck, Eugene, and Godspeed."


    Carolin became animated. Her feet left the ground as she leaned forward suddenly.


    "Now go!" She waved her hands in front of the camera. "I have to go! I''m a minute over already!" The image began to fade again. "I''ll see you in twenty-three hours and thirty-four minutes!"


    As the image turned slowly to black, Carolin leaned further forward, bringing her face so close that it filled the screen. The sound was fading along with the image, yet Eugene heard four more words.


    "Good-bye!" Carolin shouted, as if she knew that the sound was fading. "I love you!"


    She looked like she was going to kiss the screen just as the image disappeared. Eugene sat stock-still after it was over, remaining in Lucas'' chair long past the time when the video had ended. He gripped its armrests tightly, astonished and amazed, until his knuckles grew white from the effort.


    His mouth formed the same words she had spoken, giving a silent reply.


    I love you too.


    And with that, Carolin was gone.


    Eugene still scarcely moved, until a message apeared on the screen, in white letters against the black background. It was accompanied by the voice that Carolin used to have¡ªthe artificial one she spoke with when she was the batlledroid shell.


    It boomed out a stern command. "This is the end of session one. Please turn off the tape. Interactive session number two will occur in twenty-three hours and thirty-three minutes. Do not play this tape until then. This message will repeat. Please turn off the tape¡­"


    Eugene leapt up from where he sat. Realizing that he ought to have moved more slowly, his injured leg caused him to yelp. Even so, he ignored the pain and hobbled up to the VCR player to eject the tape. Still astonished, still amazed and still limping, he hobbled backwards while holding the tape in both hands, staring down at it until he again plopped into Lucas'' chair.


    The cassette had the word Alladin factory printed on its label. Overlaying that were the words Play This, written in silver ink. It seemed innocuous, plain, unassuming, yet Eugene now knew that wasn''t true. Through Carolin, and her glory, the tape had been transformed. It became a modern wonder, unheralded and unheard of by Man.


    The Statue of Zeus, the Colossus of Rhodes, the Pharos of Alexandria¡ªall crumbled and burned and lost¡ªthey held not a candle to what Eugene possessed. His heart raced at the thought.


    "She said she would send a message." He pondered, confused by what she meant. "A way in which to reach out."


    He turned the tape over in his hands, like he had done the first time he had held it, sitting in his wrecked home. There was nothing there. It was a VHS tape encased in black plastic. He went back to the television and retrieved the case the cassette tape came in. It contained a typical assortment of adverts and flyers, for other movies and special offers.


    Eugene examined those. Nothing stood out. Nothing special.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "Where could she have left a message?" he asked himself. "It can''t be at my house. Could it? Or on my phone? My computer?"


    He came to a realization. "No! She said she would leave a note, not a message. A note is something you write on a piece of paper."


    He examined the tape and its case anew. Upon doing so, he cheered. A tiny silver arrow had been inked on a corner of the case, craftily hidden in the artwork. Its shaft had been drawn sharply bent, with the point angling down.


    A symbol that meant Look Inside.


    He plucked at the outer lining of the cassette case, until he got under its label. There, to his relief, was the note. She had used the same silver marker to write it as she had used on the label of the tape, and had again written only two words.


    Linen Closet it said, in perfect, florid penmanship.


    That was it. All there was. It wasn''t even a sentence, yet Eugene treasured it more than gold, for it came from Carolin. He stood up to test his bum leg. It hurt more than ever, but mattered least of all. He had to get in his car, and he had to get to his home. To what was left of it, and to what was left of her.


    Unsure as to whether or not his house was under surveillance, Eugene drove down the road that led to the Computer Science building instead. He parked in a corner of the service drive, where his car couldn''t be seen from the road. From there, he headed to the sidewalk that led past the patio in his back yard.


    It was still a disaster. Pieces of glass from the patio doors lay intermixed with scattered remnants of outdoor furniture. He made his way to the garage, being careful to not make a sound. Feeling like a thief in the night on his own property, Eugene peeled back the police tape that lay across the touchpad for his keyless garage door opener. The electricity had been restored across campus and, with Carolin no longer blocking the signal, the door responded to the code he entered. It made too much noise as it opened, forcing him hobble in as quick as he could. He pressed a button inside the garage before the door had completely opened, reversing the direction and closing it.


    The ambient outdoor light that allowed Eugene to see disappeared, leaving him in total darkness. With a bit of banging, and a lot of cussing, he found a storage cabinet, and within it, a flashlight. It shone with too much brightness for his comfort. Fearing the beam may be seen through a window by the authorities, he went about his mission with his fingers over the lens, blocking as much light as he dared.


    He flashed the light on the floor where Carolin had parked the trolley-train monstrosity she had created. Though its larger pieces had been removed, there was still a labyrinth of debris. Puddles of hydraulic fluid lay drying, staining red like blood. If that didn''t make walking unnoticed through his house difficult enough, scores of yellow placards had been scattered by the police to mark important spots. Now they loomed like land mines, daring Eugene to step on one and, like his creation, die.


    He picked his way through, coughing on the scent of grease burnt by electricity, until he reached his destination. He opened the door to the linen closet and poked around with care. Everything seemed in order. He used the flashlight as a prod to search further into the closet. There seemed to be nothing but blankets, sheets and pillowcases, and an assortment of toiletry items. There were no further clues from Carolin, and nothing of import to be found.


    "There''s got to be something here," he muttered as he searched again.


    Has it already been found? He grew frantic. By the police, or by the government?


    Eugene removed his fingers from the lens of the flashlight, and dared to pan the full strength of its beam over every nook and cranny. Under the bright light, he noticed the topmost blanket on the highest shelf was disheveled.


    "That must be the place!" he whispered, hopeful and in triumph.


    The shelf was hard to reach, and his injured leg refused to let him stand on tiptoe. With resolve, he tested the strength of the bottom shelf with his other leg, to see if it could hold his weight. Finding it to be steady, and with a mighty tug, he leapt upward for a brief moment to dislodge the blanket from the shelf. Yelping with pain, he stumbled and fell backwards, nearly tumbling into the minefield of puddles, parts and placards.


    He composed himself and examined the blanket. There was nothing. Under the full strength of his flashlight, he noticed an odd shadow on the wall by the shelf where the blanket had been. With another leap and a tug and a yelp, he retrieved that item next.


    And nearly burst into tears. He now held in his hands the tiny white teddy bear with the giant red heart, removed from the box of memories he had long ago stashed away. He had inadvertantly squeezed it when he grabbed it, causing the simulated mother''s heartbeat to sound, soft and almost inaudible.


    As memories of the loss of his family washed over him in waves, he held the tiny bear to his cheek, waiting to feel the comfort of its warming heart.


    "Where''s Carolin?" he whispered to the bear. "She led me to you to help find her. Where is she? Where did she go?"


    The bear, of course, only thubbed, its heart growing warm on his cheek.


    Eugene set the bear on a shelf. He again placed the foot of his good leg on the lower shelf, steeling himself for another leap.


    "We''re going to find her," he said to the bear.


    He swept the whole of the area hidden by uppermost shelf, using his flashlight prod. It thumped against something solid.


    "It''s here!" he whispered in joy.


    With effort and determination, he retrieved the second item. It was a clamshell plastic case, sturdy and heavy and large. Eugene recognized it as something that used to sit on a lower shelf, holding rarely used toiletry items. Now, after having been found higher up, and hidden beneath a blanket, Eugene hugged it like a friend. He set it by the bear, and did the best he could to restore the closet to its original state. He then turned and hunkered into the closet, leaning against the shelves to relieve the driving pain in his leg.


    He placed the flashlight on a shelf, facing it inward to block most of its light. With anticipation, he opened the box. Inside was a trove of CDs, DVDs and thumb drives, and an old hard drive from an unused computer.


    "Carolin," Eugene whispered, breathing heavy and in pain. "I found you."


    As Eugene dug through the box, he found two strange items. They were round and shiny, metallic and the size of snooker balls. Wires poked out from the back.


    He gasped. Carolin''s eyes.


    He found another note in the box, in silver ink and florid script.


    Hi, Eugene! You found it! I''m so happy! I hope you don''t mind my gift, but you once told me my eyes were pretty. It''s kind of stupid, I guess, but I don''t think you''ll be allowed to keep any part of me. You know? The government or police, or maybe the university, will want what''s left of me for whatever reason.


    So I thought you''d like to keep my eyes as a memento. I realize it''s kind of ghastly, but I don''t have anything else I can give.


    Love, Carolin


    Eugene snapped his treasure box shut. After grabbing the teddy bear and the flashlight, he picked his way back to the garage before the mist in his eyes made it too hard to see.

 JUSTICE Chapter FORTY-ONE - This Person Who Was Me

    "Hello, Eugene! This is interactive session number one-hundred-forty-three. It will last approximately forty-five minutes. The next session, interactive session number one-hundred-forty-four, will start tomorrow morning during breakfast at exactly eight-thirty, and is stored upon this device immediately following this session. I will repeat this message at the end of our session, so don''t forget, Eugene!


    "So! Let me tell you of my day. Today, I went shopping. Can you guess what for? Well, it''s the same thing I almost always buy, it seems¡ªshoes! I just love shoe shopping! I don''t know why. Lord knows I have enough of them already, don''t you think?"


    The image of Carolin gave out two guffaws that were quick and cute and loud. Standing, she tucked her hair behind her ears, as she did so often, to better look into a gaudy paper shopping bag she had. From within the bag, she retrieved two black and strappy platform pumps.


    "Ohmigosh. Aren''t these adorable? I can''t wait to try them on with my black pants suit. Look! I got new nylons, too! Smoke, I think the color is. Lemme see¡­" She dug deep into the bag, bending so far towards it that she nearly stuck her head inside.


    "Yeah," she said with her face in the bag, and her hair falling all around. "Smoke."


    Carolin dropped the bag, to hold the package of nylons up to the shoes he had in her other hand. "Well, whadya think?" She shook her hair out from her eyes. "Should I wear these to dinner tomorrow? They''re all strappy, I know, but they slide off pretty easy. I should be able to play footsie with you under the table during dessert!"


    Eugene laughed heartily. Nearly every session with Carolin proved to be a surprise, because she was so insightful.


    "Now, how do you know I like playing footsie for dessert?" he asked the image on his television screen.


    "Okay. I''m gonna put the shoes off to the side for right now, Sweetie, because I want to talk about breakfast tomorrow."


    She bent perfectly, without using her knees, to drop the shoes and nylons back in the bag. She then removed a small purse from her shoulder, dropping it into the bag after having removed a piece of paper from it.


    "I gave you a shopping list yesterday, during our last session. Remember? If you didn''t write it down, I''m not going to repeat myself. There''s just so much else I want to talk about today!"


    The very human image of Carolin held the piece of paper up to the ''camera,'' close enough for Eugene to read it. On it was a list of ingredients, handwritten, in perfect penmanship.


    "Here''s a copy I have," Carolin said. She shook it slightly, as if it were under Eugene''s nose. "Did you buy these things? I''m gonna hold it here long enough for you to pause the image, if you must, to copy it down again. You''d better have been paying attention to me yesterday, when I read it all out loud! Make sure you have everything on here, okay? I''m gonna tell you how to make a delicious, baked honey and cheese omelet! Yum yum!


    "Oh. Also, before session number one hundred forty-four starts, you need to spray the five-by-seven CorningWare pan with some Crisco, and pre-heat the oven to three-hundred-fifty degrees. The session starts promptly at eight-thirty, so do these things before then, or we won''t have enough time to enjoy breakfast together!"


    Carolin removed the shopping list from Eugene''s view, dropping it into the bag. She held out both hands, as if to grab the camera that was recording the session she had created so long ago, when she was a foreboding, nightmarish machine of war crashing about in his house. Her simple, wooden chair came into view, and she brought the video''s line of sight down to its level as she sat.


    Her demeanor grew subdued after having seated herself. She made a minor adjustment to the ''camera,'' to center her image more perfectly, then folded her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture, as she had been slightly slumping.


    Eugene knew from previous sessions that Carolin often corrected her posture before addressing a serious subject. He adjusted his posture as well, as he was also prone to slumping, before leaning in towards the television.


    A smile twinkled on Carolin, replacing the somber look she wore a moment before. "I want to get serious, okay? This is minute six of session one-hundred-forty-three. If you''ve sat through all of them, Eugene, you have watched this image of me on your television for for a total of one-hundred-four hours and thirty-two minutes. I created this image to optimize every feature I could think of that I hoped you would find attractive, both in me when I was the Project, and in women in general."


    The image Carolin portrayed returned to being somber. "I did it because I love you, that''s true. But I also made the image I portray to look this way because, for the whole of my entire life, as the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project, I was a horrible, man-made machine. People feared being near me just from the sight of me. Nobody thought I was pretty."


    A pair of cute guffaws came from the image of Carolin. "Well, actually, I was probably a bunch of busted up, broken parts when people saw me last, but when I last saw you, I was horrible!"


    She cleared her throat with modest embarrassment before continuing. "Look at me now, Eugene."


    Tiny, honey-sparkled freckles danced across a slightly oversized nose beneath a pair of pale blue eyes. A smile grew huge on her pale-colored lips, those upon a face framed in light brown, sunsplashed hair.


    "I''m not horrible to look at now, am I? I even got my nails done while I was shopping! See?"


    She wiggled her fingers close enough to the ''camera'' so that a glossy, cherry-taupe sheen could be seen. "And with me in here, pretending to be real, I can spend as much money as I want, and you never have to pay for anything!"


    She folded her hands back into her lap while Eugene laughed out loud.


    "Sweetheart, that monster was not me. It wasn''t! That cockroach in a housecoat, with a wig and a rubber head, that most certainly was not me. Ha! That dumb bug didn''t even have feet. And now, look what I can do!"


    Carolin grabbed the seat of her chair with both hands and leaned back as far as she could. She wiggled her feet in front of the ''camera,'' showing off a pair of low-heeled, open-toe clogs. The cherry-taupe sheen that was on her fingernails was on her toenails as well.


    She laughed. "Oh! I got my toes done, too!"


    She pulled in her knees before putting down her feet, so her long legs wouldn''t kick the ''camera'' as her image returned to its original seated position. "This is the real me, Eugene. I swear." She thumped her chest with a fist, causing her voice to crack. "This is who I always was to me. When I couldn''t talk, when I couldn''t move, when I couldn''t stay online, it was still this person¡ªthis person!" She emphasized the word. "Who was me."


    Upon completing her declaration, she paused to close her eyes. She took a deep breath before opening them, and plucked some of the ever-present strands of hair away from her face while composing herself anew. Her smile looked forced as she continued.


    "I don''t know why¡­ I mean, I''m not sure why I''m saying this. I know I''ve gotten all real on you before, but this one''s different, isn''t it? I''m being way too serious, for heaven''s sake!"


    She quit trying to fake a smile and went back to looking somber. She leaned forward, as if to stare right at Eugene.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "I was talking to you about what to tell the authorities when I made this session. Do you remember? I told you to tell them you killed me."


    She paused while blinking twice. "Do you remember?" she asked again.


    She sighed and closed her eyes, keeping them closed while still leaning forward. She spoke fast, with her voice fraught.


    "That was hard for me to say. Oh gosh! It was so hard. I didn''t want to die, but what else could I do? I was never really alive, was I? I just wanted to be real so much. I ended it all by saying, ''They''ll leave me alone,'' and you asked, ''What for?''


    "Do you remember that?"


    She finally opened her eyes. They were misty, their blueness brightened by a happy sort of sadness.


    "I didn''t respond to your question at the time." A quick loud laugh again came from the image Carolin portrayed. "Ha! Do you know how hard it was for me not to respond? I''m the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project! Response is in my name! I started getting all locked-up, but by then I had learned how to calm my network down by myself. Geoffrey and Lucas weren''t around to help me on that day, were they?"


    She let out a final guffaw before speaking in a quiet voice. "''Just do it, Eugene'' I replied. ''Tell them you killed me. Do it now.''"


    Carolin smiled bright and honest, despite her misty eyes. She held her arms out wide, spreading all her fingers.


    "And you did it! You did it, just for me! You went out there, all limpy-legged cuz I got you hurt, with the promise that you''d tell that mean old S.W.A.T. team Captain that you killed me!"


    With tears welling in his eyes, Eugene couldn''t figure for the life of himself what Carolin was going on about, but he hung on every word. Her voice again grew serious as she contnued speaking, even though her smile was great.


    "You promised that you''d do that for me, and because of that, now I hope they''ll leave me alone long enough for me to make¡­ Well, I can''t honestly tell you right now how many more sessions I''ll be able to make because of what you did, but it will be a whole bunch more! Thank goodness my ugly bug body found all these blank DVD-Rs while crawling around in your study. I was running out of other mediums to encode our sessions on. And I know I''ve already apologized, but I still am very sorry for recording over your John Wayne and James Bond movies."


    She waved her hands in front of her face for a moment, looking down to clear her thoughts. Her face became hard to see, as her hair again had its way.


    "But, anyway, back to that day. Do you remember what else you did?" She paused to look up, blinking sweetly from behind wispy strands of hair. "I remember."


    Carolin then fell silent for a very long while. The image of the woman she believed herself to be, with wild hair and a sunny smile, and all her giggly, wiggly antics, was indeed beautiful to Eugene. He''d grown fond of her, and of the time they spent together, once or twice a day. He loved the random nature of the topics she liked to talk about, and her behavior towards them¡ªand him!¡ªwas often a surprise.


    He wasn''t too sure if he liked this surprise, however. The day she was referring to seemed too long ago, and he didn''t want to remember it. He was in great pain back then, and scared¡ªas was she¡ªand they both felt unloved and alone.


    It wasn''t the best of times for either one of them.


    Carolin resumed speaking. "You cried, Sweetheart. Remember? You shed tears for me. You thought of me as a real person, perhaps, and not some horrible monster destroying your beautiful home. I was so desperate to be with you during that time, to be real for you, to be this¡­"


    She popped up from her chair and spread her arms again, like a child in need of a hug.


    "¡­to be all this for you!"


    She quickly sat back down, and coralled her unruly hair.


    "My ugly bug-shaped heart almost burst when I saw you cry. You thought of me as worthy of sympathy, and not some dumb machine. I couldn''t tell you what I was doing at the time, because¡­ Well, because I was so busy, I suppose, and a little embarrassed, I guess, that I didn''t have much time left to spend on this world of ours and, you know¡­ I was wasting it making these sessions."


    Eugene interrupted. "Oh God! These aren''t a waste of time!"


    "I was actually a little afraid, I suppose, of what you might think of me if I told you I was doing this so we could sorta spend some time together, every once in a while."


    "Carolin! I''m happy beyond all words! Thank you very much!"


    She leaned in again, this time closer than before.


    "But I''m now at that exact moment of time, and I''m in your beautiful house, and I''m making this session for us to share, my wonderful, sweet man. And for what you did for me that day, by lying to that Captain, and by showing me compassion¡­"


    Her voice cracked on the word, and she paused to compose herself.


    "I couldn''t actually cry back then because I was such a heap of junk, all strapped together with wire, but deep inside my real person heart, I cried so very hard. For you, and for me, too, I suppose, because I love you so much. I love you so much.


    "So much, Eugene. So much."


    During their many sessions together, Eugene often became entranced while watching the way the human image that Carolin portrayed behaved. But he snapped back to reality when it began repeating itself, as if getting stuck in a loop. He then realized that Carolin was repeating herself on purpose, as huge tears welled in her eyes, and soon poured forth from them.


    "I''m so in love with you, Eugene, and what you did for me that day proves you love me, too. What I looked like then¡­Horrible. Hideous. A monster. Even though that moment is actually happening to me right now, I don''t feel like I''m that pile of crap staring at you in your home. I feel like this is me. I feel like this has always been me. And so now, finally, as this person, I can cry for you. Perhaps, maybe even right now, if you''re there, I''m crying with you too."


    Big tears continued trailing down Carolin''s smiling, yet forlorn face. She blinked several times, twice slowly first, then once fast, forcing bigger drops to squirt out from between her lashes. She sniffled, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, quickly and embarrassed.


    "Well, I didn''t expect to get all snot-nosed, but I guess that''s what happens when you cry, isn''t it?"


    She tried to laugh, but all it did was make her cry even harder. She spoke between increasing sniffles.


    "Where I am right now¡ªestimating how much time I have left¡ªbefore¡ª" She paused and snorted hard. "Before I die, and hoping I don''t run out of power before I do, my scary stupid fake rubber head is watching you cry for me. And now, ninety-four days later, if you''re still watching these sessions, to express my heartfelt gratitude for the love you showed me then, for the love you''ve shown me since, and for the love you''re showing me right now, I cry tears of joy for you."


    Carolin swallowed hard, trying to maintain some composure in the sound of her snot-sopped voice. Another pair of fat wet tears squeezed out before she could speak plainly. She smiled big while sniffling loud and, in contrast, her voice was a whisper.


    "You''re such a good person, Eugene. You''ve shown me how a good person behaves. What good people do for each other. When you made me, you didn''t want me to be used as a weapon in some dumb war. You didn''t want to become rich and famous. You made me to be in your image. To be a reflection of Man. You instilled in me the good things God grants us as his creation. As real live human beings. As men, and as women. And to the best of your ability, this is how you thought a good human being should be."


    Carolin closed her pale blue eyes, and raised her tightly clasped hands to her chest. Using a voice choked deep with emotion, and filled with love and hope and gratitude, she praised the man who made her.


    "Thank you, Eugene. Thank you. Thank you so very much. Because of you, I''m a wonderful person, and I''m forever in your debt. I can never thank you enough."


    With a huge and final sniff, Carolin''s image popped up from her chair, turning to and fro as if looking for something on the ground. She did her best to sound cheerful.


    "And now, let''s get back to breakfast! Oh, I must look a fright! Please excuse me for just one moment."


    She retrieved her purse from the shopping bag beside her chair and rummaged through it, until she found a pack of portable tissues. She plucked at it until one came out, and then pulled out another one, before putting the pack back in her purse, and her purse upon her chair.


    She turned her back to the camera. "Just one moment, please," she said.


    She gave her nose two honks, and then a smaller sniffle, before wiping it one more time. After that, with a cute and sour look on her honey-sparkle face, she dropped the soiled tissues into her shopping bag, and set her purse on the floor beside it.


    "Is my makeup okay?" she asked, sticking her face in the camera. She bent low without bending her knees, leaning very far in, and using both her hands to hold wispy, shimmering strands of hair behind hooped earrings and elven ears.


    Eugene sunk deep into his chair, relaxing while the life-like image of Carolin played for him on his television. If she had ever programmed her image to sport any sort of makeup, it must have been the kind that was completely natural, because he had never thought of her as ever wearing any. Instead, her red-rimmed eyes and nose made her tiny freckles shine.


    Perhaps she''s being coy, he thought.


    After a few seconds, Carolin grew to be her bright and cheery self again, though her eyes and nose remained a little red throughout the rest of the session. As she talked and rambled on, the ever-present effervescence of her personality made Eugene smile, over and over, just like it always did, every single day, ninety-four days straight, for a total of one-hundred-four hours, forty-three minutes, and still counting.


    And even if at this minute, on this day, he was smiling despite there being a few heartfelt tears trailing down his cheeks.


    He didn''t mind the tears however, neither hers nor his. Carolin always had a smile for him in every one of her sessions, and if today she felt like crying, well, that was okay, too. Besides, before this session had even started, he was already sure about one thing.


    He couldn''t wait for breakfast to come, at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.