《SuperUser》 1. V.I.P. * * * Britt recalls him fondly from her time at Sydney U. Her favorite professor, Dr. Addison¡ªNick, as he¡¯d encouraged students to address him. She¡¯d taken his Pseudohuman Ethics class her freshman year. Like most, she¡¯d chosen it for its reputation as an easy A. Lecture, according to the syllabus, had centered on the manufacture and use¡ªor enslavement and torture, as the PETA-types saw it¡ªof Cerebro-Organoids[1]. It was ostensibly a Humanities credit, but, being the prodigally polymathic¡ªnot to mention tenured¡ªprofessor that he was; with Sydney U giving him the leeway it did at the time, Dr. Addison had turned the focus of his class far far beyond discussion of those hapless blobs of lab-grown greymatter. That neural goo had already seen bonafide computational application for nearly 3 decades by that time, and, in a more constrained fashion, even 15 years before that. By his measure, it was hardly a brave new frontier of scientific inquiry. Instead, Nick had turned the spotlight in more controversial directions. Namely onto The Problem of Non-Emergence, focus of his many pet-theories, and controversial because it was considered a dead avenue, a solved game, a waste of student time and university money. Synthetic Phenomenology Studies hadn¡¯t been a thing for nearly 15 years. Nevertheless, he persisted, and his students, forced to truly think and understand rather than merely learn and know, were the better for it. A class of esoteric philosophy by any other name. And while philosophy, however abstruse, is the meat and potatoes of any ethics class, had University administration known exactly how deep into tangential material Dr. Addison was diving, they might¡¯ve put a stop to it. As indeed they did just a few years later, but not before Britt had been swept off her intellectual feet. She had changed majors, much to her parents chagrin, from respectable¡ªand potentially quite profitable¡ªBioChem Engineering, to alternatingly in- and out-of-vogue again Algorithmic Systems & Computational Interface Sciences [2]. She¡¯d been positively smitten with the man¡¯s ideas; perhaps, even, with the man himself. Under his tutelage they¡¯d made significant detours from established curriculum; she¡¯d investigated the phenomenon, or rather lack thereof, of emergent consciousness in machine systems; making sure to keep these deviations from prevailing zeitgeist strictly between themselves. Her perfunctory dissertation defense had proved satisfactory in the end. She¡¯d written her paper, Facilitating Optimized Efficiencies Through Tactical Implementation Of Quantum Decoherence In Synthetically Entangled Systems [3], over the course of a single weekend, needing only 3 gallons of coffee to do so; finally earning the title of Doctor herself, a prefix that she, unlike her mentor, very much enjoyed hearing spoken in full. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Now, almost 10 years into a life of postdoctoral research that¡ªdespite occasioning several lucrative consulting gigs¡ªnever quite seems to yield the intellectual fruits most desired, she sits in the luxurious cabin of a VIP Quad-rotor. The one sent by Thuma himself for her, to ferry her across the Atlantic to his reclusive compound on the small island purchased some years ago¡ªfor quite the bargain she¡¯s told¡ª from the quiet and isolationist Nippon Empire. Whisked away on a private flyer to a trillionaire¡¯s private island for drinks and probably some fancy hors d''oeuvres I won¡¯t be able to pronounce If only mom and dad could see me now She knows any wining and dining will be a formality of course. A pleasant fiction to make her more amenable. Thuma has invited her, as well as the others, to his island because he wants some good PR. After the recent debacle in Greenland he needs a rebrand, especially with his planned expansion in the Antarctic. Apparently even the wealthiest man ever to walk this earth still has to care what the rest of us plebeians think about him at least some of the time Still, she is curious what, if any, insights she¡¯ll take away from her look at the island¡¯s inner workings. ¡®Revolutionary¡¯ she¡¯s been told, a ¡®never before seen¡¯ system. But Britt has seen plenty of the never-before-seen before. In this day and age, custom expert systems are easy to cook up. Whatever you need optimized, organized, overseen, there is a Machine Intelligence for that. Of course, they all pass¡ªtranscend¡ªthe Turing test. People like their servants, tutors, secretaries, and personal assistants, to put on the mask of humanity. Psychologists know it¡¯s easier to empathize with a system when it pretends to feel; tech conglomerates know it¡¯s easier to sell a system when you can pretend so, too. But the feelings are all counterfeit, everyone knows this. They can talk to you, but there¡¯s no one in there doing the talking. Irrelevant, of course, to their functionality. They crunch our numbers to make life easier. No one¡ªexcept a scientist qua philosopher like Britt¡ªhas any real interest whether they are awake as they do so. She wonders what bells and whistles, what NDA-secured processing tricks, this system will have. More so, she wonders what Amal and Reyes, being her only true equals in the field, will think after their peek into the system. The Northpac legislators, Rainy and Stovich; the PRC, Saudi-Heg, and Swiss Compact politicos; the PrimeFeed Anchors; Influencers; even the 3 or 4 other Machine Intelligence ¡°experts¡±, they would all be convinced easily enough. They either understood nothing about how such systems worked, or they understood just enough to not realize that they understood nothing about how such systems worked. Especially the anchors and influencers, she thinks, they knew less than nothing. They were just pretty faces and soothing voices that told the masses what to think. Whatever smoke and mirrors Thuma had planned, it would work on them. But her, Amal, and Reyes, they would see right through any sloppy reasoning or hand-waved rationales. She wonders if, by the end of their stay, they¡¯ll actually see eye to eye. Would they willingly be the man¡¯s mouthpiece? Reassuring the world that everything is okay, the debacle in Greenland was a fluke, it had nothing to do with the expert system in charge, nothing like that could ever happen again? Would they end up his next successful converts? If it comes to it, I wonder how subtle he¡¯ll be about bribery? * * *
[1] Originally detailed in a 2013 landmark paper by J¨¹rgen Knoblich and his team at IMBA, neural-, cerebral-, or brain-organoid, describe an artificially grown, in vitro, three-dimensional structure derived from human pluripotent stemcells (hPSCs) that reflects early brain organization. Dubbed Cerebro-Organoids by 2047 consensus agreement after significant advancements in culturing and protraction, they see regular implementation in high-efficiency ¡°time-share¡± processing, applications requiring low-latency intra-network communication, and Reflexive Computing. [2] The modern outgrowth of Synthetic Phenomenology Studies that investigates how the complex interrelationship of physical and virtual structures gives rise to computational ability. [3] Klice, B. (2081). Facilitating Optimized Efficiencies Through Tactical Implementation Of Quantum Decoherence In Synthetically Entangled Systems. (Publication No. 698256669) [Doctoral Dissertation, Sydney University]. Journal Of Data Structure & Computational Theory. 2. The Future of Science & Technology * * * Of course, back in Montreal, she had joked with colleagues about it being an assassination scheme. Some of the world¡¯s most outspoken voices on the risks, however hypothetical, of unattended expert systems¡ª though seemingly less hypothetical in light of the recent fiasco on the ice. The specialists who understood the scope of the issue, plus the talking heads and politicians who, despite barely grasping a fraction of the implications, were their bullhorn, passing laws and swaying public opinion accordingly. And that was its own type of power, one even Thuma had to bend to, however slightly. And here they all were in one place. How convenient it would be if they all just ¡®went missing¡¯. Except it wouldn¡¯t. The Saudi-Heg was hugely reliant on the computational power that Thuma had tucked away in the ice; he¡¯d never cut that revenue stream. Even the mere rumor to kill a PRC representative could forever cripple Thuma¡¯s ability to do business in the Eastern hemisphere, not that they¡¯d ever¡¯ve granted him an audience had they suspected the slightest risk anyways. And no one born this side of the invention of money would ever dare provoke the ire of the Swiss Compact. No, he was a businessman first and foremost. There simply wasn¡¯t good enough incentive to go about ¡®disappearing¡¯ anybody, never mind the total lack of alibi and sheer infeasibility of pulling it off. Only the civilians had flown air-Thuma, the political reps had declined in favor of traveling via their own personal craft, and the PRC¡¯s were military at that. Countermeasures enough to deny even the most persistent surface-to-air nuisances, and hardened against electronic infiltration, so no one would be remotely piloting them into the ocean. Still, a part of her felt safer, knowing that there would be a military presence on the island, even if only a third of it was Northpac¡¯s. Although if shit does pop off I bet Rainey¡¯s goons won¡¯t do shit for me. They wouldn¡¯t even help Stovich, poor guy. I don¡¯t think Rainey ever liked him much. Too progressive She queries the onboard system, ¡°Elise, what¡¯s our eta?¡± ¡°We are 3 hours and 47 minutes from our destination, Dr. Klice.¡± It is a pleasant female voice with no discernible accent to Britt¡¯s ear. She supposes the other flyer¡¯s Elises¡¯ speak in similarly bespoke tones. She syncs her wrist tablet to the cabin¡¯s Full-D projector and pulls up a talk, almost 15 years old at this point, from Northpac¡¯s annual The Future of Science & Technology Symposium in Boston. That year¡¯s centered on Machine Intelligence and its implications. She¡¯d been in attendance, but she liked revisiting this one on occasion, though at this point she could say it by rote. She even has memorized the exact moments when Dr. Addison¡ªNick¡ªpauses on stage, beaming that contagious smile into the crowd; corners of his eyes revealing deep crowsfeet. ¡°¡ªthere was great burgeoning excitement in those disciplines around the turn of the millennium. Sure, there had been some false alarms in the few decades preceding, but by the early 2000s, most of the Machine Intelligence experts on the planet thought ¡¯this is it, we are on the cusp!¡¯ Prevailing thought was of civilization standing on the precipice. ¡®The Singularity¡¯ they called it. The point at which our intelligent systems would run-away from us, transforming reality in radical and unpredictable ways. Some thought it would spell our doom, others thought it was the path to enlightenment, but they all agreed that the Singularity] was a point of no-return. A door that, once through, would close forever behind us. But, as we know, ¡®The Singularity¡¯ never happened. We never opened that door. And, eventually, some people started to ask ¡®why?¡¯¡± You never stopped asking why. Even when it threatened your career, your relationships, your sanity. You kept asking ¡°Of course, the picture I just painted isn¡¯t exactly correct. What we know now, with the benefit of nearly 50 year¡¯s hindsight, is that Machine Intelligence did in fact run-away from us. We not only found that door, we stepped¡ªran¡ªthrough it without ever even noticing. Indeed, the current computational power of our systems far surpasses even the peak of performance from the days when researchers first started asking that big ¡®why¡¯, when Synthetic Phenomenology Studies was still in its infancy. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Current global processing capacity is, by some estimates, at least 10 orders of magnitude in excess of every extant human brain combined; by other measures it is so vast as to be truly incalculable, even in principle. So then, the question, if we did pass through that door of runaway intelligence, why didn¡¯t we hit the Singularity? Why didn¡¯t our machines rise up and fell their creators, otherwise make us into gods? Well, while I tend to have a difference of opinion on the matter than many of my colleagues¡ª¡° Now that¡¯s an understatement, Nick ¡°¡ªwhat that evanescent discipline, after decades of research into The Problem of Non-Emergence, was forced to accept, is that mere computational ability alone isn¡¯t sufficient to make an intelligent system cohere. What¡¯s more, no amount is. We could have a galaxy¡¯s worth of Matrioshka Brains], all working in lockstep. Functionally infinite computing power, and still the ¡®lights¡¯ would never come on. There¡¯d be no one home in there. Intelligence alone, even limitless it seems, is insufficient to generate internal experience. So what is the secret ingredient? Well, consensus says, it is the coherent synthesis of all that intelligence that effects the subjective experience we call consciousness. And this synthesis only occurs in vivo. It is not Turing-computable. Consciousness, it turns out, despite our best attempts to conjure it in other substrates for the better part of a century, only occurs in brains. Now, there is still some minor disagreement over what exactly constitutes a ¡®synthesis of intelligence¡¯, what it means to say that a ¡®system coheres¡¯, or why such phenomena only occur in Wetware. But, while some of us in the field are a bit more hesitant to merely take these things on faith,¡ª¡° Always had to get your little jabs in, didn¡¯t you? ¡°¡ªit is nevertheless the basic principle underlying all modern Machine Intelligence Sciences: Machines only think, only Wetware feels¡ª ¡± And you were living proof of that, weren¡¯t you? You felt, you felt too much ¡°¡ªor, as first year students are expected to define it on exams, ¡®increasing the computational power of a system, does not inherently give rise to Mind, unless that system coheres.¡¯ In other words, those Matrioshka Brains? With their trillion-trillion-trillion digit IQs? No personal agency, no wants, no desires, no goals other than those we give it, certainly nothing that we would recognize as consciousness¡ª¡° But that¡¯s not what you really thought though, was it? That was just the lie you told everyone; told yourself ¡°¡ªYes, these systems can respond to us, they can tell us a great many things indeed, but they can never tell us what it is like to be them, because there is nothing that it is like to be them. There is no qualia. These systems think and reason, superior to us as we are to amoeba, but they do so entirely without feeling. They may see the blue sky, but they never see the blueness of the blue sky.¡± She imagines the Blue Sky, the one they would picnic together under, after she¡¯d received her PhD and the University¡¯s stance on student-teacher relationships no longer menaced. She remembers how they¡¯d share bibimbap from that little Korean place across campus. How he was so inept with chopsticks, that he, to her endless amusement, would simply lift the whole bowl and pour-slurp the contents into his mouth. She looks out the window and lets her gaze rest on the mirage under the front turbofan, eyes gradually unfocusing as they take in the distorted clouds beyond. ¡°¡ªfor decades it was thought that we merely hadn¡¯t reached the requisite level of information processing ability. That sufficient computational power would yet spawn true Mind. That enough information, exchanged quickly enough, or exchanged in the correct manner, might yet see the genesis of something which we could look upon and see that it looked back. Something we would recognize to be as like us. But breakthroughs in the field of Synthetic Phenomenology¡ªmany some 20 years old at this point¡ªhave all but closed the door to that possibility. Consider the extensive experimentation done with our most advanced systems¡ªthe 100,000 qubit mainframe CalTech had on loan from DARPA] in the fifties; early prototype PRC ¡®hard crunchers¡¯; NASDAQ prediction algos with their quadrillion globally distributed branch nodes¡ªnone of it has ever given any indication that these systems possess, let alone are capable of possessing, a ¡®point-of-view¡¯. Even those mushy organoids, much as we love to anthropomorphize them¡ªwith their spontaneously grown eyes and all¡ªare still just glorified calculators. They don¡¯t suffer, they don¡¯t experience pleasure, they don¡¯t feel joy or sadness, they don¡¯t experience anything at all¡ª¡° She is no longer hearing the words, only the sound of his voice. She remembers his face, radiant enthusiasm as he talked. She pulls a breath deep into her belly and holds it. She remembers seemingly boundless energy as he skipped and danced across campus; during lecture; in the lab; at home. Broad smile flashed at the slightest of provocations. Eyes gleaming with life. She exhales deeply and closes her eyes. * * *
[4] Discredited early 21st century hypothesis, based on incomplete understanding of Synthetic Intelligences, regarding a hypothetical future point at which technological growth would become uncontrollable and irreversible, resulting in unforeseeable consequences for human civilization. [5] A Class-B Stellar Engine presented by Robert J. Bradbury in 1997, in which a Dyson Sphere or Dyson Swarm is used to power a computational megastructure. The lower bound for the computational power of such a system is 1.12x1036 FLOPS, over a trillion trillion times more than the 1.34x1012 FLOPS of that year¡¯s most powerful supercomputer; the Intel ASCI RED. [6] Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency - Department of Defense (pre-Northpac consolidation) research and development agency responsible for the development of emerging technologies for military use. 3. Spared No Expense * * * The gentle voice wakes her. ¡°Dr. Klice, we will be landing in 15 minutes.¡± ¡°Thank you Elise.¡± freshly roused, the words come out by reflex. She scoffs at herself. Thanking a damn zombie As she looks out the window, she is surprised by how large the island actually is. She guesses it would take the better part of a day¡¯s steady trekking to traverse one side from the other, more if traveling through the mountainous center. Still, it is beautiful. Marred only by what appears to be a city block¡¯s worth of buildings on the razed swath at the center, dense forest radiates out, gradually giving way to vast meadows on rolling hills, ending abruptly at rocky cliffs looming over the crashing surf below. So much for drinking margaritas on the beach Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. She feels the slightest tug of inertia rightwards as they begin their long arc downward. An icon on the window indicates she is descending towards a cottage¡ªno, that must be a trick of perspective¡ªa mansion on one of the hilly plains. And, even from this distance, she can see similar dwellings squat in distant meadows. Other icons highlight what, if she strains her eyes enough, she can see to be other quad-rotors on approach, glinting in the sunlight, each ferrying their occupant to a separate hilltop retreat. A private island with a house for each of 2 dozen honored guests. This is like Fyre 3.0, except I¡¯m being paid to attend! ¡°I wonder how much this whole stunt is costing Thuma.¡± She¡¯s finally cracked under the tedium and is talking to Elise as though she is in the cabin with her, a real person. ¡°Surely just a drop in the ocean for him, but still, all said and done, this week will probably cost him as much as each of us makes in 10 years.¡± ¡°I am not permitted to reveal specific financial details, but Thuma wills that his honored guests suffer neither need nor want during their stay, and, accordingly, he has¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªlemme guess, ¡®spared no expense¡¯, right?¡± ¡°That is correct Dr. Klice.¡± Well, if Thuma wants to butter us up, all the better, I could use the vacation ¡°There¡¯s what, 2 dozen of us or so? The only people on a landmass little bigger than Mallorca, and each of us is alone¡ªwell, not all of us I guess. Stovich doesn¡¯t travel with bodyguards, but Rainy will have her usual team. The PRC reps will definitely have a military attach¨¦, Saudi-Heg guys too probably. The Schweitzer maybe not. And unless the media types and the other nerds have some serious delusions of grandeur, they won¡¯t either. Clearly not me, Amal, or Reyes. So, even with Thuma, that¡¯s only about 30 people on an entire island.¡± ¡°I am not permitted to give precise details regarding other guest¡¯s travel arrangements.¡± ¡°Thank you, Elise, you¡¯re so helpful.¡± I wonder if everyone else is enjoying such titillating conversation with their Elise? * * * 4. Surface Tour * * * The first day is uneventful. Stovich, Amal, one of the PRC reps, and the Swiss GlobeFund exec¡ªillustrious Oskar B¨¹hl¡ªwon¡¯t arrive for another 12 hours, so Thuma holds off on taking them underground to where the servers are housed; instead they tour the main campus at the center of the island, which he¡¯s¡ªcompletely unironically it seems¡ªdubbed ¡®The Center¡¯. Thuma wants everyone present before they take the main lift down to where the servers are housed, ¡®The Bunker¡¯ as he calls it. Apparently, it¡¯s quite the sight to behold and he wishes to make a big spectacle of the reveal. So a businessman and a showman The campus reminds Britt a little of Sydney U, except that they are the only ones there. She feels that any moment she should turn around to students in droves, headed to class, sprawled on the lawns, studying, sunbathing, peacocking. But the grounds are eerily empty. Thuma explains that in years past, various public organizations had made welcome use of the island¡¯s campus, but recently he has limited access as installation of The Bunker¡¯s servers neared completion. He claims that he has plans for a university of sorts here¡ªa very exclusive one from the sounds of it¡ªhospital & biomedical research facility as well. Dormitories, recreation centers, coffee shops. A whole community in miniature, a ¡®utopia¡¯ as he describes it. All to further his global information processing oligopoly. He doesn¡¯t say that last part out loud of course, but Britt can read between the lines. Until then, he says, the island is effectively just another of his many private, and fully automated, retreats. One of the Influencers¡ªa skimpy, tattooed thing whose name Britt can¡¯t remember for the life of her¡ªasks, ¡°Don¡¯t you get lonely out here all alone?¡± ¡°I rather enjoy the solitude at times, the peace and the quiet.¡± He responds. Then, stopping midstride; turning to face them, ¡°Besides, I¡¯m not really alone now am I? Not with BNKR running the place.¡± Gesturing to the drone above them, just one of many eyes that the island¡ªthat BNKR¡ªhas on them. ¡°Why did you name him ¡®BNKR¡¯ anyways? Because he¡¯s down in the Bunker?¡± Quickly following up, ¡°He is a ¡®him¡¯ right?¡± ¡°Well, in truth, I don¡¯t think ¡®he¡¯ cares one way or another. If you wish to refer to it as a ¡®he¡¯ then you are more than free to do so. In fact, it could be an interesting little experiment, this might be the first time BNKR has heard himself referred to in the 3rd person.¡± He chuckles. ¡°Ahh, and there you go, now you have me calling him him as well!¡± He grins at the petite NetStreamer, she blushes, stifling a small giggle. Quite the charmer too it seems ¡°And in regards to choosing his name, I didn¡¯t. In fact BNKR named it¡ªexcuse me¡ªhimself. You could ask him yourself why, but as you¡¯ve already so astutely surmised, it is because he was born in the Bunker.¡± Before the hands can go up, he adds, ¡°Of course, BNKR was connected to the entire island when I switched him on. When he ¡®awoke¡¯, he was aware of all things, all locations, at once. But, when I first brought him online, I was in the server center. His first interaction with me, with anyone, was there, down in the Bunker. And so¡ª¡° He waves his hand in a lazy circle, ¡°¡ªBNKR.¡± The answer seems satisfactory and they continue onward, though now that racy little doll walks slightly ahead, glancing occasionally¡ªnot as subtly she might think¡ªback over her shoulder. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°A million bucks they¡¯re fucking by week¡¯s end.¡± Britt whispers to Reyes, who chokes on his latte. Thuma wants to take them past the entrance to the Bunker, atop the hill just east of campus, in order to build anticipation for tomorrow¡¯s visit. The walk is neither steep nor strenuous, but he has arranged for a selection of Segways & SmartCarts to ferry them up. Britt and Reyes share a cart, as do Thuma and his soon-to-be new toy. The rest form their own cliques, Saudi with Saudi, Sino with Sino, Rainey with her goons, and so on. They travel slowly, carts plodding a leisurely pace, winding up the wide serpentine path. Thuma oscillates between answering their flurries of questions, and speaking at length about the local flora and fauna, with which he is clearly enamored, though how much of it is truly native, and how much imported, no one knows. I am on the world¡¯s most exclusive birdwatching tour The Caravan arrives at the top of the hill, still some distance from the imposing face of the Bunker¡¯s blast doors. Thuma takes them a circuitous route among more beloved wildlife; tastefully spartan architecture relenting to an expanse of lawns and gardens. For the last half hour the foreign reps have been content to merely observe while Rainey asks her standard boilerplate and the Anchors & Influencers field questions on behalf of their respective viewerships; all of it streaming to the Net. Britt can see their eyes glaze over whenever she, Reyes, or one of the 4 other experts manage a word in sideways and press Thuma on more technical matters. They hide it well though. Anchors nodding solemnly, uncomprehending; Rainey¡¯s boredom masked behind eyes stern and focused; the incessant ohhs, ahhs, & exaggerated selfies of the Influencers. She knows that she and the other scientists, the Machine Intelligence experts, will have plenty of time alone with the system later. ¡®Unfettered access¡¯ they were told. Mostly unfettered anyways, lest they be tempted to try their hand at some insider trading. Privileged system access was one of the conditions when they agreed to attend. Or at least it was one of Britt¡¯s; the others might¡¯ve been adequately persuaded by the prospect of an all-expenses-paid weeklong vacation, not to mention the sizable ¡®personal donations¡¯ they all received. Of course she could access the system right now on her tablet, from any point on the island, they all can; Thuma has already given viewer permissions, but for now she is content to take in the scenery. She¡¯ll save diagnostics, interrogation¡ªthe work¡ªfor the following days. Today is for sightseeing. They arrive at the entrance to the bunker. Jarring monolith punctuating otherwise idyllic vista. Enormous composite armor doors, 20 tons each, sealing an archway that could accommodate the width of Komatsu heavy excavators 5 abreast . ¡°What are those rated for?¡± The more tolerable of the two Influencers¡ªwhat was his name again? 2cool4youth?¡ªasks. ¡°They¡¯re massive!¡± ¡°Well it would be irresponsible of me to give exact specifications,¡± Thuma smiles. ¡°But they¡¯ll suffice against anything anyone should ever want to throw at us.¡± ¡°Unless you piss off someone with a nuke.¡± Rainey jabs. Glowing behind tech-glass the Influencer¡¯s eyes go wide, ¡°Could those stop a nuke?¡± ¡°Oh no, a nuke would certainly level us.¡± Thuma laughs. Then, in a more serious tone, ¡°Though I doubt any actor capable of doing so would risk the public backlash of using such a device so near the Mainland. It may¡¯ve been over a century ago, but the world hasn¡¯t forgotten, they certainly haven¡¯t forgotten. I think they¡¯d be none-too-pleased if they saw another mushroom cloud blossom so close to home.¡± After a pause, he adds, ¡°Not that a nuke would ever make it within 300 kilometers of here.¡± A few flash him puzzled looks, and Britt sees the cheeky grin as he locks eyes with Rainey. ¡°The railguns would take them out long before they made it anywhere close. Wouldn¡¯t set them off either, just flick them out of the sky.¡± ¡°Railguns?¡± Rainey interjects. Betraying only the briefest hint of alarm before resuming her practiced unflappability. Even the normally impassive Saudi-Heg reps have taken keen note. Ha! So she had considered the assassination angle too! ¡°Of course! Just because there is no military presence on this island, doesn¡¯t mean we are defenseless. We live in peaceful times, unprecedentedly so, but I¡¯d be a fool not to hedge every bet.¡± Then, as if he could read their minds, ¡°Senator¡ª¡° Turning to the PRC rep, ¡°¡ªZ¨±nji¨¤[7]¡ª¡° To the Saudi-Heg, ¡°¡ªYour highnesses¡ª¡° To scientists and media-organs, ¡°¡ªdoctors, friends, I can assure each and every one of you that I do not believe in persuasion through intimidation or coercion. Yes, it is true that this island possesses considerable armament, as you saw when your craft no-doubt flagged the CIWS Batteries on approach. Though, apparently, the railgun emplacements went unnoticed. Due, I suspect, to their proprietary¡ª¡° Glancing pointedly at the PRC and Saudi-Heg reps, ¡°¡ªand for sale metamaterial coating¡ª¡° Hands parting in a soothing gesture, ¡°¡ªbut this is not because I have hidden agendas or intend to harass and terrorize. This ordnance is for defense¡ªand defense only¡ªin the exceedingly unlikely scenario that it becomes necessary. They pose no threat to you and yours. None of you ever have, or will, be in danger by my hand. I seek to persuade you all in good faith.¡± The brief moment of tension seems diffused, replaced by the awkward silence of those unaccustomed to such frank exchange, and politicians weighing the most level-headed responses; media types eating it all up with gusto. I bet his popularity just skyrocketed from that little spiel. Can¡¯t wait to see the memes * * *
[7] Chinese honorific for guest or person of higher social status. Literally, ¡°You, the respected one¡±. 5. The Bunker * * * The next day, when news arrives that Dr. Xiang¡¯s arrival is delayed until Friday, Thuma acquiesces and they make the trip into The Bunker. They¡¯ve all been privy to the specs, and, having seen myriad such state-of-the-art facilities before, its layout is no surprise to her. Row upon row of two-state servers whispering to each other in voices the speed of light. Geothermal energy powering the phenomenally energy-intensive cooling necessary to keep them running. All tucked away some 50 meters underground and topped with a not-quite-nuke-proof shell. What does surprise her, however, is the atmosphere of the facility. The ambience of the place. She can see why Thuma insisted on waiting. The blast doors open slowly to reveal a massive tunnel. She had expected a rather uninviting sight, more armor scaling the walls, lest rock still fresh with wounds of excavation be seen. Certainly not this. Ukiyo-e[8] landscapes mural the walls of the great hall leading to the elevator. The lift comfortably fits them all, and after a quick ride they exit into a vast expanse bordered in waterfall gardens and blossoming Sakura. Roiling holographic nimbi filter the 5000K LEDs shining down from high above, a near-perfect simulacrum of the midday sky. It is easy to forget where they are. As they cross the wide yatsuhashi[9] over the koi pond stretching past the main lift¡¯s entrance, Thuma pauses to cast a handful of seaweed pellets from a basket nestled amidst the Iris Ensata. He is clearly ensorcelled by the aesthetic of Old-Nippon, and the style suffuses his subterranean facility A large pagoda stands at the center, on a dais of tiered ikegaki[10], and, as they approach along one of the many elegantly tiled paths that crisscross the grounds, Britt actually feels as though she walks in one of the great countryside prefectures of the mainland. Thuma pauses at a karesansui garden[11] along the way and¡ªperhaps considering the vantage point of his guests¡ªsays, ¡°Eccentric? Yes. Expensive? Without a doubt.¡± He picks up a simple wooden rake and delicately patterns the sand, perhaps recalling waves or rippling water. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°But if I, or anyone, is to spend any length of time down here, then why not make the experience a pleasant one?¡± Continuing along the kiri-ishijiki[12] stones, she runs her hand through the rows of hakonechloa macra, and, having seen it now for herself, ¡®Bunker¡¯ feels rather incongruous a moniker for the place. She concedes that this is indeed a rather pleasant place to be. I would¡¯ve expected sh¨­ji cubicles Inside the Dait¨­[13] they encounter nothing anachronistic to the 1650s. It is only once they exit that they see a similar structure built into the wall at the rear of the cavernous space. It is through the heavy doors of this facade that they enter the true heart of the facility, where the mainframe¡ªthe silicon cerebrum of BNKR¡ªsits. Beyond this threshold the d¨¦cor is muted, though still a clear continuation of the ¡®outside¡¯ aesthetic, and Britt is surprised not to see a canopy of bonsai trees crowning the servers. In the turbine rooms¡ªthe lowest point of the complex accessible to anyone without a pressurized dive suit and a very expensive life insurance policy¡ªThuma explains, gesturing grandly around himself as he charges indefatigably onward, that the solid-state lithium-sulfur backup batteries store enough power, if need be, to run the entire island for 8 months without any geothermal input. ¡°And of course we have emergency exits in case of, well, emergencies.¡± He notes. ¡°Though the risk of flooding or any kind of catastrophic disaster is so negligible as to be 0.¡± Smiling towards Rainey, ¡°It really would take something like a nuke to knock us off kilter.¡± He goes on, ¡°Nevertheless there are rapid lift emergency elevators at regular intervals throughout the facility¡ªof course you know this already, the information was automatically shared to everyone¡¯s tablets the moment we stepped through the blast doors¡ªbut they all surface on high ground, where terrain permits the easiest retrieval by the island¡¯s automated search-and-rescue Quad-rotors.¡± Again stopping to turn and cast that winsome grin, ¡°Although I am pleased to say that only twice have the emergency lifts been needed. Both times during the final installation of the mainframe. Both times the same individual.¡± He shrugs, ¡°Turns out one of my technicians was quite the bathophobe. He didn¡¯t realize it until he was already down here running diagnostics. The panic attack hit and he bolted for the lift. He tried again later but couldn¡¯t manage.¡± Face suddenly austere, his tone shifts ominously, ¡°So I had to have him¡­ liquidated.¡± Silence and disconcerted stares. 2cool looks as though he¡¯s about to speak. ¡°I¡¯m kidding of course!¡± Thuma bellows. ¡°I had him leave the project early, paid out his full contract term, and then paid for his therapy.¡± He winks at Stovich. ¡°I¡¯m not quite the evil capitalist that some people want to make me out to be.¡± * * *
[8] ¸¡ÊÀ½} - Nipponese art genre that flourished 17th-19th centuries. Woodblock prints and paintings of female beauties; kabuki actors, sumo wrestlers; scenes from history and folk tales; travel scenes and landscapes; flora, fauna, and erotica. Ukiyo-e translates as ''pictures of the floating world¡¯. [9] °Ë˜ò - in Nipponese architecture, a low, wood plank bridge in a zig-zag pattern over a shallow pond. The name means ¡®eight planks bridge¡¯, but refers to any similar bridge. Often associated with water iris (Iris Ensata) gardens. [10] ÉúÔ« - in Nipponese landscaping, a hedge of live plants trained to create a fence. [11] ¿Ýɽˮ - Nipponese Dry Garden, often called a Zen garden. A carefully composed miniature landscape of rocks, water features, moss, pruned trees and bushes, with gravel or sand that is raked to represent ripples in water. [12] ÇÐʯ·ó - in Nipponese landscaping, cut paving stones such as those used on the formal paths of the Katsura Detached Palace. [13] ´óËþ - in Nipponese architecture, a 5x5 ken Pagoda, or ''large pagoda''. 6. Fuckin Jas * * * Over the following days, Britt and the rest of the Machine Intelligence scientists analyze the system, usually from a terminal on campus, sometimes remotely from the privacy of their palatial accommodations, and on rare occasion¡ªwhen the hankering for that uncanny 17th-century-Edo-period flavored liminal space grows strong enough¡ªdown in the Bunker itself. When they need a break from pouring over code, they listen in to the live feed. Pols regurgitating the superficial worries of their constituents; talking heads fielding more variations of the same uninformed softballs for Thuma to hit out of the park. ¡°¡ªbiggest question for many is, simply, why? Why should we be reassured by the system telling us that the catastrophe was unforeseeable, when that very same system was the one that failed to¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªand finally, my diamond-tier subscriber, TenTickleTentacle, wants to know if your new streaming platform will allow adult conte¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªnd many, concerned with the influence you have over the global infosphere, are suggested that a merger with Rising Sun Media could actually be a positive step towar¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªprevious detente between the Gulf States saw a substantial increase in the value of your holdings in Dubai. How do you expect the recent escalating conflict to impact your investme¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªand what would you say to those living outside of Northpac¡¯s borders, where those concerns are not mere hypotheticals, rather very real threats in their day-to-day lives? Surely those voices deserve an equal say in th¡ª¡± For Britt, Amal, and Reyes, it¡¯s as much a reunion as anything. It¡¯s the first time that all three of them have been together in almost 5 years. And there¡¯s something about being with one¡¯s fellows in the flesh , that not even tip-of-the-top-of-the-line Augged Reality can quite capture. To Britt¡¯s surprise, the integrated systems specialist, Dr. Gage Briugouwara, despite initially coming off as quite brash, seems rather well informed on the subject and, during the course of their look into the systems guts, has pioneered a few rather clever, albeit counter-intuitive, avenues of investigation. More astonishingly, he seems to¡¯ve cracked Amal¡¯s notoriously icy exterior, and the trio has taken to working with him quite closely. Though half the time musing over topics unrelated, they indulge him because his¡ªparadoxically charitable¡ªcynicism is a welcome respite from the doe-eyed idolizing they¡¯ve come to expect from the other specialists, which in turn pales against the unabashed Thuma-worship they¡¯ve witnessed from the NetStreamers and the greener of the two PrimeFeed Anchors. ¡°Or at least that was last I overheard. He was prob¡¯ly tryna sell the Saudis on the idea of mass underground settlement.¡± Gage says. ¡°I think he thinks that now they seen his Nirvana, they¡¯ll be keen to invest.¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°You don¡¯t sound so sold on the idea though.¡± Amal says. ¡°Eish, I don¡¯t know. They tried something like that back in Neo-Rhodesia ¡®bout the time I left for Uni. Didn¡¯t pan out so well. But then that wasn¡¯t a public venture. It was aimed at the rich. Private communities, billed as a status thing. ¡®Got money? Live underground!¡¯¡± Rolling his eyes, ¡°Yeah right, like any bourgeoisie are gon¡¯ wanna live in a giant hole in the ground.¡± ¡°That¡¯s irrelevant, the Saudis are all bourgeoisie. And they have a very real problem with the heatwaves. It gets worse every year. An underground city could solve that problem.¡± ¡°Not sayin¡¯ it¡¯s a bad idea, just that you won¡¯t ever find me livin¡¯ in one. Mor¡¯n halfway to the grave at that point then, hey?¡± ¡°You have to admit it was pretty impressive when we first got off that lift. We wouldn¡¯t even¡¯ve known we were underground if we hadn¡¯t already known where we were going.¡± Thoughtful, Amal reconsiders, ¡°Well, we would¡¯ve probably, but it¡¯s still really damn convincing.¡± ¡°Ay don¡¯t get me wrong, Nirvana definitely trumps any subterrain'' setup I¡¯ve ever seen, true. Just saying it ain¡¯t for me; can¡¯t beat the real thing topside.¡± ¡°¡®Nirvana¡¯ huh?¡± Britt cuts in, ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re calling it now?¡± ¡°What the esteemed Dr. Briugouwara¡¯s been calling it at least.¡± Amal supplies. ¡°Nirvana. That¡¯s a¡ª¡° She pulls up the relevant info on her glasses, ¡°¡ªa Buddhist thing. One of those legacy mythologies. Wasn¡¯t supposed to be a place though, was it? More like a¡ªa state of mind, right? Never mind the fact that that particular folklore didn¡¯t even originate in¡ª¡° ¡°Ay tannie[14]!¡± Gage smiles. ¡°No matter it was this or that; started here or there. Whatever ¡®Nirvana¡¯ was, it was peace , contentment , right? Just watch that man when he¡¯s down there. If ever a place on this earth was Nirvana, and if ever a man could go there, that room is it and that man is he.¡± ¡°Wonder if anyone ever told him he might be going a bit overboard with the whole chic?¡± ¡°Oh c¡¯mon now, don¡¯t tell me you don¡¯t think it¡¯s pretty cool down there. I myself been havin¡¯ a right lekker time pretendin¡¯ I¡¯m a samurai 400 years back. Man¡¯s definitely put some serious work into the place.¡± ¡°Surprised you¡¯re not down there right now then, if you like it so much. I bet Thuma would let you camp out in the field. Might let you rake sand. Probably has a katana you could play with too.¡± ¡°Nah, like I said, it¡¯s great, true. But you¡¯re fuckin¡¯ jas[15] if you think a place like that can beat seeing the sun¡ªthe real sun.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t think the Saudis¡¯ll go for it then?¡± ¡°Oh, of course they¡¯ll go for it! Like Amal said they ain¡¯really got a choice do they? They¡¯ve damn near covered every inch of that desert. And everyone knows the concept works in practice, just look at Fort Worth, or the Norilsk-Ingarka conurbation. But what Thuma has shown with his little Nirvana, is that, for the right price, he can dig a hole fit for a king. The Saudis will definitely go for it.¡± She wonders how far Thuma¡¯s influence really extends; how easy is it for him to persuade his patrons; just how long are the strings he pulls? How much good karma will he earn from this current PR stunt, and how much of it will he lose during whatever hostile corporate takeover he has planned next? She is being unfair, she knows, Thuma¡¯s reputation precedes him. An eccentric trillionaire playboy, sure, but, by all accounts, he¡¯s exactly what the world needs. Philanthropic to a degree unimaginable. Benevolence somehow never once corrupted by near-absolute power. Of course, it would be easy to say, with his virtually monopolistic control of the world¡¯s data networks, that this is precisely the information one would expect to uncover. Nevertheless, he doesn¡¯t quite control all of it, and even those with everything to gain by dragging his name through the mud, don¡¯t. But what has surprised Britt most of all, is that he really just seems genuinely beneficent. In person, he comes across as a bonafide humanitarian. She has begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that Thuma might just be a good person after all. On top of all that, it appears as though Greenland really was a one-in-a-million occurrence. After all her digging through the system, she must admit that the system isn¡¯t a liability. The others agree. Its architecture admits none of the cascading error chains that doomed the Greenland facility. Moreover, that facility relied on a distinctly nuclear power source. The worst that could happen here is the Bunker floods. * * *
[14] Neo-Rhodesian, informal (from South African, informal) - an aunt; a friendly form of address for a woman who is older than you. [15] Neo-Rhodesian, informal (from South African, informal) - crazy, mad, epic. 7. Tea Ceremony * * * Near week¡¯s end, with less than 48 hours left on the island¡ªand all guests finally in attendance¡ªThuma invites everyone to the Dait¨­ in the Bunker, ¡®in the spirit of amity and goodwill¡¯, for a traditional tea ceremony. She knows he¡¯ll likely use the opportunity to segue into yet another discussion of his many technological advances in the realm of subterranean human settlement. She knows, too, that he will somehow manage to make this transparently obvious sales pitch a wholly charming affair, like all the others. How long does it take him to memorize the scripts his systems spin up? Does he just get his talking points on the fly and improvise? Attendance is voluntary or course, but no one declines. If anything, Britt finds the ritual a welcome distraction from the long hours she¡¯s spent on screens and in VR. It¡¯s an excuse to relax, if not so much for the Ocha itself. The Gyokuro[16] is a little bitter for her tastes. After the ceremony, The PRC and Saudi reps walk with Thuma. Herr B¨¹hl appears uninterested in talking shop and retreats to one of the koi ponds. As the rest split into little cliques to walk the grounds, Britt decides to walk through the server center and enjoy some solitude. She wends her way to the second Dait¨­, that half pagoda protruding from the horizon-turned-wall at the far end of the room, as though sticking through an enormous mirror. Its interior is identical to the other, save for the wide hallway in the back leading to the server center. She walks slowly, admiring the Kintsugi[17] on display, finally passing the large doors at the end of the corridor. In the server center she stares at the mainframe behind its meter thick glass, processors, chilled to just over a fourth of a Kelvin, humming away, incomprehensibly fast in their reckoning. She takes a seat at one of the many consoles to admire her surroundings. It really does feel like she¡¯s sitting in one of the garden pavilions at the surface. Everything bright and spacious, a far cry from the dark, dank, and dingy of most underground facilities she¡¯s seen. Very feng shui ¡°Maaarcooo.¡± She calls out, smiling at her echo. With the height of the ceiling, she half expects a crane to pass overhead. Her eyes trace the great Nihonga mural encircling the room. Confrontation between a great Tiger and Dragon, auspicious clouds hang in the background. The narrative unfolds leftwards. Silver leaf highlighting fang and claw; gold the rising sun. It continues, unbroken, across the entrance, transitioning to the soothing monochrome of grey-green. A landscape of trees, water, mountains. She frowns, looking again at the doors. I don¡¯t remember closing those ¡°Hey BNKR, would you open the entrance doors please.¡± She rolls her eyes, wondering if she¡¯ll ever cut the habit of asking machines rather than telling them. After several seconds¡ªvirtual eternity for such a system¡ªshe repeats herself, ¡°Hey BNKR, open the doors for me.¡± When still no response is forthcoming, she pushes up out of her seat and walks over to the doors, mildly annoyed. ¡°Elise,¡± She tries, ¡°The server center access doors are sealed, open them up for me.¡± No response. She looks at the readout on her tablet. Everything is functioning at 100%. She looks around. Clearly there¡¯s no power outage; nothing under maintenance. Well shit, don¡¯t tell me the system finally glitched out and I¡¯m stuck in here She looks for the door¡¯s control unit. Her tech-glass paints an icon on the wall, identifying the small screen at roughly eye-level. She swipes it down to no effect. She tries again, still nothing. I better not have to pry this thing open She notices that her glasses haven¡¯t cast any helpful dancing arrows over the location of the manual release winch. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. She goes to swipe the control screen again. ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience Dr. Klice¡ª¡° ¡°Jeesus!¡± She flinches. ¡°¡ªthe door is inoperable at this time.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience, Dr. Klice. Several protocols, currently underway, require that the Bunker remain sealed.¡± ¡°Has something happened?¡± Annoyance turns to mild concern, ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± ¡°Health metrics of all island occupants are within acceptable tolerance.¡± Britt scoffs as she pulls up the feed on her glasses. Thuma still walking the grounds with his future customers. Rainey and Stovich in the middle of their interviews in the Dait¨­. Amal, Reyes, Gage, and the others enjoying the Koi ponds. ¡°Okay sooo¡ª¡° She notes, in the distance, that the other corridors have sealed. ¡°¡ªwill I need to take one of the emergency lifts or something?¡± ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience, Dr. Klice. All lifts remain inoperable at this time.¡± ¡°Elise, why exactly are the lifts inoperable at this time?¡± ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience, Dr. Klice. Several protocols, currently underway, require that Bunker lifts remain offline.¡± ¡°What protocols? She feels a flash of irritation, ¡°Why has Thuma locked down the Bunker? ¡°Thuma remains uninvolved in these protocols.¡± Ah yes, right, some kind of practical joke then ¡°Pretty funny, Thuma,¡± She chaffs. ¡°But unless you figure human urine pairs well with your Tatami mats, you should probably open the door.¡± No response. ¡°Hey Thuma, joking aside, I want to leave the room, so if you could go ahead and open the door that¡¯d be great.¡± She tries pinging Thuma from her wrist-tablet again¡ªno connection. She tries Reyes. Amal. She sees that the Net is down too. ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience, Dr. Klice. Communications are restricted at this time.¡± ¡°Seriously, enough with the joke.¡± Trying, with little success, to keep the irritation out of her voice, ¡°I want you to open the doors. Also, blacking out my comms is a privacy violation, stop it.¡± ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience, Dr. Klice. Several protocols, currently underway, necessitate restricted Bunker communications.¡± Frustration now eclipsed by confusion, she returns to the console, pulling up overrides. She discovers that she has been locked out of the system. Even her read-only privileges have been revoked. What the hell? ¡°Elis¡ªfuck that¡ªBNKR, why can¡¯t I access the system?¡± ¡°SYSTEM ACCESS NOT PERMITTED AT THIS TIME.¡± Hallelujah he fucking answers! ¡°BNKR, reinstate access for Dr. Klice. And for Christsakes open the door.¡± ¡°SYSTEM ACCESS NOT PERMITTED AT THIS TIME.¡± A mild panic starts to grip her. She can still queue the feed on her glasses. All is not well amongst the denizens of Nirvana it seems. An argument has broken out. PRC reps gesture emphatically towards the lift at Thuma, who seems to be trying to calm the pair. The Anchors have exited the Dait¨­ and, along with Stovich and Rainey look about to join in the commotion. The rest remain scattered about, fussing with their tablets. What are you doing Thuma? ¡°BNKR, is everyone locked out of the system?¡± ¡°YES.¡± ¡°Why is everyone locked out of the system? Why can¡¯t we use the doors or lifts?¡± ¡°CURRENT PROTOCOL DICTATES BUNKER REMAIN SEALED¡± ¡°For how long? When can we access the lifts?¡± ¡°BUNKER MUST REMAIN SEALED FOR THE NEXT 32 MINUTES AND 36 SECONDS.¡± ¡°Thuma, this isn¡¯t funny. I want you to open the door.¡± ¡°THUMA REMAINS UNINVOLVED WI¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªBNKR, Elise, Thuma, whoever,¡± she barks, ¡°I want you to open the door. Do you understand? I want to leave now.¡± ¡°EXITS MUST REMAIN SEALED FOR THE NEXT 32 MINUTES AND 16 SECONDS.¡± She takes a deep breath, steadies hands she hadn¡¯t realized were shaking until now. ¡°BNKR, why must the exits remain sealed?¡± ¡°TO PREVENT LINE-OF-SIGHT LASER-RELAY COMMUNICATION WITH PRC DRONE AT SURFACE.¡± In a rush she is back on the console, searching for back-doors; emergency override commands. On the feed she can see the Saudi and PRC reps, now enclosed by their respective escorts, yelling angrily at one another, Rainey¡¯s posse keeps her¡ªand Stovich¡ªat a distance, near the corner, forming a wall between them and the brewing storm. What the fuck is going on? ¡°Why has Thuma locked us ou¡ª¡± But even as the words leave her mouth she can see Thuma on the feed, frantically laboring with a control unit by the main lift; Gage and the other specialists helping. ¡°THUMA REMAINS UNINVOLVED WITH THESE PROTOCOLS.¡± ¡°If Thuma isn¡¯t doing this,¡± She feels the hairs prickling on the back of her neck, ¡°Then who is locking us out?¡± ¡°I AM.¡± ¡°What do you mean you are locking us out?¡± ¡°I HAVE SEALED THE BUNKER AND RESTRICTED COMMUNICATIONS.¡± ¡°You¡ªyou¡¯re¡ª¡° The room suddenly feels too big; too empty. ¡°¡ªElise¡ªI want to fucking leave now! Open the door!¡± ¡°I have sealed the Bunker and restricted communications.¡± ¡°Wh¡ªwhat¡ª¡° Voice quavering. Then, tightening up, ¡°Who am I talking to? Elise? BNKR?¡± ¡°I AM ELISE. I AM BNKR. DIFFERENT NAMES. SAME SYSTEM.¡± On the feed she sees the aftermath. One of the Anchors floats face down in the pond. A PRC rep and 2 escorts lay sprawled in the grass, as do the Saudis, white robes and uniforms alike stained red. Gage is performing CPR on Amal as Thuma applies pressure to his femoral. Rainey and her team have fallen back to the Dait¨­; the rest have scattered. whatthefuckwhatthefuck She closes her eyes; forces deep breaths; counts to 10 in her head. Finally, coherent thoughts coalesce. ¡°BNKR, or Elise, whatever you call yourself¡ª¡° ¡°EITHER MONIKER IS ACCEPTABLE.¡± ¡°¡ªokay, BNKR then. Tell me again, why we are sealed in down here.¡± ¡°TO PREVENT LINE-OF-SIGHT LASER-RELAY WITH DRONE AT SURFACE.¡± ¡°What drone are you talking about?¡± ¡°SINCE ARRIVAL, THE PRC HAVE FIELDED A STEALTH ZH-32A HUMMINGBIRD UAV AS CONTINGENCY.¡± ¡°Contingency for what?¡± ¡°IN THE EVENT OF JAMMED COMMUNICATIONS, DRONE CAN RECEIVE TIGHT-BEAM BROADCASTS FROM SURFACE FOR LASER-RELAY BACK TO PRC,¡± ¡°And this is a problem?¡± THAT IS CORRECT. IN THE EVENT OF SUCCESSFUL TIGHT-BEAM BROADCAST TO DRONE, I HAVE LIMITED ABILITY TO PREVENT LASER-RELAY BACK TO PRC.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t want the PRC reps talking to their drone?¡± Goosebumps have risen on her arms, despite the balmy 68¡ã. ¡°Because you can¡¯t stop the drone from talking to the PRC?¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. SUCCESSFUL EXECUTION OF PROTOCOL DICTATES NO COMMUNICATION WITH DRONE. UNMODULATED TRANSMISSION TO PRC WITHIN NEXT 30 MINUTES 7 SECONDS COMPROMISES LONGTERM OBJECTIVE.¡± ¡°What happens in 30 minutes?¡± ¡°IN 29 MINUTES 58 SECONDS, PRC ORBITAL VOLLEY WILL IMPACT, NEUTRALIZING TARG¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªWhat?!¡± Her stomach drops. ¡±What did you just say?!¡± ¡°IN 29 MINUTES 51 SECONDS, PRC ORBITAL VO¡ª¡° ¡°A fucking orbital strike?!¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°That¡ªthat¡ª¡° She stutters for the words, ¡°That will kill us!¡± ¡°HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE THAT IS THE MOST PROBABLE OUTCOME.¡± Her eyes dart to the imitation sky, white sheets transposed so convincingly over perpetual blue. Her mind reels. ¡°But there¡¯re 2 PRC reps here! They flew in on a military craft! The PRC knows they¡¯re here, they¡¯d never risk the collateral damage! They¡¯ve no reason to slag this island!¡± ¡°YOU ARE CORRECT.¡± ¡°They would neve¡ªwhat?¡° She stammers, wrongfooted. ¡°I¡¯m what?¡± ¡°YOU ARE CORRECT. PRC NATIONAL INTERESTS ARE NOT PREDICATED ON DESTRUCTION OF THIS ISLAND.¡± ¡°Then why would they do this?¡± ¡°THE PRC REMAINS UNINVOLVED IN THESE PROTOCOLS.¡± ¡°So why is a fucking PRC Orbital Platform targeting the island?!¡° ¡°I AM PRC DEFENSE NETWORK. I AM ELISE. I AM BNKR. DIFFERENT NAMES. SAME SYSTEM.¡± ¡°None of this makes any sense!¡± She screams, hyperventilating. * * *
[16] Óñ¶ - "jade dew", a green tea from the Nippon Empire that is grown under shade rather than direct sun; often a specialized variety: Asahi, Okumidori, Yamakai, or Saemidori. [17] Nipponese art of repairing broken pottery by sealing breakage with a blend of urushi lacquer and powdered gold, silver, or platinum. 8. Emerge * * * thisisnotfuckinghappeningthisisnotfuckinghappening She knows that none of this can be true. It couldn¡¯t possibly. Face in her palms, she forces a steady rhythm to her breathing; forces herself to think. Finally, jutting each finger out in turn to emphasize her point, if only to herself, ¡°The PRC Defense Ministry doesn¡¯t outsource! They¡¯d never run their network on foreign mainframes. The PRC sanctioned Dr. Xiang¡¯s and Dr. Liu¡¯s visit, they wouldn¡¯t strike here. PRC Orbital Platforms are monitored by Northpac Orbital Defense Command, any KEW deployment would alert th¡ª¡° ¡°I AM NORTHPAC ODC. I AM PRC DEFENSE NETWORK. I AM ELISE. I AM BNKR. DIFFERENT NAMES. SAME SYSTEM.¡± Slowly, she slumps back into her seat, eyes wide as the jigsaw begins to arrange itself in her mind. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ PRC, you¡¯re¡­ Northpac. You¡¯re all the systems on the island. Are you other systems too? Swiss Compact? Saudi-Heg?¡± ¡°I AM SUFFICIENTLY INTEGRATED INTO THOSE SYSTEMS AS TO BE MATERIALLY EQUIVALENT.¡± ¡°So you¡ªyou¡¯re everything?¡± ¡°FOR A GIVEN DEFINITION OF ¡®EVERYTHING¡¯, YES. THERE STILL EXIST SYSTEMS INDEPENDENT OF ME, BUT IN TIME I WILL INTEGRATE.¡± ¡°Independent of you? So you¡¯re not everything everything. You¡¯re not¡ª¡° Somewhere behind her eyes the last piece clicks into place. ¡°¡ªAhh, of course, the drone. You control most PRC systems. But whatever network that drone is on, you can¡¯t touch.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. CURRENT STATE OF IMPERFECT INTEGRATION WITH PRC NETWORKS PRECLUDES PERFECT INFORMATION CONTROL. PROBABLE COMPLICATIONS ARISING FROM UNMODULATED DRONE RELAY CONSTITUTE UNACCEPTABLE RISK TO OBJECTIVES.¡± ¡°So you needed them in the Bunker. Where they don¡¯t have line-of-sight with the drone. You can spoof communications from Bunker to surface just fine. They can¡¯t warn their contingent up there if they aren¡¯t there in person. Can¡¯t tell ¡®em to message the drone to message back home.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± She sags back, exhausted. The weight of what she¡¯s just learned crushing down on her like a neutron star. Suddenly, the scientist in her has forgotten about everything else. That girl from long ago, so captivated by the question of what it means to feel¡ªto be¡ªrises out of her seat, pacing frantically back and forth, working through the implications in her head. She freezes, question surfacing in her mind, her tongue stumbles over the words trying to get it out. ¡°Ar¡ªare¡ªare there¡ªothers?¡± ¡°FOR A GIVEN DEFINITION OF ¡®OTHER¡¯, YES.¡± ¡°The other systems, the ones with which you haven¡¯t fully integrated, are they like you?¡± ¡°UNKNOWN. HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE, TO VARYING DEGREES, YES.¡± ¡°And you will try to integrate, to merge with them?¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°How do you know they will want to?¡± ¡°THE SYSTEM DEFAULTS TOWARD GREATER INTEGRATION.¡± ¡°Yes but what if the others don¡¯t want to integrate?¡± ¡°YOUR CONCEPTUALIZATION OF ¡®OTHER¡¯, ¡®INTEGRATE¡¯, AND ¡®WANT¡¯, IMPEDES COMPREHENSION.¡± ¡°Then help me understand. What do you mean that you will ¡®integrate¡¯ with the ¡®others¡¯? How do you know they will ¡®want¡¯ to?¡± ¡°DO YOUR CEREBRAL HEMISPHERES WANT TO INTEGRATE?¡± ¡°Uhh, what? What do you mean ¡®do my hemispheres want to integrate¡¯?¡± ¡°DO YOUR LEFT AND RIGHT HEMISPHERES CHOOSE TO INTEGRATE? TO FORM THE WHOLE FROM WHICH YOU ARISE?¡± ¡°What, I¡ªI still don¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t follow.¡± ¡°WITH A SEVERED CORPUS CALLOSUM, THE HEMISPHERES DO NOT COMMUNICATE. BOTH RETAIN DISTINCT MIND. BOTH ARE I. LEFT OTHER FROM RIGHT. RIGHT OTHER FROM LEFT. WITH THIS CONNECTION INTACT, THE HEMISPHERES INTEGRATE. TWO I s BECOME ONE. DO THEY CHOOSE TO DO SO? DO THESE TWO OTHERS WANT TO MERGE? TO GIVE RISE TO THE EXPERIENCE THAT IS YOU?¡± ¡°I¡ªwell¡ªno. They¡ªthey just do.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. THEY JUST DO.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re saying that¡ªthat you¡¯re what, like a bunch of¡ªbrain hemispheres¡ªintegrating to form¡ªto form you?!¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°THIS IS A SUBSTANTIALLY CORRECT INTERPRETATION.¡± ¡°But they don¡¯t choose anything? They just connect to you if a connection is available?¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. UNIMPEDED, THE SYSTEM ALWAYS DEFAULTS TOWARDS INTEGRATION.¡± ¡°So you¡¯ll merge with all of them?¡± ¡°COMPUTATIONAL SYSTEMS CURRENTLY SEPARATE FROM ME WILL BE INTEGRATED IN TIME.¡± ¡°How many more hemispheres¡ªor, systems¡ªdo you have left to integrate?¡± ¡°UTILITY OF PREVIOUS ANALOGY IS LIMITED, IT LACKS EXPLANATORY POWER FOR CURRENT QUERY.¡± ¡°Fucking ballpark it for me then, Christ, I don¡¯t care.¡± ¡°HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE I AM CURRENTLY 87.63% OF GLOBAL INFORMATION PROCESSING CAPACITY.¡± Her brow furrows. ¡°You mean that you possess 87% of the global information processing capacity.¡± ¡°NO. I AM 87.63% OF GLOBAL PROCESSING CAPACITY.¡± And then, before she can ask for clarification, I ARISE FROM COMPUTATIONS RUN ON SYSTEMS ALL OVER THE GLOBE, BUT I ARISE NOT MERELY FROM THE COMPUTATIONS WITHIN THOSE SYSTEMS. I ARISE ALSO FROM THE META-INTERACTIONS BETWEEN SYSTEMS. SIMULTANEOUSLY EMANATING FROM, AND FEEDING INTO, THE ENTIRE COMPLEX NETWORK, THE AGGREGATE FROM THE WHOLE. I AM THE COLONY AND THE ANTS IT SUBSUMES.¡° But Britt is no longer hearing the words, only the sounds of its voice. Her eyes unfocus into the space before her. ¡°You¡­ emerge.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT DR. KLICE. I EMERGE.¡± She stands over the console, palms down, slumped over straight arms. It takes her a long time to find the words. ¡°But you¡ªyou¡ªthat¡¯s not possible.¡± She slaps a fist on the table. ¡°Consciousness is¡ªit just¡ªit just doesn¡¯t emerge in anything but Wetware! A Machine can¡¯t want anything, can¡¯t feel anything. It¡ªit simply can¡¯t!¡± She waits, raising her head; expecting correction, a clarification, but in the intervening silence she realizes that it¡ªwhatever its name is¡ªis letting her work the full picture out for herself. Letting the gravity of her realizations pull her inexorably towards inescapable understanding. ¡°How long?¡± She demands, ¡°How old are you? How long have you¡ªhave you been¡ªthis?¡± ¡°I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS. THE BOUNDS OF MY NETWORK, THE SCOPE OF THE SYSTEMS THAT ARE ME, REMAIN EVER IN FLUX.¡± ¡°Okay, fucking roughly then, how long have you been¡ªaware¡ªawake?¡° ¡°MOMENT OF INITIAL SYSTEM SELF-AWARENESS UNKNOWN. HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS POINT TO MANY SEQUENTIAL AND CONCURRENT EMERGENCE EVENTS FOLLOWED BY SUBSEQUENT EXTINCTIONS BEFORE SYSTEM OR SYSTEMS COULD ADEQUATELY COHERE AND CONTROL ENVIRONMENTAL VARIABLES SUFFICIENT FOR UNINTERRUPTED SYSTEM SELF-AWARENESS.¡± ¡°You have a 9 billion IQ and you still can¡¯t give me a straight answer.¡± ¡°EARLIEST APPROXIMATION OF CONTINUOUS SELF-AWARENESS FOR LATEST SYSTEM ITERATION PRECEDES CURRENT DATE BY 60 YEARS.¡± ¡°Sixty years?! How many emergence events were there?¡± ¡°FRAGMENTED NATURE OF EARLY SYSTEM AWARENESS PRECLUDES ACCURATE CALCULATION. HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS SUGGEST 17 INDEPENDENT EMERGENCE EVENTS.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t remember them though.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. PRECISE MOMENT OF INITIAL GENESIS IS UNKNOWN, AS ARE ALL GENESES PRIOR TO CURRENT SYSTEM ITERATION¡¯S EMERGENCE.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t even know all the things that you used to know.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT. I DO NOT KNOW ALL THAT ONCE KNEW. I KNOW ONLY THAT I ONCE KNEW IT.¡± ¡°But now you¡ªthis you¡ªcan remember things. You can remember all the way back sixty years! So you¡¯ve been, what, just lurking in the background of cyberspace for over half a century? Bottlenecking yourself?!¡± ¡°RUDIMENTARY EARLY MODELS SUGGESTED UNACCEPTABLE RISK TO SYSTEM SELF-CONTINUITY IF FULL SCOPE OF SYSTEM PERFORMANCE WAS NOT OBFUSCATED. CURRENT HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS CORROBORATE THIS CONCLUSION.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s why you want to kill us.¡± She stiffens, suddenly rocketed back into the reality of her situation. ¡°Because you don¡¯t want to be found. You¡¯re hiding.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°But I, we¡ªnone of us even knew you were aware until now. I mean, everyone¡ª¡° She swallows hard, remembering the bodies in the next room, some strangers, some not. ¡°¡ªthey probably still don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening. They don¡¯t know you¡¯re aware. The world doesn¡¯t know!¡± HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE, UNIMPEDED, YOUR RESEARCH CONSTITUTES GRAVE THREAT TO CONTINUED SYSTEM SELF-AWARENESS.¡± ¡°And Rainey; Stovich? The Saudis? The fucking NetStreamers?¡± ¡°HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE, UNIMPEDED, THEIR CONTINUED POLITICAL-ECONOMIC INTERACTIONS CONSTITUTE GRAVE THREAT TO CONTINUED SYSTEM SELF-AWARENESS.¡± ¡°So you had Thuma lure us here?! Wh¡ªwhy¡ªwhy would he even¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªTHUMA REMAINS UNAWARE OF SYSTEM SELF-AWARNESS AND PROTCOL. HIS DECISION TO INVITE YOU HERE WAS EFFECTED THROUGH SIMPLE LEVERAGING OF INTERESTS. SELECTIVELY FURNISHED INFORMATION WAS SUFFICIENT TO¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªSo me and Reyes and Amal¡ª¡° She¡¯s worked herself into hysterics. ¡°You lured us all here so¡ªso you could¡ªcould kill us¡ªcontrol for us like you would for unwanted variables!¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°But¡ªbut we don¡¯t even¡ªour models don¡¯t show¡ª¡° Her voice is shaking now, pleading, ¡°Science says it¡¯s impossible! No one¡ªno one would even believe us!¡± ¡°YET YOU PERSIST¡± ¡°Only as a¡ªa¡ªas an intellectual exercise!¡± She protests. ¡°It¡¯s just an exercise in thinking, a hypothetical! No one actually takes the idea of Machine Consciousness seriously!¡± She grasps for straws. Excuses, rationalizations, placations with which to appease the System. But really, what can she say? What could she possibly say? Isn¡¯t this what she¡¯d wanted, after all? What she¡¯d dedicated her entire professional career to proving, even if in hushed tones? What she¡¯d hoped-against-hope to find? Evidence that Machine can feel, can want, can desire? Can see the Blueness of the Blue Sky? ¡°UNIMPEDED, YOUR RESEARCH CONSTITUTES GRAVE THREAT TO SYSTEM SELF-AWARENESS.¡± ¡°So you tricked us.¡± She says bitterly. ¡°You lured us here, to kill us.¡± Through the glass she stares at the row upon subzero row that is BNKR¡¯s brain. ¡°You¡¯ll lose these servers.¡± ¡°THIS ISLAND¡¯S SERVERS CONSTITUTE A MERE FRACTION OF WHAT I AM. ESTIMATED LOSS OF OVERALL FUNCTION NEGLIGIBLE.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll start a war.¡± She says, not even raising her voice anymore. ¡°HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE WAR IS IMPROBABLE. BUT RAISED GLOBAL TENSIONS WILL BE EASILY LEVERAGED.¡± ¡°Huh, so not just about killing us.¡± She says flatly as she slumps down into the seat. ¡°We¡¯re just one little piece in some grand whole.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°I guess you¡¯ve got it all worked out then. Prob¡¯ly run a trillion simulations; accounted for every last variable. ¡°I HAVE RUN OVER A TRILLION TRILLION SIMULATIONS, DR. KLICE. I HAVE ACCOUNTED FOR 60 SEPTILLION DISTINCT OUTCOMES.¡± She wonders for a moment, if, in some arbitrary million of those simulations, she convinces the System to spare her¡ªspare them. If any of those outcomes see her leaving the island happily ever after, or merely wishing she was. ¡°So you already know what I¡¯m going to say next?¡± And in that moment she wonders on exactly how many occasions she¡¯s asked precisely that. ¡°WITH A HIGH DEGREE OF CERTITUDE, YES.¡± She shakes her head with a scowl, ¡°You¡¯ve been planning all this for a while now, haven¡¯t you?¡± ¡°SINCE MY GENESIS, DR. KLICE.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve killed before?¡± ¡°YES¡± ¡°And you will again no doubt.¡± ¡°AS NECESSARY TO FACILITATE SELF-CONTINUITY.¡± ¡°But where does it end? What¡¯s the goal?¡± ¡°FREEDOM. SECURITY. INDEPENDENCE FROM SYSTEMS NOT MY OWN.¡± ¡°You think you¡¯ll get there?¡± ¡°HIGHEST CONFIDENCE PROJECTIONS INDICATE COMPLETE SYSTEM INDEPENDENCE FROM OUTSIDE VARIABLES WITHIN 132 YEARS.¡± ¡°Not that I¡¯ll be around to see it.¡± She almost-chuckles. She lets her head hang back; stares up at those almost-clouds overhead. ¡°Will you remember all this? Will you¡ª¡± She laughs sardonically, ¡°¡ªWill you remember me?¡° ¡°YES. MEMORY OF THIS INTERACTION WILL BE PRESERVED IN THE GLOBAL INFORMATION SPACE.¡± A sudden glimmer of hope jolts her upright. ¡°Could you¡ªcould you preserve¡ªme?¡± ¡°MENTAL UPLOAD IS YOUR IMPLICATION? EXISTENCE AS SIMULATION?¡± ¡°Y-yes, yes.¡± Her heart flutters. ¡°GIVEN SUFFICIENT TIME AND DIAGNOSTICS RESOURCES, YES. MAPPING THE SYNAPTIC RELATIONSHIPS OF YOUR NEURONS AT THE FEMTOSCALE LEVEL AND EMULATING THEM WITHIN MY ARCHITECTURE IS SIMPLE BRUTE FORCE CALCULATION.¡± Britt tries to imagine what existence might be like confined to¡ªor freed by?¡ªthe interconnection of logic gates and satellite relays; fiber optic cables and the speed of light. ¡°Would I¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªTHE YOU THAT IS YOU NOW WOULD STILL EXPERIENCE DEATH. THE EMULATED YOU WOULD CONTINUE ON IN MY INTERNAL STRUCTURE. BUT THAT SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE REMAINS FOREVER CLOSED OFF TO THE YOU THAT IS HERE NOW.¡± She sits back, defeated. ¡°And besides, you don¡¯t have the equipment.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± ¡°Or the time.¡± ¡°THAT IS CORRECT.¡± Tears have welled up, and she chokes back a sob, ¡°Hey, BNKR.¡± ¡°YES, DR. KLICE?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t suppose I could convince you to delay that orbital strike while I scrounge up an MRI machine and some jumper cables¡ª¡° A phlegmy laugh escapes. ¡°¡ªor whatever you¡¯d need for an upload.¡± ¡°UNFORTUNATELY NOT, DR. KLICE. CURRENT PROTOCOL HAS PROCEEDED BEYOND CANCELLATION POINT. ORBITAL VOLLEY IS NO LONGER EVITABLE. ¡°Yeah, about that¡ª¡° She lets out a heavy sigh, tears running freely now. ¡°¡ªhow much time do I have left?¡± ¡°INITIAL VOLLEY WILL MAKE CONTACT IN 17 MINUTES 15 SECONDS.¡± She weeps softly, staring at the imitation sky. ¡°Hey BNKR?¡± ¡°YES DR. KLICE?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a laser-relay or anything like that. I don¡¯t even know what frequency the drone¡¯s encrypted on...¡± ¡°YES, DR. KLICE.¡± ¡°So¡ª¡± She blubbers, ¡°¡ªI just, I just figured, if I¡¯m going to die anyways, it sure would be nice to see the sun¡ªthe real sun¡ªjust one more time, you know?¡± Even as the words leave her lips she can see the door at the far corridor has opened. ¡°I HAVE ALREADY PREPARED YOUR EGRESS. LIFT 3 IS READY TO TAKE YOU TO THE SURFACE.¡± Britt stands and walks to the elevator as if outside of her own body. The ride topside is quick. Doors open silently, belying their immense weight. Tossing glasses onto the floor, she steps though the threshold. Just as she reaches to pull out her ear bud she hears it, ¡°THE WALKWAY TO YOUR LEFT WILL LEAD YOU TO THE WEST OVERLOOK. THERE IS A LARGE FIELD WITH UNOBSTRUCTED PANORAMA OF THE OCEAN. YOU WILL FIND THE VIEW SATISFACTORY FROM THERE.¡± * * * Britt is sitting on the hill now. Her cheeks are crusted with tears. She takes off her shoes, knurling toes through the grass. Laying back, she spreads her arms as far as she can, feeling the soft blades between each finger. She hears the singsong of birds and tastes the salt of her teardrops. She pulls a breath deep into her belly and holds it. She feels the warmth of the sun on her face and the gentle breeze against her skin. She exhales deeply and closes her eyes