Singularity: Chapter 6

Six _______________________

DEVILS HANDS



ACHERON CORE ROOM
H hOur -3

         It took a while to get everyone together, some were unconscious, some just reluctant, but they all found their way to the Core room. The tension in the air was tangible to say the least.
The business-suited man broke the silence first.
         “I’m not going to waste your time with useless rhetoric, so let’s...”
         “What was your name again?” interrupted Steve, cradling his un-helmeted head in an armoured palm, “I didn’t quite catch it.”
The man, not used to being cut-off midsentence glared for a moment before speaking again.
         “That’s because, Mr. Liedecker,” his people-person persona returned, “I didn’t say it.”
Steve mumbled something unintelligible and slouched back against the wall, his weary face reflecting the battered condition of his exoskeleton.
         “I’m sure you’ve already met my associate,” the man continued, gesturing towards the opposite corner of the room, “he doesn’t have a name as such. I guess you could call it a serial number.”
         “Which is?” sighed Steve, trying to speed things up.
         “Echo-Zero-Five” growled a voice from the darkened corner. It leaned forward ever so slightly as if to emphasise its meaning, not that it really needed to in the first place.
Steve shuddered mentally when he felt the deep bass tone of its voice in his stomach. He had no doubt in his mind that the Silverback was doing it on purpose.
It was probably enjoying itself.
That thought made him shudder even more.
That same thought obviously hadn’t entered Epps’ mind, he was practically beside himself, eyes wide with childlike amazement as he studied the automaton.
         “I can’t believe it. I mean, I thought all the production models were halted mid-construction. Especially after what happened...,” He trailed off awkwardly, eyes dimming at the memory.
         “They were,” Riley said after a moment, “which makes this whole situation highly...”
         “Fucked?” offered Steve, scratching absently at a gouge in his armour.
         “I was going to say illegal, but you’ve got a point,” Riley turned his attention back to the hologram, “let’s get on with it, ok?”
         “Straight to the point.” Smirked the man, “I like that. Maybe you are the captain after all.”
Riley stared at him venomously by way of a response.
An instant later, a three-dimensional map exploded into life around where the man stood. He manipulated it with subtle gestures of his hands, magnifying a portion that looked just as barren and desolate as the rest. An unornamented plain snap-zoomed into resolution, its breadth corrupted with deep fissures and surrounded by an imposing glacier field.
Steve Liedecker snorted in contempt at the man’s time-wasting holographic theatrics.
         “A simple picture would suffice.”
The suited intruder shrugged at the remark and with practised ease and smoothly rolled into his prepared briefing.
         “Who I am and who I represent is unimportant at this point of our... venture. The task you are about to carry out for my employer is what you should be more concerned about. Twenty four hours ago my employer lost contact with one of its facilities, Izanami station,” he indicated a point on the display, “here.”
         “Shit” cursed Steve, letting his head sag. He knew exactly where this was heading.
         “The Acheron is currently the only vessel within range that can offer assistance.”
         “There must be a dozen other vessels within a light minute of here. Why not one of those?” spurted Epps.
         “Those vessels are inadequately equipped to deal with this...development. I assure you, we would not be having this conversation if there were other options at my disposal. We are out past the line gentleman. For lack of a better phrase, I need your help. ”
         “Seems we have you at a loss. What if we refuse?” Asked Epps.
         “Thats a good question,” replied the man, “now let me answer your question with another question. What’s to stop me turning the Acheron into a rapidly expanding ball of hot gas?”
He paused momentarily, letting it all sink in.
         “What?” Epps replied, practically choking on his bewilderment.
         “I was remarking about how I could quite easily turn your vessel into a vapour cloud. Mr Epps, I’ve taken control of this ship from Anni, your Tier 2 Artificial Intelligence. Infiltrated the network and overpowered Mr. Liedeckers security team with my own Class-A combat chassis which I built under your very noses. Now please, pay attention.”
         “I, uh...” stuttered Epps.
         “Just shut it Epps. I don’t want him to sick his pet on me again.” Steve said, exasperated.
         “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been preoccupied with beating its fists with your fucking forehead we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Steve didn’t miss a beat.
         “Yeah? Lucky your Manufactory didn’t get high-jacked by some shady corporate exec so he could build a Fucking Death-Bot, otherwise we’d be in some real pretty shit right now, hmm?”
Luc’s head turned so fast it was a miracle it didn’t come off at the Neck. His eyes burned into Steve with barely suppressed rage.
         “Gentlemen,” interjected the suited man, “let’s not waste time laying blame. Maybe you feel I should have phoned ahead to warn you, for all the good it would have done. Do you really think you could have stopped me? Stopped him?”
He gestured at the BattleApe combat chassis, now in the opposite corner of the room from where it had been only a few moments before.
Nobody had seen it move.
The silence that followed was deafening. Steve glowered at Luc, who had found an unbelievably interesting piece of ground to his immediate front to examine.
         “Please,” the man began again, “let’s talk facts. Where was I?”
         “Vapour cloud.” Luc replied hollowly, still staring at the ground.
         “Ah yes, the vapour cloud, I’ll come back to that.”
He walked casually around the pit, his finger moving seamlessly through the empty air, tracing the outlines of meaningless objects that littered the Core room.
         “The company is very concerned with the status of one of its key facilities. One project in the facility, to be precise.”
         “What kind of project?” Asked Riley.
The man pondered for a moment, weighing up the benefits of including the crew on the information he was privy to.
         “What do you know about Quantum entanglement?”
         “Next to nothing.”
         “Nanoganic constructs?”
         “About the same.”
         “Coefficient Upload Protocol?”
John just stared blankly back at the last comment.
The man continued wandering around the chamber, “Well then, nothing you need to be too concerned about, really.”
The man’s path around the Core room brought him past where the BattleApe had positioned itself.
Riley watched as the holographic man strolled past his monstrous creation. There was a nod from the man, but the BattleApe had no visible reaction to him.
Riley heard a growl come from the construct as the man moved past its position. It was on the very edge of his hearing, straining against the background hum of the Acheron, but it was definitely there. He looked to see if the others had heard it too. If they had, none of them were shouting about it.
         “Moving on,” said the suit, “my employer has requisitioned this ship and crew for the purposes of infiltrating the complex and investigating what has happened. You will assist my associate through whatever means necessary.
I understand that this may all sound doom and gloom, but this task is not without its rewards. I have been authorised to payout your current contracts...”
         “We were going to get that anyway,” Riley interrupted, “before you arrived...”
         “By a factor of ten.” The man rejoined slowly, cutting John off. “It is very rude to interrupt, Mr Riley, be mindful of that in the future.”
         “Why so much?” Steve asked, “What’s the catch?”
         “Discretion.” The Suit responded simply.
         “Oh, discretion,” Steve echoed sarcastically, “because so far you’ve been about as discreet as a Cuban-Fucking-Revolution.”
The man shrugged off Steve’s criticism.
         “Prudence, circumspection, call it hush-money if you want to. Knock yourselves out, I don’t care. What I do care about is getting this done. The nature of the project is delicate, and you will deliver the desired result. And if you don’t...”
         “If we don’t, what?” Steve cut him off.
         “Well, Mr Liedecker,” the man replied condescendingly, “my employer likes to make money. And it is cheaper for them to contract you out then it is for them to save face.”
         “How exactly do they save face?” John asked, attempting to diffuse Steve’s temper.
         “Don’t think the money we’re paying you is the only thing motivating you.”
John felt the change in tone as the suited man laid it all down. Life or death situations did tend to crop up on these deep black runs. Corporate espionage missions and hostile takeovers from prototype machines, however, was a totally new experience for him.
         “You’re a smart man, Mr Riley,” the man continued, casting a quick glance at the bristling Steve Liedecker, I have already mentioned the vapour cloud. Now add a crater to that and, well, I’m sure you’ll figure the rest out.”

         WITH THAT last chilling comment, the holographic man had flickered spectacularly out of existence. The vacuum of his departure had Left the members present in awkward silence, none of them feeling the need to move, speak or breathe loudly while the BattleApe still lurked in the shadows.
John was coming to grips with a world ripped out from under him like a tablecloth by a cheap backyard magician. No doubt that next would come the botched card tricks and balloon animals.
But maybe his tilted world was a breath of fresh air compared to whatever reality Epps was in, he looked absolutely gutted.
Steve was at odds with the scene, his face stoic as ever. John wasn’t surprised, really. He figured that after a lifetime of warlike service, Steve was used to not getting his own way. He looked far from impressed with the whole situation and probably imagining ways to regain balance. Ways that involved damage.
The Silverback had walked casually into the dim lighting, easily dominating the centre of the room. It didn’t waste time with theatrics, it didn’t need to. This was the business end of the operation, save the grand gestures and threats for the suits.
         “The mission data has been uploaded to your personal files.” The Silverback said to the group. Its voice permeated their consciousness at the most primal level, tearing their thoughts away from the other realities they were distracting themselves with. Countdowns until leave, girls that should have kissed but didn’t, the dinner menu.
         “Hopefully it’s got more details then your friend had.” Epps said spitefully.
         “He’s no friend of mine,” The Silverback replied after a pause. Everyone present was taken aback by the vehemence of the statement.
         “Noted.” Epps said simply, hands held up placatingly.
A holographic blueprint of a structure flickered into life above the holo-pit, the Silverback made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the projected facility.
         “This is Izanami Station. One of Jovian Industries outer research hubs. 24 hours ago an anomaly was recorded just before the station went offline.”
         “What kind of anomaly?” Epps asked.
         “An anomalous one,” The Silverback replied sarcastically, “any more intelligent questions?”
Epps dipped his head in defeat, miming ‘no’ to nobody but himself.
         “From what data we have, there has been at least one casualty. Due to the isolated location, there is a high likelihood of more.”
         “Jovian employ any families there?” Riley interrupted, out of nothing other than his own personal interest. It wasn’t uncommon for large corporations to drag whole families out to these outposts if only to increase production output by single digits. Sons-of-bitches.
         “Including logistical elements, support staff and security…,” The BattleApe tilted its head slightly, calling up the data internally, “237 souls. No listed families.”
Riley didn’t like the way it had used the word souls, but despite himself whistled and leaned further back in his chair; impressed with the size of the work force for this installation. The lack of families was a small consolation; the last thing he wanted to imagine was separating them.
It was obvious to the casual observer that the Acheron was massive. Similar in size and tonnage to an aircraft carrier or cruise ship, but in this case, size didn’t mean a thing. Those vessels only had to travel a few thousand (not million) miles before resupply and they definitely didn’t need to be pressurised with oxygen. Throw in being surrounded by infinite nothingness in every direction and the similarities from that point onwards become few and far between.
This was a resources game. The Acheron could support an extra 237 people for about as long as a plastic bag would give John clean air.
         “We don’t have the provisions for that many people,” John said. Obvious, he knew, but more so he could get his own head around the situation, “it’s an 8 month haul just to Phobos, we’d run out of air before we even got halfway there, let alone Earth…”
The word Souls found its way back into Johns thoughts, now accompanied by a new word; Triage.
         “But this isn’t a rescue mission,” John said slowly, “is it?”
The Silverback said nothing for what felt like a long time. Its face betrayed almost nothing at all, that much was to be expected, of course. The thick armour was designed to defeat bullets, not impersonate feelings. But the incline of its head, the posture of its shoulders, the almost human way that his eyes locked onto Riley’s. It looked at him with what? Vindication?
         “No.” It replied quietly.
Riley scrutinized its face as it spoke but the look disappeared before the word had finished echoing through shadows of the Core Room, the dispassionate mask returned.
         “Our objective is silo 81,” the schematic lifted higher above the Holo-Pit as a previously unseen portion began to animate, pixel by pixel, into existence. An entire labyrinth manifested out from a central shaft that penetrated deep into the ice below the small surface facility. Generator rooms, accommodation areas, manufacturing facilities and other things that Riley couldn’t identify appeared as the schematic continued to grow, “it is located near the tertiary research centre. We will have to infiltrate through multiple check points in order to get there.”
         “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy would we?” interjected Steve, apparently taking interest in the conversation again.
         “No,” the BattleApe replied flatly, sarcasm forgotten now, “however, assuming that lockdown isn’t in effect, they might not even be active.”
         “But even if they were, my boys can handle themselves against station security,” Steve gave his battle-plate a tap, “these suits are old, but they’ll take a lot of punishment.”
         “It’s not that simple; the security system operates via a tiered arrangement. It will only bring what resources it needs online to counter a specific threat,” The Silverback stared directly at Steve as he spoke, “The system is adaptive. Human security teams will be the lowest tier, the least dangerous.”
Riley half choked and spat out a mouthful of Coke at the BattleApe’s last comment. An uneasy silence filled the room as Riley and Epps waited to see what Steve would do. Calling anything into play regarding his professionalism would put a man on tenuous ground. Saying he wasn’t a threat had put lesser men in intensive care.
Steve Liedecker found his way to his feet with some difficulty, the abused servomechanisms of his exoskeleton whining in protest. The grimace on his face matched the condition of the tattered battle-plate on his chest.
         “So, what do we call you?”
The BattleApe regarded Steve for long moments before he said anything in response.
         “My serial number is Echo-Zero-Five.”
Steve waved off the comment.
         “Yeah, we got that. But me and team aren’t about to go on some clandestine mission with something that has no name, or doesn’t exist for that matter.”
Again, silence from the hulking construct. Steve wondered briefly if the machine actually had a name. He knew it had a model and series number, just like he had a first, middle and last name. However, nobody called him all of those at the same time, all the time. No one except his mother, that is and only when he’d screwed up royally.
         “I’ll call you Tin-man or scrap-metal, unless you come up with something better.”
         “You can call me E.”
         “E,” Steve repeated, he moved closer to the towering golem, the height difference was impressive, but it didn’t diminish the venom in Steve’s voice as he brought his face to within inches on E’s own, “what are you E? Some kind of jumped up puppet? You walk and talk and pretend to think like a real boy?”
         “Something like that.” E replied, impassively.
         “You got the drop on us before, I’ll give you that,” Steve said levelly, “but understand me when I tell you; if you ever pull a stunt like what you did down on C-Deck, I’ll send you to whatever God you believe in. If you even believe in one at all. Are we clear?”
Epps and Riley sat there slack jawed in shock at Steve’s comment. Maybe the blow to the head he’d suffered had knocked something loose. Even if it hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have his head attached at the neck for much longer anyway.
E considered Steve’s words before responding.
         “Crystal.” E answered, grinning slowly.
Steve, satisfied with E’s response, nodded and sat back down again. Tension flowed out of the room like a waning tide. Epps, who hadn’t realised he had been holding his breath, exhaled slowly, relieved he didn’t have to be at ground zero for David and Goliath’s round two grudge match.
Something had happened between these two veterans, Riley was at a loss as to what exactly, but he assumed that they’d laid out some ground rules. He didn’t expect for a second that they’d play nice, but as long as they saved their own mutual destruction until after the job, it was all the same to him.
         “We have a very small window to complete this mission. Prep your teams, we need to begin immediately.”
         “I’m assuming,” Steve began, “that you have a plan for our insertion? That shuttle we have ain’t no Dropship. It’ll take either you or my team, not both at the same time.”
         “You’ll insert alone,” E said derisively, “I’ll meet you there.”

THE CORE room had been empty for a while now. The surrounding hallways deserted; Riley had made sure of it. Vigilantly checked for signs of life, withdrawn the hatch quietly and locked it manually. He’d used a well practised lie to the others, stating he needed to bring some of the tertiary systems back online and would be a while. Best to leave him to it. E had looked at him after he’d said it. Looked right through him. But he didn’t know, nobody knew. Riley had been careful.
         He slid a small panel aside on the holo-pit. Reaching inside, his fingers found a small number pad. Riley entered the code without looking, he didn’t need to. He slid the panel back and waited.
         Time passed mutely, the Acheron humming faithfully in the background. Purifiers whined, distant engines throbbed, fluorescent globes buzzed. And just as the rest of the Acheron hadn’t been idle, neither was the holo-pit. A series of interlocks and servomechanisms were running through pre-programmed routines.
         A pneumatic hiss emanated finally as the floor surrounding the base of the pit depressed with a jolt and withdrew slightly. The projector housing rose stutteringly into the ceiling, panels rattling awkwardly from the uncoordinated motors. Where the holographic projector had been a savage hole now remained. Something moved in the darkness.
         Riley watched patiently as it rose from the gaping maw. The flat sides reflected sickly light from its dusty surfaces. Tangled wires and screens hung haphazardly from any available mounting point. Shielded piping coiled around it, cradling it in a bionic embrace. The device looked like a mechanical cocoon.
         It looked like a casket.
         Riley swiped his thumb across a biometric panel. Internal locks disengaged with a clunk before the cover separated and slid slowly apart.
         Riley looked mournfully at the shivering form inside. Desecrated by tubes and cables, it laid there, curled foetus-like and vulnerable. Painful lumps and disfigurations appeared where the various apparatus had penetrated the pale white flesh. There were no sweeping effects across the skin now, no projected gull grey freckles or highlights. This body was tangible. She was tangible.
Anni turned her head slowly and looked reproachfully at Riley. Even though her face was slick with the amniotic fluid she lay in, John could tell she had been crying.
         “Hey there kiddo,” he said sadly, trying on the best smile he could manage, “how ya holding up?”

****

         “An intelligence of this type had never been developed before. The prototypes were promising. They were not inferior intellects as the company had everyone believe, but an evolution, a union of machine efficiency and awareness.
We have had no exposure to any intelligence other than our own, so obviously, the only roadmap we had was us, and it was this one that we used. Willingly I might add. The excitement was palpable; of course the warning signs were ignored.
And in our arrogance, our misplaced perception of control, we green-lit the project...
…We ignored the implications of a machine intelligence modelled on human awareness.
We ignored the fact that our most powerful instinct is fear.”

-Irvine Report 2053







TO BE CONTINUED; CHAPTER 7, DIRTSIDE