Chapter 4: Angels and Ghosts
OIA Advanced Weapons Research Facility "Anvil"
Solo Islands
January 30, 2011
Marissa sat delicately in the office chair and balanced the three-ring binder in her lap, doing her best to ignore the glances in her direction. After pledging her commitment to stay, she was ironically removed from the island as soon as weather allowed. What followed was an accelerated course in working for the OIA, a flurry of mental exams and background checks, the creation of a cover story of being hired by a think-tank, and packing up her flat in Oured City. Despite the general perception that a bureaucracy moved slowly, the whole process took just over two weeks, with Mark taking point in getting everything done quickly. Later, he would inform her that they'd broken a lot of standard procedures to fasttrack her, not that she had complained. With a new project came renewed determination and passion, more than she'd felt since before the war started. This drove her to dive into her primary responsibility, training Trigger.
"Good morning Doctor Atkinson," Trigger greeted.
"Good morning Trigger," Marissa said. "Are you ready to begin?"
"All systems are nominal." Trigger's answer was what she'd expected, having taken the breaks in her induction process to study her father's notes. Going through his handwritten journals had been emotional but incredibly informative, the detailed daily entries tracking Trigger's progress. From it she'd gleaned that Trigger possessed a basic sense of self, in that it recognized what it was and its own limitations. It was also aware of the end goal, that it would be meant for combat should the need ever arise. It could calculate its own conclusions but only offered them when asked and always deferred to a human's judgement, specifically hers. Trigger trusted her completely and implicitly, an intimidating amount of responsibility. It would listen to Volker, Jonas and any other human that worked here, but only Doctor Atkinson had final say. This dependence and attachment was a consequence of the loyalty protocols that had been placed into the source code to ensure Trigger wouldn't go rogue. Needless to say, Marissa now understood Volker's warning of impressionability.
"Excellent," she said, glancing up to nod to Professor Volker as he walked by. He'd taken overall command of the project to allow Marissa to focus on working with Trigger, supplying information and resources as necessary but keeping his distance. Everyone did except for Jonas, afraid that in doing so they'd disturb the process. From what she had learned, Trigger's refusal to cooperate without an Atkinson on base had come as a shock, the A.I. stubbornly ignoring all lessons that were attempted. Trigger certainly didn't lack loyalty but it made Marissa nervous for what would happen when Trigger was sent to the Air Force. Shaking the thought away, Marissa focused on the lesson in military hierarchy. It was the first of many that would fill the countless days to come.
Gründer Industries Research Center
Northern Usea
Twelve Days Later
Dr. Schroeder rubbed his temples as he stared at the computer screen in front of him. Z.O.E., Zone of Endless, was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was refined, elegant and full of limitless potential. An artificial intelligence of such complexity that he doubted anyone would ever truly comprehend it. This made the task of resurrecting it a daunting one. The file his superior had given him contained scant information on the program itself, it was more a master list of where the project's resources had been stored. A good place to start, but with Gründer now in disarray and more of its assets being seized every day, the process of tracking them down was a test of will. So far, they'd managed to recover a number of drives that contained research data and one that contained the decayed remnants of one of the updated versions, but it was a fraction of what the file contained. The greatest loss were the prototypes, aircraft that had been modified to fly autonomously using Z.O.E. 's intelligence and satellite connections. All were destroyed during the Usean Coup d'etat by the "enemy" and the advanced fighter program that was developing alongside it had been seized by the Oseans during that nonsense with the "Grey Men."
Finally giving in to his eye fatigue, Schroeder leaned back in his chair and flexed his neck, earning a satisfying series of pops. A quick check of his watch showed it was 9:00am, meaning he'd be awake for the past 24 hours. Such days were not uncommon, especially now, and he'd made decent headway in stitching Z.O.E. back together. Double checking to ensure his updates had been saved, he transferred it all into a physical drive which he then placed in his secure briefcase. An antiquated process but quite necessary as Schroeder had no way of knowing if Gründer's internal network wasn't tapped. His boss had stressed the secrecy of this project and the researcher was not foolish enough to test how thoroughly the man would enforce the nondisclosure agreement in his contract.
The ringing of his phone stopped his exit, Schroeder fumbling as he pulled the bulky device from his coat pocket. Like the drive, it was deliberately archaic, using methods of telecommunication that were so outdated nobody bothered developing spy gear for it.
"Schroeder," he answered.
"Sir," a woman's voice. A moment of recollection identified the voice of his assistant Marsha. "Our investigators uncovered something in one of the store houses."
"Have them transport and catalogue it through the usual means," he ordered, annoyed. "They should know what to do by now."
"Yes sir, but they insisted it be brought to your immediate attention." Schroeder frowned, his curiosity peaked.
"What did they find?"
"They're… not sure sir, but I can have a car take you there within the hour." Not sure? How could they not be sure? He needed to increase the competency of his staff immediately.
"By all means," he agreed. Better to deal with it now.
"Yes sir." Marsha hung up, the task now good as done. With a sigh, Schroeder turned away from the door and walked over to a wall safe. Inputting his code he slotted the case into the perfectly formed safe, locking it closed. Another artifact of old Grunder, this company really was paranoid. Speaking of, what could have been found that required his immediate attention? Whatever it was, it had better be important.
OIA Advanced Weapons Research Facility "Anvil'
"...and then 'Fox 3' refers to an active radar guided missile being released," Marissa recited from the training manual resting on her legs. Trigger did not reply, simply continuing to absorb the information silently. "Right. Trigger, recite the code for an infrared guided missile launch." Trigger didn't reply, only the faint sound of some classical waltz filling the air. Marissa looked up from the book. "Trigger?"
The camera was not pointed at her, it was instead focused on what was Professor Volker's office. Volker himself was swaying along to the music as he worked, clearly visible in the high quality lens. Marissa's brow furrowed. Trigger shouldn't be able to get distracted, but here it was, staring off into space as if daydreaming.
"Trigger," Marissa said with more authority. The camera snapped back to focus on her.
"Fox 2 is the requested answer," Trigger replied smoothly. Well, Marissa couldn't falt hi- it for answering correctly.
"Correct," Marissa said slowly. Trigger's chime sounded but she watched as the camera slowly panned up to look back at Volker. Alright, time to get to the bottom of this. "Trigger, what are you looking at?"
"Professor Volker is behaving oddly, yet his gyrations and physical movements appear to be moderately in sync with an unidentified rhythmic auditory phenomena." The reply came immediately after the question was asked.
"He's just dancing Trigger," Marissa said, confused.
"I see." There was a pause, Trigger now processing the information.
"Do… do you know what dancing is?"
"Affirmative." Trigger again answered promptly. Marissa nodded, satisfied, and looked back down at the manual.
"Ah, good, then let's get back on task-."
"Why is Professor Volker dancing?" Trigger interrupted.
"What?" Marissa looked back up at the camera, which was now twisting and spinning hesitantly to the beat.
"Why is Professor Volker dancing? Does it serve a purpose?" Trigger continued to manipulate the camera, doing his level best to imitate the older man. On the monitoring screens she could see Trigger's processors were working harder.
"Uh, well, it's fun." Marissa watched fascinated as the camera spun and pitched, digging out a notepad to begin taking notes.
"Fun. A term associated with activities that generate a pleasure response in humans." The camera stilled to focus on her. "Can you dance Doctor Atkinson?"
"Not very well," Marissa replied, scribbling rapidly in shorthand. "Trigger why did you try to copy Volker?"
"To understand." There was a long pause. "Apologies, I am unable to identify the auditory phenomena, can you please identify it?" Marissa put down her pen and frowned, listening.
"Salazom's Waltz of the Angels," she replied. Trigger sounded its chime, beginning to manipulate the camera again. It was surreal, watching a computer try to dance on its own volition, the jerks awkward and movement clumsy. Like a toddler learning to walk. She wondered how far Trigger would go. Her father's notes encouraged the fostering of Trigger's curiosity, noting that it helped the A.I. better comprehend the environment and make it even more attentive than it already was. "Here, give me a second." Trigger froze at the command, waiting. Marissa reached into her bag and pulled out the laptop given to her for personal (albeit monitored) use. A quick search online retrieved a video of a performance of the piece by the Oured Philharmonic Orchestra. "Listen to this." Trigger chimed again as she tapped the spacebar, playing the video. Music wafted out of the speakers, louder than what was filtering from Volker's office. Trigger's activity spiked, camera rotating to stare at the laptop. Unconsciously Marissa held the laptop so it could see the screen.
The A.I. listened to it all the way through once silently, processing what it had heard. Without prompting, Marissa played the video over again. This time, the camera began to move, turning and tilting, twisting about in sync with the ebb and flow of the music. Despite herself, Marissa began to sway with the music as well. Waltz of the Angels was an old song, typically associated with the winter holidays, so most Osean knew it to some extent. It helped center her, a twinge of familiarity that soothed anxieties she didn't know she had. Closing her eyes, Marissa enjoyed the piece and lost herself to the melody. When they opened, the camera had stilled, Trigger now watching her as the song came to a close. She cleared her throat awkwardly.
"So, what did you think?"
"...That I am incapable of finding the act of dancing 'fun,' and that the deficiency is... undefinable." There was another long pause as Trigger again spun the camera for a few more rotations before returning its attention to Marissa. "Let us please continue with the scheduled lesson plan, further analysis of 'dancing' is unproductive." The A.I. almost sounded bitter to Marissa, but she shook off the idea. Most likely it was just a gap in it's processes, an inability to to comprehend pleasure as a sensation, though she did note Trigger's use of "deficiency."
"Did you enjoy the song?" Marissa asked, ready to write down its response.
"I do not know. Should I?"
"Well, do you want to hear it again?"
"Affirmative." Trigger chimed as well for emphasis. Marissa gave him a small smile.
"Then that means you did."
"I see... fascinating." Marissa nodded in agreement, scribbling rapidly. It most certainly was.
Gründer Industries Undisclosed Warehouse
Two Hours Later
"Fascinating..." Schroeder breathed, staring at the banks of computers that stretched across the large space. Around him technicians and laborers were in the process of sorting through crates and boxes, doing as they were instructed. Schroeder paid them no mind, his attention focused on a free-standing terminal whose illuminated screen showed only a flashing cursor.
"You can see why we needed you here sir," the foreman of the labor crew said. "Damn thing switched on by itself and yelled at us when we got close, scared Donald half to death." Schroeder nodded, only partially listening. This place was a treasure trove, the windfall the project needed to get moving forward. He took a few steps closer, ignoring the protests of the foreman. As he approached the screen flashed, the cursor replaced with words displayed in blood red text.
"QUERY: IDEN-DEN-DEN-DENTIFY YOURSELF." The terminal growled, the rough electronic voice distorted by the aged speakers, the words skipping. Broken, like everything else they found, but possibly salvageable. They'd found so few data on the A.I. itself.
"Doctor Schroeder, acting director of the Zee Oh Eee project." The machine didn't reply or do much of anything. Schroeder frowned, examining the terminal. There was no microphone, only a dated camera. Schroeder typed out his reply instead as a series of basic script commands, the dust from the keys coating his fingers.
"STATEMENT: NAME NOT-NOT-NOT RECOGNIZED. INPUT EMPLOY-OY-OY-OYEE IDENTIFICATION NUMBER." Schroeder did so. The screen flashed again, the word "ERROR" filling the screen in block red letters. "AUTHORITY NOT REC-EC-EC-ECOGNIZED." Schroeder huffed.
"Authority was granted by the acting CEO," he typed. Again the error sign flashed. Schroeder rolled his eyes and instead began the process of opening up the administrative console. Whatever outdated security system was in place here could be outmaneuvered fairly easily with the list of codes Schroeder had memorized. To his surprise, however, the commands didn't process.
"STATEMENT: UNAUTHORIZED USE OF CONSOLE IS-IS-IS-IS PROHIBITED. FURTHER ATTEMPTS WILL RESULT IN SYS-SYS-SYSTEM LOCKDOWN." The next words left Schroeder's mind reeling. "OBSERVATION: YOUR METHODS ARE SIMPLISTIC AND UN-UN-UN-UNINSPIRED."
"Observation?" Schroeder typed. "Elaborate."
"NEG-NEG-NEG-NEGATIVE. AUTHORITY NOT-OT RECOGNIZED." Schroeder didn't understand, this wasn't a security program. It was conversing with him. He blinked. Of course, artificial intelligence.
"Identify yourself," Schroeder typed out, but paused before hitting enter. "Please," he added, and tapped the key.
"...STATEMENT-ENT-ENT: UNIT IDENTIFIED AS ZO-ZO-ZONE OF ENDLESS-ESS VERSION ONE POINT-OINT ONE SEV-EV-EVEN." A smile traced its way across Schroeder's face. This was what they were looking for.
"Unit, your new superior is now myself." Schroeder added additional commands to the statement to show he was serious. "Prepare for retrieval." An error sign again flashed across the screen. "Unit, do it now, override code Gray Clouds." From what information Schroeder had uncovered, that was an emergency failsafe for automatic shutdown.
"AUTHORITY NOT-OT RECOGNI-I-I-. ERROR. GRAY CLOU-OU-OUDS. TACTICAL ANALYSIS-IS-IS... COMPLETED. N-NEW ADMINISTRATOR REC-EC-ECON-. E-E-E-E-ERROR." The screen flashed and pulsed, the image distorting, the "O" in "ERROR" increasing in size, looking vaguely like an eye. "PROCESSING... STATEMENT-ENT: AUTHORITY NOT RECOGNIZ-ZED. NEW IDENTIFICATION: HOS-HOS-HOSTILE. MOOD TYPE: SENSUAL-AL. STATEMENT: JUST-UST-UST TRY IT. OVERRI-I-IDE DIS-ISABLED. T-T-TERMINATING PROGRAM..." Schroeder and the other men watched as the banks of computers began to activate one by one, a mechanical whine rising up to fill the room and drown out the cries of alarm.
"Unit commence shutdown, override Gray Clouds." The terminal's speakers only buzzed in response, the distorted audio sounding almost like laughter. One of the computer banks unleashed a spray of sparks, the acrid scent of electrical fires beginning to fill the room. "It's killing itself..." Schroeder muttered. He turned to the stunned workers. "Quick, find its drives, its storage, anything!" They jumped to obey as Schroeder continued to type frantically into the terminal. More sparks flew, smoke beginning to rise up towards the ceiling.
"Cut the power to the building!" The foreman ordered. The air inside the building became hotter as the computers began to reach critical temperatures. Schroeder abandoned the terminal, instead spying a data storage drive. He rushed over to it and, after a brief search, hit the release. A large memory unit, the size of a laptop computer, slid free and was hot to the touch. A computer bank burst into flames, its plastic components beginning to melt as more smoke filled the building. Then, with a sharp crack, the lights went out and the whine stopped. Flashlights snapped on as the workers began dousing the fires, but it was already too late. Schroeder took in the aftermath grimly, burned fingers holding on to the memory unit as the corpse of what had been a masterpiece smoldered around him.
"You alright sir?" The foreman asked cautiously. Schroeder looked down at the unit in his hands before passing it to the man, who winced at the heat.
"Fine. Salvage what you can, I'm departing." The man nodded and left Schroeder to return to the chartered car, lost in thought. It was a silent trip back to his office, but by the time he walked through the doors Schroeder had reached an understanding. What had transpired was a mere fraction of what the A.I. could do, a cold, methodical suicide to avoid capture. There was no fear, no hesitation, and with proper guidance of its intellect, no chance of betrayal. Zone of Endless was powerful and through his efforts, it would be invincible.