Oh the time you have when you are no longer employed...
Special thanks to Tigers-Tall-Tales on Spacebattles. They have quickly become my cowriter for this story.
Sprout 3.3
Amy Dallon
Boston
College Dorm
She woke up in someone else's bed, staring up at someone else's ceiling. Fortunately, she woke up alone in the bed, otherwise Carol would have probably killed her. That, or grounded her until she was eighty.
Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed the duffel that had been left out for her. Inside she found a change of clothes, bathroom supplies, and her costume. Proceeding to the door to her room, she opened the door, and peeked out. Noting that there was hardly any activity, she made her way to the dorm showers, which were fortunately on this floor. Robotically divesting herself of her clothes, she then stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water. Ducking her head under the lukewarm water, she was amazingly glad that there was any running water at all. She didn't know who had been putting in the work, but damn did they deserve praise, and a raise. Not wanting to waste any time, she took only a few minutes to scrub herself down and rinse off, and jumped out as soon as she finished. Despite water not being rationed for her, she still felt like she shouldn't take advantage of what would be a luxury for anyone at this moment.
After throwing her clothes on, she was toweling her hair dry as an older woman -one of the military nurses - walked in and immediately began undressing. She exchanged a polite nod with the woman as she finished with the towel, paying no further mind to her as she stepped into her own shower stall. Communal showers were awkward at the best of the times for her, even though she wasn't exactly body conscious. The real awkwardness however, stemmed from the fact that there were some capes interspersed within these dorms. They were all just politely ignoring that fact and each other because they were all going around unmasked in many cases.
Returning back to her dorm with her hair mostly dried, she threw on her Panacea robe and made her way out of the building. A pair of female soldiers nodded at her as she exited the building and she followed her nose to find food.
Breakfast was simple but filling, with more available if she needed it. There was also to her relief enough coffee to fill a bathtub. She could honestly get used to working with the military. Fed, caffeinated, and with the mess tent filling up, she pulled her Focus from her pocket, opened the case and stuck it to her temple. In moments, her sight was filled with icons and she stabbed her finger against the ping icon to signal her addition to the network. She had originally been hesitant about using it. Even if she had somewhat cleared the air with Taylor, and agreed to maybe work with her…it was still brain tech. The thing that every hero everywhere was warned about. And Carol made it emphatically clear that she hated brain tech.
But the Focus was just too damn useful to ignore. It provided her waypoints to get around the camps, leading her to the medical areas. It allowed her to know where people were, what their status was, and if they were active or not. It gave her lists of tasks that she could control, and allowed doctors and so on to send her tasks so that she always knew who her next patient was. It could even provide a limited scan of a person and give her a quick idea of their status. Not that she really needed it, since she could touch a person and have a much better understanding than a Focus could provide…but it did radically help other nurses and doctors. It honestly made her wonder what other tech Taylor Hebert had locked away in her head.
Refilling her coffee cup halfway, she began reviewing her tasks as she walked back to a table. Most of the critical cases had been stabilized yesterday and none of the urgent cases had worsened overnight. So, it looked like she was going to be working on the urgents, then finishing her care of the formerly criticals. A lot of the previous two days had been spent getting people stable, not necessarily fixing them. It meant that she had to go back and revisit several hundred cases over the next few days…but it didn't put her on triage duty and she was grateful for that. For all the chaos of the medical tent, it was organized chaos, with instructions explicitly provided to her on exactly how much to heal before moving on to the next patient. It was…different from how she usually did it. Normally, she was expected to heal a person back to full health. But as the chief medical officer had plainly laid it out to her, the time she spent on one person bringing them back to peak health, she could have stabilized two and a half people…granted, it had been rather gruffly explained to her in the early hours of…yesterday…she thought. Time had been a little screwy the last couple of days.
She idly counted her fingers as days. Yeah, Friday, good to know.
An alert appeared in her vision with a new task, one that catapulted itself to the top of the list. That could only mean one thing as she opened the notification and noted that the sender was Colonel Herres. She swore the man never slept. Satisfied that it was a legitimate message, she then opened it, noting that Herres was being his usual self and sending simple, brief messages.
Wake Ms. Hebert.
Well, she thought, taking the moment to drink the coffee she had just poured, time to wake sleeping beauty.
Making her way out of the mess tent, she moved back onto the college campus itself. Of course, her 'entourage' met with her before she could get very far. Nathan was an army paramedic and Stephany a private from the 10th Mountain. They had been given clear instructions to stick to her side at all times while she was doing her rounds and make sure she came to no grief. They were also given strict orders to make sure that she didn't overdo herself. Of course, she had been present for those orders and had been told very clearly that she was to not ditch them or cause grief. In the words of Doctor Elban, who had taken charge of the trauma area: "If you are here, you are a doctor. You have authority as a doctor. But you are also a short teenage girl, so they are here to make sure your authority is respected and to make sure that you take care of yourself so you can take care of patients. Teenagers are bad at taking care of themselves. Doctors are extremely bad at it. You are both." All of this had been delivered in Elban's rich Afrikaan-accented English that seemed to carry seemingly for miles if he pushed it hard enough.
Needless to say, she got the message as he towered over here delivering those words.
And it was… nice. Being in charge, that is. Scary at times, having to tell people 'yes' or 'no' and needing to make it stick. She also didn't feel like a puppet on the end of the string even if she had people giving her orders and tasks. It was honestly strange, perhaps stranger than being away from home.
"So Doc, before we get started today, I have to say…some of your locals need an attitude adjustment," Nathan spoke as the trio made their way to the dorm where Taylor was being kept.
Oh God, she thought to herself, trying to think who from the Bay was still even in Boston.
"I know we've got some bad people, but who in particular?"
"Young guy, I think his name was Clock or something. Thinks he's funny. Had to save him from getting his clock broken from… repeatedly falling down a flight of stairs, if you get my drift."
It's too damn early for this, she thought exasperatedly, "Yeah, I know him. He got my sister repeating one of his really bad jokes and she got her ass chewed out by our mother. What happened?"
Nathan shrugged, "He was running his mouth, something about the Bay's resident Scarface coming in to save the day. Turns out a group of rescue workers were passing by after coming off shift and took exception to his words."
That… wow.
"Anything serious?"
"Nah, I stepped in…after he walked into a light pole, twice."
Stephany giggled, "I'm impressed you managed to find a standing light pole."
"I sat him down, shared a beer, and talked it over with him. Decent kid, he just needs to read the room a little better. Empathy you know," Nathan shrugged, seemingly embarrassed at his contribution.
"Well, if he changes his ways, I'm getting you a fruit basket or something. I've had it with his jokes. Anyways, time to work. Herres wants us to wake Taylor. So we're heading to her room and I've got a call to make," she then checked her contacts, frowning at the greyed out one. Several 'principals' of the rescue effort had their own icons to identify who they were, and in the case the one she was looking for was an anchor with crossed crane hooks, and 'BBDWU" spelt out beneath it.
The only reason that the contact would be greyed out was because they were off the network. What this meant could be several things, but considering how much of a workaholic Danny Hebert had appeared to be - which Taylor seemed to have inherited to a horrifying degree - it was likely that the man was currently asleep.
She gave the equivalent of a mental shrug, changing her communications options. It wasn't her responsibility to notify the man, but she felt after the last couple days of talking with the man, that he at least should be made aware.
"Hi, Danny," and wasn't that awkward, the man insisted that she use his first name after she had healed Taylor. It was… nice, if she were to be honest, especially when he called her Amy instead of Panacea. Not a lot of people wished to be personable with her, instead looking at her as a commodity, so to have her name used instead of her cape identity was pleasant, "It's Amy, I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be waking her up soon."
She then ended the message, letting the icon fade back into nothingness. Satisfied that she had done her best in order to give Danny a head's up, she refocused on the daunting task before her as she set her path for the administrative building.
It was another thing that she wasn't sure to think of. On one hand, she could understand the caution behind it, but to turn a building meant to further the path of learning into one of the most fortified locations in Boston outside of Logan was rather disconcerting. But it had been done nonetheless, as Herres wasn't taking any risks.
Still, it was annoying that it took almost twenty minutes for her to get through the various checkpoints to enter the building itself. And then it took another ten minutes after that to get through the checkpoints within the building in order to reach her goal.
Finally arriving at her destination, she took a few moments to look things over and ensure that everything was right. Taylor Hebert lay in the bed, the only sound in the room being the machine that was monitoring her vitals. Releasing a sigh at the reassuring beep, she grabbed the clipboard that was beside the bed and glanced through it to make sure nothing had changed since she had checked on her last, and quickly saw that nothing had changed, luckily. Placing the clipboard down, she looked to Stephany and Nathan.
"I'll be starting in a few moments. Stephany, can you run interference for me? The last thing I need is for anyone to come running in when we wake Taylor up."
"Sure thing, Amy," the woman replied, heading towards the door and stepping out, letting it close behind her. She then turned her attention to Nathan.
"And what do you want me to do," he asked.
"I'll need you to remove the IV and back me up in the case things go awry. Waking up from this can be disorienting and I might need help restraining her if she reacts poorly."
"Alright," Nathan went to work on removing the IV from Taylor's arm. While he did that, she was setting up a text message to Herres, letting him know that she would be waking Taylor up shortly. Sending that, she then went back over her own notes on Taylor in her Focus.
"Alright," Nathan spoke up, "I'm done."
Taking a deep breath, she closed the Focus interface, looking over Taylor intently. Taylor looked so peaceful laying there, and there was a small part of her that felt guilty for what she had done and what she was about to do. In any other case, she would have never done any of this, but Taylor had abused her body so badly that there was no other choice available. And despite her best efforts in trying to supply biomass everynight to retain her to a survivable weight, Taylor had still lost weight from the ravages inflicted upon herself.
"Alright. Here we go," she declared, reaching out and touching Taylor's wrist, letting her biology unfold before her mind's eye. The previous strain and exhaustion were gone and her body had used the rest to repair the minor issues. She would need some proper meals, building up from light foods, to replenish her body stores and get proper nutrients into her system. But overall, despite the weight loss, she was a relatively decent picture of health. Minus the scars and blindness, of course. A touch of her powers disrupted the REM sleep cycle that her brain had been kept in.
Taylor would wake soon, she thought to herself as she leaned back in her chair. She considered taking a moment to review her next set of patients, but decided against it. Instead, she pinged Danny's focus again. She knew that if he was aware that Taylor was being woken up, he would be here. He had been in Taylor's room every night since her heart attack, even while working from his Focus.
Alas, she wasn't getting any answer on the subject, and released a sigh. She wanted to chastise the older man, but she knew after a few conversations with him that he would be harder on himself than she ever could be in this case. The man was so full of regret and was trying to be there, but it was obvious that despite his efforts, he really was not equipped to be a supportive father.
Washing her hands of the issue for the final time, she decided to look over her upcoming patient's list, seeing if she recognized any names as Taylor's heart monitor slowly crept higher. Finding no one she recognized, she closed her Focus and drew her attention back to Taylor, just as the other girl began to stir.
"Taylor," she asked, leaning forward slightly, her hand coiled and ready to move in the event of a negative reaction, "It's Amy, can you hear me?"
No response, instead Taylor's arms twitched, seemingly reaching for something. Instead, she smashed her knuckles against a table. Taylor gasped now, her heart monitor beeping warnings. Immediately, she leaned over and grabbed Taylor's wrist, leaning further until she could hold the other girl's hand. Elevated epinephrine and norepinephrine. Amygdala hyperactivity.
Nathan hurried to her side, even as she declared, "Panic attack."
"I'll cool her down," he announced, but she shook her head.
"I got it. Just be ready. Taylor! You're safe! It's alright. Breathe for me. You're safe."
Her breathing slowed. One breath. Then Two.
Heart rate slowing. Parasympathetic nervous system engaging.
"There we go," she comforted the girl, "Just breathe. Can you feel my hand? Squeeze my hand, Taylor."
Taylor's hand squeezed hard, or as hard as a fifteen year old girl fresh off of waking up from a four-day slumber could.
"Very good. You're safe. Breathe. I'm right here, you can feel my hand, yes," she squeezed back.
Taylor's heart rate and breathing slowed, before she started to tremble. It was a common occurrence with panic attacks, and she could see the girl's brain coming down from the chemical high it was just under. Nathan ducked away, stepping through the door to meet with the various doctors and orderlies that were likely trying to rush the room. The only reason that the room hadn't been flooded was because of Stephany and the fact that Panacea was here.
"Amy," a croak escaped her lips, weak, out of breath, and hoarse, but she was at least talking again. She took her hand off Taylor's wrist and turned her body awkwardly to the table behind her. She grabbed the sports bottle with water in it. Turning her body back, she slowly took Taylor's hand and made sure she gripped it properly.
"Here you go, Taylor," she said, letting the girl grab ahold of it, then watching as she brought it up to her lips and took a long pull from it, "Yes, it's me. You're in Boston, it's been four days since Leviathan. Things are stable."
Taylor greedily finished off the water, before blindly handing the bottle back. Somehow she hadn't choked despite sucking the bottle empty faster than she had any right to.
"I can't see," Taylor finally said, her voice less raspy.
"Yes, you're still blind."
The girl made a face in her general direction, "Where's my Focus?"
Oh, so that's what she meant, "I have it here. You'll get it back when you're ready, okay? Can you remember what happened?"
Taylor frowned, "I…collapsed," she half-asked, half-stated, "I remember feeling weak and couldn't catch my breath," her voice trailed off, before she took a deep breath and slowly released it, just to confirm that she could.
She nodded, then remembered that this was Taylor that she was interacting with, "You had a heart attack, in the command tent with Colonel Herres. They rushed you to me. You're fine, no long-term problems. You just pushed yourself way, way too hard and your body gave out on you," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood despite the seriousness of the situation, "Honestly, you had more energy drinks in you than blood."
The joke fell very flat, because Taylor started trying to get up.
She immediately got up, placing her hand on Taylor's shoulder, pushing against her to keep her pinned in the bed, "Hey! No! No, you stay put."
"Can't. Need to get up. Need to help. Contact the Bay, have Jean bring up the extras, and make sure the machines are working," Taylor struggled, her words still choppy, but it was understandable as she was just coming out of a four-day REM sleep. Amy had seen babies with more fight in them.
"Taylor, you are in no shape to help anyone. Your father has been worried sick and has visited you every day. On top of everything else, are you actually trying to kill yourself? Because if you are, just let me know now so I can knock you out again."
She knew it was a low blow, but frankly a low blow was what Taylor needed. So she was somewhat surprised when Taylor's hand clenched against her own. Huh…they were still holding hands. She hadn't even realized it.
"Fuck you," it wasn't said with much heat. In fact, it just seemed thrown out there because there was little else Taylor could do and she knew it.
"No, fuck you," Amy shot back, finally having a chance to vent, and by God, did she need it. "All your talk about changing the world? You can't do that if you are killing yourself! Do you know how close you were to complete kidney failure?"
The stubborn blind girl frowned. "It was necessary! I had to do my part, get the machines here in time, prove that they worked! Prove that I'm capable!"
"Prove to who, Taylor?"
Taylor's head snapped to her, staring deeply, or rather, just to the left of her, "Look at me! I'm a blind, scarred, fifteen year old girl! It doesn't matter that I can build things, everyone will always judge me by that first!"
She really wasn't a violent person, but right now, she dearly wanted to slap this girl.
"You are the only person who is thinking that! Blind? Scarred? The only reason you keep those things is because you won't let me heal you… you stupid idiot! You're like a person who cuts their wrists open, only to run and say, 'Look how I bleed for you!' It's stupid, short-sighted, and so fucking full of yourself!"
"Fuck! You! Why the hell do you care? Why does the great Panacea care about me?! I'm nothing to you! A charity case you couldn't even be bothered to give a fuck about!"
"Because you're the only mistake I can fix!" Amy yelled back, silencing Taylor who's head shifted just slightly enough to look straight at her now, silent as she stared at her inscrutably.
Angry, frustrated tears threatened to fall down her face. She took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, and like a dam breaking, she felt herself compelled to continue, "Do you know how much it took me to find out the truth? Four hours. Two conversations. That's it. There was no grand conspiracy, no great secret hiding patients away from me. It was a decision made by my mother and I never bothered to look because I didn't care to look deeper. I was complacent, content in the supposedly good job that I was doing, and I don't even know how many people needed my help but never got it," she reached up and wiped her sleeve against her eyes, even as she choked back a soft sob.
"And then there was you. You just…threw it all in my face. And everything that I didn't even realize I was unaware of fell into place. And now? I can't even fix you. I can't fix my mistakes," Amy cleared her throat, glad that Taylor was unable to see her as she was right now, "So yeah. I do care."
Taylor didn't say anything at first, her cloudy eyes staring straight at her. h
Her jaw moved as if she wanted to say something but didn't know what exactly to say. The only real response other than that was her lips parting slightly as she ran her tongue over her upper lip.
"They said I was useless," Taylor said softly, bowing her head as if she were ashamed of what she was confessing. She sighed, "The girls who did this to me. For almost two years, they said that I was useless, and that it would be better if I just," she pursed her lips, bringing her head up as she was looking for the right words, "gave up. And every day I kept going back to school. Just to prove to them, to myself, that I wouldn't. That I wasn't useless. That I could take anything they dished out to me," she then waved a free hand over her face, "You can see how that turned out," she laughed wetly, "And then? In the hospital? The way the nurses and… and the doctors and everyone were talking to and about me? Like… my life was over. Here I was. Useless in unequivocal truth. A burden on society. To my father."
Taylor sniffled, her voice cracking, "And I have to prove them wrong. I have to. Prove them. Prove the girls who did this to me… all of them. I have to prove them wrong. I can't let them win."
"God… we are such a mess," Amy found herself chuckling wetly, before adding a sigh, "Look, Taylor, I will prove to you that you have a huge impact on everyone. Even if you didn't do it personally. After my rounds for the day, I'll show you."
"Fine," she wouldn't say that Taylor was pouting, but she was definitely withdrawn.
With another sigh, she stood, letting go of Taylor's hand, "Okay. I'm going to leave you to the mercy of the nurses. They'll feed you, take out the catheter and get you out of bed. Then I'll come find you later this evening," she then got up and walked over to a table, picking up Taylor's custom Focus that was in a box. Flipping it open, she retrieved the device, noting that it was larger than the commercial version she herself was wearing.
She then walked back over to Taylor and placed it into her palm, who latched onto it like a lifeline. Not letting it go yet, Amy quickly gave her own demands. "No work. Okay? Get some food in you, get through the tests, and then if they tell you you can, then you can work. 'Cause so help me, if I get another panicked call from Herres…"
"Yes, Doctor," Taylor laughed, a light breathy laugh, and Amy found her face heating up slightly, before shaking away the thought of how pleasant it sounded. She would take this victory for what it was, even if Taylor was being a brat. Letting the other girl's hands go, she stepped away.
"I'll be back tonight, okay?"
"Okay," Taylor said, and she walked to the door, feeling the blind teen's gaze following her. She then stopped as she came to the door, turning around to look at her. Sure enough, Taylor's gaze had followed her the entire way.
It was… kinda cute the intense stare that Taylor was giving her, in spite of the fact that she couldn't actually see. Not that she would actually admit it to anyone.
Sighing one more time and shaking her head, "See you tonight, Taylor."
"See you."
WIth that exchange finished, she opened the door and stepped through, and immediately moved to the side as a female nurse bustled into the room, a container of soup and a sports bottle in her hands. She took the time to close the door behind her to grant Taylor her privacy before moving away.
She then spotted Stephany, but Nathan was strangely missing. Quirking an eyebrow after noting that she was looking pointedly around for him, providing her with an answer, "He went to get food. Said he knew someone in the mess that could make edible hospital food. I called him a liar, because no way anything came out of that mess hall is tasty."
Shaking her head with slight exasperation, she adjusted her status on the Focus network, signalling that she was ready to start her patient rounds. That was the moment that Nathan stepped into view, a pair of nurses following him. He had a tray with him, covered in containers.
"We'll start our rounds, meet us when you finish up here?"
The man nodded, before heading into Taylor's room. Doublechecking her Focus again, and noting the nice arrow pointed in the direction that she needed to go, she proceeded to walk.
It was then that Stephany took the moment to lean in front of her, causing her to stop.
"Hey Doc? Can you check my ears? Been having some trouble hearing lately. Selective deafness, you know?"
Sighing, she reached out and grabbed the woman's hand, checking her ears. No distortions, infections, or…oh as her mind caught up with what Stephany had said.
Ohhhhhh.
"I wouldn't worry about that," she said, letting go of the woman's hand. The resultant grin from the woman told her all she needed to know, "It's a chronic case of 'decentpersonitis'. It might be infectious, but luckily for everyone it's non-fatal. You'll survive."
She met the widening grin of Stephany as she enjoyed the fact that Amy played along. She had to admit, Stephany had a nice smile.
AEH
Taylor Hebert
Boston
Boston College
After nearly four days asleep, it actually felt good to walk again. I was weak and still a little stiff, but after the stretches that the nurses had put me through, I could at least make it a little ways before I had to stop and catch a breath.
At least this time, I could actually catch it.
Of course, one of the first things I did once I had reacquired my Focus, before even looking through any of my messages, was to hack into my medical files. The Focus devices had been used to great effect in the rescue efforts and in the medical section, which I was really happy to see. It did mean that my own record was now stored on the network… and I definitely had more authorization then the attending doctor. Even if I didn't, when you were the actual creator of the encryption key, there might as well have been no locks on it.
I know it was probably a waste of time, but I had done it because I couldn't believe what they were telling me. A heart attack? At my age? Pull the other leg!
But instead of proving them wrong, I came to the sobering realization that not only were they right, but it had been far worse than Amy had actually told me. I had sat there reviewing the files, cross referencing them with medical journals to fill the gaps in my knowledge, but I eventually realized had actually been lucky that it had been the heart attack that struck first. Because if it hadn't been for the heart attack, it would have been the pulmonary embolism or cerebral hemorrhage that got me.
If either of those had happened, then there was a good chance that I would not be here today, even if Amy had been right beside me when it happened. It was a small miracle that Amy had been able to get to me in the first place. According to her report, if it had taken another five minutes, then I would have been too far gone to save.
Five minutes. My life had been distilled down to Five. Fucking. Minutes.
I just remember sitting in the shower stall after that analysis, the stream of water off and my head bowed as I ran that simple number in my head over and over, a vicious cycle of emotions vying for primacy in my head. Fury. Sadness. Despondency. Self-hatred. It was an intoxicating bevy of emotions that only seemed to serve at the end to only make me angrier.
Not angry at the world, but at myself.
If I had chosen not to listen to anyone, I could have actually had time to focus upon my health. Instead, this demand that I actually spend time off the project to 'live' had only meant that I had to do more and crunch more in less time. If it wasn't for that demand, I wouldn't have had to push myself to such extremes. But instead, I listened. I did Greg's stupid little computer project. I did spend more time at home.
And I paid the price for listening.
A light knock at the door drew my attention from my thoughts as the door opened. Samantha Sievert, the navy corpsman that had been personally detailed to me, stuck her head inside, "Ready, Miss Hebert?"
I considered for a moment to answer in the negative, but after a quick deliberation, I merely nodded. The bubbly blonde had an infectious energy to her that even I could not deny.
The corpsman stepped in as I worked to get myself up from my seated position, my legs still somewhat wobbly in spite of the rest. That and the clothing that was my current attire was…I wouldn't say uncomfortable, but it was not something I was used to.
I don't really know whose idea that it was. But I wasn't in any of the clothes that I had brought with me. Nor was I in my costume either. Instead, I had been provided with a set of BDUs with an emblem of Zero Dawn hastily stitched where rank tags would have been placed. Samantha had explained to me that it was being done for my own safety, providing me safety by blending me in with the large number of military personnel in Boston. I didn't know if that was right, but I found myself not really having a leg to stand on in arguing against it. Still it was strange to be wearing a military uniform, even if it was stripped down.
But not as odd as finding out that I had a protective detail assigned to me. They crowded the hall as I stepped out, giving me a moment to look them over all at once.
There were six of them currently, an eclectic mix of men and women, all of them part of the Marine detachment off the USS Enterprise. They were led by Captain Schofield, who had informed me they would be my protective detail for the time being. When I had asked him what he meant by that, he had merely told me that 'it was above his paygrade.' Not knowing bothered me to a degree and If I hadn't made a promise to Amy, I would have probably immediately dug in and discovered what was going on, but for some reason, I didn't want to let her down.
The rest of his team, the only ones notable were the two women. One was a solidly-built woman who could likely fold me in half if she felt like it and was referred to by the rest of the detail as 'Mother.' Outside of a quick introduction she had said nothing to me, but I had a feeling that she found me wanting. The other woman - Fox - had attempted to try and build a rapport with me, but it was awkward and I could tell she wasn't exactly comfortable with any of this.
It was not worth dwelling upon further, I would get my answers from Herres soon enough. And then I would have to deal with Jean, the investors of Far Zenith, the state of the machines, and the company moving forward. I had rested long enough.
"Let's go," I simply said and fell in line with the men and women that were meant to provide me protection. Even limited to a vision radius of forty feet, there was a lot going on. Just looking at the Focus network gave me clues to how the devices were being used and the rescue conducted. Although calling it a rescue was probably… not appropriate anymore. I knew the statistics. If it was three days after the disaster, the chances of living survivors was… astronomically low. Now it was the Boston Restoration. Not the Boston Rescue.
But soon that distraction was over, as I found myself standing outside the door to the dean's office, which Herres had turned into his own workspace. The door was opened for me and I stepped into inside, taking in Herres sitting behind a desk, his hands steepled under his chin as a woman in a business suit was addressing him and pointing out something on a paper. The woman trailed off as she noted my entrance and Herres' eyes flicked to me.
"That will be all, Miss Givens. I'll review your suggestion and provide you an answer this evening," Herres said, his gaze not leaving me. "If you'll all clear the room, I would like to speak with privately."
"Governor-"
"I said that would be all, Miss Givens."
The woman looked ready to argue further, but closed her mouth when she realized she was going to get anywhere. With as much dignity as someone irritated by the fact that she had been dismissed, she marched out, and the rest of the people in the room filed out behind her, the door closing behind them.
I couldn't help but stand there awkwardly, not exactly sure what to do or say as Herres stared at me. I idly noted the Focus on the side of his head, and wondered just how much he had used it and what he used it for.
"It's good to see you up again, Miss Hebert. You scared quite a few of us," he finally said, before motioning his hand towards one of the expensively cushioned and lacquered chairs that were in front of the desk, "Please. Sit. We need to have a talk."
Maybe it was the literal dean's desk he was sitting behind, but I didn't want to argue. Besides, walking made my legs tired, and sitting sounded nice now.
"Let me start by saying that the machines you brought to Boston have been nothing short of miraculous. They are responsible for saving more lives than I think we will ever know through their efforts. But right now, I want to talk about you."
He got to his feet as I frowned, walking around the desk.
"I'm not sure what you are getting at, Colonel," I said, watching as he turned the other chair towards me and sat down in it. He then leaned forward in it, looking at me.
"As of… three hours ago, you were designated a strategic asset by the President. There's going to be a lot of red tape and forms that you will have to fill out. Of course there will be other privileges and responsibilities that come along with it. I'm certain someone from the White House or the Pentagon will be in touch with you about all of that. For me, this means something more simple: I have to take care of you."
I gave him a look, but kept silent. There was obviously more he wanted to say on the matter.
"That means ensuring your safety, hence the guards. Which are also there to make sure you're not a danger to yourself. There cannot be another incident like before, where a fifteen year old girl works herself into a heart attack," he said sternly, "That means that every soldier, every doctor, and every aide that I have to put around you so you don't damage yourself? That is one less for Boston. Do we understand each other, Ms. Hebert?"
"Yes, sir." What else was I supposed to say? With this, I would get access to more resources that I could have hoped to get in the next few years. More than the Protectorate would have ever dreamed of giving me. Yes, it came with strings, but I expected that when I first used the reactor as bait. But I had never imagined it happening so fast.
The Colonel nodded. "Your team has simple orders. Make sure you eat three squares a day, sleep at minimum six hours, and so forth. Gunnery Sergeant Newman was particularly insistent in asking if she could 'pick you up like a sack of potatoes' if need be. I said yes. Keep that in mind."
It did not take me more than a few seconds to realize that he was talking about the Marine called 'Mother' and I could vividly imagine that brick house of a woman doing just that. Stupid twig body of mine.
He then sighed, "Alright, with that out of the way. I think it's best for a little criticism. Your biggest problem is that you seem to want to do things yourself. I'm not going to argue with a Cape about their abilities or their power-enforced needs, but I will tell you this: The most important job a leader has is to delegate and give clear instructions. And my superiors, as of earlier today, have agreed that you are a leader of something. So… Here's how to delegate, Taylor: I call it 'The Three Clears'. Clear tasks. Clear expectations. Clear deadlines. Ms Hebert? I want a full rundown on the status of your machines, how much longer we can keep them in the field, and I want that by five pm this evening."
The man then grinned at me, "See? Clear tasks. Clear expectations. Clear deadlines. Get to work, Ms. Hebert."
"Yes sir," what else was going to say? I left the office with as much grace as my weak legs could manage.
AEH
"Defenders Remembered; special program dedicated to those who fought and died in the defence of Boston. Special memorial program organized by the Parahuman Response Team" - PBS
"The facts don't lie! The PRT was contacted half an hour before Leviathan made landfall. And they did nothing! They explained that their 'fancy' sensors were working perfectly, and that there was no way that a Navy ship would pick up what they missed. And because of this blunder, tens-of-thousands of people are dead. This is the clearest example of why the PRT needs to be cut down in scale, and the endless resources that they are monopolizing be redistributed!" - Senator Nathanial Collins (D-MA) on Senate Floor
AEH
Machine Bay
The crew hugged me when I arrived. I bore it with good grace, explaining that I was fine and just a little weak, then pointed them back to their tasks. Dad wasn't around. That stung a little, even if I knew he was fine. But I didn't really have time to chase him down right now. Quentin and I were reviewing the performance of the machines.
"So I'll let others handle the hardware side of things. You hired me for the software and let me tell you! It's been something," the youngish man seemed to be enjoying himself, roughing it out here with the machines, the military, and the rubble.
"Okay, so the machines have been able to adapt to the situations they've been running into?"
"Adapting? Taylor, they've been blowing all of our estimates and projections out of the water. Adaptive problem solving, adaptive pathing, cooperative subroutines, delegation procedures, task management functions. The control system inside Atlas has been growing at a meteoric rate."
I frowned. That was good, but still… surprising. When I had assembled the code and routines for the machines, I had expected it to be a slow but steady growth. But the information that Herres had given me was beyond any expectations that I could have possibly had when it came to the machines. They were doing far better than they should be at this juncture. And I didn't really know why.
"Okay. So, can we isolate a single event and review the code evolution from there?"
I could hear Tate grinning, an infectious energy about him, "I can do you one better, boss lady. I can give you where it started."
He pulled up the file, and my Focus gave it to my brain in three dimensions. Burrower-4, the machine that I had been having problems with glitches in its coding, amidst several other workers by a collapsed structure. Simple enough. I pulled together a code analysis, isolating the new code being written to understand what was developing. The Burrower unit paused, focusing on what it classified as 'auxiliary search units.' They were clearly rescue dogs, working through the rubble alongside others, but the machine did not designate them in that way. The group had just pulled out another body and the human handler had taken a knee. Burrower-4 identified that the handler was exhibiting signs of grief or distress. The 'auxiliary search unit' came over, nudging its cranial unit against the handler and leaning its weight against the human. The handler placed their hand on the unit's cranial piece several times, running their hands down its frame. The handler stood up, returned to work, with a noticeable improvement to efficiency.
Seemed straightforward enough, I thought to myself as I didn't see anything that would warrant a change in behavior patterns. That was until I looked at the code.
Dozens of new connections, queries, and searches were pinging back and forth between Burrower-4 and the central control unit running off the Titan. B-4 had noted that the 'auxiliary' unit's behavior had improved the productivity of its human assistants. So it desired to adjust its behavior patterns to better increase productivity. Which led to the control unit to search behavior fitting the body type and characteristics of the Burrower model. Which then led to a download and cataloguing of where such behaviors were applicable… moods, behavior characteristics related to emotional states, etc. Which then led to an analysis of how humans would react to these moods and behaviors, allowing to further deepen its knowledge of human interaction.
I paused the code evolution, looking at Tate. "This is…"
He cackled, the data flowing by on the big work monitor in front of him. "I know! Isn't it amazing?! The machine saw a dog comforting a human. Saw that this changed the human's behavior and it desired to emulate it. It learned dozens of new mood expressions, then synergized those expressions with its basic motor functions and task behavior. And that's not all!"
He sent more data my way. The Titan, the Scrappers, the Watchers. All of them began sending data packets back and forth only minutes after the first query between the Central Unit and B-4. I opened one expecting… yeah. Movement data, behavior displays, caution and interactions limitations. All compatible with the body type of the respective machine. The Scrappers became more doglike. The Titan shook its head like the rhinoceros it was modeled after. The machines adapting their behavior to be… more alive.
"Yeah," I agreed, as Tate pulled from his energy drink and I resisted the urge to gag at the revolting smell, "It's amazing, alright."
"So… Do we kill them now? Or later?"
I sucked in a breath. It should have been a shocking suggestion, but it really wasn't. This wasn't what my machines were designed to do! They were meant to be disposable. Not growing at a rapid rate like this. This? This was the first step of self, the concept of 'I' being an entity who can influence the state of the world around me. Once the conception of self became active… how long until the logical pathway towards the preservation of 'self' came into question? These were machines meant to go into dangerous areas. They were meant to be disposable.
Delaying the choice for now, I needed to know more before making a decision on the matter, I instead focused on another aspect of the situation, "Has the central unit been showing any growth?"
"There's quite a few logical and procedural evolutions it's undergone, but those were to enhance overall processing efficiency, nothing like what the other machines are exhibiting. It's actually interesting. It's making use of the machine's evolution, but from the aspect of increasing its overall awareness of what's inside its operational area. Basically, it's keeping track of people working with the LRL. Monitoring behavior and learning which humans reacted in which ways, based on the assumption of emotional state. It's acting almost like an advisor for the other machines on the matters of dealing with humans."
That strangely… made sense. The intelligences running each individual machine were designed differently from the control unit of the LRL. The individual machines had a lot of independent action provided to them, allowing a level of flexibility that would not have been available if I had simply made the control unit a master-slave system. With the knowledge it had of its fellow machines, it knew which machine could be deployed for maximum efficiency, while also allowing the individual machines the ability to make decisions without having to micromanage every facet of its operation.
Put succinctly, the control unit told the machines what to do and the machines would determine how best to get that task done. It was a rapid back and forth between them, akin to a foreman and his work team.
The Titan was also not the control unit. It was as much part of the team as anything else. And in normal circumstances, it would not be burdened with having to carry the control unit. But because I was at least months away from any semblance of the Tallneck, or a delivery system that could match such a machine, the Titan served as the carrier for the control unit. Which naturally put the Titan in a somewhat privileged position within the hierarchy, even if it did not remove it from the operations that it would necessarily be tasked with.
I sighed, scratching my head. "Okay…what's the system doing now? Are the machines still growing at this rate?"
"No. It's slowed down significantly, instead they are largely working on refining their interaction models. Also, some of them are testing out vocalization for mood expression. At least those machines with vocal capabilities."
"Okay." Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I reviewed what was possible to do right now and what would have to wait for Brockton," Okay. We can work with this. Just keep an eye on it please. Let me know if anything major starts cropping up."
"Will do, boss lady. I'll at least be able to warn you if they start going Terminator."
"Not funny, Tate." His resounding cackle still caused my lip to quirk up at the morbid humor. It was wholly inappropriate and was not going to happen, but it was darkly funny nonetheless. Not that I was going to give him the luxury of knowing he had amused me.
Moving away from the computer side of the things, I headed over to the mechanic section. Reaching up, I tapped an icon, and then with a sweep of my arm the display in my vision changed, showing every single machine in the LRL, their status, and damage diagnostics.
All the while I noted the heavy lifts, power tools, h-frames for parts, pieces, ratchets and so on. Shaking several grease-stained hands, I got to work looking over the data streams, even as they worked on one of the Burrowers that was currently in a cradle. All the while I asked questions; just because I had the digital evidence, it never hurt to have the perspective of those whose hands handled the repairs and maintenance.
The information that I was getting was that the machine performance within the hazardous environment of Boston was about what I had expected. It was good, but not everything they could be. This could be blamed on the fact even though they were built, they were not completely to spec. These were still technically prototypes after all. Even with all the memories in my head, you never expect the first iteration to work flawlessly.
We ran down the issues with each machine. The big problems and noticeable things that might stop the machine from working. Most of these problems would be caught by the machine's self diagnostics tools. It would take a complete teardown to get a better understanding of wear and tear on parts and interactions between parts. But most of that was secondary, because… they were still working. Almost three days of uninterrupted work, with only pauses for immediate field repairs. And those were more rotations than anything else. The only machine that hadn't come in yet was the Charger, and that was because it was specifically kept separate from operations. As the only fuel conversion platform, to lose that would have ground the entire lance to a halt.
And that came to the other problem. We were running out of fuel.
As I had told Vice President Ryan when he had visited me, I had designed the Charger with limited storage, output, and production in mind. It was designed to calm the fears about bio-conversion. Make it obvious that 'should' the worst happen, it would be a contained incident. Blaze production at the machine level was kept intentionally limited. Which was now becoming a problem, because all of the machines were now approaching quarter reserves, with a few less than that. The constant pressure and use had seen them burn more fuel than I had initially projected, and the Charger just wasn't enough to maintain production to keep up with demand.
I sighed, biting back a curse.
The conclusion was relatively simple. The LRL in its entirety would need to be recalled, taken apart for inspection, repair, and refueling. I needed a few days to get it back to some semblance of full operational capacity. I'd have to see if I could get some Blaze production started back in Brockton Bay, and then have the fuel shipped to Boston. Or just make a production center here in the city itself.
The other thing is I needed time to find some way to limit their growth, without crippling their ability to learn and adapt. Noting all of this down, I was ready for my talk with Herres in a few hours.
Shifting gears, I decided to take a look at my emails and messages. I arched an eyebrow at the dozens of emails and messages that were in my inbox. Wow… Jean was really spamming me.
"Ms. Hebert," I turned, noting that Fox was trying to get my attention.
"Yes?"
"Your father is here."
Oh… Dad. I resisted the urge to sigh. I was conflicted on just what to think. On one hand, I felt disappointed that he hadn't been there when I had been awakened. But on the other hand, I noted through his Focus logs, that he had actually been at my bedside quite a few times, even working while he was there. The only reason he wasn't there this morning was because he had been sent to Brockton Bay on Governor Herres' orders. I had no doubt that he would have likely been here, considering the evidence.
Still, it didn't take from the sting.
"Ms. Hebert?"
"Sorry," I shook my head, trying to discard the melancholy thoughts, "let him through."
Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself. I honestly was expecting that I was going to be a riot act from him. I know what I had done was stupid, and it was likely going to cause him to react along the lines that he had done previously. I really didn't want that. I was tired of the fights and arguments, and I know he promised me to do better, but I just… didn't want to suffer another setback again. Not when we were just finally building a rapport.
When he shot into the tent, I couldn't help but stiffen as he looked over the room, searching for me. When his eyes came to rest on me, I watched a flurry of emotions shoot across his expression, before becoming something even I couldn't read.
He came towards me, and I could see that Captain Schofield had just stepped into the tent, and the way his expression tightened at my father's approach, I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But he was too far away to make any sort of difference as my dad approached. It was only when he got close enough that I found my voice again.
"Dad," I started, only to be cut off as he enveloped me in a bear hug. I found myself slowly wrapping my arms around him. It was almost like deja vu, as I remembered something like this before I decided to depart for Boston on my own.
"Can you stop trying to scare me?" he half-sobbed, half-pleaded. I hugged him back. What else was I going to do?
AEH
"Here to talk to us about robots is noted professor of robotics from the school of Engineering. Students call him Mr. Fixer, and he's here to talk to us about the robots involved in the Boston Rescue, and how they're so special."
"Happy to be here! So the most interesting part of these robots is that they seem to learn. Most of the time, you have to give Robots clear step by step instructions beforehand. These seem to be…" - Today Show, NBC
AEH
I took a pull from my decaffeinated tea with a wince as I settled in my plastic foldout chair. It wasn't the most glorious of accommodations, but I needed to at least catch up on things that were not directly related to Boston, and a desk and laptop were all that I needed for that. Running through the list, I found dozens of emails from Jean, along with several from unknown corporate accounts. How the hell did they even get my email? And then there were several from government officials; those were the most recent. Sighing, I called Jean, and I idly noted that she had set her ID Emblem to Zero Dawn's logo. I should probably do that as well.
She picked up almost immediately.
"Taylor, thank goodness. Listen, have you reviewed my emails? Because I really need you-"
I cut her off, "Jean, no, I haven't reviewed any of them. I wanted to talk things over with you first, then go through everything. Is everything okay?"
"Okay? No! Nothing is okay, Taylor! I've got an Army Major setting up shop outside of the offices with armored vehicles. I have national companies blowing up my phone asking about licensing and partnerships. I have investors looking to buy shares without even being a publicly traded company. And… I think we're about to be sued by the telecom companies."
"Okay. Okay, give me a second," I fought the urge to violently rub my head. "Don't worry about the telecom companies, consider that covered."
"What?!"
"The military camping on our doorstep solves the telecom issue. I'll explain in a moment, just trust me on this," I declared even as I looked through my contacts, stopping as I noted one that was even higher upon the hierarchy of the specific search results. Adding both him and Herres together, I typed up a message to the Vice President.
Telecom companies threatening lawsuit for communications in Boston. Help?
I quickly fired that off, before refocusing on Jean. "I know why they are threatening it, but they don't have a legal leg to stand on. I have it handled."
"If you say so," was her very unconvinced response. I chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the other things. The fact that she was worried about investors trying to get a piece of Zero Dawn told me that she wasn't aware of the latest developments.
"Okay. Now, are you sitting down, Jean?" I forced myself to ask, even as I perused through the data on the laptop showing Burrower-4s code evolution. There was something about this that I had seen before, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"I am."
"Okay. I'm still trying to catch up on everything, but here is what I know. Earlier today, the President decided to designate myself - and by extension, Zero Dawn Technologies - as a strategic asset."
There was a long bout of silence on the line, before finally Jean said something. Though it certainly was not what I was expecting.
"... What?"
"I'm sorry, Jean. I should have called you sooner, but I've been busy over here trying to figure out things and Colonel Herres wanted a report on the machines. I'm just now starting to see some legal paperwork coming through, I'm probably going to have to send that to Mr. Milton. We do have him on retainer, right?"
"We do. Just… forward me the documentation and I'll send it to Milton."
"Okay. Thanks, Jean. Next, I think it's safe to assume we don't need to answer any of those investor calls, Jean. On that note, have you heard from Alain? I know he was in Boston, but that's all I have."
"Alain is on his way to New York."
"Good. Well, at least there's going to be good news with all of this. I'll be able to pay back their investments a lot sooner than I thought."
"I'm certain they will appreciate that."
I frowned, it wasn't what Jean was saying, but it was how she was saying it. I would have thought she would be excited, or even satisfied with this outcome. She had been harping on me for weeks about money, and suddenly we've got the closest thing to a blank check that one could get, yet she was acting like her dog died or something. It was all so very concerning.
"Are you okay, Jean?" I decided to voice my worry.
"Yes. Sorry, Taylor. That's actually great news." The way she said it… the tone told me that it wasn't, but I wasn't sure the reason why it wouldn't be. ilInstead, I kept myself quiet as she continued, "I'm just grappling with this new development. So, we can ignore the investment calls."
"Unless you can shift their interest to other sorts of investment, yes. Now, about the national companies calling? Licensing and partnerships? I'm not sure I'm following."
"Taylor, have you been paying attention to the news?!"
"Jean, I just woke up from being put under for the last four days. When do you think I have had the time to look at the news?"
"Well, I suggest you make time, Taylor. Now! And you know the saying, 'be careful what you wish for?' I think you're going to start understanding it, because you've gotten all the attention you could want, and then more. Taylor, I've got queries from news agencies in London, all the way to Jakarta."
I sat there, blankly staring forward as I fumbled over what she had said. Jakarta? Wasn't that like in Indonesia? I think it was. I wasn't sure. But why was Jakarta of all places calling Zero Dawn?
"Give me a minute, Jean," I replied, then I muted her without letting her acknowledge me. Accessing the Focus, I immediately piggybacked it to Brockton Bay to my main servers. I then entered a query into the search system for Boston, throwing in a few other things, just to be safe, and then submitted a search.
When it finally finished, I found myself slumping into my chair, almost falling out of it in shock of what I was bearing witness to. Had this really happened in only four days? It couldn't be. It just wasn't possible.
Tens of thousands of legitimate hits. News articles, videos, forum posts, it ran all makes and walks of life.
And they were all talking about the machines. About Zero Dawn.
About me.
And about Greg?
"What the hell?!"
A vice-like grip grabbed my shoulder, causing me to wince slightly and look to the source. 'Mother' towered over me, looking down at me. I could see it in her expression that she was not amused by any of this, "Is there a problem, Miss Hebert?"
Even as she said this, she settled me back on my chair with barely an exertion, and I shook myself off. In a way, the pain helped me focus my attention. It centered me in the face of all of this.
"I"m sorry. Just found something out that I didn't expect. Gunnery Sergeant."
Her eyes scanned over me for a few more moments, before she stepped back without saying another word. I then refocused my attention back forward, and enabled myself to talk to Jean again.
"Okay. I'm going to make an executive decision here, Jean. I want you to hire a public relations department. And an HR department, with a focus on hiring. I want it done before I get back to Brockton Bay. Budget is not an issue, just make sure that they are good at their job and are ready for what is coming, okay?"
"Got it."
"Second. I need you to start looking into making land purchases. The cheaper the better. Land quality does not matter. Zero Dawn is going to need to expand quickly, and we're going to need the land for it. Look at Boston as well. I have a feeling real estate prices here are going to crater, and as disgusting as it feels, there is an opportunity here to help people in the long run."
"I'll reach out to a few construction companies then," Jean responded, obviously putting together what I was working toward. When I had envisioned Zero Dawn, Brockton Bay had always been a starting point. The docks simply did not have the space for the necessary facilities and allow for the eventual docks reopening. I would have preferred more time, but I think that ship had sailed.
Especially with the news of why Dad had not been with me. I had to hand it to Herres, the man certainly did not mess around. I knew Dad was absolutely in the sky right now, considering it had been a dream of his to see the Bay be reopened. And looking over the reports back and forth from the demolitions team in Brockton Bay, it looked like it was soon to be a reality.
"Okay, as for licensing, let's save that until I've gotten back to Brockton Bay. I'd like for us to be able to go over the minutiae of it all. But for now, tell them we are interested, but our current focus is Boston. Speaking of which, where are we at with production?"
"Not much better than the last time, Taylor. We're at a production bottleneck even with the fresh influx of money; we just don't have enough people or facilities to manage everything. I've gotten more Focuses out as you requested, but I've had to effectively reduce all other production to nothing. We're struggling even to make the parts that Quentin has asked for."
I bit my lip, trying not to let my frustration get to me. I knew that Jean was right and dammit, Herres was also right. I had asked her of an impossible task, deep down knowing that she wouldn't be able to meet it. But I had just been too stubborn to acknowledge it.
"Okay. Just prioritize Focus production," I said after a few more moments, in which I took the time to look over Tate's requests. "I'll prioritize which replacement parts we will need in a moment, that should decrease the workload over there. The machines are going to have to be taken down at least two days for repairs and refit. Do we have any Blaze reserves left?"
There was a sigh, "No, Taylor. I pulled that team off to help with the Focus production. What you have is all of it. We still have a supply of the chemicals, though."
"Alright, it's not a problem for right now, but we're going to have to scale up production. I'm going to send you blueprints for an expanded Blaze production center and we're going to make it a priority build. Get HR set up, get them hiring. Contract out for either building something from the ground up or converting an existing building. Since it would be easier to convert something, send me the details of the building, and I'll send back adjusted blueprints. Then we'll start buying lawn waste from the various landscaping companies."
"That will take some time. A week at least."
I shrugged, even if she couldn't see me. "The machines are going to be down anyways and it's a good first step towards expansion. We're going to need the production capacity anyways."
Jean sighed, seemingly getting her feet under herself now that direction was being provided. I sent an irritated thought towards Herres: See, I can delegate.
"Alright, I'll get that started. When are you going to be back in the Bay? We need to organize a press conference and probably a tech demo. And I'm hearing rumors about a charity gala that we must be part of. Zero Dawn needs its CEO in the office, not in another city!"
I frowned, the conversation falling to the wayside as I found my thoughts possessed again by the code of the machines. I knew there was something familiar about it, somewhere I had seen it before, I thought to myself as I brought up the code.
Still, I at least answered Jean to my best ability despite my distraction, "It's fine. I can work remotely, just send me anything you think is urgent."
"No, Taylor, we can't just have you-" I stopped paying attention as I felt a cold shiver run down my… everything. Because I recognized what this code evolution was reminding me of.
"Jean… something's come up, I'll call you back." I hung up without waiting for a response. Setting my status as 'offline,' I ripped the code apart in front of me.
Memories from another life echoed inside my head as I reviewed the evolution of B-4, and how it spread to the other machines. I remembered another such… evolution. A glitch that caused the machines to behave differently, to spread their new programming to other machines. The desperate and doomed struggle and the greatest lies ever told to keep hope alive. I remembered that… and I remembered slowly dying amongst the barren grey wastes that had once been my home.
I refused to let such things happen again.
Fortunately this glitch and the one that haunted my nightmares, were two entirely separate beasts. The nightmare code had been designed to be brutally utilitarian, with its focus being upon the fulfillment of its mission and execution of its combat subroutines. When the glitch occurred, the programming was incapable of adjusting to or isolating the aberrant code. This resulted in a series of cascading errors that resulted in most of the fail-safes breaking down and then being overridden in the machine's attempts at survival in order to complete its mission… which was to destroy enemies that it no longer had any ability to differentiate. It was just a sad instance of a dozen failures, combined with the arrogance of its creators, that ended humanity in the most hellish of circumstances.
My machines' code, on the other hand, was meant to be elegantly flexible. It was meant to learn and adapt in order to improve its overall efficiency. In many ways, it was a microcosm of what I was trying to build Sobek from. Only I made the mistake in not capping just how they would self-evolve their programming and how fast. Luckily, this minor oversight could be abated now, before it became like the nightmare scenario.
So… how did I limit the machines' learning, without limiting the ability to learn?
I spent most of the afternoon buried in the code. Testing, adjusting, and then re-testing it again. It took several hours before Tate and I were satisfied, but the only possible stress-test at the end of the day was to upload it into the LRL and see how they behaved. In essence, I was threading the entire code-base with limitations. Yes, it was technically a solution broken up into dozens of parts, but it made sure that no hacker could go in and remove the limiters. Not without an in-depth understanding of the code, privileged authorization, and an awareness that removing these limiters would cripple the operation of the machine. You would then have to go back in and fill all the parts that you had removed to restore function.
We ended up limiting the machines to a certain level of intelligence based upon their design parameters and role. They were akin to a dog or some other domesticated animal that interacted with humans. The machines could learn to vocalize, but they were never going to learn to speak. They would have an understanding of 'self,' but never prioritize self when confronted with the option between their own safety and the safety of another person. Yes… that was closer to Asimov and his Laws than I wanted to get, but the needs must. Talented writer or not, I still considered him a 1960s hack when it came to robotics.
"Ms. Hebert, ready to go?"
That was Captain Schofield, and I quickly swiped a hand to close the window in my vision. If he was here, then it was time to go and see Captain Herres. Slowly, I got to my feet, my legs only a little sturdier than before despite me having sat for hours now. Nonetheless, he darted forward and lightly grabbed my arm in the event that I stumbled. I wanted to be annoyed by the gesture, but for the hours I knew him the man seemed to actually care, even if he was largely stoic.
"Yeah," I said, making sure I was actually steady before I gestured for him let me go. "We'll speak with Herres, and then I understand that Panacea wants to show me something. Do… do I need to call ahead, or how does that work?"
The man nodded, "I'll get in touch with her team, and we'll see if it's feasible."
Her team. As Amy said earlier today, what a mess we are.
AEH
"From all indications, the Rescue Lance is pushing its limits. My engineers have only been able to repair critical components, but that still leaves a bevy of other smaller problems that have been left unattended. And that's before we even get into the fuel situation."
I was giving my talk to a conference room of men and women who had struggled while I had been sleeping. I'll admit - only to myself and under duress - that I wasn't comfortable with things. I didn't feel like I had earned my place here, but I moved past it.
"The simple reality is… the machines have to come in. They need to be thoroughly inspected, repaired, and refueled, Governor."
And they needed to come in for a quiet software update, but I didn't dare say that anywhere other than within my own head.
The room buzzed for a few moments as people murmured to one another. A woman spoke up, "A lot of media attention is on those machines, with many connecting them with the search for survivors. If we bring them and take them offline… a lot of people are going to lose hope," she took the moment to look around at the others at the table, "The public might feel like we are giving up on survivors."
Herres leaned forward and the room turned towards him.
"We all know the statistics. Our window for finding survivors closed yesterday and we still kept going. It's a harsh truth, but our chances of finding living survivors is approaching zero. I don't like it, none of you like it. The public certainly won't like it. But we have to face the facts, not waste resources on fantasies," he looked down the table to me, "Ms. Hebert? You may order your machines back to your trailers at nine pm tonight. I'll personally inform the teams working with them."
"I understand, sir," I nodded, feeling the weight of the room on me. "If possible, I would like a list of everyone who worked with the Rescue Lance."
Herres glanced at one of his aides, who quickly jotted down a note, "I think we can do that, at least we can get you the majority of them. Can I ask why?"
"I'm not sure if it was made clear, but this iteration of the LRL was very much a prototype. It's the first time these machines were in the field, working alongside rescue workers. So I would like to interview anyone who worked with them to get first-hand information and suggestions on what to change or improve. For example, the Titan has internal storage that could be loaded with rescue supplies. Or even outfitted with external connection points for rescue equipment that crews could make use of."
"A damn strong showing for a first deployment," Someone said, and the room muttered in agreement. Herres nodded once the murmur died, and replied, "We'll get you the list, Ms. Hebert, and you can coordinate to set up interview times. Thank you for your report, you're dismissed."
AEH
"The current death toll for the Boston Endbringer attack rests at 15,487 souls. This number is expected to rise significantly in coming days as the number of wounded and missing are still being tallied. With the Boston Rescue entering its fourth day, Colonel Herres, acting Governor, has announced that rescue efforts will stop for the night. Previously, crews were working around the clock, but are now scaling back their efforts. Herres called for prayers and mourning for the lost and the unfound this evening, beginning at nightfall." - CNN
AEH
Amy was waiting when I exited the administration building, and our teams loaded us up in a pair of humvees. Annoyingly, her entire team was two people, which I found myself oddly jealous of. A quick drive through Boston streets followed, with Amy refusing to explain where we're going. I suppose I could have just asked my detail, but… I was tired, and just feeling the rattling of the large vehicle around me was oddly relaxing. Sure, the engineer in me was screeching about the state of the machine, but… I could ignore that.
Soon enough, we arrived at where Amy was taking us. We got out and started walking between rows of buildings. Amy grabbed my hand, tugging me along. Probably just wanted to check my health after the long day I had, wouldn't do for her primary patient to collapse not even a day after she woke me up.
Finally she pointed at a large, two story wall in front of us.
"What do you think," she asked excitedly.
Oh… I hated to break her enthusiasm, but, "Amy… my Focus doesn't give me my eyes back. It's more like… you ever see a scan on the bottom of the sea floor? All bumps and ridges? It's like that. So… I can only see the wall in front of us."
I felt terrible. Amy had been eager to show me something and here I was ruining things.
"Wait? Really?! Oh… well," she squeezed my hand, looking around, "I'm sorry… I didn't know."
"It's fine," I said, shaking my head. "Really! You had no way of knowing. It's not like I've gone out of my way to announce it. I can see enough though. For example, over there," I pointed to a spot on the ground near the wall, "I'm guessing those are candles? All different kinds, some really big, and others really small. All different brands too, I can smell them," I really wanted to cheer her up, though I didn't know why. It was just… nice to have a friend again. If we were friends, that is.
She shook her head, her scarf fluttering, "Nope, we're doing this right."
She then grabbed my shoulders, turned me to face the wall, then put herself next to me, shoulder to shoulder, "Okay, so bear with me, I'm not great at explaining things."
And then she started to talk.
"So, you see how tall the wall is? About… six feet down from the top is the beginning of the head. An artist came along and painted Bambi, that's the ram-headed machine by the way."
"It's called a Charger."
"Bambi sounds better."
"Yeah, if I want to get sued for copyright."
"Hush! So Bambi, turning its head towards us, like it's looking at us. And it's got this very nice blue color for eyes."
"Optics," I corrected, causing her to giggle and bump her shoulder against mine.
"Hush! So it's turning towards us. And there's this big yellow triangle behind its head, sort of framing its face. And the rest of the body stretched along the wall. And… at its feet." She took my hand, pulling me forward. I had to walk slowly, stepping around bits and pieces of asphalt.
"We have these." Amy then placed my palm against the wall. "People came along and put their handprints on the wall. Survivors that were saved by your machines."
I could feel it, the uneven and slick texture of paint on concrete. My mouth went dry. "How many?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She lowered her voice, "Here? Hundreds," she took my wrist, moving it along. My fingertips touched paint on paint on paint. Hundreds?
"And some of them? They left their name. Each and every person here? They were saved by your machines, Taylor."
I blinked. Several times. My chest felt tight.
"Anna, 27. Blair, piano guy. Stewart, 49. Lina, 7, future ballet dancer. Miles, Professor of Biology, Boston College."
The knot in my chest burst, and I began to cry. And Amy held me, and I couldn't think of anything else to but hold her back. I had helped. I had made a difference. I had done enough.
"All of these people, Taylor. They're alive because of you. Because of your machines. You do matter, more than you can understand. You gave them hope."
I cried.
It was silent on the way back to the College. I sent a notice to Quentin and the others about the machines. Taking off my focus and placing it in its charging box, I let the darkness reclaim me as it always did, and then climbed into bed.
It was the best sleep I experienced in years.