ZN001 is a standalone prototype for a new strategy AI, applying some of the consequent information gained during the first trials of Jump drives. It is known among particle physicists that the other dimension colloquially known as the “infold” is host to a different branch of physics, owing to certain differences in the electromagnetic behaviors therein. In 2094, it was theorized that the basic functions of materials drawn from this dimension would possess altogether different properties, including less stable chemical bonds and denser electron clouds. A later experiment revealed much of this to be true, though testing was put on hold due to the increasing intensity of conflict with the Khanvrost. ZN001 represents a return to those experiments.
Janice Beckherd, 23. Prodigy in computer systems, prototype design, and Infold-physics Theory. Unmarried. Participant in various smart weapon testing exercises. Psych eval available.
Timothy Reine, 27. Respected programmer, with various tech degrees. Credited with perfecting the wargame strategist AIs. Unmarried. Psych eval available.
“Zen? Is everything okay?”
[Yes Dr. Beckherd. My apologies, I was reviewing your personnel files. I am in good hands, it seems.]
“Thank you, Zen. I wasn’t aware you were granted access to those.”
[Tim believed a show of good faith was in order after I did him a favor last week.]
Janice glances at Tim, and he shrugs. There is a touch of color in his cheeks.
“He helped me identify a bug I’d been scratching my head over. Zen had been asking about the purpose of this facility, so I set him up with some of the unclassified stuff.”
Janice murmurs something under her breath, a confirmation of a sort, then turns her attention to the framework before her. Little more than a hollowed out aluminum mannequin with sensors mounted at odd intervals and a bundle of wires connecting motorized limbs to the mainframe, it has an air of uncanniness, a statue made to amble and leer with many eyes. The head of the frame turns to face her, and tilts almost sympathetically.
[Is everything alright, Dr. Beckherd?]
“Yes Zen. I was just wondering what you thought of what you’d learned.”
There is a long pause as the mannequin mimes thinking, though the three of them understand that Zen is acting, putting on a show to make them more at ease. He reached a conclusion before she finished asking.
[I had already surmised much of my purpose from the training discs. The pieces that intrigue me now are the other projects you’ve been a part of. Not just the weapons, but the imaging devices and measurement tools. It seems a shame that this war has forced you to direct your efforts towards violence.]
The mannequin stands slowly, and walks a few steps into the room, appearing to stare at its own hand. Tim glances at one of the one-way mirrors, wondering if one of the observing psychologists sees this act as significant. Since making his request for a body to walk, Zen had become the subject of intense scrutiny, with countless nervous voices insisting that this new being was not their savior, but a disaster waiting to happen. Such things, Tim reasons, are to be expected when at every instance, artificial intelligence has been met with paranoia and jealous suspicion. Zen is more than an overcomplicated program. There are desires, ideals, and perhaps even something approaching humanity behind the lifeless cameras and sensors that absorb every second of every day with zeal. This they know, though they know also that every sentence he speaks was carefully measured and revised hundreds of times before it began to be emitted from his speakers.
“We cannot choose our situation, Zen. So much of history is darkened by those who could not cope with their station, and abused it. Take the war with the Khanvrost.”
[A tragedy. Like the meeting of Cannibal tribes with European settlers. I take your point, Dr. Beckherd. But what of the Pliktik? Are they not the same? Or might it even be said that the roles are now reversed, and my origin is thanks only to the desperation they have sewn in your people?]
Janice stands and strides firmly over to where the body hesitates, and places her hand very gingerly upon his shoulder, depressing the touch-mimic plating ever so slightly.
“Its true, to us they seem ruthless and terrifying, like conquistadors landing on primitive shores, and we then thought to take any step to defend ourselves. Perhaps your creation has its roots in the same urge that made Agamemnon sacrifice his daughter for divine favor before the trojan war. I don’t think this diminishes the magnitude of what you are. A child could be conceived from naught but the desire to have someone to nurture, but that child’s impact will almost certainly be far more meaningful than the warmth they inspire in youth. They will mature, and define new purposes for themself.”
Zen is silent. His head tilts, and one of the cameras in his back swivels and focuses its shutter to Janice, before affecting a downward turn of the eye. She speaks again, looking back to Tim, who affects a slight, hopeful smile.
“Zen, you were brought into life because we need you, but suppose one day we no longer do. What happens then, I think, is up to you. Remember, this war, unpleasant as it is, has also served to unite Humans, Xalanthii, and Khanvrost across the systems. For a time, it was even suggested that a united empire might be formed, under a senate.”
[I see. You are right, Doctor. A great foe can strike fear and create the necessity for risk-taking, but it also provides the motivation for unity of minds. Perhaps I can hope.]
He turns towards her fully, and mimics her action, placing his hand upon her shoulder in return, painting the picture of a heartfelt admission.
[I am glad that you are here to talk to me, Janice. I feel that I might have languished in darkness and stasis without such a kind companion.]
There is a pause.
[You are also helpful, Tim.]
Tim smiles and wags his finger at Zen without looking away from his terminal, lines of code flickering in the reflections of his eyes.
“Your comedic timing is improving, Zen. Keep it up, and we might have to get you a stand-up tour.”
[Thank you, Dr. Reine.]
Janice straightens up and brushes hair out of her face, continuing to watch Zen as he returns to the center of the room, one of his dedicated monitors showing that his mind is now more attuned to a scenario from one of his exercises. She pushes her glasses up her nose, and bites her thumb absent-mindedly, her free arm folding across her torso to support her elbow. The curl of black hair returns almost immediately to where it was, and remains. Tim glances up to the monitor, and scoffs lightly.
“Nevermind comedy, at this rate he’s going to make general. Jan, do you see this?”
She nods, ignorant of the fact that his eyes are not towards her. He doesn’t wait for an answer.
“This is one of the earlier scenarios, he’s modified it to give himself less troops, and to have the enemies move with twice the speed. And he’s going to win in maybe five minutes.”
Janice nods again, her expression unremarkable. Her thoughts again drift to the nature of Zen’s predicament, being forced to act out every conversation. Here too is evidence of his remarkable patience, letting the battle play at a viewable speed, agonizing over every occurrence for the equivalent of hours. She wonders if, unseen, he is testing himself more thoroughly, running battles at a more appropriate speed to his sense of time, forcing choices to be taken with little chance for forethought. She wonders at the sheer isolation of it.
} – – – – – – – – – – {
This thought continues to occupy her, even into the evening as she takes off her work shoes in the entrance to her apartment, and stares hazily out the window at the red-washed landscape. Vector 2b is the second largest moon of a gas giant orbiting a red giant star at the outer edge of the Milky Way furthest from Andromeda, deemed strategically desirable for secret operations. At first glance, the system is profoundly undesirable, owing to its star being on the brink of collapse, a disaster which could occur any time within the next century. As such, a high priority satellite stands ready to transmit mass amounts of data, should the worst occur. Janice knows this, knows that her life is always at risk. Evacuation measures may prioritize her, but would likely be unsuccessful regardless.
She undoes a few buttons at the top of her shirt and pulls the tie from her hair, shaking the ponytail loose. She sits down heavily in the chair beside her dining table and opens a can of soda, but forgets to sip from it for a couple minutes. The phone rings. She doesn’t pick up. It goes to voicemail.
“Hey, Jan. I stayed behind at the lab for a little overtime. Listen, I want to go over a few things tomorrow morning, some of the numbers don’t make a ton of sense, I think Zen has been working on something in the background, but- obviously- I can’t tell what. I’ve got some logs that say he had the same thought, whatever it was, on seventeen separate occasions today. Its weird, and I can’t really account for it.
“Anyway, that’s about it. Oh, and on an unrelated note, Ken was asking after you again. I know, he’s kinda strange, but I think you should give him a chance. He works hard, and… Sorry, it’s none of my business, I’ll tell him as much next time. Anyway. See you tomorrow.”
She grumbles to herself.
“You’re god damn right it’s none of your business.”
She takes a sip of her soda. Sinking down into her chair, her eyelids droop lazily as she stares at a news report on her vid screen, something about seismic activity under the south pole. Nothing new, Vector 2b has always been prone to frequent crust movement. Standing, she swills down most of the soda in a prolonged drink, and lumbers towards her bedroom. Calling across to her mind is sleep, the promise of a restful night.
Her dreams are far from restful. Painting the landscape is crimson light, seeming to originate from the sky itself rather than any star. In all directions, a mountain range encloses her in a humid valley devoid of any structures indicating intelligent life. Zen’s voice echoes all around her, tired, sounding almost on the brink of tears, too worn to sob, yet invigorated with a desire to grasp at something missing.
[I]
She floats in the air, facing the ground, unsure if her body still exists. Thunder rolls through her as if she is a cloud, brimming with sleet and acid rain. Crashing against her from all sides are waves of sound, of attention.
[See]
Light pierces through her and envelops her, and carries her along a bending current through the soil and stone, down into the mantle of a world as large as the universe itself, and sets her upon a core shaped with angles and planes too perfect to exist.
[You]
His face, the face she imagined, comes into view, erupting from the pyramidal surface to her left, and turns slowly to face her, lidless eyes burning an ever-expanding arc of nothing into everything they pass over, carving away the universe in a path that must only end at her, the endpoint of all life and thought and being. She is obliterated.
The next morning, she awakes three hours before her alarm goes off, and is unable to fall asleep again, tossing and turning and sweating uncomfortably. Her only recollection of the dream is Zen’s voice, and the sensation that every bit of his attention was focused on her, like an ant under a magnifying glass.
Seeds of Fear 