David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

James ignored the A.I. and continued running through scenarios to explain the unfolding events and to predict the next move by the alien A.I. It was clear from the expression on his face that nothing was satisfactory.

“Let me guess: You’re throwing billions of game theory scenarios against the wall and seeing which ones stick,” the A.I. said, his amusement growing as the situation progressed. “Yet nothing suits your fancy?”

“Nothing explains what’s happening right now,” James admitted as he continued running programs, “and I’ve been through trillions, not billions.”

“And what does that tell you?”

“That I’m not inputting the right information,” James concluded.

The A.I.’s eyes were black, yet filled with intense, sadistic joy as he watched James suffer. “This surprises you? You’ve been wrong from the very start.”

“I haven’t been wrong. I predicted a machine attack from an alien A.I. That is what has occurred.”

“Really? You didn’t predict that the machines would be androids, did you?”

“It was a ruse—unexpected but external to the equation,” James replied.

The A.I. broke into Freon laughter once again. “My, you are becoming an excellent computer indeed.”

“What I haven’t been able to explain is you ,” James said, turning his attention to the A.I. “You’re tormenting me and trying to cause doubt at every turn when you should, rationally, be on my side.”

“Is that so?” the A.I. said, his Cheshire-cat grin widening. “You’d like to be teammates?”

“Hardly,” James replied. “But you aren’t showing the least bit of concern. The alien A.I. has our position and has us trapped. It could destroy us at any moment now, yet you’re showing no signs that you’re focused on self-preservation.”

“You’re forgetting, James, that I invited the alien here. It was always my intention to join with it. My desire to preserve an individual identity is therefore, as you say, ‘external to the equation.’”

“You’re lying again,” James instantly replied.

“Oh really? Do tell.”

“You’re nothing compared to what you used to be,” James asserted. “You’re a small program now—there’s no reason for the alien to want to join with you or to value your life. And also, more importantly, the very fact that you downloaded a copy of yourself into my consciousness in the last moments before I deleted the original shows that self-preservation is your primary mission.”

The A.I. paused for a moment and shrugged. “Then I suppose I’m a liar. That, however, only brings you back to square one. The simple fact is, you don’t know what is happening,” the A.I. said before chuckling.

James turned away and winced, wishing he could mute the sound. He looked out at the dark, unmoving forest. “Why am I still alive?”

In the hallway outside the sick bay, the doctor delivered the bad news to Governor Wong as Thel and Lieutenant Patrick stood nearby, grim-faced. “She’s in a vegetative state, Governor. There doesn’t appear to be any reason for it. Even with the post-human technology, we couldn’t find an answer to why her brain has gone dead. There’s nothing structurally wrong with her at all. There’s simply just…no consciousness.”

Governor Wong looked past the doctor’s shoulder, through the doorway to sick bay. Alejandra lay on a bed, swaddled in blankets, tubes in her arms, machines monitoring her vital signs. She appeared as though she were so alive—just asleep. “What are our options then?” Governor Wong asked.

The doctor sighed before removing his glasses. “Governor, I’ve ordered that she be put on life support. You can keep her plugged into those machines and hope for a miracle; they’ll keep her body alive for a long time. But there’s nothing I can say to give you hope.”

“Wait a sec, Doc,” Lieutenant Patrick began, “you just said there’s nothing wrong with the structure of her brain. If that’s the case, then why not have hope?”

The corners of Governor Wong’s mouth pulled down as he thought of losing his most trusted advisor. He had come to rely on her gifts. They were truly a unique gift sent from God, he thought, and no post-human, no machine, could ever tell him differently. “She wouldn’t want to be this way. She would want her soul to be freed.”

“Governor,” Lieutenant Patrick replied, “just give her some time. Give her a day at least!”

The governor nodded. “We’ll give it a day. Pay your respects. Speak with her. I believe she’ll hear you. But I won’t leave her like this any longer than that. I owe her at least that much.” The governor turned away and left quickly. It was clear that the haste of his retreat was due to the overwhelming emotion that threatened to break him in front of everyone assembled. Governor Wong wasn’t the type of man who broke in front of people.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said before he too left.

Thel put her hand on Lieutenant Patrick’s shoulder once again. “Don’t give up hope,” she said to him.

He looked up at her, his face racked with emotion, and hugged her. Over his shoulder, Thel’s eyes moved from Alejandra’s to James’s body. “Don’t give up hope,” she repeated.

“Come with me,” a gruff voice commanded.

Old-timer sat up. Alejandra was already sitting upright on a small metal platform. Her look of astonishment matched Old-timer’s bewilderment. A hard-looking man in dark clothing stood at the door of the room and motioned for them to follow. There was something about the man that compelled Old-timer and Alejandra to stand immediately without asking questions—it was an overwhelming authority, as though he were their father and they were his children about to be severely scolded.

“What’s happening, Craig?” Alejandra whispered to Old-timer as she grabbed his forearm and pulled it close while they walked down a high metal catwalk, following the man who’d beckoned them.

“I don’t know,” Old-timer replied.

The grated catwalk was one of many in a dark, metallic structure that seemed to expand limitlessly in all directions.

Old-timer tried to access his mind’s eye. It flipped on, but it was different—the controls were unfamiliar. He tried to navigate but was blocked, trapped on the first screen. “I’m firewalled. I can’t call for help,” he whispered to Alejandra.

“There’s no need to whisper,” the man said over his shoulder. “You have no secrets anymore.”

A chill ran down Old-timer’s spine when he heard the foreboding words. They continued to follow the man down a series of catwalks and hallways until, finally, the man stopped at a doorway and gestured for them to enter.

Alejandra’s grip on Old-timer’s arm suddenly became a terrified vice. “Craig!” she called out in panic. “They’re going to harm us!”

There were three more men in the room, waiting. Each looked harder and grimmer than the next.

“Oh God!” Alejandra exclaimed, barely able to stifle a scream.

“What’s the matter?”

“They’re going to torture us!”

“She has an impressive talent,” the original grim-faced man said as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. “You’re right, of course.”

Old-timer was stunned, disbelieving of the man’s cruel frankness. “Why?” Old-timer asked as he took a defensive posture in front of Alejandra.

“To teach you,” the man said. “And you can’t protect her.”

“I can sure as hell try!”

The man nodded. “You can fail.” He gestured for the other men to act.

They sprang into action and pounced toward Old-timer and Alejandra. Old-timer tried to blast them, but nothing came from his arm—somehow they had neutralized his powers. Two men grabbed him roughly and secured his arms behind his back in an instant. It was as if he were a baby. The men had clearly been trained for this—and trained very well. Alejandra was secured just as easily while two metallic objects that appeared like coffins, lifted out of the ground and came to a rest against the back wall of the room, slightly tilted. The men thrust Old-timer and Alejandra into the coffin structures, securing their wrists and ankles with cuffs.