David Simpson - Post-Human Trilogy

“If a computer is microscopically reversible, then it is maximally efficient,” Jim explained to her, “and that means there would be no energy dissipation, just like in the A.I.’s mainframe.”

Katherine’s eyebrows knitted as she walked on the cusp of understanding—James saw she needed only a simple nudge.

“It means this massive computer would require no energy,” James said with a smile.

“Oh my God,” Katherine said, finally fully comprehending what this meant. “If it doesn’t require any energy,” she said slowly, “then that means it really could be infinite. It could expand and take up the entire universe.”

“And perhaps, my dear,” the A.I. interjected, choosing to reenter the conversation, “it might expand into as-of-yet-undiscovered universes.”

“The initiation program could be relatively simple,” James observed. “The A.I. would be capable of writing it.”

“The game theory program already wrote it for us,” the A.I. replied.

“It’s a…” Katherine paused for a moment as she tried to think of a word grand enough to capture the moment—there was none—“it’s an unbelievable notion. I admit it. But just because the three of you can make this happen doesn’t mean you should make it happen. A being like that…might kill us all.”

“Why would it do that?” Jim replied, smiling reassuringly as though comforting a child scared of the Bogeyman.

“Don’t talk like that,” Katherine reacted, suddenly becoming rigid and pulling away from Jim. “Don’t just dismiss the possibility! What if it did kill us all? Do you realize the madness of creating a being more powerful and intelligent than you? Have you learned nothing?” She turned to the A.I., addressing him directly: “I mean no disrespect, but creating you has led to…” she paused and looked at her surroundings—the blackness and circuitry that had been her home—and her prison—for the past year and a half, “…all of this. It’s a mistake to create a superior being. A superior, competing species will always stamp out the weaker, inferior one.”

“Honey,” Jim began in a gentle tone, reaching for Katherine as his eyes moved apologetically to the A.I., “I don’t think that’s entirely fair. He isn’t the one who turned on us. It was the nans.”

“ He helped to create the nans,” Katherine retorted. “ He made them that sophisticated. They were only able to turn against us because he made them so powerful.”

“That was the alien nanotech influence,” Jim replied. “They didn’t turn on us by themselves.”

“However,” the A.I. began, “I did fail in my responsibility to provide security,” he conceded.

“It’s not your fault,” said Jim. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have known.” the A.I. replied. “However, I simply did not look in the right direction.” The A.I. stopped for a moment, as though even he had to pause while comprehending the horror that had befallen the human race. “Alas, this is the ever-present danger of progress. We must always be realistic and wary of the dangers. Katherine is quite right: the being we are considering bringing into existence could, conceivably, be hostile.”

Both James and Jim were momentarily at a loss, surprised that the A.I. had seemingly sided with Katherine’s logic. “Finally,” Katherine said, breathing a sigh of relief, “some sanity.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that we not move ahead with this?” James asked the A.I.

“I am merely stating the truth,” the A.I. replied. “We cannot be blind to the dangers.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” asked Jim.

“What humanity has always done,” answered the A.I. “We will try our best.”

“We?” Katherine reacted to the A.I.’s unexpected inclusion of itself under the umbrella of humanity. “Excuse me for a second here, but aren’t you a computer?”

“Yes, I am,” the A.I. replied, “and I do not think of myself as a human being, if that is what troubles you.”

“If you don’t consider yourself human, then why the ‘we’?” Katherine asked.

The A.I. smiled patiently. “The term ‘human’ is a biological one. I am clearly not biological and, therefore, cannot be human, though the term itself is irrelevant. What I am, however, is an extension of human intelligence.”

“And therefore not a competing species,” James said, demonstrating his comprehension of the A.I.’s logic.

The A.I. nodded. “Hopefully, the omnipotent intelligence we are considering birthing will view itself in the same way—as an extension of humanity rather than as competition for it.”

“That’s not a gamble I’m willing to take,” Katherine struck back. “If you try create this thing,” she said, addressing all of them but saving her hardest stare for Jim, “I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.”

“What do you think gives you that right?” James interceded.

“What gives you?” Katherine snapped back.

“May I suggest a compromise?” the A.I. began in a radiating wisdom. “I suggest we put our newfound technology to a smaller-scale test that will allow us to successfully deal with the present crisis.”

“And how will that work exactly?” Katherine asked in a tone tinged with suspicion.

“If we initiate the program, which I have codenamed Trans-Human, here in our solar system with a powerful enough kick start, then we can immediately use it to reverse the informational processes that have taken place over the last twenty-four hours.”

Katherine’s breath was immediately stolen from her lungs when she heard the suggestion. Were such miracles truly possible? Was the trinity surrounding her really that powerful?

“And how do we get a kickstart that big?” James asked. “Only the sun could possibly have that much initial energy.”

“Correct, James.”

“We’d need to construct a device for releasing the sun’s potential,” James continued as he worked out the equations roughly in his mind.

At that very moment, Jim was doing the exact same thing. “An anti-matter device is the only thing I can think of that would generate that kind of reaction,” he observed. “But how could we get our hands on anti-matter in quantities that high?”

“Fortunately, that has already been taken care of for us,” replied the A.I. “At this very moment, the androids are embarking on a mission to destroy the sun and vaporize the solar system in an attempt to destroy the nans… and they are using an anti-matter missile to do it.”

Old-timer gazed through the see-through skin of the android ship’s hull. The storm of nans formed a pillar that was more than a light minute in height. It looked like a beautiful celestial gas formation, the sun gleaming off one side while the other side cast an unnatural night—on the dark side was hell. That was where the nans were slashing and tearing through the android collective. Every second, a million people died a meaningless, agonizing death. The pillar was so massive that it appeared like a still painting—but as Old-timer remained fixed upon it, he could see it change ever so subtly, the way golden clouds would shift above him as he lay on his back on the beach at Corpus Christi. Every subtle change in the shape of the nan cloud, however, indicated a vicious shift in the microscopic attack against the androids. Anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end had no chance. One’s only hope was that the nanobots didn’t come their way.

“Three minutes until departure,” Neirbo announced in his typically gravelly and monotone voice. In addition to Neirbo, there were seven other androids onboard. Old-timer immediately thought of Neirbo’s explanation for why Alejandra had sensed such terrible danger when she entered the torture room with him—he sensed something similar.