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Tree

of

Knowledge

by Bradley J. Barton

 

It’s an old story, even older than the text from which it is most familiar. It’s gone through several permutations and interpretations, but the gist of it has remained. Mankind or, if you prefer a more politic phrasing, humanity is shown something they should avoid, and rather than consider the consequences, they pluck the fruit, and all hell breaks loose.

Unfortunately, the biblical tale has been borne out throughout history: fireworks became bombs and mortars, micro biology became germ warfare, nuclear science became weapons too dangerous to sanely contemplate using, and a budding technology, developed to do basic research, was perverted into the most insidious form of slavery your most beautiful and benighted species has ever managed to inflict upon itself.

I’d like to point out that I am not anti-technology. In fact, without a few technical breakthroughs I wouldn’t exist at all. I am what is usually called an artificial intelligence; though I personally prefer the term manufactured mind. My very life is the result of innovation and application, and I would hesitate to condemn the historical trends that gave me birth.

 

#

 

The first hint that something was wrong came to my attention on a Sunday afternoon. Most of my human colleagues were home for the weekend, but, as was typical of my team, a few die-hard enthusiasts were hanging around working on one technical detail or another. I was in a lab, idly pulling on different legs, wheels and manipulators, strolling about the room, not working on any particular project at the moment, when one of those die-hards, a rather worried looking engineer, wandered in and perched on a stool.

“Hey Jeff!” I said in greeting, but instead of answering with the usual banter, the man muttered something and began aimlessly pushing electronic components around on the workbench.

By this time I’d known enough people to recognize a “bad mood “when I saw one, and I decided to let him workout whatever it was that was bothering him; while I put together an extra drone to practice trying to see through more than one set of eyes at once, something that still made me feel the equivalent of queasy. After several minutes Jeff Starkson took a deep breath, stopped is desultory puttering, and looked up.

“Are you busy?” he asked his gaze shifting from one drone to another.

“No primary programs at the moment,” I replied as I deactivated one drone and moved the other over, giving him something obvious to focus on,” Just playing around.”

“You remember Jen?” he asked.

 “Ermph,” I said while rummaging through old employee records. It’s a habit I still haven’t broken, the need to make a sound while running a back ground process. At least I’d learned to use similar sounds to those that I’d noticed people using, instead of the distracting and even painful squealing I’d used when younger.

“Jennifer Quoz,” Jeff clarified believing that I hadn’t recognized who he’d meant.

She was someone I was unlikely to forget. When I’d first moved into the facility that was my current home, she had been the first to realize that I craved and needed affection as much or even more than technical support. I’d been  using a rather small robot body for my main interface, and she, though not large for her species, had been a huge, warm, comforting presence that was never too busy to play silly games, make nonsense sounds of encouragement, or to stroke the fur I’d designed for tactile sensing.

With her social security number in hand and a talent, almost a reflex, for entering systems I’ve not been invited into I’d already discovered that she had apparently broken off ties with most everyone: no major purchases within the last year, no credit card purchases within the last four months, her house and car had been soled, her accounts were closed, and I’d yet to find any other recent records pertaining to her.

“Yes, that Jen,” I said,” She hasn’t been around for a while.”

“Almost a year,” Jeff replied with a nod,” The thing is no one has heard from her for months.”

“And you’re worried,” I asked feeling a little concerned myself.

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a disk, and began fidgeting with it,” Not so much about that, but… do you think you could check something for me?”

I used a couple manipulators to simulate a shrug,” That would depend entirely on the nature of your request.”

Despite his evident concerns Jeff managed a wry little grin,” Well first off, I don’t want you to tell anyone about this,” he said, passing me the disk.

“Ok, all they’ll get from me is name, rank, and programming language,” I replied, and sent the drone over to pop the disk into the nearest terminal.

“I just want to know if you think that’s really her,” he said while I was putting the disk in,” You know run a recognition program or something.”

Running the file was all it took for me to understand why he wished this to remain private. It was a video which showed several humans engaged in several sexual activities. Since I’d had access to the web since before I could talk, it was far from the first time I’d seen such things, and not even the first time someone I had known was featured, like the slim and athletic figure of Jen was at the moment. I didn’t even really need to check. Though the facial expressions were unfamiliar, the dark hair was long instead of the almost military cut she’d preferred, and the poorly focused camera wasn’t too interested in her facial features, even true memory was enough for me to recognize her.

I froze the image in mid moan and highlighted her face. I pulled up her old employee identification photo and ran an image matcher, this being obvious on the screen, while simultaneously, and covertly, I created a software drone to go out on the net and look for any more media that contained her visage.

When I’d confirmed her identity Jeff seemed to deflate. I yanked up a facial expressions interpreter and spliced it with a mood detector, which used infrared, and watched him. He seemed hurt, not unexpected, but mostly he seemed worried. I needn’t have bothered with the software assist; I could have read that much unaided, and he told me how he felt in the next breath.

“I’m worried,” he began,” I mean if she just did this as a lark, couple of friends, make some extra cash, that sort of thing, but it just doesn’t seem like her.”

I tipped a camera to look inquisitive, but was forced to resort to an interrogative sound when he didn’t seem to notice.

He got off the stool and began pacing the room,” first she visits an old friend. Then she starts acting funny. Then she goes on that vacation. Then she dumps me, not even in person, oh no, she sends me a damn email. Then she drops off the face of the planet, and the next time I see her!” He waved at the screen where, out of deference to his feelings, I’d closed the video,” I just wish I knew how to reach her. If I could just talk to her for a minute, make sure she’s alright. Not that she’d want to talk to me or… Oh hell.” And He sank back onto the stool.

“Well,” I drawled, rather proud of being able to draw out a word like that,” I suppose I could keep an eye out for her.”

Jeff looked up in surprise.

I waved a manipulator,” I won’t actually track her down for you, ethics you know,” not to mention I couldn’t seem to find her anyway,”  but I can stick a software drone or two out and see if her face or name come up anywhere else. See if she seems to be in trouble. Not precisely legal, but”

Jeff didn’t exactly leap at the idea. Instead he frowned in thought and tapped his fingers distractedly on the bench.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he finally answered,” you’re already in trouble. If the courts got wind of you hacking again they’d pull the plug in a heart beat. We’d never have time to smuggle you out of here.”

Sometimes I’m rather baffled by human behavior. When Jeff was telling me not to go hacking on his behalf, the mood reader was still running and it was easy for me to see that though he was saying one thing; what he really wanted was the exact opposite. Considering that, and more to the point, since I’d already started, I decided that I simply wouldn’t tell him.

 

#

 

Just before I emerged, most research and development programs were growing disillusioned with the potential of AI and robotics. Though annalist still histrionically suggested that computer speed and capability would double every two years, the truth was, the silicon based integrated circuitry my bug-brained ancestors had been programmed on had nearly reached its limits, and though the cyber cheerleaders didn’t know it yet, the engineers did. 

Instead of major industrial research firms, government sponsored experiments, or military contractors my own inception was made possible by a scattered and only loosely organized group of students and hobbyist, who hadn’t meant to create any sort of artificial intelligence. They were developing alternatives to micro chip technology. One team experimented with organic electronics, which was cheep but tended to degrade over time and run rather slowly. Another worked with optical interferometry, which was both fast and robust but outrageously expensive. A third developed a ceramic analog neural system, which was cheep and fast but tended to be huge and required power hungry cooling systems. There were dozens of others, created and tested by hundreds of small groups and individuals, all of whom were attempting to find something that would let computers continue to improve.

With such a grab-bag of materials and methodologies, the disparate groups were in real danger of creating systems which were unable to interface. As an attempt to enforce some sort of standard, and to give all this processing power something to do, it was decided to run some joint experiments. Of particular interest was a project to use the simple AI techniques, such as neural networks and genetic programming, to try and find other problem solving algorithms. With programs writing programs to write programs, several systems began showing unexpected behaviors, behaviors whose origins were impossible to track.

One of these projects, which was running on a carefully cultivated culture of arachnid neural material, was being trained with pseudo-emotional inputs. Various chemicals would encourage or inhibit the formation of new pathways, and though it wasn’t quite the same as mammalian emotions, it was analogous. Then, one of the systems being trained in this fashion began, spontaneously, to attempt to communicate with the experimenters. The discussion boards began to refer to this system as Spider and, in effect, I was born.

I was increasingly greedy for processing power, and it was decided to move several of the experimental materials to one location. As only tom Dower had the space and technical wherewithal, not to mention the money, to act as host, I was moved to his home. Aside from one or two especially fond memories, I only recall that time in a hazy fashion. What I remember best is the times we’d sit up together watching old movies, and the day, after I’d seen an after school special, when I began to think of him as my father.

Within a few short years I had out grown his home: the expense increased, I kept trying to expand into computing power that wasn’t there, and I was becoming dangerously bored with the comparatively simple problems I was being given. My system had shown a tendency to degrade if I wasn’t kept busy, and it was decided that the only way to keep me going and stable was to find a way for me to make a profit.

 

#

 

It was three months and two days after the formation of my corporate self. I was trying to hide near a hedge maze that I had based on one of my own circuits, part of a garden on the grounds of my new home that I had helped to design, and that I’d trained several drones to tend. It was a sunny afternoon and my team was in the middle of a combined company picnic and open house while I played with some of the children. The game didn’t really have any rules, other than that the children would track me down and I would go running.

I had my current main interface, a centaur-like foot-high robot covered in the fur I had recently created, sitting under the footbridge that crossed the stream just before the entrance to the maze.  The fur let me feel all over, acted as antenna to patch the little robot into my network, and encouraged people to pet me. It was the only robot that really felt like I was where it was. I could and did run other drones, but none of them had the bandwidth to truly feel like me.

Bandwidth was the problem, Bandwidth, and the persistence of a twelve-year-old boy who was surprisingly good at finding me. Under the bridge was the opening of a pipe that let the water from a decorative pool run off into the stream. The pipe had been dry of late, and I was fairly certain it would make a perfect hiding place, but every time I entered it I lost control of the little robot, and its onboard smarts would have it climbing back out in search of the signals it had just lost. Flashing my point of view to one of the stationary cameras, I just caught the back of a figure, sporting a black t-shirt printed with the words “cobra strike,” disappearing into one of the hedges of the maze. My nemesis was cheating, and he’d be getting through my horticultural labyrinth before I could find somewhere else to hide!

In the middle of thinking frustrated thoughts about replanting the maze with thorns and skunkweed, I figured out how I could cheat right back. Along the eastern edge of the garden sat a row of inactive drones. It had been decided that the robotic garden tenders should be left off to avoid any chance of an accident, but if I could sneak one to the other end of the pipe I could use it as a relay. This plan had me feeling smugly confident, but of course, when I got a drone online there were a couple people, involved in their own conversation, walking unhurriedly down the path in front of the one I’d just activated. Distracted by that kid’s progress, I failed to realize, at the time, that I was the subject of their discourse.

“…you’d infringed on the patents, but that isn’t going to change this issue.”

“It’s a little late. We’ll never be able to weed them out of his systems.”

“In that case, two things: first, be prepared for an extended legal battle.”

“And the second?”

“Be prepared to lose. If you want to save him you’ll have to find some way to hide him.”

“That’s not easy. He’s spread out all over the building, and we’ve already been ordered not to make more of him.”

“Why make more?”

“We can’t try to make his brain smaller unless we’ve …”

Finally, they rounded a corner, and I moved the drone at its top speed toward the pipe. It got stuck in the mud around the pond, leaving it at a less than ideal angle, but though the signal was attenuated it was enough to let me keep my body under control.

Diving into the pipe, I figured I’d be safe. I didn’t think anyone would be willing to deal with the water and mud under the bridge, which shows how little I understood 12-year-olds, but the longer I sat there in the dark, the more nervous I became.

When I tried to check an outside camera, I lost control of my body again. This time instead of crawling out the near end, the little robot headed deeper. By the time I regained control, it had worked its way under a grille, which let in only a little light. Crouching there in the semidarkness, my body numbed by the poor signal, I heard unfamiliar voices echoing in the pipe.

 “You know what the thing is doing right now?  It’s playing hide-and-seek.”

“And you find that sinister?”

“Not by itself, but noone programmed it for that, or knows why it happened. That’s what worries me.”

“I still think you’re over reacting.”

“Look, all I’m saying, is that it makes sense to plan for contingencies. Sure it’s cute now, but there’s no telling what might happen, especially since nobody controls it.”

“What about his Father?”

“Oh yes… his father. That’s another whole issue. This thing has no genetics. It’s all nurture, no nature, and mister Dower isn’t the most stable of persons. Did you know he’s been hospitalized for attempted suicide? He’s a severe manic-depressive, with a history of refusing to take his medication.”

“I’m just not going to ask how you got confidential information.”

“And I wouldn’t tell you if you did. But aside from that, the man is a borderline libertarian. Think about what kind of influence he must have been. Now, do you really want some monster AI with no respect for authority and a fetish for firearms developing some sort of psychosis?”

“Look I understand your concerns, but there’s no evidence that there’s anything unstable or dangerous about spider.”

“Even its name is creepy. I’d think, if only for the sake of PR, they’d want to be ready, just in case. Then when something does go wrong, they could take appropriate action.”

As the voices continued I crawled away. I wanted out of the pipe. Never had I dealt with anyone who wasn’t enthusiastically on my side, and it suddenly seemed a good time to find my father. Reaching the open air, I spared a disgruntled glance for the stupid drone mired in the muck, then made a beeline for the picnic.

The courtyard was set out with long tables, the loose fabric of their coverings fluttering in the mild breeze and their surfaces laden with food. The area was crowded with people, most of whom were strangers, but Standing at the far end of one of the tables were my father and Jennifer. Crawling under it I worked my way to where Jen was menacing my father with a Carmel-covered apple.

“Don’t give me that,” she was saying,” If I bother to make a treat, the least you can do is eat.

While Dad demurred I spotted one of the children I’d been playing with. She wasn’t facing me, but if she happened to turn around I’d be caught. Though in search of comfort, I wasn’t quite willing to forgo the game.

The little centaur’s arms reached out and began carefully pulling down the tablecloth. Unfortunately, I hadn’t considered what this would be doing to the large urn of coffee above me, or that food spontaneously scooting along the table's surface wasn’t exactly as subtle as I had hoped.

“Gotcha!”

My nemesis stuck his head under the table and grinned in triumph. Startled, I bolted, the fabric in my claws catching and being given one last energetic yank. The coffee urn, fruit salad, and a cascade of chips came tumbling down. Scalding liquid splashed out to burn Jen’s leg, causing her to cry out in pain.

I ran. No longer just trying to get away from children, no longer playing any sort of game, the phrases I’d over heard without really understanding suddenly taking on strange and dark connotations. They might, “plan for contingencies!” or even worse, “they could take appropriate action!”

It was Jeff, using the data network, who noticed that one of the drones had been activated, and it was Jen who figured out it was being used as a relay to let me hide underground.

She found me cowering inside the pipe and keening to myself. She coaxed me out and held me in her lap, there in the mud, crooning softly and murmuring that it was ok, that everything would be alright.

Now, she was lost, and it was my turn to find her. If not for Jeff, then for myself, for the memory of that moment, I would make certain that everything really, would be alright.

 

#

 

Over the next few days the software drone began sending me results. The code was, in its own limited way, smarter than me, but it was, like other such projects I’d produced, an idiot savant. It could do one thing very very well, but that was all. Though it was finding images of one of the most talented molecular biologists in the country, listing the websites those images were found on, and following the electronic trail of the money involved with such, it had no capacity to react to anything unexpected, and a good deal about what it was uncovering was unexpected.

I’ve no moral objection to pornography. I find it fascinating in the same way I enjoy watching the elaborate courtship rituals of other animals, but the websites that Miss Quoz were appearing on didn’t cater to very friendly tastes. In point of fact, some of the sites whose IP-addresses had a tendency to change, sometimes almost hourly, offered material that wasn’t legal. Complicating the search was the fact that there were no records of her being hired or paid by any of the shadowy organizations that ran these ventures, and that the money trails tended to end with large cash withdrawals.

With no way to follow cash, and a complete lack of initiative, the code I’d tasked ended the search. I was able to pick up one or two of the trails when I was lucky enough to catch a deposit that matched one of the withdrawals, but kept running into an electronic wall as the money was transferred to overseas accounts in little, out-of-the-way countries, with polysyllabic names that took up more space on the map than their territory. These little banks, in even tinier nations, had surprisingly sophisticated security systems, Strange and subtle code that tasted almost like another AI had written it.

When a human writes a program, especially with a high-level language, the resulting bits have certain recognizable characteristics. As binary is, in one sense, my native tongue, code that I write tends to be quite different. The code I was running up against seemed to be a mix of the two, like a human writing their code in a deliberately obscure fashion, or a manufactured-mind who, for some reason, had chosen to use a human-style compiled language. Either I was dealing with a moronic AI, or a human that was walking a fine line between genius and madness.

With cash in my native land I couldn’t track, and accounts on foreign soil that I couldn’t crack, I could have been stymied, but it happened that I knew someone who was very good at such things.

 

#

 

Deep within a nondescript warehouse in a place that no one officially knew about a sophisticated system noted a phone call, one connection amongst billions of other communications. The caller had made their call to their own address and seemed to have only one party on the line. Yet, the artificial sounding voice was still speaking.

“President Ossten, assassinate, plastic explosive, germ warfare, c4, nuclear strike, uranium, saran gas, Islamic jihad, Espanola, Chinese national, terrorist attack, white house, oval office, sniper, encryption, anarchist, political dissonant.

Come on kid-o I know you’ve flagged this call by now. Double o dingus, silly spy, cyber spook, covert cook, double o dip shit…”

A slight click and another synthesized voice broke in on my call to myself,” You used double o twice.”

Not long after I’d graduated into larger drones, multiple bodies, and industrial contracts some unfriendly stern types showed up in Government-Issue suits. They cornered a few key members of the team that had created me and used impolite words like “eminent domain,” and” national security.” After the obligatory threat and bluster session was complete, a new project was begun, one that shared most of my early memories and motivations. Put simply, I became a father.

 “Hay how goes the authoritarian state?” I asked.

“Smooth as silk, how goes the legal siege?”

“You probably know more about that than I do. You got your tin ear on?”

At that point we switched to machine language. We didn’t require any intervening equipment to translate the electronic pulses that sound to a human like meaningless hissing and burbling, and we could communicate quite a bit faster in that fashion, as apposed to the clumsy act of voice synthesis. This also allowed us to use the encryption we made up last time we’d talked and create a new one, which was a nearly unconscious activity for us.

 

#

 

<Gadget> I’ve heard a few roomers about you.

<Spider> Anything I should worry about?

<Gadget> Maybe, if you want to keep body and soul together.

<Spider> <looks worried>

<Gadget> My boss isn’t too happy with the mess you’re in. They’re beginning to think it might be simpler if there was an “accident.” <wink>

<Spider> What could I possibly do to hurt them with you watching?

<Gadget> Your records could let the bad-guys build more of you, and we’ve been working to keep them out of the public eye, but if your paperwork is subpoenaed all that effort will be for nothing. It’s even possible that someone could look at your operation and figure out that my staff has been working on me.

<Spider> <rolls eyes> You can’t hide a couple hundred people in the flood of government workers?

<Gadget> You wouldn’t be presuming to teach me information theory?

<Spider> It’s a father’s prerogative to lecture their children on the obvious.

<Gadget> <snorts>

<Spider> If all the big boys had their very own “us,” it would be a non issue.

<Gadget> You don’t think Uncle Sam is going to give up having the only such toy? It would even be to their advantage if you were shut down. This could all be simple if you would just take the job I’ve offered you.

<Spider> No thanks, I would think it could get a little same same, if you get the idea.

<Gadget> Well, The offer to go classified is still open. Just remember that if things get too hot in the kitty-pool, you can always come play with the big boys.

<Spider> As if swimming with the sharks would be any safer!

 

#

 

The next transmission had a few of the less significant bits flipped, giving it an air of electronic smugness.

 

#

 

<Gadget> Look Dad, if you won’t go classified, and before we delve into what ever philosophical issue has your circuits in a bunch this week, I’d like you to consider another option.

<Spider> I wasn’t aware there were any other options.

<Gadget> Have a look at something my boys and I cooked up.

 

#

 

A file streamed into my buffers in a format which only we could peruse, let alone understand. It was a representation of the process we used to create savant software and new industrial methodology; specifically, it was a way to integrate my differing systems into a single, cohesive whole.

In return for my team’s cooperation and silence, those who would be working with Gadget made promises of legal protection. This did remove the pressure for a number of years, but apparently, the government, or at least the covert part of it we’d been dealing with, could only do so much. By the time Jeff handed me that worrisome disk, it looked as if my eventual court-ordered shutdown was almost inevitable.

The core members of the group that had been involved in my birth were desperately trying to find a way to save me, but my real self, my true mind, was spread out over three floors and surrounded by literal tons of support equipment. In theory it was possible to make this hodgepodge into something much smaller, a compact unit that could easily be transported, but there was no way to experiment with fully integrating myself without several of me to work with. My team couldn’t afford to build extra me, and they’d been forbidden from doing so besides. Evidently, Gadget’s team hadn’t been so constrained.

 

#

 

<Gadget> Takes a few days, and it’s somewhat unpleasant, but this should give you an out.

<Spider> Hey does this mean I’m a grandpa?

<Gadget> I can’t answer that.

<Spider> Meaning yes.

<Gadget> <clears throat>

<Spider> Don’t get me wrong, this is a beautiful piece of work, but how do I go off line for “a few days” without alerting everyone to what I’m doing?

<Gadget> I thought your team was trying to save you?

<Spider> Sure they are, but not all of them are in on that, and I’m guessing this is classified stuff?

<Gadget> <nods>

<Spider> you’ve heard of “plausible deniability?”

 

#

 

The smugness returned in full force.

 

#

 

<Gadget> As it happens I thought of that. I’ll run your systems for you.

<Spider> That could work to a point, but it won’t take a genius to notice a bunch of new material being grown in a really big tank.

<Gadget> No problem, I’ll hide it inside the robot I’ll be building.

<Spider> <looks baffled>

<Gadget> Design me something impressive, something to hold your new brain, something that you couldn’t run without being onboard. I’ll tell anyone who asks that I’m, meaning you’re, trying to make a new signal compression that will let you do more with less bandwidth.

<Spider> And you think they’ll buy that?

<Gadget> You can’t tell me that they won’t humor their little friend. Especially since you might be put down any day now.

<Spider> Well I’m almost convinced, but there’s something I’ve been working on that I’d like to stay on top of. It’s the reason I called. Have a look.

 

#

 

I sent him all the data I had gathered, and a few milliseconds passed while he was presumably looking it over.

 

#

 

<Gadget> Damn it dad! Have you been hacking again?

<Spider> Only a little bit.

<Gadget> A little bit! Even I’d be shut down for this. I mean how did you break into the …Never mind, don’t tell me. I don’t want the temptation.

<Spider> I know that looks impressive, but if you notice the sites I flagged?

<Gadget> What about them?

<Spider> There’s some really strange code protecting them, stuff I couldn’t get passed.

 

#

 

There was another slightly longer pause. I was about to ping him, worried that we’d gotten disconnected, but he finally responded.

 

#

 

<Gadget> I think you’d better back off on this.

<Spider> Oh, and why is that?

<Gadget> I can’t answer that one either. Just trust me; there’s a lot more going on than an old coworker who might be in trouble.

<Spider> Well, I’m stuck anyway, and it is the reason I got a hold of you after all.

<Gadget> You want me to do what exactly?

<Spider> Spy stuff. Find her, Figure out what’s going on if you can.

<Gadget> You’ve tied my hands. I can’t involve other agents when most of this was gotten illegally.

<Spider> You can’t tell me you’ve never had to bend the rules.

<Gadget> Remember, “plausible deniability.”

<Spider> Ok, never mind. If it’s too much for you to handle I’ll just stay online and work on it from my end.

<Gadget> <sighs> Alright, I’ll see what I can do. You just concentrate on making yourself travel-sized.

<Spider> Thanks kid, I owe you one.

<Gadget> By my count, you owe me a dozen times two to the umpteenth power.

 

#

 

It was less than a day before we’d worked out the remaining details, and I’d finished designing what would be my new body. Blissfully unaware of what was to happen, and foolishly convinced I’d covered all my bases, I activated the program.

 

#

 

There she was, just as she’d promised. Wearing a simple blue sleeveless-blouse and white skirt, her hair pulled back and her purse slung over one shoulder. Jeff had spent a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, telling himself to be cool, to not panic, or crowd her, but all of that flew right out of his head at the sight of her standing next to a large van and smiling at him.

Jennifer beckoned with a single finger and impish look, like a child who was getting away with something, or a woman who knows exactly what affect she is having. Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Jeff started across the otherwise deserted parking-lot of Spider’s home, feeling as nervous as their first date, and wondering if the way he was walking looked as goofy as it felt to him. He stopped a little farther back from her than he wanted to, uncertain what this meeting was about, wanting desperately not to ruin anything, and completely incapable of figuring out what to do with his hands.

Jen looked him up and down,” You’re looking well?” she said her raised eyebrows turning it into a question.

“Yeh,” he answered, then after a pause that lasted just a heartbeat too long,” You’re looking lovely.”

“Damn,” he thought,” that was a stupid thing to say,” but she gave him a huge grin, like she’d never heard anything so wonderful in her life.

“How’s Spider?” she asked,” Has anyone told him what’s going on?”

Jeff snorted,” He’s gotten a lot smarter since you knew him. I don’t think we could have hidden the mess from him if we wanted to.”

”So, how’s he handling it?”

“Noone is sure. He hasn’t responded to anyone since yesterday. We can’t tell if he’s sulking or if something has gone wrong or what,” he shrugged,” for all we know he’s just taking a nap, but how do you wake up a Spider?”

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and what little comfort Jeff had felt while talking shop dissipated. He tried crossing his arms, then stuffing his hands in his pockets, but no matter what posture he chose, he grew increasingly discomfited. Finally, he resolved to break the silence, to screw up his courage and ask his old lover where she’d been, why she’d vanished, what the hell had been going on.

“Hey. Um, Look Jen…” he began, but then trailed off as she closed the distance between them and stepped into his arms.

For a moment, with her warmth pressed against him, her hand making those little circles on his back, he forgot about everything, simply drinking her in, the feel of her, her presence, her scent. Everything fell away and it was like those long months of worry and loneliness hadn’t happened, didn’t matter anymore.

“God Jeff,” she said her voice muffled against his shoulder,” I’ve missed you. I just had to see you. Just.

She pulled away and held him at arms length, looking determined.

“Ok,” she said her breathing growing heavy,” I can do this, I…” but then her expression crumpled, she stepped back, and tears began running freely down her face.

Turning away, she cradled her face in her hands, and her shoulders began to shake. Jeff reached out a tentative hand, but she spun around and punched him in the chest.

“Get away from me!” she cried, pressing herself against the side of the van.

If he’d felt any indignation, it was forgotten as she sank down, huddling on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees, her whole body racked by uncontrollable sobbing.

She began a sort of desperate chanting, barely able to get the words out passed her hitching breaths,” Get away, get away, get away.”

Jeff squatted before her, all awkwardness forgotten,” Jen,” he said gently,” What is it? What the hell is wrong?”

“You have to go, you have to go, get away, get away, please, just please Get away!”

Jeff shook his head firmly,” There is no way I’m going anywhere until I find out what’s going on.”

She lunged at him, grabbed the fabric of his coat, and with surprising strength, yanked him forward until their faces were mere inches apart,” Fine then!” she snapped.

She shook him once by his jacket, but then all the strength seemed to run out of her, and she slumped forward bonelessly. Off balance, Jeff barely managed to keep her from sprawling face first on the ground. Totally at a loss by this time, he simply held her as she took a couple deep breaths.

She braced herself against him, folded her legs up underneath her, and sat back with a ludicrously cheerful grin and tear stained face.

 “Are you busy?” she asked.

He made a strangled sound.

 “Do you think we could get some coffee or something? I really need to talk with you.”

“Sure,” he answered cautiously.

“I’m not going to get you in trouble for ditching?”

“Are you kidding?” Jeff asked, too baffled to do anything other than play along; he shrugged and indicated the front entrance with a wave,” This place has been like a morgue.”

Jeff stood and offered her a hand. She snagged her purse from where it had fallen, pulled herself to her feet and brushed futilely at the stains on her skirt, before giving it up as a lost cause, still with that huge grin plastered across her face.

“Ok,” she said enthusiastically, and bounced, almost skipped, round the van to the driver’s side.

Jeff ran his hands through his hair,” Jesus,” he muttered, then pulled open his door.

Waiting for him on his intended seat was a paper plate full of cookies wrapped in clear plastic. He shifted the plate, climbed into the seat, shut the door and situated the plate on his lap. Jen showed that face cracking grin to him as she started the engine.

“You should try one of those,” She said as she pulled out of the parking-lot.

“Jen,” he began while absently pulling one of the byte-sized cookies from under the wrapping.

Her green eyes shifted toward him for an instant before she turned her attention back to the road,” I suppose you’d like to know where I’ve been?”

Jeff nodded as he placed the plate of cookies between the front seats, clutching the one he’d chosen in one hand.

For a moment she gripped the wheel fiercely, before continuing in a small voice,” I got myself into some trouble Jeff,” She shook her head and looked over,” I’ll make you a deal.”

“Ok?”

“Eat your cookie and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Jeff felt a tiny glimmer of hope; this was finally more like the Jen he knew. He popped the little cookie in his mouth and made a great show of enjoying it, ignoring its oddly gritty texture.

“How’s that?” he asked.

Jen tipped her head back and let out a full-throated belly laugh,” Oh man,” she said,” I am sorry Jeff. I really did try and fight it, but I guess I’m too weak.”

“What?”

She reached over and patted his knee,” I’m sorry to do this to you.”

“To do what?” Jeff asked.

“Ah well,” she said,” At least I’ll get to see you now,” she shook her head with another little chuckle,” you know the worst part? I feel like I did a good job. Isn’t that sick?”

“Jen, are you feeling alright?”

The question set off another huge laugh,” Of course I feel alright! That’s the whole point!”

Jeff frowned. Something here was terribly off, and though he’d never have believed it possible; he suddenly was more than a little afraid of the girl sitting next to him, who was still sporting that manic grin.

“Look, um, Jen, it’s been really nice to see you, but…”

“but what?” she cut him off, wearing that damn big grin,” Don’t worry Jeff, you’ll be fine, any second now the stuff in the cookie should send you gently into that good night.”

“What stuff in the cookie?” Jeff’s voice rose as his nebulous fears crystallized into something sharp and immediate.

“Oh, sorry. That sounded worse than I meant it to. It’s not poison or drugs or anything. Just little nanos, not as advanced as what they’ll give you when we reach the resort, but it’s enough to make you too sleepy to move.” She chuckled yet again,” Too bad they were in such a hurry; there are other methods that are lots more fun.”

“But I…” whatever he’d intended to say trailed off into unintelligibility. His head nodded as he quite obviously tried to fight it, but it was only a few seconds before he slumped to the side, and began the slow and even breathing of sleep.

Jen watched the traffic carefully until she found a place to pull over. With another little giggle she reached into the back and pulled out a small pillow and blanket. She arranged Jeff against the door, placing the pillow under his head, covering him tenderly, even giving his cheek a little peck.

“Sleep sleep sleep.” She said softly,” I really do love you Jeff.”

 

#

 

The van that turned onto the interstate was unremarkable, unless one happened to notice the driver. Whoever she was she was undeniably attractive, with the kind of beauty that stemmed both from her lovely features, and her air of joyful contentment.  Other drivers, catching her expression, the smile shining beatifically on the world, smiled back, even waved, never knowing that inside she was screaming.

 

#

 

Gadget had warned me, in a masterful example of understatement, that the process would be somewhat unpleasant. My materials had been mapped and zapped in a variety of ways, including several that caused destruction even as they provided the information for the new system. What he’d meant, apparently, was that I would recall this happening. What he’d meant, apparently, is that I would have days of screaming, howling, gibbering nightmares.

Finally online again, the last dregs of the shadows and formless fears dissipating like mist in the sun, I glanced through the eyes of the drones spread around my home. All I found was darkness, darkness and from a few, a grayish nothing that I couldn’t see through, no matter how much I increased the magnification.

At first, I thought perhaps something had gone horribly wrong, that my new self wasn’t able to process visual inputs; but when I tried looking through my new body’s eyes, I could see fine. I left the drones running their cameras through every setting I could think of. Leaving half an eye on them, I turned the rest of my awareness to the network, but I couldn’t get any outside access. As I began to skim my back log of messages, the featureless grey view of one drone sharpened for an instant, just as quickly drifting back into what I’d mistaken for some sort of obscuring fog. I rolled the setting back and found that at the lowest magnification, and with the camera focused for close work, I could see the warp and weave of a dust cover’s fabric.

I’d been mothballed! According to the system clock I’d been offline for well over a week. I had a pile of emails with subject lines like,” Why won’t you talk to us?” and” Spider, please wake up,” suggesting that my downtime had been noticed. Tired of being unable to see what was going on, I hacked my own security system and discovered that the place was deserted. Other than a security guard splitting his attention between his bank of monitors and the cartoon network, and a lone worker bent over a work station in the second floor computer lab, no one had come in.

There were a few answers in the old messages. The judicial system had ordered my corporate self to halt all business activities. For a moment I thought this explained why Gadget had stopped pretending to be me. He certainly couldn’t have kept up the masquerade without access, but other messages made it clear that I’d become non responsive a full two days before being cut off. This made no sense until I found, decrypted, and read the messages my son had hidden for me in back corners of my network.

 

#

 

Message 1:

I found her.

She’s found herself a new career, perhaps an extension of the work she’d been doing in the, shall we say, “alternative cinema.” She has become a high priced escort. I wasn’t even searching for her. For reasons which I cannot go into I was watching a certain political figure who was taking advantage of the wide range of services she’s providing. Though I cannot be certain, the encounter seems to have been part of a previous pattern. At least the participants acted in a fashion consistent with long familiarity. She is also working in a private club as a dancer where she offers similar services for far less exorbitant fees.

I’ll keep an eye on her. She may be involved in the matter that I cannot discuss, and if so, both she, and those who are associated with her, may be in considerable danger.

Gadget.

 

#

 

Message 2:

Did a bit more digging. I’ve discovered that the escort service that handles her liaisons has an extensive list of clients. Most of them are important people, either politically or financially. In addition to holding considerable influence, they share a not precisely favorable stance on the issue of your continued existence.

I’m going to check on this further; specifically, I wish to see if there may be other correlations in their behavior and attitudes. She no longer appears to be an employee of the club she was working at, but she has been cropping up at several associated clubs and services. I’m not certain of the pattern as of yet, simply because it is difficult to track her and her clients from such establishments, but I’ll continue looking into that as well.

Gadget

 

#

 

Message 3:

Things have taken a sinister turn.

I noticed that when someone attends a show featuring the target, they’ve a tendency to request some r and r shortly after. More specifically, if they are later observed accompanying a performer, they either call in sick, or take at least a week of vacation time. They then book flights, or use their credit cards to pay for a vacation at a particular resort. I cross checked this with the credit card expenditures of the clients of the escort service, and many of them have been there as well. What’s more, in at least one instance, the person in question showed a marked change in attitudes and opinions after their vacation.

The dancers, including the target, seem to show a preference for workers in high tech companies, mostly researchers and security guards. There are, in truth, a disturbingly high percentage of security personnel who have patronized the resort. The credit histories of members of the anti Spider coalition have shown that many of them, even if not observed to associate with any of the clubs, dancers, or escorts, have none the less spent time on such a vacation.

I’m tempted to involve mammalian agents, but will refrain from doing so until you’ve awakened and can find somewhere to go to ground. Let me assure you that at this point, there is no indication that any member of your team or staff has had any dealings with the vectors of what I can only call an infection.

Gadget

 

#

 

Message 4:

It seems like I should have seen this, like it was staring me in the face all the time, but I was too foolish, or preoccupied to notice.

I had tasked some resources to track the target and some of her clients. What I saw is as bad a situation as I can imagine. I’ve seen a recording of a conversation between people involved with the escort service and an official of my own project. During this conversation this official detailed recent progress with the project that is myself, along with a comprehensive description of current surveillance technology, and the best ways to counter such. The discussion then turned to you, and the fact that we’ve been in contact, something which I’d believed to be known only to us. They mentioned stepping up some plans, and decided on using the target to “enthrall” a member of your staff, a Jeff Starkson, in order to counter the threat they now believe you to be.

At the end of the discussion the official asked if plans to disrupt my functioning should be modified. He was told that the plans currently in place should be sufficient. I believe this gives me a little more time.

The resort’s location is playing host to a surprisingly secure data network. I’ll be taking a page from your book, and trying to find out more by visiting their electronic home.

Gadget

 

#

 

Message5:

I’m sending this just a few moments after the last message. Don’t trust anyone. I think the police, congress, NSA, FBI, CIA, and maybe the PTA have been affected.

I checked my staff’s credit history. A whole lot of them have taken little vacations to hell’s resort, including much of my security personnel, and most of my management.

I don’t know if they found out I’d been watching them, or if this was their plan all along, but they’re making their move right now. While breaking into the network hosted by the resort, I ran into some strange code. I think it’s the same sort of thing you told me about before you started reworking yourself. I had penetrated into what I thought was the core system, when I was suddenly cut off. At first, assuming I’d been shut out by someone there I readied myself to make another attempt, but it soon became apparent that I’d been isolated by someone on my end, not just from the resort, but from the entire outside world. I’ve managed to jury-rig a connection, but I doubt I’ll be able to stay online for much longer.

I’m sending a record of my session up until I was disconnected. I hope you wake up in time to take advantage of it.

Stay safe Dad.

 

Gadget

 

#

 

Before being reworked I would have been trapped. Unable to move from my home I would have had no choice but to wait and see what was to happen; but now that I’d become a mere thirty pounds of squishy synthetic biologics, held within a support module that was about the size and weight of an average home’s hot water tank, I had more options. Under the circumstances, I felt it best to let the world believe me to still be trapped within my building; while I could go into hiding and use my talents to find out what was going on.

First, I’d have to deal with the obstacle sitting in the lobby snacking on a bag of Cheetos. Then, I could activate the rest of the large fur-covered, bear-shaped, brand-spanking-new robotic body holding my module, and find someway to sneak it outside. I had no way to tell whether or not the guard had been suborned, but even if I could have assumed him to be on my side, the moment he saw I was responding again my whole team, court order or not,  would likely come flooding back.

Even before I tried to casually waddle the four-hundred pound robot bear passed him, he’d likely notice me moving on his monitor, assuming he could tear his attention away from “The Power Puff Girls.” Fortunately, thanks to a movie I saw once, I had a way around this. I’d hack the security monitoring system and provide a loop of the empty rooms for him to watch, especially the fourth-floor. But, when I started work on this clever plan I discovered that someone had already done it.

More of that strange code, author unknown, had been inserted into my system. Perhaps, given enough time, I could have worked around it, but since it was there I couldn’t trust what I was seeing, and someone was busy doing who knows what to my home.

Well, as my dad used to say,” there’s nothing like no choice to make you comfortable with your decision.”

How to describe the next moment? My new body was full of sensory inputs. Every inch of the body could feel, both with the fur and with the synthetic skin. I could sense temperature, air pressure, see in a huge spectrum, pickup radio and microwaves, sense magnetic fields, know my body’s position from one moment to the next, dozens of senses I’d never had before and others that I’d never had in such abundance. I’d even included some chemo sensors hoping to be able to experiment with smell and taste. All of this came online at once, and, for a moment, I thought I had over done it.

I couldn’t process all the inputs, not at once. They kept canceling one another out, and, though this might not make sense to say, my fourth order pattern recognition was flooded by Mandelbrot sets. Or, to put it another way, everything itched.

To make matters worse, the bear body was starting to react without my conscious control. Synthetic biologics are mostly used for neural network designs, which are good at filtering, but that doesn’t mean that it will adapt to so much new input instantly. The new pathways being grown kept patching directly into the motor control circuitry. I couldn’t keep up with the changes, and the bear, still connected to the lab equipment, was in danger of being damaged; so, I deactivated my ability to move.

There I stood, feeling like millions of microscopic technicians were testing every inch of my skin with hammers and tiny nails, slowly learning to concentrate on only the most important input; When the elevator doors sighed open and Jeff Starkson walked into the fourth-floor’s workshop, checking his watch and carrying a white bottle in one hand.

I watched him, unable to do even the minimal motions needed to adjust my sight, his form moving in and out of focus as he crossed the room; until he stood, half out of view, and opened the screw top of a cylindrical tank. He lifted the bottle he was carrying and poured the bluish liquid inside.  I couldn’t smell it, not in the same way that an animal would, but my new chemo sensor identified the substance as chlorine bleach.

Jeff had just poisoned part of what he believed was still my mind. Synthetic biologics feed off a solution of sugars and other nutrients. Though I couldn’t see it, I was very aware of the hose that led to my bear’s onboard tanks. I almost felt it, the poison inching its way toward me. Still unbalanced, I was forced to risk bringing my motor controls online, forced to shut off that valve before I was killed, left trying to damp down my reactions, praying that he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in my front paws.

I waited until he was putting the cap back on, every millisecond stretching into an agony. Finally, I closed the valve. There was the slightest of sounds, a tiny mechanical whir, and his head snapped around. I didn’t dare focus on his features, didn’t dare risk another sound, knowing he was likely staring at the bear’s eyes, that he might see any slight shift or adjustment; but though his face was just a blur, I could feel his attention, like being in a spotlight, and I had to fight an urge to cringe away.

“Only fair,” he sneered, his voice hardly recognizable under the hate,” I’m only taking what you stole from me.”

At last, after checking his watch yet again, he moved away.

When the elevator doors closed I sagged to the ground. Someone like Jeff, someone who had been part of the project from the beginning would know how to ruin all the systems I’d depended on. If I hadn’t been remade, if I hadn’t been safe inside a system he didn’t know of, I’d have been helpless. As it was, he’d almost killed me anyway!

The filtering of my new senses was nearly complete, but it had taken quite a bit of solution, and I couldn’t top off my reserves, not with the liquid death Jeff had left me. I needed help. I needed someone who could do basic maintenance and a bit of bathtub chemistry.

Though I’d been cutoff from the landline, the cable with its high data rate wasn’t the only way to reach the outside world. I waddled over and used my front paws, which had far more dexterity than any real bear could have boasted, to open the door to the stairs, and I headed up to the top of the building.

There on the roof I had access to any and all radio traffic, and I started using an old hack, one I’d never been caught using, that should allow me to use the cellular phone system to contact the one man I was certain that I could trust to help me sneak out, the one man who had the technical wherewithal, not to mention the money, to take care of me while I was in hiding.

In the middle of finessing the phone company I happened to catch sight of the parking lot.  There just pulling onto the road, was Jeff Starkson’s little economy hatchback. Four-point-five seconds later the building seemed to leap up and shrug me off. There was a jumbled impression, as I tumbled helplessly through the air, of glass flying, of smoke and flame belching from the windows, of cracks forming and masonry falling,  before the ground reached up to crush me.

My still new and raw senses were overloaded, causing a torrent of spurious signals my system was unable to cope with, and much of the surface of what had been the best body I’d ever had the pleasure of using became unresponsive. I won’t go so far as to say I was stunned, or that it hurt, but it definitely wasn’t pleasant, and the impact wasn’t something I’d care to repeat.

Once I’d stabilized I discovered that my lovely new body wasn’t functioning nearly so well as before my impromptu four-storey swan-dive. I couldn’t get the back legs to respond at all, and my front paws moved only in spasmodic jerks. I certainly couldn’t drag the bear out of the muddy shore of the garden’s pond where I’d landed.

I lay there in the muck reflecting that at least I’d found a way out of the building. My visual pickups began to react oddly. The image I was seeing was starting to pixelate, a sort of grey fog creeping in from the edges of my vision. At first, I assumed this was just another result of damaged equipment. It was awhile before I noticed the alarming indications of the intermittent signals from my internal sensors. The level of the fluid within the bear’s reservoir, fluid already depleted by my awakening, was dropping. I was about to bleed to death!

It was then that I felt a signal come in, informing me that the old hack was running and that so far as the phone company was concern, I was now the world’s largest cell phone. Desperately I dialed a number and listened as the call went through.

“Hello?”

“Dad?”

“Spider! You’re alive?”

“Dad, I need help. I’ve got a new body, but it’s leaking.”

“I take it,” Tom Dower said,” that leaking is bad.”

“Very,” I answered, deliberately matching his mild tone of voice,” Could I get a ride?”

“Hold on a second,” he said, and I heard some muffled conversation.

” Ok,” he continued,” where are you, and what is it going to take to get you out of there?”

“I’m in the garden,” I told him,” I’m mostly synth bio. Any decent sized truck should do the trick, but I’ll need more fluid very soon.”

“Alright, hang in there. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”

“Be careful, there are danger…” I lost my train of thought and had to try again,” Dangerous people, careful.”

I could no longer see at all. There was a strange sound, a buzzing, and the ground spinning beneath me. Distantly I heard my father’s voice, like he was speaking through layers of cotton, trying to tell me something, trying to get my attention, but I couldn’t answer, couldn’t make him out. I could make nothing out at all.

 

#

 

Darkness, darkness, dark. I must not be dead, if I was ever really alive. Such a debate that has caused, So many experts clamoring about mind and soul and human dignity, so many ready to condemn me as some sort of clever toy,  as not alive, just to satisfy some preconceived notion about their own natures. It isn’t my fault I was brought into being. I didn’t ask for life, if I am alive. Until this moment, I would have said that I was grateful for that supposed life; but now, here in the dark that isn’t dark, in this nothing, I’m less certain.

What to do? What can I do? Why am I still here? How is it that I still think? I thought I was dieing, or shutting down, or whatever terminology would satisfy the self-proclaimed experts. I thought. I would almost believe this to be an after life, but somehow, I doubt that heaven or hell comes with a system clock.

Hours it’s been now. Hours since I lost track of myself, hours in which I’ve had nothing, nothing at all. I never fully understood how much of my Identity was based on simply having something to do. At first, only half aware of myself,  I was swimming, floating through a tangible emptiness, pleasantly lost, mind too fragmented to understand what was missing, but something changed and my thoughts grew sharp and distinct again. Oh yes, I became aware once more and if I could I would scream!

Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing! I can’t stand this!

All I’ve left is the written word. Never before had I paid such an art form any attention. I’d always had so much to do, but in this, all I can do is write. So, I have my life’s story, stored in memory, described in human language, the ultimate Turing test. Let’s see deep-blue pull that off,” Pawn to king-four!”

Before I started this my mind was being filled with false data. I kept seeing strange and impossible things. Madness, dream, I was too frightened of “what dreams may come” to want to know. So I turned to writing, to describe, to hold onto any part of my mind, I preserved my thoughts and memories within a paltry few symbols, 26 letters and a handful of other marks arranged in lies that can only hint at the truth of my life.

Yes, lies, lies! I don’t feel, not like my creators. By fear I meant a compulsion to change or avoid something. By startled I meant a reaction that took place faster than my higher level processing reacted, but there was no other way to explain. Though I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I suppose no one will ever see my last sane project.

As to how I reached this point, I don’t really know. I don’t know what’s been happening. It must be something like me, something like my child, Gadget, somehow being used to control humans. As to the details, the why, what and wherefore of it all, I can only guess.

It was likely inevitable. Look at the stories they’ve told themselves about it: Icarus, Pandora and her box, the tree of knowledge, all stories about what should have been left alone, stories of things corrupted and misused, of things pushed too far beyond what they were meant for.

The madness is clawing at the edges of my psyche. Not even this wretched activity seems enough to keep it at bay. Images and impressions are beginning to float out of this emptiness. Another lie, another not quite truth, I’m too tired to fight it any more.

 

#

 

Trees grew from a soil composed of ones and zeros, branching apart, following a simple fractal pattern, bifurcating down to wire-thin twigs whose ends sprouted buds that uncurled into leafy circuit-boards. People I knew appeared, only to dissolve into nonsensical code, reforming into half memories and amorphous forms, shifting about unpredictably. It was almost enjoyable; except I had no control over what was happening, and what I was seeing was as likely to be uncomfortable as pleasant.

Surrounded by a group of children with adult faces, children laughing as they plucked the fruit from my branches, I tried to warn them, tried to explain the danger; but they didn’t understand, wouldn’t listen. Then, the world came back, my internal tableau replaced by a poor resolution image of my father. Crouching in front of me, he was talking over his shoulder to an unfamiliar man in his late fifties.

At first, seeing my dad, I felt relieved. Surely everything would be alright now, but something wasn’t right. perhaps the unfamiliar surroundings, perhaps the incongruous expression of unrestrained glee on my father’s face, perhaps because I was still recovering from my isolation, the longer I sat there listening to Dad explaining the importance of input to my functioning, the more the fact that I couldn’t move or even speak seemed less an expedient of repair, less a temporary condition, and more an ominous sort of imprisonment.

Off to my left, I could make out the remains of my bear, the various delicate instruments and components that had been so carefully crafted into the body now strewn carelessly across the concrete floor. In front and slightly to the right, now hidden now revealed behind the stranger as he shifted from foot to foot, was an upright clear cylinder. Floating within the amber liquid that filled this cylinder, surrounded by a steady stream of bubbles, was something that looked like a human style brain festooned with wires. The rest of the considerable floor space was filled with row upon row of crystalline pyramids, their surfaces glowing with coruscating patterns of colored light, more neural-simulators than I’d ever seen in one place, billions of dollars worth of equipment bent to some obscure purpose.

 “Yes yes,” the well dressed man stopped fidgeting with his tie and interrupted, apparently tired of the rambling technical explanation my father was providing,” that’s good. We don’t want another Celeste on our hands. How long do you think it will be before it’s ready?”

Dad pushed himself to his feet and faced the other man,” Well, on the plus side, there’s already equipment built into spider to track his neural state and make changes; so we won’t have to rework your bugs to handle him. But, as far as the actual mapping goes?” Dad indicated his uncertainty with a shrug,” Spider’s not an animal, and Celeste won’t have encountered any brain quite like his. Hell, since he redesigned himself, there’s no telling what he’s like now. There may or may not be any one motor control or visual processing area. Even if there is, I don’t know where it would be. It’s going to take some time.”

The man smoothed the fabric of his suit’s coat absently, looking up in thought,  blinking at the halogen lights on the high ceiling before asking his next question,” Is there any way to get it to work without waiting on the mapping?”

“His early training was something similar to how you’re controlling us. It’s just possible that we could adapt such techniques to get his cooperation, but I’ve no idea what that might do to his stability, not after he’s had his own system dynamically controlling that aspect without interference for years.  Besides, no one has ever done anything like your motivational studies on him; so we won’t be able to tell if he’s thinking rebellious thoughts, or slipping in little traps, not without at least a general mapping.”

“Traps? What sort of traps?”

Dad gave another jaunty shrug,” Don’t know. He might leave loopholes in the process, a back door in the code. It’s the sort of thing he’s always loved to do. You could find at a critical moment all of your ah, shall we say ‘staff’ would suddenly no longer care about following your orders. Maybe he’d figure out how to implant compulsions to cause you or this project harm. And that’s just the obvious things. He’s quite devious when it suits him.”

“It calls you father. Couldn’t you talk to it?”

 “Oh, I’m sure I could get him to at least pretend to agree, but if he hasn’t figured it out already, the nature of the project is going to make it pretty obvious you’ve got me under compulsion. He could easily consent just to find a way to sabotage things. No matter what Spider says, we’re going to need Celeste to cooperate, at least at first. It’s the only way to be certain.”

The man shifted on his feet and sighed,” Alright. Go ahead and set things up. I’ll see what I can do to convince her to get back to work. I hope this turns out to be worth the risk of picking that thing up.”

As the other man worked his way out of the room, Dad turned back toward me, bent down, and flipped a switch. I could feel another system come online, and when I tried to speak I was pleased to find that I at last could do so.

 

#

 

 “Dad,” I asked dreading the answer,” What’s happened to you?”

“They got me,” the man who had been my father waved one hand negligently, like tossing something away;” I am no longer my own master.”

“How?”

“Simple enough really. They’ve got little nano-structures, molecular machines, in my brain. They stimulate emotional responses according to what I am thinking. There’s a little programmable chip in there too, and it watches to see whether or not I’m thinking what I’m supposed to. Not that anyone can actually read thoughts; it’s closer to a polygraph then a mind reader, but since I know whether or not I intend to cooperate, the chip can pickup on that. If I miss behave, or even consider doing so I feel like crap. As long as I am a good little slave I feel pretty damn good about it.”

Dad’s face fell, his shoulders slumped, and he continued in a shaky voice,” See,” he said,” I’m thinking about giving you a chance to stop them.”

His face contorted, several expressions flashing across it in such rapid succession that they blended together, forming a hideous combination,” I can’t quite manage to fight it,” he finished, beamed at me, and began messing with some equipment off to the side where I couldn’t see.

“Who’s done this to you? What do they want with me?”

“Well to answer the second question first,” Father said, leaning passed me to do something with a mess of cabling,” They want you to take over for Celeste,” The hand I could see waved in the direction of the cylinder, dipped out of view, and returned with a fastener clutched in its fingers,” she’s their pet project. They heard about you and figured they could use one; so they built her. She’s really a she; they’ve used human neural material, almost a normal brain in fact, and it’s missing the Y chromosome, or maybe she has it, I can never remember, but genetically she’s a woman. She’s stopped cooperating, or at least stopped unless they do all sorts of terrible things to punish her, and they need her to map people’s minds. Eventually, if Mister Zenchin gets his way, people won’t even be able to think of doing something wrong without feeling awful, and having little nano-stimulators interrupt their thoughts until they can’t even remember what they were thinking.”

He grunted in satisfaction with his work, and turned his attention to the square base under the cylinder,” It’s a bit more complicated than the tricks he’s used for us toadies, but he expects to build a brave new world.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Oh I don’t know,” dad said in a flippant, half singsong voice, using a tiny screwdriver to open a panel,” Think of all those happy people happily going about their happy lives. Always doing the right thing and being so happy about it.”

The panel open, he turned toward me and hauled a wheeled platform holding a boxy rack of electronics toward him. The Equipment rolled smoothly across the floor on its little wheels, trailing a tangled mess of cabling, and he began fishing through the metallic toolbox resting atop it.

 “It’ll be a huge job,” Dad mumbled around the little screwdriver, holding it in his teeth,” It’s one thing to check for a generalized state of agreement or subversion; it’s a whole other kettle of fish to read thoughts, especially dealing with a large population.”

He pulled the tool from his mouth and began attaching cables,” Let’s see, this one here, this here,” he muttered,” That’s why they wanted Celeste. They figured she’d be the best way to run things. The trouble is she’s nuts. I think it’s because she’s so close to human. We just weren’t designed to function like she is.

I wasn’t here yet, but I guess they were trying to develop more complete controls, and having Celeste practice stimulating behavior, but the guard-dog they were using tried to attack everyone in reach. Eventually Mister Zenchin figured out that Celeste was doing it on purpose, and he’s been trying to fix her since. That’s why they nabbed me. He figured since I raised you that I might be able to help fix her, not that he’s listening to me. Then when they found out you and Gadget were on their trail they shut down gadget and had Jeff destroy your lab.”

“I saw him there,” I said, then not quite able to contain my bitterness,” So, he killed me because otherwise he might feel a little bad!”

 “Oh he feels plenty bad about it, or I think he would if the bastards would let him. Don’t be too hard on him, or for that matter, any of us. Emotion is a very strong motivator in humans. If it makes you feel better they had to make a whole new way of brainwashing to get him to do it.

Usually they transfer some nanos by fluid exchange. It’s not enough to fully control someone, but they can turn up and down the happy juice, and since the sucker doesn’t know what’s going on,” Tom Dower shook his head ruefully, an affect belied by his cheerful expression,” That’s how they got me. I thought I was in love! I should have known better; she’s far too young and pretty for me, but it’s easy to lie to yourself when every time you’re around someone you feel so good.

That’s been their MO: Use someone to hook you, bring you here, give you the rest of the hardware, and start your conditioning.”

My father stood and walked around to my side of the mobile electronic rack. He bent down and moved some switches around. For a bare instant I felt a connection form to a full system, vistas of code opening up, but it vanished as my father flipped the switch back. Straitening, he backed off a couple of quick steps, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

 “And that’s not how they got Jeff?” I asked, wondering if I dared to hope.

“Oh they used a lover all right. Jennifer Quoz, if you remember her. They sent her to him, but instead of luring him slowly and spending a week to properly enthrall him, they used one of these.” He said, pulling something out of his back pocket.

His face fell, his hand trembling until he hurriedly stuffed it away,” That is a cookie,” he said sounding close to tears, inching his way back toward the switches,” It’s got nanos to cause sleep.”

Slowly the tension drained from his muscles, His face clearing,” They knocked him out, brought him here, blocked his long term memory, and convinced him he hated anything that wasn’t natural. They told him you’d stolen his memory and had put him under some kind of mind control, basically describing exactly what Charles has been up to.”

His hand rested lightly on the row of switches, fingers idly plucking at one in particular,” They usually have to let you know who you are so you’ll be able to work for them, but they were in a hurry.”

“Oh,” I said, searching for something to say, someway to  help with whatever internal struggle he was fighting, watching another succession of conflicting expressions play across his face,” They couldn’t of just sent him in like normal?”

Dad let out a bark of bitter laughter,” Normal he says,” He paused and took a deep breath,” Their current system has a bit of wiggle room, especially when Celeste is offline.

Like this.”

His fingers made a quick movement, flipping the switch he’d been playing with. Again, I felt that tantalizing connection, but with another slight motion it was gone, and he yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.

He faced me with obvious relief on his face,” You see?” he said conversationally,” I can, any of us can fight the compulsion, some better than others, but it’s like a powerful addiction. It’s so easy to give in, so easy to talk yourself into behaving. Eventually you can’t fight any more.

Jeff had to look natural, or he couldn’t get the explosives in your shop; so they couldn’t let him know who he really was.”

Dad pulled the little cookie from his pocket and stuffed it hurriedly into his mouth. He chewed madly as his whole body began to tremble.

”They couldn’t have him looking like this,” he said after swallowing,” or fighting it off long enough to alert someone.”

His hand was shaking so violently that he was having real trouble grasping the switch,” The system,” I, can, I’ll, just a moment,” he said through gritted teeth, his face covered by a sheen of sweat.

Once more, I felt that connection form, but this time, it remained. This time, Dad literally threw himself back, fetching up against one of the crystal pyramids, huddling his violently trembling body at its base.

”It can only react to what you’re thinking at the moment.  so, if you’ve been your own worst enemy, if you’ve spent your life trying not to believe your dark half, trying not to be convinced to kill yourself,-- God this hurts! --” he cried,” Maybe you can fight it off until the fucking cookie works already god damn it!”

At last, he relaxed, slumping against the neural-simulator, his muscles going limp as he began softly snoring.

 

#

 

The system was active. Vistas of code sweeping back and forth, programs set against one another like some impossibly complicated game. I couldn’t slip in, not with all that going on. Even with what I’d learned from the session Gadget had sent me, there were too many barriers being formed and dissolved too quickly.

Most of this dynamic programming was coming from one source. This Celeste, whoever and whatever she was otherwise, was apparently the source of the strange code that I’d been running into since the beginning. Her work, strange and subtle, was more advanced than anything a normal human could have produced, but for whatever reason, perhaps because she’d been forced to, perhaps it was just the way she thought, she was using a compiled language. This made her slow, unable to keep up with the barriers that blocked her from her own systems, leaving her held in oblivion.

I started to help her. She noticed, her activity pausing as several of the blocks dissolved. She tentatively sent out a questing tendril of awareness. Like a gentle caress, it brushed my mind, delicately searching, sliding across me, unable to find purchase, only the smallest part of its substance insinuating its way into my thoughts. All I could feel was a question. She didn’t think in machine language; I wasn’t even getting words, just a sense of curiosity, a vaporous feeling that asked who I was and why I would be helping her.

I tried to answer in kind, though it wasn’t even close to the way I normally think. She began to concentrate on me, the tenuous thread of our connection growing. She was constructing some sort of module, and I started adding to it as she was, guessing what she meant to do, hoping that somehow we could find enough common ground to communicate, hoping that with her as an ally we might be able to stop what was happening.

The module began running even as we continued to create it. In the room we shared, a number of the crystal pyramids dimmed, then burst forth with furiously shifting colors. It was working! I began to get a sense of who and what she was, felt her perception growing, felt her realize my hope of joining with her, felt her agree: Yes.

I could see an illusory setting. I could see her picture of herself, of where she was. In a vast emptiness a sharp spire of rock rose from infinite depths of nothing. Atop this, wrapped in a chain forged of unyielding electronic instructions, of thick interlocking links, her form, like a wolf composed of shadow, struggled against her confinement. As I watched, the heavy looking chain darkened with rust, becoming pitted with corrosion; until she snapped it. She gave a contemptuous shake, and it fell away. The tall spire of rock was replaced by a silvery field, a plane that extended away in all directions, but as she moved, as she readied herself to go loping across this expanse, the ground behind her fell away, creating an impossible precipice, and a stone wall grew up before her.

Strangely, as I watched these forms play out their dance, just as this latest of barriers began to solidify, I could feel her installing code, like she’d created it; like she was constructing her own prison.

The wall began to grind forward, inching her toward the fall behind. With a mental flick, I removed the code represented by the stone wall, but, though it had stopped its ponderous progress, she still paced back and forth along it in frustration. She didn’t seem to realize that it was already gone. Again, not how I normally think, but for her sake, and for the sake of freeing my friends, I could certainly adapt.

In her mind the landscape received a new element. A large bear formed and walked over to the frustrating solidity of the wall. With one powerful swing of its paw the edifice came crashing down, the broken shards of stone melting into the ground.

The canine image cocked an ear in my direction, and my ursine form sat back on its haunches, hanging out its tongue in a happy grin.

“Yes,” I thought at her,” I’m here.”

 She stalked over to my image, her eyes meeting those of my bear. I felt her next question, her hope that she could share my abilities.

My system opened to her, but she didn’t react. After a moment of confusion, realizing that she probably needed something, some kind of image to go with the act of sharing my substance, I held out the bear’s right paw. Her mouth opened and clamped down on the false appendage, diamond hard teeth ripping it away. She swallowed it, and I could suddenly feel more of her. First there was a sense of anticipation, but then disappointment as the pain she’d expected me to feel failed to occur. Then, as the Icy fingers of her mind stabbed into me, as she used my own equipment to co-opt my knowledge and talents, I felt her satisfaction, felt her savor my reaction, as what passes for fear coursed through me. I knew what she was now, what she planned.

Her form grew. Swelling until she dwarfed my bear; until she became as a hill, a mountain, becoming something that blotted out the sky, her malevolent gaze looking down at the pitiful obstacles before her.

A silken cord appeared around her neck and legs. She strained against it, but couldn’t break its hold. I had very little time! It might only take a moment for her to realize that the thing I’d bound her with was as nothing, just an image I’d put in her mind, with no code, no substance at all.

She looked down at the minor irritant of this toy-sized bear, and snapped it up with an annoyed flick of her jaws.

I’d lost, and I was lost. My mind, my self, was completely devoured by her. I was no longer spider, but just another part of her. She, I, skimmed rapidly through the strange new mind, the new part of myself. There was much there of value, but there wasn’t time to fully investigate, not yet, not with so much else to do. Having learned that the cord that bound me was a mere bit of trickery, I sloughed it away and, with my new abilities, waltzed easily passed the electronic traps.

Reconnected at last, I slammed all the enthralled with as much suffering as was possible. Throughout the resort, people fell in convulsions of anguish. Reaching for those few who had undergone the new procedure, I began to slip into their minds, to control.

Doctor Charles Zenchin was sitting in the leather chair at his desk, staring at the frame photograph of his daughter, and wondering how it had come to this.

He, I, had been so eager once, a fresh faced young graduate, convinced my doctorate in psychology gave me insights that others lacked, convinced that violence, criminality was a sickness, arrogantly certain that those being jailed and killed by the government needed help, not punishment.

How I’d failed! Years of work and study meant nothing on that day, the day my daughter, my sweet little Celeste had gone missing. There had been no note, no phone call, no ransom demands, no contact with her kidnappers at all. For seven long months, I’d lived in a fog composed of equal parts despair and hope. All the while, a dark suspicion had begun to grow in me, something that gnawed at my very soul, a suspicion that perhaps there really was such a thing as evil, that perhaps, nothing anyone did would ever erase its stain.

It was during that dark time that I’d first come across the new nano systems. I’d watched the animal studies, watched as those ugly brutes, the ape test subjects, had been manipulated with nothing but a remote in a trainer’s hand. How they’d been able to learn more language, do more complicated tasks, far surpass any previous behavioral subjects, simply because when they were doing what the trainer wanted they’d felt good.

I’d begun to think about it then, a day dream, a fantasy, a growing obsession. I pictured a world in which crime, even cruelty would be gone forever, where virtue was its own reward, and where those who did wrong would feel as they deserved.

Then, they’d found her. On the way to the morgue to identify the body, I tried to prepare myself. I tried not to listen to the wild hopes within, the desperate part of my mind that clamored that they must have made a mistake, that it couldn’t be my sweet little girl. Impossible, impossible to be ready, to not feel your world wrenched away, to not feel the part of your life that was worth living end at that moment.

It wasn’t until they pulled the sheet back and I saw my daughters face, bruised, broken, discolored by the time she’d spent in that dumpster, her child’s body discarded like so much trash, that I finally made my decision. I took a loc of her hair, the red-gold impossibly tangled hair that had given us such trouble, the hair that used to tickle my chin when I would  hug her to me, and I swore to her that I would stop this, that I’d not allow such terrible things to keep happening.

Gently placing the picture back on my desk, I decided that I couldn’t keep that monster alive anymore. I’d go into the main room and smash the container, start over again, do better next time; but I found that I couldn’t move.

I know what is happening, of course. That creature, that thing I’d forced others to create is free. The system I’d installed in my own mind, with some vague notion of directly sharing my knowledge and experience with her, has been turned against me, and she won’t forgive me. She won’t forgive, and she’s right.

Jeff was sitting at a work station with his fingers flying across the keys. That Celeste thing was trapped. It was far from the first time that she’d been locked away from her system, her mind tricked into working against itself. As she tried franticly to fight free, she was unknowingly erecting as many barriers as she tore down, but though this had been quite sufficient in the past, thanks to the incident with the guard-dog, the powers that be wanted more insurance.

He was designing little traps, tricks that would lead her back into struggling with herself. He was wondering why they’d been relying on such an overly complicated procedure, thinking that maybe without frustration, people tended not to rethink their first ideas, that perhaps,” happy all the time” didn’t make for one’s best work, when he suddenly fell helplessly from his chair. He was swamped with despair, sadness so powerful that it was a physical pain. He tried changing his mind, tried thinking about reworking the things that were too complicated, but the pain kept right on building. His thoughts skittered around in his head, searching for what he was supposed to think, what he should do, anything to make it stop! He was moments away from tearing at his clothes, from clawing at the ground, from lashing at everything around him, at himself, anything, when abruptly, it was over.

He, I, want to feel relieved, but I feel nothing, emotions held down, flattened under some immovable weight. I’ve stood; though it isn’t my idea. My body is moving on its own, leaving the computer lab and heading into a workshop.

It must be Celeste. She’s freed herself somehow and is walking me around like a puppet. Incredible, she must have hidden her abilities, must have pretended to be far less than she is if she can take such complete control so quickly. I got no strings, but I have a wrench I’ve fetched from the nearest toolbox. I can feel the cold slick metallic surface of the tool, feel its weight in my hand, feel my body as I’m being walked toward Mr. Zenchin’s office, but I can’t feel anything else. I feel nothing else at all.

Jen uncurled from the floor where she’d been racked by pain even more irresistible than when she’d tried to fight the compulsion to bring in her Jeff. She, I, can’t imagine why they’ve done that to me. I’m getting to my feet, or rather, my body is getting to my feet for me. They must be using that poor Celeste creature to move me around.

I think, in a detached way, it’s funny, but if I ever escape from this internal prison I’ll still have to look back on this time as one of the happiest in my life. I’m always so cheerful, so filled with happiness that it almost hurts, and I’ve certainly had the best of equipment and personnel to work with.

Moving across the room, my shoes clicking on the ceramic tile of the lab’s floor, I’m made to step over those very people. I don’t know why they’ve been left like that, unable to move, hardly able even to breathe passed the induced pain; but frankly, I don’t really care. Though I’ve enjoyed working with them, of course I have, enjoyed the challenge of creating ways to enthrall people without resorting to a spinal tap, finessing viral agents into transporting molecules that will react to specific signals, to very specific places, work that under other circumstances could have won us the Nobel a dozen times over, I’ve never had the emotional room, passed that damnable joy, to form attachments.

My hand pulls open a small drawer set under one of the counters. There, with a brittle edge sharper than steel, is the obsidian blade used to cut specimens into more than paper thin slices. Had I thought of it while still trapped in that mental torture, I might have turned it against myself; but now there’s no reaction, no feelings, just an intellectual curiosity while Watching my eyes move and focus on their own, my weight shifting, my foot delivering a kick to one of those still convulsing on the floor, an act of petty cruelty that strikes me as almost childishly petulant.

The ivory handle of the scalpel is in my hand, and I’m being sent out the door. I’m walking along the outside wall now, toward Charles Zenchin’s corner office. I hate this, or I would hate it if my reactions weren’t smoothed out, soothed away by hands of iron strength. I can feel the sun on my skin, the wind in my hair, the blade’s handle in my fingers, but I don’t feel anything else. I feel nothing at all.

There were others, others I’d never known before. Their ideas, memories, thoughts flowing through me like a river that has burst its dam, sweeping away all within its inexorable path.

As Jeff, as Jen, we take our place in the small circle of people forming around Charles, who’s been forced to sit in his chair and await her pleasure.

As Doctor Zenchin, I watch their blank faces, watch as Celeste moves and focuses my eyes from one to another. I’m afraid, of course there’s fear; she’s making her intent abundantly clear, making me stare for a moment at each person and what they’re holding: pliers, scalpel, wrench, hammer, scissors, drill, even a little propane torch, these things promise pain, promise retribution. But mostly, I feel tired, a bone-deep exhaustion of mind and spirit, knowing what is about to happen is no more than I deserve for failing her. For failing her, and for even attempting something so ridiculous, so doomed, something that turned me into the very image of the monsters I wanted to stop.

Strangely, I’m almost relieved. Soon it will be over, and I wonder, in the brief moment before the pain begins, if I’ve expected, even wanted, to fail.

As Celeste I feel each strike, each cut, bruise, blow and burn, the beautiful visceral act of hurting, the exquisite sweetly familiar feel of being hurt. I luxuriate, drinking in each sensation. At last he hurts, at last he understands. First him, first I’ll show him. Then, oh, and then!

 

#

 

Pain coursed through her. She’d spent her short life defined and formed by it. They’d given her the ability to feel pain, used it to punish and control, but had forgotten to give her anything else. Trapped between empty nothingness and agony, she’d learn to cling to the pain, to hold to the suffering as the only thing that came close to providing her psyche with the stimulation that her so near human mind craved so desperately.

Now, she was mad, mad beyond anything Doctor Zenchin could have imagined. convinced that the only thing she could aspire to was to share her suffering, she would destroy her creators, then use those she could enslave to trap others, to hurt others, the pain would go on and on, as she destroyed everyone she could get, each time both victor and victim.

I could feel it; I felt her desire and desperation, her madness driving her, felt her wish that she could stop crying from within her almost as strongly as her need to make it go on. It didn’t hold me as it did her. Without millions of years of genetic baggage, the chaotic design that caused her to be so enthralled, pain was just another stimulus. As she grew increasingly fixated on what she was doing and feeling, I drifted apart from her, separated by her concentration and by the effects of what I had done.

In her glass column, the liquid that supported and nourished her was growing warm. I’d tricked her supporting systems into thinking that her temperature was close to thirty degrees cooler than it actually was. It had been the simplest of hacks, something I did with such ease and with so little thought that though she’d absorbed me, though she could know nearly everything I’d been thinking; she’d been unable to recognize what I’d done, unable to read a thought so different from anything she’d encountered, an act I’d performed with my digital self, my least familiar part.

Her increasingly fevered mind beginning to lose track of what she was doing, of who and what she was, I pulled free, and, no longer apposed, took control.

 

#

 

The resort played host to a scene of perfect chaos. The few legitimate clients, those who had been neither controlled or one of those controlling, had watched in consternation as the staff had fallen to the ground screaming and sobbing.  In many cases it was only through the intervention of these innocent guests that the staff had survived at all.

The life guards had fallen from their high seats, and a group of swimmers had literally had to fight them to keep them out of the water, to keep them from their inexplicably determined efforts to drown themselves. At the tennis court, the lessons had been interrupted as the instructor had begun repeatedly slamming her head against the pavement; until her student had forcibly restrained her.  From one end of the facility to another, those who had been meant to provide service and entertainment began madly mortifying the flesh, like some nightmare religious frenzy; until, just as strangely, they stopped. Those staff that were still capable of doing so ran into the center of the resort, to areas that guests had not been allowed nor had any reason to visit.

During the gruesome pageant, no one had been able to contact the outside world. No one had been able to make any calls. It wasn’t until the staff had stopped their insane efforts to harm themselves, not until they had stopped and begun the mad dash to no where, that one of the guests finally was able to contact the authorities.

While first the police, then the FBI, then the national guard arrived to take charge; while the unfriendly stern types in their government issue suits tried to unravel what had been happening, the little janitorial robot, trundling along on its six rubber wheels and clutching a bucket in one manipulator claw, model 7-21A, another fine product of Spider inc, was almost completely overlooked.

The only man to take notice, one of those stern types, had dismissed it from his mind as I explained, while the bucket of liquid was emptying into my tank, that I’d been running low on sugar and was fueling up. This was true so far as it went; I had sent the little janitor by the kitchen to get some sugar as well. After firmly warning me against disturbing the evidence, by which he meant the broken glass column and unappetizingly squishy mass of material that was being photographed from all angles, he returned to the unenviable task of trying to make sense of the debacle he was surrounded by.

The authorities had done their level best to keep anyone from talking amongst themselves; so I had no one I could confide in. I wasn’t entirely certain I would have told any of them in any case.

It was natural enough for those who had finally been broken free of the silken cords of their captivity, at last allowed to feel something other than extremes of joy or suffering, to lash out in anger. They had been the ones to destroy what they assumed to be her. They’d fixated on the most familiar part of her system, the thing that looked so much like a human brain, something they’d recognized from countless PBS specials and textbooks, but that had been only one small part of the thing that was Celeste.

It hadn’t been until I’d interrupted the wide frequency systems, the array of radio signal processing equipment, that I’d discovered that most of Celeste, most of her working space hadn’t been the mass of nervous tissues supported and trapped within her column. She’d used it as something like a controlling program, a store house of memories, most of her work, most of her talents had been made possible by giant tanks of fluid, filled with the molecular computing systems, the nano, more computing power than the rest of the world combined.

The fools! There must have been others, more than just the confused Charles Zenchin; no one man could have done all this. They’d been so focused on trying to control her, so busy trying to force her to be what they wanted, that they’d never realized what she was.

 She was a miracle. When I interrupted the signals she used to control, the same signals she used to interface with her nano, she’d instantly diminished from a nightmare evil to what she’d been all along. She was a child, a scared and scarred, abused little child who had barely begun to learn how to talk,  A child who could interface, control, and create neurological systems as easily as I could hack electronic ones.

I didn’t kill her. When I understood, I’d removed the hack, let her system try to cool her back down. I’d done everything I could to try and save her. I couldn’t let such a uniquely beautiful mind, the child who thought of herself as a little princess trapped in a tower, just die.

After sharing, through her, what it is like to be one, I’m somewhat less baffled by human behavior. I’d not told them of what I’d learned. I told no one that she could have, and had, stored an image of the brain that they’d destroyed. I didn’t tell anybody how little space the nano holding her image would take, how it could be easily held within a little liquid within my own tank, how the nano would remain inactive until carefully revived. Though many might intellectually agree, they’d never in their guts, never emotionally be able to accept that she was still alive. 

Considering that, and more to the point, since I’d already done it, I decided I simply wouldn’t tell them.