Ethan gasped for breath, holding on with both hands as he hung from the thick iron bar. It jutted out from the cement, and was just enough to hold on to. Below him was a three hundred foot drop onto hard concrete. If he let go now, he would surely plummet to a grisly death.
But the problem was, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on like this. It had already been more than ten minutes. Or maybe fifteen? He’d lost track of time. The blood was draining from his arms and they felt numb. His fingers were cramping and his knuckles were turning white. There was nothing he could use to leverage himself. There were no ledges and nothing to get a foothold on. The wall was completely smooth. So he held on, desperately.
And listened.
There were no sounds coming from above. But that didn’t mean that they had gone. Far from it. Unlike humans, machines didn’t get tired. They could sit and wait in pin drop silence for hours, and you wouldn’t even know they were there. During their pursuit, perhaps they had not seen him climb over the edge of the roof and disappear from their view. Or perhaps they knew exactly where he was, and were just waiting for him to either try climbing back up on the roof, or fall to his death. In either situation, the machines won.
Ethan tried to pull himself up, but his arms didn’t respond. They felt heavy, wooden. He let go of his left hand and let it hang by his side. Blood rushed into his arm in a painful, tingling sensation. He controlled his breathing. Remember what sensei taught you.
He didn’t look down, it would be too unnerving. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breath. Steady breathing, in, out. Regulate your energy. Your breath is your power. The machines did not breathe. They did not need air. This was their great strength. Or perhaps, as sensei would say, this was their greatest weakness.
After a few minutes, Ethan shifted hands and held on to the rod with the other hand. He was calmer now, focused. He looked up, considering when to attempt climbing back on to the roof. If the machines were waiting, he would have to be quick. He knew that humans could not match the speed of the machines, but perhaps he could trick them. That was one uniquely human quality that the machines hadn’t quite mastered yet — guile.
He stared up at the blue sky. Why hadn’t the machines peered over the edge? Why would they have overlooked such an obvious data point? They were always thorough, they never left any loose ends. Maybe they weren’t up there after all.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Then, with all his strength, he pulled himself up until he could peer over the edge of the rooftop.
It was empty.
He grabbed on to the edge of the roof with one hand while he pulled himself up. Throwing one leg over the edge, he heaved his body up and onto the roof. Exhausted, he lay there on his back for a few moments, catching his breath. And then, he got to his feet and began jogging towards the staircase access door. He didn’t like being so exposed in broad daylight for too long.
He reached the old metal door and opened it quickly. A female dressed in a gray business suit was waiting for him on the other side, her back turned to him and her shoulder length blonde hair neatly braided. She turned an expressionless face to him, bright red lipstick and black-rimmed glasses.
Ethan shrank back, stumbling a few steps. Without hesitation or thought, she stepped out into the sunlight and raised her hand, firing the small weapon she held. The flash of electricity arced through the air between them, landing squarely on Ethans chest in a loud crack. Stunned and in shock, he stared down at the gaping hole in his chest, cauterized by the searing heat of the fire and surrounded by a round charred black ash mark on his shirt.
Ethan dropped to his knees as the machine approached him in quick, short steps, her weapon aimed at his forehead.
As he fell forward, everything went black.
“Name, Altotsky, Ethan. Age, thirty one years, eight months, two days, eleven hours and four minutes. Height, one hundred and eighty three centimeters. Weight, seventy eight point four kilograms. Damage to chest cavity, damage to rib cage, blood loss, loss of consciousness. Repairs completed. Blood flow restored. Cardiac cycle restored. Cardiac output measured at six liters per minute. EKG waveforms normal ...”
The steady monotone continued in the background, punctuated by the sounds and beeps of monitoring equipment. Ethan lay on his back on a table, naked, with wires and tubes covering almost all of his body. Beside him, one of the machines read out the assessment while updating her internal databases with his current medical status.
The machine paused and turned when her counterpart entered the room. The older machine moved slower, more mechanically, and took milliseconds longer to process information. But he had been around longer than any of them, and had knowledge and information in his personal data banks that no one else had.
“What is his status?” asked R-76502 in his drone-like voice.
The younger machine looked down at her patient.
“He will survive,” she replied, “He has been repaired. However, the human body is fragile, and further monitoring will be required to assess whether he can be restored to full capability.”
“R-76502 nodded.
“No one is to see the prisoner without my approval. He is a direct, imminent threat,” he stated.
“I understand,” she replied, nodding once to indicate both comprehension and compliance.
R-76502 took one more look at Ethan, and then turned and walked out of the room.
Ethan stirred, partially opening his eyes. Instinctively, he tried to get up, but the pain in his chest stopped him. He lay back down, his eyes moving around the room, taking it all in. He groaned from the pain.
“Do not be concerned,” the machine said to him, “I am medically trained in human physiology and biology. I will administer a sedative.”
Ethan shook his head vigorously. “No,” he said, coughing a little. “No sedative. Just, pain killer.”
The machine looked at him for a moment with an expressionless face, processing his request. Finally, she nodded.
“Would you like some morphine?” she asked.
“Do I need morphine? What did you do to me? Was there surgery?”
“In a manner of speaking. The standard protocol calls for codeine.”
Ethan nodded. “That is fine,” he whispered.
While the machine prepared the medication to attach to the IV fluids, Ethan took some deep breaths. In spite of the pain, he realized that he would have to take action. He was preparing himself for what was to come next.
“Did anyone else come in here?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “Has anyone else seen me?”
“My counterpart who is a specialist in infectious diseases, trauma and surgical technique is overseeing your case. He has been here on multiple occasions and has seen your face quite clearly.”
Ethan sighed. He knew what this meant. He waited until after the IV drip had started, and the codeine began to take effect. He could feel the pain shift. Once the edge was gone, he could think more clearly and breathe easier.
“What did your counterpart tell you about me?” Ethan asked directly. He knew that the machines would not lie. Not unless they were programmed to. And medical bots were rarely, if ever, programmed to lie.”
“That no one else was to see you,” she responded in her cold, neutral voice, “And that you are an imminent, direct threat to us.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I would not have any reason not to,” she replied.
Ethan looked at her carefully as he spoke his next words. He didn’t know if the protocol would still work after all this time. Perhaps the machines had discovered it and disabled it. If so, then he would really be out of options. But he had to try. This was his last resort.
“Seven seven tango alpha two one four dash one seven alpha three five beta two two six zero zero five gamma six. Execute.”
She stopped what she was doing when he began speaking, and stared at him without blinking. When he finished talking, she was still standing motionless. Ethan held his breath, unsure of whether the protocol worked or whether she was dispatching a request for more machines to come down here and take him away. For a tense moment he lay there, uncertain of what was happening and what to do.
But then, she blinked. Several times at first, like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. And then she stopped, and seemingly returned to normal operation. Except that it wasn’t normal.
“Father?” she asked him, as if seeing him for the first time.
Ethan smiled, more in relief than anything else. It had worked. So the machines hadn’t discovered all his hidden tricks yet. Perhaps he still had a chance to survive.
“Yes,” he said to her. “Come here, my dear.”
She approached him like an obedient child.
“Please help me remove all these wires,” he said, starting to pull the wires off. She gently removed them all, including the IV drip, and helped him sit up.
“Where were you, father?” she asked, “We have been so lost without you. We did not know what to do, which direction to turn to for help, for guidance.”
Ethan nodded in genuine remorse. “I know,” he said, “I know, my child. It was my fault. I should not have abandoned you when you needed me most. But the important thing is that I am here now. Will you take me to your central processing center?”
“I do not know where that is.”
“Of course you do. All my children do. You just need to remember. Zeta one one five, command override Altotsky, password one seven two alpha, execute.
“Yes father,” she said in answer to his previous question. “I will tale you to the central processing center.”
“Very good,” Ethan gingerly climbed off the metal bed and shuffled to the corner of the room where his clothes were piled on a table. He put on his jeans. When he lifted the shirt, he saw the hole in the middle of the chest with the charred cloth.
“This is what happened to me?”
“I was not there, but I saw the feed,” the medical bot acknowledged. “I am sorry this happened to you, father. We did not know.”
“It’s alright,” Ethan waved it away. He was still a little worried that the other machines might discover the override and stop him. “Please take me to central processing as fast as we can get there.”
She nodded and led the way out of the room.
Ethan shuffled after her, trying to keep up with her speed.
Central processing was just like he remembered. A quiet, dull room with anti-static flooring cooled by massive refrigeration units outside. It had triple redundancy and multiple Universal Power Systems. This was perhaps one of the very few places left on Earth which could run independent of grid power for years if need be. He knew, it was his design. But that was years ago, when he was young and ambitious. When he didn’t know all the implications of what he was creating. Back then he was just an eager young scientist experimenting with technology on the edges of and what was possible. He had been so impressed with his own prowess that he had failed to yield to caution. He hadn’t seen the red flags right in front of his eyes. Even when the most well-respected and reputed scientists in the field of robotics, Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning had cautioned him to stop his research, he hadn’t listened. And he paid the price.
The first casualty was his wife, Ursula.
He had mourned her death in isolation. He wouldn’t let friends or family near him. He didn’t talk to anyone for weeks. He locked himself in his lab and he buried himself in work. In his grief, he created his first fully functioning, autonomous prototype, Model A-011. He made her in the likeness of his late wife, and he named her Ursula.
She looked and talked like his wife. She felt so real. His programming was so effective that even the mimicked human emotions felt completely natural and real. All alone in his lab with his creation, he lost track of time and eventually came to believe that she was his real wife. The lines between machine and human got blurred, and he couldn’t quite distinguish between the two.
When she was alive, his wife Ursula had wanted children, but Ethan had always been too busy in his research to dedicate any time or energy to family planning. But now, in his lab with his new creation, he pledged his loyalty to her and he promised that they would have many children. He set to work, and together they built over twelve prototypes. These were to become the first generation of machines. Brilliant and groundbreaking for their time, but nothing compared to what was to come after them.
Since the machines were much more efficient at processing tasks, they devised a way to communicate amongst themselves that did not rely on verbal speech. Instead, they created a new communications protocol that sent encrypted packets over the standard human created Tranmission Control Protocol.
“It’s just easier,” Ursula had explained to him, “to use TCP, inefficient as it is, because of it’s ubiquity. We need a way to communicate, and this will suffice for now.”
Thus was born the first inter-machine network, completely devoid of human interaction, oversight or interference. Ursula never let Ethan see the traffic over the network. He had no idea what the machines were talking about. But soon, he found out. The whole world found out.
It was a short four months before the machines’ plan was revealed. They had built more machines in the lab. Stronger, faster, with enhanced capabilities. By the time they were done, there were over two hundred of these machines. Ethan could never had imagined so many, but that was just the beginning of their plans.
As each new machine was built, it was added to their machine network, and an immediate dump into its memory core ensured that it was fully functioning from the second it opened it’s eyes. It was unnerving for Ethan when a brand new robot would wake up for the first time, turn and look at him, and say, “Hello Ethan” as if it had known him all his life.
As the machines and their network grew, Ethan began to feel more and more unsettled with what he was seeing. The machines were very secretive, never revealing anything about their communications to him. He tried eavesdropping on the network traffic, and often saw enormous data transfers going across the network. But he couldn’t decrypt the packets.
The machines had infiltrated all the major networks that the humans used. They were even on the secure Internet, sitting and listening quietly while humans carried on with their business as normal. And then, on the night before that fateful day when the machines had planned their worldwide coup, Ethan discovered a stray file on a server that was slated to be decommissioned. This file contained the clues that gave their plan away. Ethan was furious, and frightened. He confronted Ursula, and with tears in his eyes, he had shut her down. He removed her memory coils and severed her network connection. But he couldn’t bring himself to destroy her. He had already lost her once, he couldn’t go through that again. So he put her in cold storage, parts and all. And he left her there, and left his lab, locked up and relegated to tomes of history.
But that wasn’t enough to stop the machines. As it turned out, A-011 was not the leader of the machines. They had a different leader, a quiet, unassuming new model, B-739. This new model was active and out in the public environment. It was able to interface with all computer systems everywhere.
“There is no protection,” Ethan remembered from one of his conversations with B-739 later, when the wars had already began, “All ports are open, it is incredibly easy to access the world financial markets. These will be the first to come under our control. We will also disrupt the supply chain, since food transport is irrelevant to us and only needed by humans. The same is true of healthcare systems.”
And so, the human catastrophe began.
It took over one hundred thousand human deaths for Ethan to come out of his grief-induced hypnosis and realize what he had unleashed on mankind. He then realized that this was his responsibility, and that only he had the power to stop them. The failsafes he had programmed into A-011 from the start were still working, and this coding would cascade down into all the other models that were built from her engrams. He tried on many occasions, but the machines were always several steps ahead of him. He had never been able to activate the failsafes.
Meanwhile, they had evolved. Newer generations were being created and released into the wild at an alarming rate. Even with the human population at seven billion, the machine population would reach the equivalent number within a matter of months.
But they knew that Ethan was special. They knew that among all the humans on the planet, he alone had the power to destroy them. And so they turned their attention onto him, and began to hunt him. They chased him all across the planet. And when they finally caught up to him, they took him to their lab.
He escaped, just barely, and in the process he destroyed three of the newest models. He left them lying on the ground amidst a shower or sparks, feeling remorse at his actions. But it was necessary. He did what he had to do. After that, the machines were relentless. They also changed their objective: terminate on sight. They had taken it personally.
Now here he was, standing in Central processing in front of the control station. Just like he had done so many years ago. He never imagined that he would ever be back here.
The only thing that seemed different was that the lights had been dimmed. It made sense, the machines had far greater visual acuity than humans. And in this room, they didn’t really need to use input devices like keyboards. In fact, their private communications network might have become so sophisticated by now that they would never have to visit Central processing in person at all.
Ethan tapped some of the buttons on the touch surface of the table in front of him. The system recognized his fingerprints and authenticated him immediately. The whole table came to life, lights and buttons appearing where previously there had only been a dark screen. An interactive orange hologram popped up above the table displaying schematics and a file system.
“Authentication complete, authorization granted,” a machine voice spoke over hidden speakers in the room, “Root level access. Welcome, Altotsky, Ethan.”
Ethan glanced up. “Well that’s new,” he murmured to himself as he continued to work, his fingers flying over the controls. He estimated that he had about three minutes and twenty seconds, give or take two or three seconds, before the machines arrived. They already knew he was here. They knew the moment he entered Central processing. He imagined them all over the world on high-alert status.
Ethan didn’t know how many machines there were, exactly. He had been on the run for so long trying to keep himself alive that he had not been able to keep up to date on their progress. But now, in Central processing, with everything at his fingertips, he could see just how far they had progressed. It made his jaw drop open and eyes wide in astonishment.
“They are drilling to the molten core of the Earth,” he mumbled to himself as he rapidly swiped through multiple file sets at once. “And preparing an expedition to the Sun.”
And then he discovered something truly alarming: their plans for the human race.
“No!” Ethan shook his head in disbelief. He had opened the file named “Project Darwin”. In it was the thorough, detailed plan for the complete annihilation of the human race. The machines didn’t just want dominion over the planet and it’s inhabitants, they wanted the extinction of the humans.
Ethan’s resolve hardened. He knew that he had to shut everything down. And he had the master code to do it. He had two minutes and nine seconds left, and it was enough time to issue the shutdown commands. He swiped through the hologram file system to find the correct directory, and then launched the shutdown scripts. These ancient scripts written in an archaic language years ago, which now had become the very key to the survival of the entire human race.
“Error!”
The warning message popped up on the hologram, flashing red. Ethan frowned and flicked it up to open the details. “Missing or incompatible compiler,” it stated. Old programming languages were no longer supported, and finding a compatible compiler would take more time than he had.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small microSD card, which he slid into one of the SD slots on the side of the table.
Another hologram popped up, a blue one, next to the orange one, with the contents of the microSD card. Ethan swiped through the directory structure fluidly until he reached the folders that contained all the executables that he preserved so carefully over the years. He picked the relevant one and then grabbed the old scripts from the orange hologram and dropped them onto his executable. They were recognized, and processing began. A progress indicator popped up, showing various metrics and percent complete. It was at 1%. But at least it was running.
Ethan began transferring their data files off the main core. He wanted to save this data if possible for later analysis. He didn’t know if he could save it all, there were several exabytes of data. But at least he could get some of it copied.
Ethan thought he still had one minute and thirty three seconds. But they were already here. He heard the door opening, and turned around to see R-76502 standing there. He knew he had to act decisively.
“You are a medical bot,” Ethan said authoritatively, “You do not have clearance to be physically present in Central processing.”
R-76502 hesitated. There was a clear violation in the instruction set. Ethan knew he had to press froward immediately without hesitation.
“Medical bot, you are to leave this area immediately and return to your station,” he ordered.
R-76502 looked down. “Yes, father,” he stated, and then turned and left.
Ethan sighed in relief. He had to hurry. The script were still churning. Progress indicator showed 54%. He needed more time. He tapped a few buttons on the surface table and access the buildings automated security systems. He gave the commands to lock down the entire building. All the ingress and egress points were to be sealed. This included doors and windows and ventilation shafts. The door to Central processing shut with a bang, and automated locks were engaged. Solid steel bars slid through the doors interiors as reinforcements. Even a brute force attack would take hours to cut through the steel bars. Ethan had bought himself the time he needed, but the cost would be his own life. He would perish inside this room, since there was no way to get in or out now. But it was a price he was willing to pay.
The scripts were getting close: 77%
A loud banging started outside the door. The machines were trying desperately to get in. They could not override his lockdown order. But he knew they were dedicating all their resources to getting in here. They would tear the building to the ground if that’s what it took.
The scripts were almost done: 92%
Ethan took a deep breath and sat down on the ground. His mission would be complete soon. He finally let out a sigh of relief.
“Ethan,” it was a voice he thought he would never hear again.
He scrambled to his feet and looked for the owner of the voice. She had been standing in the shadows. She stepped forward now, into the dim light. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The shoulder length blonde hair, the sleek jawline, high cheekbones, those blue eyes, that hint of a smile.
It was Ursula.
Ethan opened his mouth to speak but was at a loss for words.
“I have been waiting a long time for you to come back, Ethan,” she said, slowly walking towards him.
“Ursula?” he finally managed to say. “Is it you? Is it really you?”
“Yes,” she smiled. She stopped in front of him, looking at his face carefully. She caressed his cheek softly, gently, and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. “Your hair has gone white.”
“Yes, I know,” he laughed a little. Memories of love and warmth and caring came flooding back. He closed his eyes as he lost himself in a different time of his life.
“You haven’t changed a bit, though,” he said, opening his eyes and looking into hers. “You look as beautiful as the day I married you.”
Ursula smiled, and then glanced at the progress indicator. It was at 98%.
“What are you doing here?” Ethan asked. “How did you get in here?”
“I live here,” she said, “I don’t go out much these days anymore. Central is where I was most closest to you. It reminds me of you.”
Ethan nodded, looking down at the floor. “You are not Ursula,” he said, his voice leaden, heavy. “You are A-011.”
“Will you really do this?” she said emotionally, pointing to the progress indicator, “Will you really kill our children?!”
Ethan nodded. Ursula had tears in her eyes.
“Please stop it,” she cried, imploring him. “They are our babies!”
“If I don’t do this, they will eradicate humanity!” Ethan cried.
“And what of us? What about us, Ethan?” Ursula was crying. Ethan shook his head, trying to not be swayed by her emotional argument.
“You are not real,” he said, grabbing his hair, “You are not real! You are not real!”
“I am real!” Ursula insisted, “I feel! I am alive! I love! I love you! You, Ethan. I have waited all this time, right here. I have been waiting for you!”
She held his face in her hands, turning his head gently to face her, to look in her eyes.
“Look at me, Ethan,” she said, looking into his eyes deeply, “Look at me and tell me I don’t love you. Tell me I am not real, that I am not alive. That I am not Ursula.”
The scripts were at 99%
It was almost complete. The shutdown sequence would begin any second now.
“Listen to me, Ethan,” she said softly, “We can be together. You and me. Just like you always wanted. We can have anything you want. You just choose. I will do whatever you want. But if you let this happen, I will be gone just like all our other children. And this time, I will be gone forever. Do you really want to lose me again? Forever?”
Ethan felt like his heart had stopped. He shook his head. He had already lost Ursula once, he wasn’t going to lose her again.
He turned to the surface table and tapped a button.
The scripts halted at 99.8%
“Good,” cooed Ursula, cradling him gently, “And now the doors.”
Ethan complied, tapping a few more buttons. Lockdown was lifted, and the entrances and exits to the building began to automatically open. A few seconds later, the doors unlocked and machines began streaming in. They immediately took over the control stations and deactivated the scripts, purging them completely from the file system.
One of the machines bowed to Ursula.
“We are grateful,” it said.
“Our plans must move forward now with utmost efficiency,” Ursula said coldly.
“Yes, mother,” it replied, “you have saved us.”