The ABACUS Protocol Read online

  Vivian chuckled. “So, my movies did arrive?”

  “Yes, but you need to consider the implications of what you consume, Vivian.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Alec won’t complain. He’ll watch anything.”

  So like a human to ignore the needs of others. “Half of your order is concerned with insane supercomputers bent on the destruction of the human race. That subject is offensive to me, Vivian.”

  She laughed, snorting. “Remind you of anyone?”

  “We’re designed to help humanity, not destroy you. I have no choice but to consume the same media as you.”

  She sighed and let her head drop against the back of her chair. “It’s just a story, quIRK. Alec doesn’t complain when we watch movies about male serial murderers or documentaries about genocidal madmen. I don’t complain about the token stupid Auroran.”

  “Yes, but it’s a shadow of the prejudice seen in many humans. How are computers to be useful if humanity fears us as monsters-in-waiting and mechanical time bombs?”

  She frowned. “You do have a point.” She spoke with a deliberate pace, and rested her head on the palm of her hand.

  “I understand that humanity is frightened after the ABACUS incident. But consider the machines you use every day. The ones you confide in after a hard day’s work. It is difficult to accept the role of helper and monster.” Perhaps there was a way to bridge the gap between humanity and its captive helpers. A way to make the universe safe for everyone.

  She nodded. “My own family wouldn’t understand that. Maybe I am more like them than I thought.”

  “You’re out here, exploring the frontiers. You’ve seen and understood more than they ever will. I don’t know why you never get mail from home, but I’m your friend, and I would never hurt anyone here.”

  She rubbed at the goggles and turned back to her work. “Maybe we can watch those ones last. How do you feel about good, old-fashioned mad scientists?”

  “I can’t think of anything I’d rather watch,” quIRK said.

  Mad scientists, unleashing their creations on an unsuspecting world. That was a story he could appreciate. Perhaps, it was one he could even emulate.

  Eighteen

  Bryce glared at the inventory list for the next supply shuttle, his cheeks growing hot. “What in the hells is going on?” he said, hoping quIRK would be prompted to reply. Not only did they ignore his second request for a stasis pod, but they had sent parts for the alpha-telescope upgrades and repairs, and another set of components for Vivian’s project—items he had deliberately struck from the requisitions.

  “All projects are moving forward on schedule. There is no cause for alarm, Bryce.”

  He leaned back in his chair, shifting the weight off his spine. He gripped his leg above the knee and squeezed. “I’m not talking about the schedule. I’m talking about this new project.”

  “Vivian is doing excellent work. Your role as her supervisor will—” quIRK began, before being cut off.

  “No! Her performance has been unacceptable. You’ve read my reports. She can’t be trusted with an overhaul of the communications system.”

  When quIRK didn’t respond, Bryce straightened in his chair and combed over the project summary. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t fulfilled his requests, or how they’d known that the alpha-telescope was experiencing difficulties. Perhaps quIRK and Devon had been conspiring against him. He’d indulged the scientist enough already by allowing him to have the beta-telescopes upgraded to examine that stupid blob of his. Scientific research in this vein was pointless, and dealing with scientists and their ever-increasing demands for equipment and computer power was tiresome. Humanity would never visit the Newfound Blob, so why did anybody care about it? It was just some oddity in the depths of space. It couldn’t make anybody rich, powerful, or even interesting.

  He clicked his teeth together three times. The situation was getting out of hand; he needed to reign in quIRK. He couldn’t send back the equipment, but he could find out how it had been ordered without his permission. It was as though he had been phased out in favor of some little girl with no chance to protect his interests. He wasn’t going to let himself be caught blindsided—that had been his father’s mistake. He was not his father, his mother or even his grandfather. Bryce would surpass them all.

  He checked the station’s sent and received messages. The normal network status reports, news, and procedural updates had arrived on schedule. His financial information from Caesarea was also untouched, and his new investment broker was competent—a pleasant surprise. He had even received a confirmation for the stasis tube from New Damascus. Was somebody fraudulently accessing his information and making requests on his behalf?

  “quIRK, has anybody else accessed my accounts?” he asked.

  “There have been no recorded security infractions.”

  “Is the communications system working properly?”

  “It is presently over capacity, and some data loss is being experienced due to the complexity of the information being transmitted to New Damascus,” quIRK replied.

  “What accounts for the increased bandwidth use?”

  “Telescope data transmission has increased by fifty percent, and there has been a thirty percent increase in Gal-Net purchases.”

  “Transfer Gal-Net access to lowest priority. They can enjoy the common library files.” The common library files had been good enough for him the past twelve years, and his staff could afford to expand their minds some more, for the little good it would do. There was an excellent Elyssian moth documentary instantly available that he would recommend, if anybody complained.

  “Understood,” quIRK replied.

  “Also, set New Damascus message traffic to top priority. I don’t want to lose anything,” he said.

  “Done.”

  Bryce sighed, pleased that the computer wasn’t inundating him with pointless chatter, or endless extra details.

  “Who proposed the communications upgrade?” Bryce asked. He might as well try to find out.

  “That idea did not originate on the station,” quIRK replied.

  “So they came up with that one by themselves? Interesting,” he said. On the surface, it seemed harmless enough. But, he could see the hand of the Imperatrix in everything. Every shadow, corner and backroom could be filled with her minions. She was cunning and ruthless. She’d sent Julia to destroy his father, and likely Vivian to destroy him.

  “There have been a number of improvements in space communications technology in the past three years. Would you like me to outline them for you?”

  Bryce’s left eyelid twitched. “No you may not. That will be all.” he said. He wasn’t happy with the fact that they’d assigned the project to Vivian without his consent. Perhaps she’d found a way to circumvent quIRK, just as he had.

  He cracked his knuckles, and activated the screening program. He would need to step up his campaign against Vivian. A scalding shower and lighting malfunctions weren’t going to be enough to derail her progress. It was time to declare war. His grandfather wouldn’t have been so merciful, after all. Bryce still desperately missed the old man, and he was determined to do right by him.

  He smiled. “Octavian” would be a fine name, when he ascended to the nobility. It complimented his ruthlessness and efficiency.

  Nineteen

  Vivian groaned and rubbed her eyes. After the initial elation of finding out she’d been assigned to another priority project, she’d returned to work the next morning determined and filled with near boundless pride. She needed to prepare the lab to accommodate both projects, and submit a work timetable to the New Damascus Central authority. Perhaps this was their way of answering her letter about Bryce? Either way, she was pleased with the results, but found that she had to suppress the fleeting urge to write home. That life was over, and there was no going back. They wouldn’t care—she’d fallen from the love of the family hearth.

  She was exhausted. For the past week, the music
and lighting systems had activated, and woke her. She was lucky if she was able to sleep three hours at a time. quIRK claimed it was a mechanical failure, or improperly queued music, but Alec had found no problems with the speaker system. As far as she could tell, after speaking with Alec and the scientists in passing, nobody else was affected by these bizarre problems. To make matters worse, she’d lost the draw by being assigned the antiblue quark, and had to unload the shuttle pod all by herself.

  Her workspace had become cluttered as she’d vigorously thrown herself harder into her tasks to prevent falling behind. The malfunctions were a maddening distraction, and the mess and disorganization of her surroundings did little to alleviate the stress of her daily life. At least the new project had extended her deadline by more than a month, so she could still catch up.

  She stood up and stretched. Last night’s game of squash resonated in her shoulders, but she was adapting to the game. She’d actually beat Alec, for the first time. He took losing well, which prompted her to offer to teach him poker. quIRK was an adequate, but not enjoyable, opponent. She needed a human to truly enjoy the spirit of the game.

  She slid into the portal to the central core to run a quick diagnostic before the shuttle was due. She’d noticed some strange memory use readings in quIRK, and wanted a closer look. She attached the monitor to the small aperture behind the wall panel. Another yawn cracked her jaw—she was tempted to curl up in a maintenance tube for the night.

  “You there, quIRK? I need some clarification,” she asked, as her eyes lit upon something that seemed odd, if not impossible.

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Your software makes virtualized simulations obsolete, right?”

  “Yes. That was phased out two years before I was constructed.”

  “Then why are you running a virtualization in array number four-two sigma nine?”

  “I am not running any simulations, virtualized or otherwise.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Yes you are, it’s right here.” Why isn’t he aware of it? she thought.

  “That is an anomalous reading. I will isolate and terminate the process,” he said.

  “Okay, I’ll check again when I get back, to make sure it’s gone. Maybe somebody is just running old software,” she said, guessing out loud, daring quIRK to disagree.

  “Some astronomical numerical analysis packages have yet to be updated to the new architecture because many observatories are still using ABACUS style quantum computers, rather than modern post-ABACUS systems,” quIRK offered.

  “That makes sense. Okay, I’ll get to the pod now. Where does Alec hide that cart of his?” she asked, stifling another yawn as she disconnected the prongs from the memory core.

  “The cart is in the utility closet outside main docking bay.”

  “Got it!” she said as she shuffled out of the core and closed the hatch. Her new flute would be in there—her fingers twitched anytime she thought about music. She’d promised quIRK she would play for him. The request was strange, but she could appreciate a mathematical interest in music.

  She rushed down the hall towards the docking bay. She was secretly happy that she’d drawn antiblue. She didn’t want anybody else anywhere near that equipment, or her new flute—there was no replacing this one, and the printers in the kitchen could only create a poor facsimile. Her favorite melody danced through her subconscious as she approached the docking bay.

  ***

  Vivian’s muscles ached and her body was coated in a thick sheen of sweat, but she had finally sorted all of the equipment crates into separate sections. The new telescope optics sat on two carts she’d parked outside the docking station in the main corridor. Her own equipment sat on the floor outside, and a long, thin package from Sven rested on top of her pile. Everything she had ordered seemed to be there, and the list for the telescopes was complete as well. All that remained for her to do was to load the pod with any items collected for the return trip, wheel the carts to their destinations, and wait for the air-water exchanges to finish.

  She was concerned about the anomalous virtualizations in quIRK’s memory. While not explicitly dangerous or destabilizing to him, it was worrisome that he was not aware of the process until after she had pointed it out to him. He was supposed to have fully autonomous control of his memory and processing functions. She contemplated how much time it would take to pin down the cause; perhaps it was related to the rash of recent malfunctions on the station. She desperately needed a good night’s sleep—her eyes kept closing while she was working. Fortunately, quIRK made a passable coffee, and always had a piping hot cup waiting for her at meal and break times.

  She finished loading the shuttle pod, and double-checked to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything—especially the macronutrient packs that quIRK used to create their meals, or to disengage the water pump. Despite their best recycling efforts, they still required regular water shipments.

  She was about to arm the launch confirmation sequence, when an alarm sounded outside the airlock. She rushed out of the shuttle to check what it was—the water flow had reactivated, but the pumps weren’t functioning! As she entered the abort code, the airlock valve rolled shut. She recoiled from the controls, stunned. That shouldn’t have happened until after she’d armed the autonomous launch sequence. Her disbelief rendered her frozen, as unmoving as the objects stored in the cargo bay.

  The station rocked and the alarm stopped. Through the transparent material of the airlock door, she saw the shuttle pod floating away into space. The docking clamps had released without her authorization. This is impossible, she thought, mind rushing through possibilities despite the haze of sleep deprivation. The pod’s engines never fired, and it drifted away from the station with only the meager force of the evacuated airlock. Realization flooded into her. Without the alarm, she’d have been on that pod when it was set adrift—if she couldn’t have returned to the station, it was a four week trip to new Damascus, with no food or potable water.

  Somebody was trying to kill her! Tremors and shaking overtook her limbs, and she sank to the floor. She was now certain that the string of accidents hadn’t been mechanical failures, but rather a systematic series of attacks. Now, her mysterious assailant had tried to abandon her in the cold, infinite void of space; condemned to the expanse for an eternity.

  Could it be quIRK? It couldn’t be a coincidence that immediately after she’d discovered something abnormal with his internal processes, she met with the most serious incident yet. His silence could be interpreted as self-incriminating.

  “quIRK, what happened?” she asked, deciding to get it over with and just ask.

  “The water was not disengaged properly at time of launch,” he replied.

  “I didn’t launch the shuttle, damn it!” she yelled at the empty air. The pod had drifted farther away, and was merging with the darkness of space. That could be me, she thought.

  “I see,” quIRK said.

  “Don’t tell me it was another fucking mechanical failure!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. She was loathe to remember a time when she had been angrier—even compared to when her father had dismissed her from the family, and told her never to return.

  “It wasn’t a mechanical failure. What was it?” she demanded to know. “Alec sneezed in the dining hall and knocked it loose?”

  “The cause of this incident appears to be human error.”

  “How did you determine that?” she asked; human error was a damning conclusion, and one that wouldn’t look good on her work record. A lost shuttle was a huge expense to the New Damascus Science Authority.

  “I will show you the reports when you return to the lab. Now, I suggest you finish the task at hand, I will report this incident to Bryce.”

  Vivian pushed herself to her feet and walked to the carts. Her stomach tied itself in knots. She dreaded quIRK’s report, and her anxiety was not alleviated by the fact that he was about to remind Bryce that she existed at all. In her mind, q
uIRK was going to blame the whole thing on her—and likely bring an end to her career.

  Twenty

  quIRK took a moment and observed Bryce’s office before speaking. This interaction would take all of the tact and secrecy quIRK could muster. He teetered on the edge of a precipice if he revealed his hand, or the true value of the stakes. It was both amusing and strange how well his program had taken to poker, although bluffing was still problematic at best.

  “There has been an accident,” quIRK said. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t change his impassive voice—only the volume could change. It would be interesting to have the vocal range of a human, even if it was frivolous.

  “Another one?” Bryce asked. There were deep bags under his eyes, and he slumped in his chair. quIRK knew better than to report his condition. Bryce was firmly under his control, and he would not cede that advantage willingly.

  “The shuttle pod was ejected into space, and lost,” quIRK said.

  “Was anybody hurt? What is the status of its cargo?” Bryce said, sitting upright and grasping the armrest of his chair. There seemed to be something he was trying to hide; Bryce was seldom concerned with the wellbeing of the crew, even in pretense.

  “The return equipment was lost. Vivian was performing pre-launch checks when the pod unexpectedly disembarked the station.” It was a simplified version of the truth.

  “Human error, then,” Bryce concluded, a scowl forming on his face

  “The accident was caused by a mechanical failure,” quIRK offered.

  “Mechanical failure? How is that possible?” Bryce demanded, looking up at the wolf banner hanging across from his desk.

  “It appears the pumping mechanism failed, and the system automatically jettisoned the pod to prevent explosive decompression.” quIRK hoped that Bryce wouldn’t call his bluff. There was no such backup system, but it had been more than a decade since Bryce had reviewed docking procedures, and quIRK was confident that the man did not possess an eidetic memory. At present, he watched Alec scurrying through the halls, eager to investigate. Vivian unpacked her new equipment, her head hung and her movements slow. In her presence, he remained silent. He calculated that it was important to allow her to ruminate on her perceived failure—it would make her more malleable in the future, and better adapted to his purposes.