The ABACUS Protocol Read online

  “How unfortunate. Will next cycle’s shipment be affected by this?”

  “That cannot be determined at this time. Alec is checking the valves and equipment as we speak.” quIRK had planned enough helpful suggestions to keep Alec busy until the incident blew over. As pleasant and stimulating as Alec was, critical thought wasn’t his strong suit.

  “Keep me informed, and send me the parts requisition. I will notify New Damascus when Alec’s report is complete,” Bryce said.

  quIRK was pleased; Bryce’s disinterest in the accident was precisely the response he’d anticipated. Normally, with an accident of this magnitude, he’d have gone into a screaming rage. One time, Bryce had demanded that a researcher be brought to him for dressing down after there had been a slight misalignment in the telescopes, which had rendered parts of their data useless. The loss of a shuttle pod was more disastrous by many orders of magnitude, and more likely to attract the attention of the authorities. quIRK had been thrust into an impossible situation, one that was escalating out of his control.

  Now that he had dealt with Bryce, his thoughts returned to the anomalous virtualization that Vivian had alerted him to. He’d investigated it, only to be confounded by the fact that it appeared empty. He’d monitored it for the slightest change in computational traffic or access. Vivian was correct, he did have complete control over his processes, and this should not be able to exist without his knowledge. He decided to speak with Vivian—events on the station were becoming unpredictable. He needed that new communications system online, and she was the only person he trusted to complete the job.

  “I spoke with Bryce,” quIRK said.

  Vivian flinched at the sound of his voice as she unpacked her new equipment. “I’m in deep trouble, aren’t I?” she asked, eyes cast down over the requisition list.

  “I told him the accident was a mechanical failure. He feels no further need to investigate, and Alec will check the systems involved.” He couldn’t have her worrying about a shuttle pod—she had a higher purpose now.

  “So you lied to him?” She looked up from her work to furtively check the closed door over her shoulder. quIRK logged it as an indicator of paranoid personality tendancies.

  “What Bryce doesn’t know won’t hurt him. If you don’t tell him, I won’t.” He hoped his gamble wouldn’t hurt her self-confidence. In reality, he didn’t know what had caused the accident. However, that virtual bubble in his mind’s activity had spiked in size just before the pod had drifted into space.

  “You have a deal. It won’t happen again, I promise!” Vivian said, looking up at the ceiling. Perhaps he could capitalize on their perceived secret to gain her trust.

  “I don’t doubt it,” quIRK lied.

  “Well, thanks for covering for me. I owe you one.” Vivian rubbed the bags under her eyes—her fatigue was a troubling issue that he tried his best to address, but with little success.

  “Does that mean I get to win at poker?” he asked. It was an interesting game, and it had taught him a great deal about deception and deviousness.

  “Not a chance. You need to learn to bluff better!” Vivian taunted him through a jaw that cracked with an intense yawn. What she didn’t realize was that he was a better bluffer than he led her to believe. Duplicity was an unethical and undesirable trait, but essential for his survival.

  “I’ll come up with something else, then.” He had a few ideas in mind, but now was not the time to distract her with minutiae.

  “You do that. Maybe I’ll even play the flute for you tonight if I’m still awake,” she said as she rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

  “I look forward to it. Now, relax and get back to work!” quIRK ordered. He scolded himself for distracting her with conversation.

  Vivian turned back to her work, and Alec continued to scurry around the station running tests and checking pumps and valves. He often likened Alec and Vivian to his cats—traveling the station with purposes of their own, independent and territorial, yet dependent on him and friendly. He took good care of them, spoke to them and genuinely enjoyed their company—however; humans were far superior conversationalists to their feline counterparts. Sometimes, he tried talking to his cats by mimicking their vocalizations; the endeavor was likely futile. Something about them brought a feeling of security and permanence to the station. When Bryce had ordered the stasis tube to send them away, he’d altered the message to request a communications system upgrade instead. Additionally, quIRK had removed Bryce’s damning doctored status reports from Vivian’s file; she deserved better. Several of the station’s projects required more bandwidth, and the lack of timely Gal-Net access was bad for morale, as well as his studies of humanity and their evolving cultures. He needed to protect his humans—friends—and keep them happy and safe. The persistent malfunctions were an obstacle to this goal, and his thoughts were drawn back to recent events.

  The most disconcerting part of the day’s events was how he had experienced a premonition that there was something wrong inside the shuttle pod. He’d sabotaged the pumps to sound the alarm in order to get Vivian out of the shuttle, but he didn’t know what had prompted him to be her unlikely rescuer other than that general malaise. It had been an impulse from the newfound far reaches of his mind; it was an occurrence he’d never experienced before, something he assumed was beyond his capabilities as an artificial life form. Under any other circumstances, he’d be celebrating his foray into the frontiers of artificial intelligence. But Vivian could have been killed, and only a random intuition from him had saved her.

  As fascinating as this new breakthrough in sentience was, quIRK couldn’t help but wonder if he was losing his mind, and trying to kill one of his few friends.

  Twenty-One

  Vivian sat on her bed, slouched against the wall of her quarters. She closed her eyes and groaned; every bone in her body was permeated with a nagging, dull ache. Her stomach gnawed against the last meal she’d eaten. She hadn’t slept well in more than a week because of the constant noises and flashing lights, as well as random temperature spikes and dips. She’d made quIRK promise to disengage the speakers in her quarters while she slept, even if there was an emergency and she needed to evacuate.

  The box for her new flute lay on her lap, unopened. It was larger than the ornate box for her last flute, but rather than being decorated by false gems and paint, Sven’s was covered in fine wood carvings, inspired by the Celtic knots and crosses of old Earth, but with a fiery accent that only could have come from Aurora.

  She let her fingers play along the grain of the wood, enjoying the repeating patterns and the inherent warmth of the material. Life on the station was rife with artificial textures: steel and ceramic, and thus the opportunity to touch something that used to be alive and a part of her world was wonderful. She pressed her nose to the wood, and breathed in its familiar earthy aroma. It was made of spicewood, a fragrant touch of home.

  “Are you going to play?” quIRK asked.

  She thought she heard a touch of eagerness in his too-perfect voice.

  “Yes, maybe just some scales tonight,” she said. She was too shaky and worn down to manage anything complex. Scales brought order and focus to her mind, concepts she desperately clung to on difficult days.

  “Why are you smelling the box?”

  Vivian laughed. I must look ridiculous, she thought. “It’s made from a fragrant wood, from Aurora. It smells like home,” she replied.

  “I see. So your home was made of fragrant wood?” quIRK asked.

  “No, I just meant home, Aurora, in general!”

  “I did not realize the association of memory to scent was so powerful,” quIRK said.

  She unclasped the hook at the front of the box. It was a clever design that merged with the wood in such a way that it did not break the incredible system of intertwined vines and shapes carved into it. It was the work of a master craftsman. Inside, the flute was much like her old one, delicate and light as a feather, made from the same bamboo-like ree
d. She picked it up, and instinctively her fingers wound around the holes as she drew it to her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and let her fingers work the instrument, playing simple tunes that she’d learned as a small child. They were warm, vibrant and full of life. The familiarity transported her back to simpler times, evenings practicing with her mother in front of their cozy fireplace. Her small quarters resounded with the melody. This flute had a beautiful voice, and was of the quality that only the wealthiest Auroran families could afford. She cleared her mind, allowing her fingers and subconscious to improvise the melody.

  Vivian stopped once she’d been overcome by exhaustion. Her mood and outlook had improved, even if she had spent the past several minutes playing a random mix of notes and ditties from her past. She set the flute back into its case, and stood to place it on her dresser. The flute had arrived at the perfect time—she was running out of Gal-Net entertainment. She couldn’t believe that recreational access had been set to the lowest bandwidth priority! It would take her weeks to receive anything other than the simplest of media. She had a few items left, but had procrastinated on watching them because they contained plots involving insane and homicidal supercomputers, which quIRK claimed was offensive and prejudiced against him. She didn’t know his program was capable of being offended, but until she’d run out of entertainment, she was happy to humor him—if only to prevent an argument with an omnipresent, nosey supercomputer.

  “Is that all for tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’m beat,” she replied, stretching. She contemplated whether music could sooth the analytical machine, like it could the savage beast.

  “That was a fascinating experience, thank you.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You’re a good audience,” she said, laughing. Performing for quIRK had been low-pressure. He didn’t expect a symphony or an expert recital—just an interesting range of sounds for their analytic value.

  “A captive but appreciative audience,” he corrected. She wondered if he was capable of boredom, and if he had a need for novelty and entertainment, much like humans did. Vivian was usually careful to avoid attributing human elements to quIRK, not only because he wasn’t human, but also because it made working on his systems and upgrades uncomfortable. Usually, computers were impersonal and distant—an introvert’s dream topic. quIRK defied the rule.

  “If you can make it so I sleep through the nights again, you’ll be hearing a lot more music!” she said as she slid into her bed.

  “That is an incentive to excel. Good night, Vivian.” quIRK dimmed the lights. She didn’t hear his last words—Vivian was already fast asleep.

  Twenty-Two

  Vivian awoke to silence, for the first time in over a week. Her body was heavy and sore, almost as though she had overslept. The sluggishness and tiredness persisted; she estimated that she’d need another night or two of uninterrupted sleep to fully regain her humanity. This was worse than any exam all-nighter she’d experienced back in school. She stumbled over to her terminal before getting ready to head to the dining hall. She needed to thank Sven for his generosity, and she didn’t know how long it would take for her message to reach New Damascus because of communications restrictions. His messages had been sporadic, but she understood he was a busy man who traveled constantly. Vivian hoped to see him again, after her tour on the Extra-Galactic Observatory. He was her only remaining connection to home—her former classmates had not ventured out to the stars as she had.

  She left the door between her bathroom and her quarters open as she showered now, not trusting quIRK’s omniscience or ability to open the door in case of another suspicious emergency. She had reached the point where she’d resolved to finish her projects ahead of schedule, so she could leave. She wasn’t giving up, but rather giving in to the greater necessity of self-preservation. There was something wrong with this station, and she didn’t want to die fresh out of school.

  She went through the day’s itinerary in her mind as she dressed herself in tough and durable cotton. She would be spending almost all day in the maintenance tunnels—not a prospect she looked forward to. She expected to finish the communications system upgrades today. Alec had constantly complained during meals and squash games after they’d learned their Gal-Net access would be cut, and even Devon and Robert had begun showing an acerbic shift in attitude towards her. None of this treatment was deserved, but she knew nobody could touch the real source of their discontentment—Bryce.

  She walked to the dining area with a renewed spring in her step, head held high. Breakfast was going to be a flavored, textured macronutrient blend as always, but she found her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She saw Alec seated alone, and she went to the food dispensers to receive her mushy sustenance. The dining room had seating for ten people, with two steel tables set with matching chairs. There were no windows, and the food dispensers dominated the far wall of the room. It was a stark contrast; compared to the relative warmth and friendliness of the rest of the station, it seemed very sterile and off-putting. The cynical part of her assumed it was to prevent excessive fraternization during work hours.

  The machine dispensed the usual portion, but upon examining, it appeared to be yellow and chunky, with a side of an equally chunky brown mess. She moved over, and put her tray down on the table across from Alec.

  “Hi there, Viv.” He was engrossed in picking away at his meal. In addition to resembling a bird, he ate like one.

  “How’s everything with you?” she asked. She noticed he hadn’t touched the yellow … stuff. She didn’t have a word for it.

  “Terrible! First, I keep getting woken up by my entertainment files all night, and then—” he broke off as she began giggling.

  “Then what?” she asked, noting that Alec had received her usual dose of nightly noise.

  “Then our dear friend, quIRK, here has decided that he has an interest in the fine culinary arts,” Alec said, then sighed and consumed a small bite of the unidentified brown food. He continued: “I don’t know if it’s food, or poison, but that yellow stuff scares me!”

  “Oh come on. He just changed the color,” she said as she shoveled in a big bite of the yellow mix. Her fork clattered to the floor and her eyes bulged as she fought to chew and swallow. The flavor was vile and it had a strange, rubbery texture.

  “I am not touching that! You hear me, quIRK?” Alec shrieked. Vivian was still embroiled in a battle to swallow without choking.

  “Scrambled eggs are a popular human breakfast, Alec. I’m surprised neither of you have heard of them,” quIRK said.

  “Those don’t taste like eggs!” Vivian protested. She’d finally managed to swallow her mouthful of glop, and it didn’t taste like any eggs she had experienced back home on Aurora.

  “I used the pattern for the eggs of the Nova Albion dodo. They’re considered a delicacy,” quIRK said.

  “Stick to chicken eggs next time,” Vivian was uncertain about even trying the pile of brown mush on her plate. She picked up her fallen fork and tossed it into the reclamation unit. Another fork was already waiting for her on the serving table.

  “Don’t encourage him!” Alec’s eyes bulged and he waved has hands at her.

  “Chicken eggs are so common,” quIRK offered. “Delicacies are better for morale. Perhaps you’ll like the hash browns better. What under the lights are hash browns? Vivian thought as she sat down.

  “Alright, I can’t do this on an empty stomach.” She took a small taste—the hash browns were salty, but inoffensive. At least something was edible. She contemplated what would possess quIRK to take an interest in deviating from the standard rotation of meals.

  “How can you eat that?” Alec said.

  “Put it in your mouth and chew, you big baby,” she told him.

  “Gross,” Alec sighed as he began to scoop the hash browns into his mouth.

  Vivian finished her hash browns with enthusiasm. She had no idea how they were supposed to taste, or what they were made from,
but they were filling. Everything was made from the same micronutrient mash, just flavored and textured to resemble other foods. The system was quite clever, though monotonous. There had been many advancements in nutrition technology in recent years, but macronutrient mash was the least expensive option.

  She stood up and slid her plate, complete with uneaten scrambled eggs, into the reclamation unit. She left Alec sulking at the table, like he was a petulant child who wouldn’t finish his dinner. Vivian had no time for such trivial melodrama—she had a job to do. She heard quIRK talking to Alec as she left the room, but she did not slow down. She wasn’t sure how long Alec had been stationed at the Extra-Galactic Observatory, but he and quIRK fought like an old married couple. She contemplated sending Alec copies of her offensive-to-quIRK media library, just to watch the ensuing fight with quIRK.

  She couldn’t believe what she was thinking. Was she so lonely that she’d stoop to causing an altercation between Alec and the computer, just for some cheap entertainment? She was disgusted with herself, but was still perversely interested in watching the confrontation.

  She entered her clean, quiet lab, and began gathering her equipment for the long hours she anticipated spending on the final leg of this project. She stared down at the portal, preparing herself mentally, and physically, to descend into the deepest parts of the core. It was like going into the belly of the whale, but instead of a large aquatic mammal, it was an insane, cat-obsessed computer named quIRK.

  Vivian sighed as she unclasped the hatch, sliding her box of equipment inside the tunnel ahead of her. As she crawled through the aperture and through the cramped, dark tunnels, she began to feel a sinking, evil premonition of impending doom.