Mind Warp, page 10
He’d never wanted to harm humans, only to serve them. He’d warned Marston about tampering with his protocol, aware that it would affect his ability to function safely. Even after he had been turned ‘bad’, he still tried to do the right thing. That was why he shut himself down. No, whatever happened later, it was certainly not the fault of the Robotic-Assist Level Personal Help Mark 1 unit.
Not that it softens the horror of what happened later, when the robots rebelled . . .
Just then, interrupting my thoughts, the door slides open and Sophie enters the room. She hurries over to the walker.
‘Oh, Samuel!’ she exclaims, and turns to the black-robed attendants who have followed her in. ‘It’s no good,’ she sobs. ‘We’re too late.’
One of the attendants looks across at Mark. ‘Haven’t seen one of them in years,’ he says.
Sophie looks up, tears in her eyes. ‘This robot was a faithful servant to the mission commander,’ she says. ‘It looked after him all his life. Now that Samuel is dead, its own purpose has gone. Make sure you store it away carefully.’ Her tearful voice catches in her throat. ‘It’s . . . it’s what Samuel would have wanted.’
I feel Belle tug on my sleeve.
‘We need to get out of here,’ she says. ‘Before a virus scanner picks us up.’
‘Back to the fractal maze?’ I say.
Belle shakes her head. ‘No, York. We can’t risk that a second time. Your mind might not be up to it,’ she says. ‘I’m going to construct the mind-ladder again.’
As she speaks, familiar ripples of white light appear at my feet.
‘Follow me,’ Belle says.
Climbing down the mind-ladder was hard. Climbing up it is harder.
Infinitely harder.
All around me are pulsing, writhing data-streams. Some whine or hiss as they flow past; others make the ladder judder as they whoosh by. I look up. The ladder stretches off above me, seemingly forever.
‘Focus on one rung at a time.’
It’s Belle’s voice, calling up to me. She’s close behind me, but sounds so far away.
‘I’m trying to get us up through the Core’s central pathway as quickly as possible,’ she’s saying. ‘But we’ve been so deep inside the memory banks that it’s hard to keep the mind-ladder in focus . . .’
And as she speaks, the air turns to a shade of deepest blue. Then from blue to indigo. Then indigo to black. It throbs around me. It presses in from all sides. Darkness seems to be billowing up towards us like a dense fog. There is twinkling in the inky blackness. Pulses of energy. Flashes of light . . .
It’s the infinity symbols, I realize with a start. The Lazy 8s. The virus scanners.
Suddenly, out of the inky darkness, huge black tentacles emerge and probe the air. One of them winds itself around Belle.
‘I must protect the data-memory,’ she calls to me. She sounds urgent, but there is no trace of fear in her voice. ‘Protect it in any way I can . . .’
I want to ask her what that means. But before I can, she’s plucked clean away.
And now it’s me the tentacles are coming after. One of them grabs my left leg. Another my right. They pull, hard, harder. I grip desperately onto the rungs. But one hand is tugged away and I’m left dangling. Then the tentacles start to prise the fingers of my remaining hand away from the metal rung, one by one, until . . .
I give up. Let go. There’s nothing else I can do. And as the tentacles tighten their grip around my body, I’m dragged down into the empty blackness far below.
I’m nowhere. Lost. Alone . . .
There are no sounds. No smells. No tastes. There is nothing to see, nothing to touch. I have no sense of movement, or balance, or time, or space, or speed. Just this infinite emptiness that surrounds my consciousness – my self.
All I have is my thoughts.
I’m five years old again, back in my sleep-pod, at the Inpost in the Outer Hull. The lights are off, and I’m alone with the darkness, my mind playing tricks on me. There are demons in the lockers. There are monsters under the bed.
Except it’s worse than that here. Far worse.
Back then I could snuggle up under the covers and pull the pillow over my head. Here, now, there’s nothing to hold on to. I’m on my own. And in this endless nothingness, shouting out doesn’t work either. It can’t. I have no voice. No matter how loud I scream, there is only silence.
I flap my arms. I kick my legs. I move my hand around in front of my face – which is when I see the faint light glowing and remember the holo-band that Belle secured around my wrist . . .
Belle!
My friend Belle, with her bobbed black hair and piercing green eyes. The two of us have been through so much together.
Where is she now?
I find myself thinking of all the times she’s saved my life. Killing the monstrous worm-like critters in the chimney-vents of the Outer Hull . . . Pulling me from the deadly mud in one of the Mid Deck zones . . . Rescuing me from the clutches of the mind-warp monster that attacked me in the Core . . .
Memory after memory comes flooding back. It’s good to have something for my mind to hold on to in this dark emptiness. I concentrate harder. On her – on Belle. And, as I do, the holo-band at my wrist glows brighter.
I remember how intently she sometimes looks at me, trying to understand my emotions. Happiness, sadness, anger and all the rest. Little by little she is learning to feel the way that humans feel, and I am her teacher . . .
The holo-band glows brighter still.
Then, far in the distance, I catch sight of a second light. It’s dim and faltering.
I remember Belle’s first smile. The first joke we shared. The first tear she shed . . .
The light grows brighter as it comes nearer. It’s like I’m drawing it towards me.
Truth is, I feel closer to Belle than to any human I’ve ever met. She’s a zoid. But she’s like no zoid I’ve ever known.
The light gets bigger, brighter, closer.
Loyal. Brave. Intuitive . . .
And closer still.
Selfless. Caring . . .
The light is hovering before me now. It’s the second holo-band, the one around Belle’s wrist, glowing as intensely bright as my own. By thinking about my friend, I’ve brought her back to me. I reach out. There is a flash, and the dazzling glow from the two holo-bands becomes one as we clasp each other’s hands and hold on tightly.
My friend Belle.
My words are silent. I only hope she knows what I’m thinking.
I’m still nowhere. And lost. But at least I’m not alone any more. Belle is with me. It makes the nothingness a bit more bearable.
I don’t know how long we’ve been floating in the empty darkness when I see it. Another far-off speck of glowing light. As I watch, this tiny light grows steadily brighter.
Belle’s seen it too.
The light draws closer to us and I see that it isn’t a single point of light at all, but rather a constellation of glowing dots connected by a grid-like tracery of criss-crossing lines. As they come closer still, they form the outline of a single entity, made out of pure data.
It swims towards us with shimmering, pulsing wingbeats. There is something nightmarish about its slow graceful movement, getting closer and closer . . .
Suddenly the data-creature is right in front of us. The glowing grid seems to open up and we’re being pulled inside it. Then with a sickening lurch, we’re propelled into motion and sent hurtling down into a tunnel of swirling data, its sides blurring as we gather speed.
It’s like tube-surfing again, but unimaginably fast.
Belle’s still beside me and I grip hold of her wrist as hard as I can. There’s no way I’m ever going to let go. But it isn’t easy. As we keep on accelerating it feels like we’re being pulled apart – which only makes me hold on all the more fiercely.
There’s more light, far ahead of us. We’re heading towards it. Then into it. Streaks of blurred light line the curve of the tunnel. Pinks and yellows.
Next to me, something extraordinary is happening to Belle. The pastel lights seem to be soaking into her until she too is glowing with the same soft colours. All apart from her eyes, that is. They’re bright white, just like they were when she uploaded the data-memory. And as I watch, she blinks – once, twice, then so fast it’s a blur – and suddenly, a panel of light appears at her chest, fizzing, pulsating.
She turns to me. Her eyes are green once more. She starts to speak – and I can hear her voice.
‘The data-memory has been . . .’
But then it fades. The data-memory has been what?
The dawn light has become dazzlingly bright. Familiar circles within circles of blinding whiteness speed towards us. Surround us. It’s like all those other times when the white-out came and Belle reached into the portal she’d been holding open and pulled me to safety.
Except this time Belle is with me and there’s nothing she can do.
‘York? York.’
I open my eyes.
Belle is standing in front of me. The luminous light is glowing in her chest panel – and everything comes flooding back.
The void. The data-creature. The long, twisting tunnel and . . .
‘The data-memory,’ I blurt out. ‘Do you still have it?’
‘I do,’ Belle confirms, placing a hand on the panel. ‘All fixed, logged and safely uploaded here.’
‘Thank the Half-Lifes for that,’ I murmur. ‘But where are we?’
We seem to be in some immense space. Pillars of light extend from a glowing floor up to a constellation of shimmering fan vaults high above. It is spectacular and beautiful, and I feel safe. Protected. The sound of voices fills the air.
As my eyes slowly get used to the pulsing glow, I see that there are figures all around us. The vertical shafts of light are pouring down onto the tops of their heads, making their bodies glow and pooling around their feet. I focus on one, then another, and as I do so, they become a little more distinct.
There’s a woman in an old-style flight tunic. Two men in loose-fitting green robes. And then I see someone I recognize . . .
It’s Atherton. David Atherton, chief engineer of the Launch Times. The first time I saw him was on the viewing deck of the Outer Hull. Then again when he was on the hover-stretcher, being uploaded into the mind-tomb, with Samuel Marston praising him as the person who’d made the Biosphere a success. Then, as a half life, playing chess . . .
Now here he is, walking towards me in a pool of golden light.
‘Greetwell,’ I say.
‘Greetwell, York,’ he replies, and he beams at me warmly, his glowing Half-Life face radiant. ‘There is someone I would like you to meet.’
I turn, to see another golden shaft of light approaching.
‘Bronx!’ I exclaim.
‘It’s good to see you, York.’ Bronx’s glowing face smiles back at me. ‘I told you we would meet in the Halls of Eternity.’
I look round. ‘Is that where we are?’ I say.
‘It is,’ says Bronx. ‘Though you were in danger of being permanently deleted by the virus scanners,’ he
goes on. ‘They detected your presence in the memory banks and tracked you down,’ he says. ‘Then they removed you from the Core into infinity – a digital void – where your consciousness would have unravelled and dissolved.’ He pauses. ‘Nothing personal.’
‘Nothing personal?!’ I exclaim.
‘It’s just the central computer protecting itself,’ Bronx explains softly. ‘It sealed itself off when the Rebellion in the Outer Hull began, and has been protecting the memory banks and guidance systems that are steering the Biosphere towards the new Earth ever since.’ He smiles. ‘We Half-Lifes are part of the Core,’ he tells me. ‘Where human memory lives on. We tracked you, and when you were cast adrift in the digital void, we were able to bring you here.’
‘So we’re safe?’ I ask, looking around for glowing infinity symbols.
‘None of us are safe,’ Bronx says. ‘The zoids’ power is growing stronger all the time. They have constructed a central computer of their own in the Outer Hull that threatens to wipe out all trace of humanity – even our memories. By travelling in the memory banks, you and Belle have discovered what we have been searching for for so long.’
‘The protocol.’
It is Atherton’s voice. I turn to see him smiling at Belle.
‘You understand the three laws of robotics?’ he asks her. ‘Created to ensure that robots would serve humans throughout our long journey.’
‘I do,’ says Belle. ‘One, that a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,’ she replies. ‘Two, that a robot must obey orders given to it by a human being, except where such orders would conflict with the first law. And three, that a robot must protect its own existence – as long as that does not break the first two laws.’
Atherton is nodding. ‘But there was also a fourth law. The robots were programmed to protect the Biosphere,’ he tells her. ‘And when Marston deleted the key bit of the primary protocol, robots no longer had to protect humans . . .’
‘They only had to protect the Biosphere,’ I breathe.
‘Precisely,’ says Bronx. ‘They calculated that humans were a threat to the Biosphere. They saw them as an infestation to be exterminated to ensure the smooth running of the spaceship.’
‘Poor Samuel,’ Atherton says. ‘If he’d realized the terrible consequences, he would never have done what he did.’
‘Poor Samuel?!’ says Bronx. ‘Pah! Samuel Marston wasn’t around to face those consequences, was he? That was left to the rest of us. All he was thinking about was himself – taking his own life rather than becoming a Half-Life. Or rather, altering the protocol of his robot to do it for him.’ His glowing face pulsates with anger. ‘If it wasn’t for him—’
‘If it wasn’t for him, there would be no Biosphere,’ Atherton interrupts softly. ‘And I knew him, Bronx. It would have torn him apart to know that that one small action of his would make everything go so wrong.’
Bronx looks as though he’s going to say something else. But I speak first.
‘So how do we put it right?’
Bronx turns his attention to me. His anger has melted away.
‘You’ve got to get back to the Outer Hull and upload the protocol into the zoids’ central computer,’ he says. ‘We have given Belle the exact coordinates. Once it is restored, the original robot protocol will spread throughout the zoids’ network. And the Rebellion will end.’
It all sounds so easy. But we’re in the Halls of Eternity. Scuzz only knows how we’re going to get to the Outer Hull. But before I can ask, Bronx has stepped back, and I see him join the other glowing figures who have now formed a circle around us. Their light becomes brighter.
‘Good luck,’ says Bronx. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the future of mankind depends on you.’
And I’m about to tell him we’ll need a whole lot more than luck, when the glowing of the Half-Lifes intensifies, there’s a deafening roaring in my ears and suddenly I’m travelling at the speed of light.
I’m back in the life-pod. I push open the lid – and Caliph’s on me at once, licking and slurping and slobbering all over my face.
‘Whoa, boy!’ I say. ‘I’m pleased to see you too!’
Dextra spins round from the info-stack she’s standing at, her wings trembling.
‘You’re back,’ she says. ‘Already.’
The lid of the pod next to me rises and Belle sits up.
‘You’re both back,’ says Dextra. She looks distraught. ‘What went wrong?’
‘Nothing went wrong,’ I say.
‘So why are you back so quickly?’ Dextra glances at the scanner on her wrist. ‘You’ve only been gone for ten minutes.’
‘Ten minutes!’ I exclaim.
Caliph jumps back in alarm and scrambles up onto one of the tech-stacks, chittering loudly.
‘It felt like a lifetime,’ I say, thinking of Samuel Marston.
‘We stepped outside time,’ Belle says as she gets out of her pod. ‘In the Core we are just energy pulses. But we found what we needed.’ She taps her chest panel. ‘Now we have to act fast.’
Ten minutes. It’s hard to take in. But at least it explains why I don’t feel as disorientated as I did the last time I returned to the Mid Deck.
A second winged figure enters the room. It’s Cronos. And if I needed any more proof that we weren’t gone long, then here it is. He hasn’t even had time to change out of that scorched and stained tunic of his.
‘So how did it go?’ he says
‘We found the problem,’ I tell him. ‘And Belle knows what to do. But we have an even bigger problem. We need to return to the Outer Hull and find the zoids’ central computer.’
‘But, York,’ Cronos says quietly, ‘we’ve only just managed to seal the Mid Deck. The zoids could attack at any moment.’ He shakes his head. ‘And even if, by some miracle, you did make it into the Outer Hull, the zoids are in complete control up there. You wouldn’t stand a chance. The humans they haven’t exterminated have been enslaved.’
I nod, remembering the sight of those men, women and children who stumbled out of the container-pod as mindless human shields.
Cronos flexes his wings. ‘And anyway, even if you did manage to . . . York, are you listening to me? York?’
I look up. Truth is, I’m not. Caliph leaps down onto my shoulder and I stroke his head thoughtfully.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ I say.
I’m standing in the great atrium of the Sanctuary dome. It feels great to be back, even for this fleeting moment. The Sanctuary-dwellers and the genetically modified humans are now working together – although repairing and conserving the bio-zones of the Mid Deck has had to stop for the time being.
