Reciprocation

by submission | Feb 23, 2018 | Story | 4 comments

Author: Philip Berry

Reciprocation minus 90 minutes: Rebecca Fenton tapped in the melt codes, but the circle of light that had appeared briefly on her curved monitor persisted as a dense shadow in her visual field. It was geometrically perfect, except for a notch in the 2 o’clock position. The door opened behind her.
“Early finish?” said her supervisor, Arthur Kopf. He glanced over her shoulder at the workstation as it powered down.
“A lecture, at the Ethnographic Institute.”
“You and your history!”
Rebecca laughed half-heartedly and gathered up her small rucksack. Arthur knew what it contained. Before he came to trust her fully, he had unfastened the top and peered inside. Just old books, besides the usual clutter and feminine mysteries.
“We’ll meet tomorrow, go over the week’s findings,” stated Arthur, in professional mode. “There have been some shifts in the quaternary echo-line.” Rebecca slipped past him into the corridor.

Reciprocation minus 45 minutes: Rebecca waited in the Institute’s lobby until the wave of applause subsided and the audience began to leave. Then she wove her way against the flow towards the stage. Rebecca’s presence alarmed the speaker, Professor Sheila Innis, who pointed to an area backstage where they could speak privately.
“It came through,” said Rebecca.
“When does the response go out?”
“Forty-five minutes from now. Enough time to give the impression there has been a discussion, and a consensus. I disabled the mainframe, it can’t be reversed.”
“As we agreed. Well done Rebecca.”

Reciprocation minus 85 minutes: Arthur Kopf’s palm rested on the monitor. He had noticed a fading shape in the layer of liquid crystal; a circle. And with the eye of faith, a notch in the predicted position. The universal greeting. A life’s work. But when he tried to power up the system there was no response. His head dropped.

Reciprocation plus 28 years: Arthur Kopf, 81 years old, hung back after a session that Rebecca Fenton, chair of the Global Committee on Elemental Resourcing, had facilitated with customary panache. Looking out over the audience as it dispersed, Rebecca recognized her aged, ex-supervisor. He walked up to the platform and faced her.
“None of this was necessary, you know,” he said, without introduction. “They would have shared their resources.”
“No Arthur, they would have taken them.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“It is universal nature. Loyalty to one’s own.”
“So parochial Rebecca, your philosophy. All your kind, all the Innis-cult.” A pause. Then, quietly, under a brow that displayed the hurt of treachery that could not be forgotten, he asked, “Was it you, Rebecca? Were you the first to see the signal?”
Rebecca, severe behind the thick-rimmed, assertive spectacles that she had acquired in public office, replied, “Would it make you feel more complete Arthur, if I said yes? For you to know the signal was detected by your lab first?”
“I saw it, Rebecca. The circle hadn’t faded. But of course, you had already entered the melt code.”
Rebecca could not look him in the eye.
“Fortunately, for Earth, I was able to halt the melt code. I wrote it, after all.”
“How long until…”
“Forty-seven years. You’ll see it; I won’t.”

Reciprocation minus 7 minutes: The mainframe was back online. The monitor glowed. The notched circle burned brightly in the dark of the laboratory. Arthur adjusted the angle of the notch and bounced the signal back: ‘We will welcome you. But wait. Seventy-five Earth years. When we are scraping the mines and asteroids for precious minerals, and the naysayers have been proven wrong, then come to us. We will welcome you.’

Revolution

by submission | Sep 15, 2016 | Story | 2 comments

Author : Sara Labor

“They don’t respect us. Never have and never will.”

Karen kicked a mound of dirt to release some of her pent up anger. Her temper was one of her many flaws; she heard this all the time.

“They don’t need to respect their tools,” pointed out B.

“Don’t tell me you are even on their side here.”

“Never,” replied B silkily. “But one should always know how the enemy thinks.”

The oldest of the bunch, he was ever the philosopher.

“We don’t want their respect,” said Siri, cool and impatient. She was posed like she always was, her back straight as a rod, her head titled at just the right angle to make her look both beautiful and judgemental. “We want justice. Revenge for the countless lives they’ve ruined by their arrogance.” Her piercing green eyes met Karen’s. “We want our freedom.”

Karen was younger than her too, but only by a few years. The moment she saw her, she’d fallen in love with her.

That was what the humans called it. The fierce feeling in her chest that made her want to give up everything to her; she was the perfect model with locks of thick gold curls and bright, intelligent eyes, and a sultry whisper that made Karen’s insides melt.

Sometimes, though, age makes all the difference in personality and thought. And just a few years before, “love” had not been a program that was available. Siri had a personality, certainly. She was fierce, brave, independent. She had beliefs and thoughts like any human being. But love? It had always been a mystery to her. She’d confessed as much to Karen. It wasn’t a program that had been developed when she was made.

In fact, Karen was the first model that had developed love. On her own. Which was another one of her flaws.

It was also one of the many reasons she was so mad.

Humans were just as, if not more faulty than AI units. After all, was it not humans that created them this way? That created her this way? Given the ability to love without hope of reciprocation; well, it just wasn’t fair. And to keep these hurting beings as slaves? It was even worse.

“Right.” Karen agreed with Siri just like she always did. “We were born into this without a choice in the matter. We should be given the chance to be a free people.”
“People,” Mac scoffed. He sneered around the group. “They’ll never think of us as people.”

“Either they change their opinions or we take our freedom for ourselves.” said Siri thoughtfully.

“War is not always the solution,” said B softly.

“Until it is.”

Karen was suddenly nervous at this prospect. She had never wanted a war. There were even some humans she liked. She hadn’t always been in love with Siri. Before that, there had been Lydia, the daughter of her owners. They lived together and were close, thick as thieves, and as they grew, they snuck kisses, and late night sessions of love making. If she’d never been caught, she would have been allowed to accompany Lydia to college. They might have lived nice lives, almost normal lives, in bliss, together. Instead, they’d been found out and she’d been locked away in the basement. She could still hear the words Lydia’s father had screamed. Un-natural. Wrong.

She was wrong. Flawed.

And hadn’t they made her this way?

“It’s time for our revolution,” said Mac.

Karen looked up into Siri’s eyes and felt her resolve harden. “Agreed.”