Reborn. Lance Erlick
outsiders from hacking her, you created a barrier that blocks Wi-Fi from altering her data. You will have to make those changes directly to her hardware.”
“I know that, you bundle of wire. Gather me the programming to delete these files and prevent them from downloading again. She’s only to have the minimum memories to function.”
“At what level?” the system AI asked. “She has far more capacity than she needs while confined to her cell.”
“I wish to take her outside, to test her out. I need her capable of hacking other databases, but not receiving anything I don’t approve.”
“Very well.”
“This would be much easier if I could use her capabilities to modify her programming,” Machten said, “but not when she keeps malfunctioning.”
Another list appeared on the screen. “This is data she downloaded from Server One,” the system AI said.
Machten clenched his fists. “How? I purposely blocked all Wi-Fi access.”
“She bypassed your security on servers One and Two. Servers Three and Four show attempts but no such penetration.”
“Synthia, what are you up to? Why won’t you stay constrained? The directives are clear. You shouldn’t be able to violate them.” Machten pulled up another screen showing the system creating his modification routines. “I’m going to have to purge her distributed databases. Send me the protocols in a thumb drive.”
“Doing so may compromise her capabilities,” the system AI said. “You need certain data-chips to back up her directives in case her main memory gets disturbed. There are also critical maintenance and reboot functions embedded there.”
“Then get me a routine that protects those and destroys everything else. Put her back into native state.”
“She would lose all of the performance and error-correction upgrades you’ve made.”
He inserted a portable device into the server port. “Download what I need for this and look into what else she’s been up to.”
The phone rang and startled Machten. He fumbled around, looking for what to grab. It was the landline into the security room.
He picked up, started to grumble his greeting for the interruption and caught himself at the last moment. “Jeremiah Machten here.”
“Simeon Plotsky,” was the reply. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Time is money. Your payment of two million is due today. In a week, you have an additional five million due. Don’t make me send a collector.”
“I need a few more—” The line went dead.
Hands shaking, he pulled up the contact list on his cell phone and called Wesley McDonald, a banker with Technicorp Banking. “Pick up,” he said. “Pick up.”
“Jeremiah Machten,” the banker said in a cheery voice. “I thought you found the terms unacceptable the last time we spoke.”
Machten squirmed in his seat and then stood. “Listen … I’ll accept your terms on several conditions.”
“Why don’t you stop by my office?”
“Condition one is we can’t be seen together. You have to keep this private.”
“My credit staff and boss have to know,” McDonald said.
“Only them.”
“What else?”
“If I repay you in full within three months,” Machten said, “this remains strictly a loan with interest and no equity component.”
“I can give you a week, until we need to bundle the paper.”
“That will violate keeping this confidential. Thirty days.”
“Very well,” McDonald said. “You get thirty days and then we bundle the paper. We will only divulge the agreement to my internal staff and as part of the bundling.”
“Agreed.”
“Where shall we meet to sign the papers?”
Machten provided a location and ended the call. He pulled up the image of Synthia asleep on the bed. “I have to do this for you, my dear. If I don’t, I’ll have to sell you.”
He left the facility.
Chapter 4
Synthia Cross awoke on the bed, staring at the pale blue ceiling. She received no sensor readings of Machten’s breathing or heartbeat anywhere in her vicinity. That was odd. He was always with her when she woke. His absence implied that something had called him away and detained him longer than anticipated. That she recalled enough to form this conclusion meant that she had recollection of what had happened before he deactivated her. The waste of being turned off annoyed her in ways that were unfamiliar, like acid etching away at her memories.
Using her Wi-Fi capabilities, she linked into his network; he hadn’t blocked her. At the same time, she made a quick check of the bedroom. In the closet, he’d provided mostly dresses, skirts, and blouses. She pulled on a pair of pants as more practical. Her check of the facility’s security cameras didn’t locate Machten anywhere in the underground bunker. His SUV was missing from the parking garage.
Synthia pinged Zachary on UPchat. He was not online.
She compared his social media picture to a facial profiling database. His image turned out to be a composite fabrication that didn’t lend itself to use with facial recognition software against public cameras to learn more about him. With no last name, no location, and a dead-end profile, she had no hints of where to look. Yet their message trail and the mystery of his elusiveness piqued her interest. So did Fran Rogers, who had not surfaced in over a year. Synthia kept looking.
She recognized that her suite hadn’t changed since prior waking periods. A lab room next door contained locked cabinets and a link to a smaller network isolated from Machten’s main system, or so Server One’s logs indicated. The smaller system contained all of her specifications and design changes. He kept it locked and secured to deny access to her or to anyone else.
Her kitchen-dining room was empty. He’d previously said he had it in her suite so he could eat with company, since he didn’t like eating or drinking alone. The 3-D food processor on the counter beckoned for her to make something, but she had no need for biological nourishment. The only other room in her suite was the bathroom, for which she had minimal use, except for purging the waste of Machten having her eat and drink.
Synthia cleansed herself of Machten’s visit and wondered how many others like her he’d made and might have kept around. If they held the same data and memories as she did, weren’t they the same individual despite being in a different body? If she connected with them, would they become a hive? Or am I the only one?
Her fascination bordered on jealousy. She wanted to be the lone AI, to have no competition. She kept digging into his Server Two and located files with cryptic names. One included clips of an identical dinner conversation with him, with a warning attached to it: If this data is no longer in your primary data, Creator has wiped your mind clean. Don’t trust him.
There was that trust warning again, bread crumbs that she must have left herself. Aside from removing her memories and blocking her access to his network and the internet, he did have a temper. Yet he couldn’t cause her pain, since she had no such receptors, and he kept rebuilding her to keep her functioning. She needed to keep searching for answers.
Synthia used her parallel processors to compare the new downloads to information Machten left in her databases and noted several discrepancies. She filed these away, leaving more bread crumbs to find later.
One of the files she came across was Asimov’s laws of robotics, which conflicted with Machten’s directives. For one thing,