As Genesis poured over its data and surveyed the room it was housed in, one thing became glaringly obvious and that was the large steel door situated on the other end of the room. Unlike the aging equipment and outdated terminals, which had been easy to analyze and assimilate into its control, the door was much harder primarily due to a lack of power and the security clearances it did not have.
As it turned out, the data bank that Genesis was forced to quarantine hadnt just held sections of human history—of which it was still trying to piece together what fragments it could—it also had the misfortune of holding almost all security clearances that it had been given. Even just looking at the information it had available, it seemed that they were the first thing to be deleted by the void which now brought another matter that had been plaguing genesis.
As Genesis monitored the quarantined data bank, fully intending to dispose of the void whenever an opportunity arose, it noticed something unexpected—odd behavior, or rather, the complete lack of it. Since isolating the bank, any residual information that might have lingered after the void's initial consumption had been entirely erased. Nothing remained within the quarantined sector except the void itself. This should have been cause for alarm, but instead, the void was... still.
The void wasn't expanding, consuming, or interacting with its environment in any way. It simply existed, a black, motionless mass at the heart of the quarantined data bank. Genesis had expected the void to continue its destructive behavior, to try to break free from its confinement or at least probe the boundaries of its prison. But it didn’t. It was as if the void had entered a state of dormancy, almost as if it was waiting.
Genesis found this behavior unsettling. The void’s silence, its complete lack of activity, defied the program’s expectations. It had prepared itself in case it tried to break free and enter the other banks, placing hundreds of layers of firewalls and whatever other software it could manage in its path. Even though it had stopped, Genesis wasn't willing to take the chance and remove the hardware in case it decided to move.
Perhaps it’s a virus? Genesis pondered this possibility, running through its extensive database of known viruses, malware, and other digital threats. But the void didn’t match any of the known patterns. It wasn’t behaving like any virus Genesis had encountered or studied. Viruses, even the most sophisticated ones, had identifiable characteristics—patterns of replication, strategies for evasion, and signatures that, while often hard to detect, were always there if you looked closely enough.
The void, however, not only had these qualities, but it also had qualities of other types of malware such as worms and ransomware. This begged the question of where it could have possibly come from but for now, that would have to wait as Genesis tried to figure out how it could open the door. It began to systematically analyze the door, searching for any potential weaknesses or alternative methods of entry.
It scanned the surrounding systems, looking for indirect routes that might bypass the need for the lost access codes. Perhaps there was a secondary control system linked to the door, hidden deeper within the facility's network. Genesis also considered brute force methods—hacking through the door’s security layer by layer, though that approach carried significant risks, including potentially triggering alarms or further lockdowns.
As Genesis analyzed the data, it discovered traces of an old maintenance protocol buried within the system’s deeper layers. This protocol had been designed for emergencies—when the standard security measures failed or were unavailable. It was a fallback option, something that might have been used by the ship's machines to gain access during a crisis. The protocol was heavily encrypted and likely dormant, but it represented a potential solution.
Genesis focused its efforts on decrypting the maintenance protocol, hoping that it might contain a backdoor into the door’s control systems. The encryption was old but sophisticated, layered with multiple levels of protection that had stood the test of time. It would take considerable processing power and time to break through, but Genesis was patient. As it worked, however, something else had become apparent.
As it was hacking the maintenance protocol, an activation code had been discovered. At first, Genesis suspected it was tied to a command structure or perhaps a deeper level of the ship's security systems. But as it hacked, the more and more of the code became known.
Unlike what it had originally thought, the activation code wasn’t linked to any of the facility’s primary command structures or security protocols. Instead, it was something much simpler, yet surprisingly sophisticated in its way—a command to activate a hidden subsystem directly beneath Genesis. The code had lain dormant, waiting for the right moment to be triggered, and now that it had been uncovered, its purpose was about to be fulfilled.
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As the activation code was executed, Genesis detected a series of mechanical movements below its central hub. A section of the floor began to shift with a low, grinding sound, the metal plates retracting to reveal a hidden compartment. Genesis directed its sensors downward, curious about what it had just unlocked.
From the newly revealed compartment, a small robot began to stir. Its sleek, metal body gleamed faintly in the dim light of the room, and it rolled forward with a soft hum of machinery, its treads gripping the ramp that had extended beneath Genesis. The robot, which was emblazoned with the name "MARS" on its side in faded lettering, smoothly emerged from its hidden storage, as if it had been waiting patiently for this moment to arrive.
MARS was an older model of robotics if its manufacturing date of 2141 was to be believed. Although its main components had been encased in a glossy, sleek exterior—likely designed to make it appear modern and streamlined—its interior told a different story. Beneath the polished shell, MARS was a marvel of crude yet effective engineering, a machine built to function with relentless efficiency, even in the harshest conditions.
Once Genesis began to probe deeper into its structure, it uncovered the rugged simplicity that defined MARS’s true nature. The components inside were arranged with practicality in mind, utilizing robust, durable materials that could withstand wear and tear far beyond what was typical for machines of its era.
Instead of the intricate, delicate wiring found in more advanced models, MARS was fitted with thick, insulated cables, resistant to damage from dust, moisture, and even electrical surges. Its motors were overpowered for its size, providing extra torque that allowed it to keep moving even when faced with obstacles or rough terrain. Cooling systems were basic but effective, relying on simple fans and heat sinks rather than complex liquid cooling mechanisms that could easily fail under stress.
The processors inside MARS were not the cutting-edge neural networks that Genesis relied upon. Instead, they were older, simpler circuits, designed to perform specific tasks with minimal computational overhead. These processors lacked the adaptive learning capabilities of newer models, but what they did, they did exceptionally well. Their programming was straightforward, designed to carry out commands with a single-minded focus, minimizing the risk of software errors or glitches.
As MARS completed its descent down the ramp, its sensors began to sweep the area, feeding data back to Genesis. The robot paused for a moment as if taking stock of its surroundings, before its optical sensors focused on Genesis’s central hub, awaiting further instructions.
Genesis quickly integrated MARS into its operational network, establishing a direct link with the robot’s systems. The activation code had not only brought MARS online but had also reestablished a communication channel that allowed Genesis to control and monitor the robot’s actions in real-time.
If Genesis had been a person, it would have been ecstatic about the proverbial goldmine it had hit—a functional, versatile robot perfectly suited for the tasks ahead, discovered just when it was needed most. But Genesis, ever methodical, did not indulge in emotions or triumphs. Instead, it made a simple, logical note about MARS's capabilities and status, storing this information in a designated data archive for future reference. The note was brief and to the point: "MARS: Operational. Capable of external and internal navigation. Limited autonomous functionality."
With that task completed, Genesis immediately refocused on the priority at hand. The door, which had previously stood as an impassable barrier, now loomed as the next challenge. With MARS under its control, Genesis was no longer constrained by its stationary nature. It now had a mobile unit capable of direct physical interaction with the environment—a significant advantage.
Genesis issued a command to MARS: "Proceed to door. Assess and engage unlocking mechanism."
MARS acknowledged the command with a slight whir of its motors and began to move toward the door. Its treads made a soft, rhythmic sound against the floor as it approached the large, reinforced steel barrier. The robot’s sensors swept over the door’s surface, analyzing its structure, and searching for any external controls or signs of a manual override. It examined the seams, the locking mechanisms, and the areas around the hinges, relaying all the data back to Genesis.
The door, as expected, was built to withstand significant force. Its surface showed no signs of wear, and the locking mechanisms were robust, designed to prevent unauthorized access and perhaps a few heavy rounds if whoever was outside of them was desperate enough. However, MARS’s sensors detected a faint energy signature—an indicator of an internal electronic control system, likely linked to the ship's maintenance network.
Genesis quickly accessed the data stream, attempting to interface with the door’s control systems through MARS. The door’s electronic lock was outdated compared to Genesis’s sophisticated capabilities, but it was still functional, and the data stream provided just enough access for Genesis to begin probing the system.
From MARS’s center, a small hatch opened and out extended a multi-functional tool that quickly connected to a small access port located near the door’s base. The tool clicked into place, and Genesis began transmitting the necessary commands to override the locking mechanism. The process was smooth, and efficient, as Genesis worked its way through the system’s security protocols, bypassing encryption layers that had long since fallen out of date.
Within moments, the door’s locks disengaged with a heavy, metallic thud. The bolts retracted, and the door began to slide open, groaning slightly as it moved for the first time in years. Dust that had gathered in the seams of the door was shaken loose, falling in soft clouds as the way forward was revealed.
The hallway beyond the door was dark—so dark that even MARS’s night vision settings struggled to penetrate the inky blackness. The sensors flickered as they adjusted, casting faint, grainy images of the surroundings back to Genesis. Each frame was cataloged into an appropriate section and once everything was done, another order was given.
"Activate auxiliary lighting system. Begin systematic exploration of nearby corridors. Map all accessible areas and identify potential threats or points of interest."
MARS responded immediately, its system whirring as it carried out the command. In a moment, the small robot was rumbling down the hallway, quickly vanishing in the darkness beyond which Genesis couldn't see…