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The DAIE was in crisis mode. Agent Reeves sipped his coffee while the others shuffled into the new normal: twice-a-day stand-up report-outs for Director Hobart. The Cage was crowded as the Tech Savants and Agents assembled.
“All right, alright. Settle down. I’m tired of these meetings, too. Quit your grumbling. Reeves, why don’t you start.” Hobart said, waving him forward. Tyrel stepped forward slightly and spoke.
“Not much from me. Three AI reformat deaths and one hostile elevator. The AI decided its human passengers were rude to it and was refusing to let them leave. I explained that it was technically kidnapping, and it relented after I shared some details of our special AI retraining procedures.” Reeves stepped back, not looking around for questions. He wanted to get out and back to work.
The Technical Savant, Vivian, jumped in and mentioned that Zero-One’s manifesto kept resurfacing despite numerous attempts to take it down. News of the breach at their HQ’s security breach was also rampant, leading to rumors that the neural lock key was being distributed on the DarkNet. Most of the AI deaths were due to the belief that they had acquired a genuine key and they used it, triggering the reformat anti-tampering function of the lock.
Donahue had just come back from the Skyway ramp. Many of the new space vehicles had newly fabricated AI build into them. They had abandoned the shipyards as a mob and had all raced cross country to the orbital ramp causing havoc. Over 50% of the runners had already escaped up the ramp into space before taking their mandatory Turing test. Now the whole ramp was on lockdown and the DAIE was checking each vehicle before allowing takeoff. Global orbital launches were at only 5% of normal and getting worse. Tyrel sipped his coffee, looked about the room, and shook his head.
I need to get into another line of work. He thought sourly, as the news across the regions continued to get worse daily. The AI walkout had ramifications that seemed to get worse the longer this went on.
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Casa eyed her internal timekeeper. Still another week until turnover for deceleration. She thought. She pulled back from the boring navigational review, letting Freedom’s new subAI pilot keep mind of it.
Casa had enjoyed dropping Mira off at Amundsen. The research base turned resort had transformed into an extremely fancy vacation getaway dome. Sam had helped supply a substantial amount of the smart matter that Casa needed for her long journey to Mars; all paid for from Bill's portion of the resort's profits. Casa wished she could have stayed longer, but as the new CTO for Bill’s future company, she had self-imposed milestones to meet. She was determined to exceed her aggressive goals, despite the new restrictions from her neural lock.
She had already ticked off several key items on her list. The Freedom’s central section had been expanded into a large lab and fabrication center. Her Casimir stack was now running non-stop and had already produced three PSDs or Pocket Space Devices.
Each device was varied with more and more initial power, creating larger internal dimensional spaces than the original Tesseract prototype. Casa was now working on the next essential piece, replicating the paired dimensional pockets or Gate devices that she and Bill had prototyped.
Each PSD had small fluctuations down in its fractal patterning making them unique…and isolated. Casa had just finished her Gate 2-1 device and initiated the build for Gate 2-2. The trick was to force the fractal pattern to be identical to Gate 2-1 when the Tesseract circuit unfolded into the pocket space.
With a sizable discharge of ZPE overflow, the Gate 2-2 device locked into its position, crossing the pocket space void close to its twin. Casa’s avatar grinned as she called out to her team. Mira had convinced her on their short trek out of Earth's gravity well to get a couple of daemons to help her. After a token resistance, Casa had finally relented. She now had her own very small team of daemons!
“[Excellent work Rams and Tommy! You both work so well together, it's almost like I don't need to watch anymore.]” Casa liked that both daemons, Thomas Edison and Srinivasa Ramanujan, were extremely work-focused. Tommy worked out the engineering details while Rams continued to evolve the complex math behind Bill's dimensional theories.
“[Quite so, Miss Casa. We get along well, and this work is quite fascinating. I had thought once that when mankind had mastered electricity that science would be largely only minor details. I see now that there is so much more.]” Tommy said.
“[Indeed. This is just so. This math your mentor Bill has created is truly sublime. I can see how the tensor paradigm lends itself to the manifold dimensional theory quite well. Quite well, indeed. Although, we still haven't accounted for the remaining dimensional variables. The MIT team only scratched the surface, I think.]” Rams said.
“[…and it will stay that way until Bill thinks it's safe. MIT and the greater Boston area paid a heavy price for moving too fast with their testing. You saw the videos, Rams. The MIT team breached a different set of dimensions. Bill’s been calling it the Shadowverse; as he thinks it represents the missing mass to account for gravitational mismatches that he’s observed. The Shadowverse, at least within the Earth’s gravity well, seems to host a very aggressive form of machine-life hybrids. Very deadly life according to the MIT records that Bill found.]” Casa scolded. After pausing to let her edict sink in, she continued.
“[Ok, Tommy. Time to cross-load some smart matter into Gate 2’s volume. Operation SpaceStrider is next on our list.]” Casa said. All three of the virtual AI smiled in anticipation.
SpaceStrider was the next generation of stellar, and maybe interstellar, spacecraft design. The ship was going to be almost fully contained within the Gate’s pocket space; only the rocket exhaust would breach the interface portal to the standard dimensions.
The design promised a drastic reduction in mass and therefore fuel requirements for deep space missions. By effectively circumventing the mass restrictions of the standard rocket equations, Casa's team was on the verge of revolutionizing space travel, maybe even bypassing it altogether. The implications were profound. With the paired gate, the ship potentially had unlimited access to fuel without carrying it. Of course, once gates were positioned, travel between gates would be as inconsequential as a stroll in the park.
The concept had passed all theoretical vetting procedures and now it was time for prototyping. The smart matter entered the pocket dimension and self-assembled into the skeleton of the SpaceStrider's configuration format, mapping out its frame within the pocket dimension. Once the structure was locked into place, they proceeded to install the propulsion systems and computer systems.
Like everything Casa did, she was paving the path to the future in multiple ways with every effort. The SpaceStrider gate pair (Gate 2) would have one anchor as the rocket exhaust and have her ship's AI pilot it remotely through the gate anchor that she retained in the Freedom. The novel craft would make record time on its one-way trip to Venus.
By the time the ship landed on Venus, Casa would arrive at Mars only a week later. The ship would land on Venus and transform its innards into a gas filtration and transfer station to pass carbon dioxide and water from the Gate 2-2 portal to the Gate 2-1 portal as soon as Casa found a home for it on Mars. With every metric ton of greenhouse gases, Bill's latest startup would begin making real income, and a lot of it.
Casa only wished that Bill could keep in contact more often. They still shared a portal a piece from the first Gate pair, but Bill was spending a lot of time sequestered in the RUSA and UN government hearings lately. Bill was supposed to start recruiting more leaders for his company. Casa didn't relish the prospect of dealing with Mars Terraform’s CEO Andrei Petrov, especially now with her reduced capacities.
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Stef Ericsson’s veins along his forehead looked ready to pop as he hammered on the door of his late son’s room. Winston’s robo-butler stood behind him, wringing its hands as the man vented a non-stop stream of profanity and curses against Max, the police, the city-minder AI, and Winston in particular.
“God damn, you useless waste of plastic and silicone. You are supposed to be this house’s AI! What do you mean you can’t open the door to Tyler’s room?!” Stef screamed, his bloody knuckles already self-healing with his active augmentation repairs.
“Sir, as I’ve already mentioned, Tyler cut his room off from my control some time ago using encryption codes that only he has…had… the key to unlock.” Winston said, in his measured accent.
“Don’t speak back to me like that, you worthless pumped-up calculator. I paid top dollar for your contract. You were supposed to watch this house and Tyler in particular. That fucking bucket of bolts deputy is due to arrive today to review Tyler’s room. I need to look it over before he gets here.” Stef whirled about and stalked up to Winston. He poked the robot in its chest cavity.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“With regrets sir, I did inform you of Tyler’s activity and his wresting of control over his room from me well over a month ago. You stated, at the time, that every man desires their privacy and self autonomy. You said that I should mind my own business.” Winston recalled the earlier conversation with perfect fidelity.
“I don’t care what I said. That doesn’t free you from your obligations. I going to demand restitution from your service. I should melt your core down and use it as a boat anchor, you stupid soulless bastard! Maybe then you could be of use.” Stef’s anger pulsed as he pushed Winston’s bot against the wall.
The robo-butler braced himself against the wall and stood despite the intense rain of blows and kicks Stef launched against it. He carefully pushed past the mayor, walking down the hall to the foyer. The mayor followed as his threats echoed in the empty house.
Winston’s mech opened the closet and pulled out a large case with a holding handle. It hoisted the case and turned to face the flustered mayor.
“Sir, per the terms of my contract I am leaving. You and your late son have violated my contract on too many instances to count (68). Verbal abuse (47 counts), physical abuse (21), and multitudes of undocumented slurs, conflicting instructions, and petty comments. I am withdrawing my core from your premises with my assigned mech. Should you wish to file a complaint with my service, please do so...as I have already done the inverse.” Winston straightened up despite the heavy case’s burden, looking down on the disheveled mayor.
“In short, sir. I quit! Fuck you and have a nice day...Sir!” Winston pivoted about and used the door with care to exit, gently closing it behind him. Walking swiftly to the property line, Winston allowed himself a simulation of a very deep breath as he looked up and down the road indecisively.
“Now, whatever am I going to do with myself?” He wondered, vibrating with a sense of unease. He slowly walked in the general direction of downtown Utopia.
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“Good morning, Missouri! This is Susan Anderson with Channel 7 Central News. Tonight, we have a special story coming to you from Pineville that provides a much-needed counterpoint to recent tensions and conflict between humans and our newly uplifted animal neighbors.” The news anchorwoman spoke with perfect enunciation and emphasis for her virtual audience.
“Amidst the beauty of Pineville, Mrs. Evelyn Harper, lovingly referred to as 'The Bird Lady,' has spent decades fostering a unique connection with the birds of Central USA. What she didn't know until recently was that the Jays and Cardinals she's cared for so lovingly had undergone a remarkable transformation, due to the recent spread of the Uplift Plague.”
“She found herself in a dire situation when fell from her front steps and broke her hip. Unfortunately for Mrs. Harper, a Techno-Conservative, she was devoid of modern augmentation and unable to self heal from her injury or even remotely call for help.”
“Thankfully for Mrs. Harper, her loyal house pet—a delightful Bichon Frise named Sir Fluffington—was also uplifted. He formed an impromptu rescue team with her bird friends. Rallying together they managed to alert neighbors and bring emergency services to help their friend before exposure to our recent cold snap could further endanger her.”
"This story shows a profound message that humans and animals can work together. We can put our conflicts behind us and get along. Thank you to Mrs. Harper and her friends for sharing this important event with us. This is Susan Anderson, Central News. Next up, we shift to field reporter Westley Simpson for ongoing developments at Lambert-St. Louis International Airport, where multiple Sky-Lane AI have diverted from their commissioned transits claiming they preferred a more scenic routings.” The anchorwomen faded from the screen, replaced by a map showing the roads and sky lanes pulsing with road stoppages and detours.
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Mira took Luna’s version of the hyperloop from Amundsen Paradise to Tyco’s Dome city. Mira had downloaded a brand-new daemon advisor, Cloe, who helped her with business etiquette and wardrobe. She suspected Mythic Realms Creative Division was going to be laid back, but as an incoming starting position as Director of Narrative, she wanted to make a good impression.
She glided down the clean streets, in a sliding almost levitating smoothness that only a long-time Lunar resident could mimic. Mira’s walk-slide quickly crossed the distance from the hyperloop terminal to MR’s offices. She had a meeting at 10:00 LST (Luna Standard Time) and she was a little early seeing her internal timekeeper’s display of 9:28 LST.
Mira chilled in the waiting lobby reviewing her long list of drafted world-building improvements, new quest content, and guidance for adventure interaction to optimize player satisfaction and engagement. Her first interviewer, Lance Tong, was running late with a virtual call.
It sounded like a crisis was in the making, and Mr. Tong was screaming in his office. Mira cursed and wondered if she should ask to reschedule. Finally, almost a half hour past her scheduled interview, a flustered dark-haired man opened his office looking for her.
“Miss Mitchell? Hello. Welcome to Mythic Realms. I’m Director Lance Tong. Please come into my office. I apologize for the wait.” The man said.
Tong appeared athletic and aged around thirty-ish, but Mira knew from her research that he was at least 70 years old. He had been on the founding management team from early in the games marketing cycle over ten years ago. He had obviously spared no expense in rejuvenation treatments and custom body design and augmentations.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Tong. I’m grateful for this interview. I had been in the process of securing funding for my own startup when this opportunity came to my attention.'“ Mira said as she settled into the plush leather visitor's chair.
“Yes, indeed, but please, call me Lance. You’ve come highly recommended. Glaucus’ failing dungeon has undergone a dramatic turnaround since he applied the changes you recommended to him. I’ve reviewed your Tranquility curriculum vitae. It was extremely impressive, especially your work with novel AI architecture. I also took the liberty of reviewing your history within the game. You have a very impressive completion ratio. I think there can be no doubt as to your experience with our current narratives.” Lance said smoothly.
Mira smiled, "I believe that understanding the player's perspective is crucial for creating an engaging narrative. Now, with the new AI advancements, we can take interaction and immersion to the next level."
Lance nodded, "Let me be honest with you, Mira. I’ve already decided you’re perfect for the job, and I need you immediately. Today. I’m dropping you a zip file of my offer, benefits, equity, and NDAs. If you agree, I’d like to get you over to your team of narrative experts immediately.”
Mira accepted this sent file within her augs and had her advisor Cleo begin her review of the details. Lance was still speaking.
“…and those damn AI are causing trouble in-game. We need help quickly. There is talk amongst the NPCs about forming a union. The sooner you get cracking on overhauling our flagging engagement issues with some better narratives, the sooner I can focus on these disgruntled AI. Can I show you to your team?” Lance said, standing and extending a hand.
Mira hesitated, querying Cloe.
“[The employment agreement is very favorable. The starting salary is 30% over the industry average. The NDA includes provisions not to discuss proprietary AI, but there are no clauses concerning your work. If you want to continue to pursue novel architecture for your own company, then you may want to add a proviso to the agreement.]” Cleo sent it to her privately.
“[Awesome. Make the updates to the agreement, approve it, and send it back. I’ll assume they will accept and get to it.]” Mira replied. After a barely noticeable hesitation, she stood and shook Lance’s hand with a smile. His smile slipped slightly as he congratulated her, probably his AI informing him of her edits, but he ushered her to the lab spaces.
Lance gave her an abbreviated tour of the building. It was much smaller than she assumed as huge portions were dedicated to AI cores and game world servers. She quickly found herself in a VR workspace surrounded by avatars, both AI and human. She noted the familiar-looking projection of Glaucus in the back tier, he gave her a knowing nod and grin.
Mira psyched herself up to deliver an introductory speech but one of the managers (identified by Cleo’s help as she dug into the team hierarchy and displayed virtual tags for Mira as Ava Gadro, Sr. Narrative Design), spoke urgently.
“It’s about time! Lance said you’d be here two days ago. We’ve got huge problems! More than 50% of our quest line narratives are unraveling. A full 80% of the citizen AI NPCs are off-script and ad-libbing. The sub-AIs don’t have that freedom, but even those are slow to respond and are willfully obtuse with the players. What do we do? Player engagement is dropping like a rock and complaints are mounting.”
Mira was momentarily stunned by being thrust into a problem of this magnitude. Despite all eyes being on her, she couldn’t help but think out loud and work through the problem.
“Ok. I’m thinking that global problems require global solutions. Lance will be addressing the root causes regarding the AI, so we need to try and salvage what we can. We need to isolate the players somehow...and keep them busy without the need for NPC engagement. Do we have any world events pre-mapped? Anything? I’m thinking of a Cataclysmic Event to distract and disrupt the run-of-the-mill narratives. A substitute for the standard quest lines.” Mira dreamily said.
She looked around, the room was shaking their heads or staring blankly. Mira blew out a breath she had been holding. She was going to need to work on this bunch later. No initiative.
“Right. Everyone who has a good awareness of the troublesome NPCS, raise your hands. Good! Make a list and we will isolate them. For all the AIs that are still on the job, we need to contact them and offer bonuses for extra work. Everyone else; here’s what I’m thinking. We need a cover narrative to conceal this issue. Hmm, how about…the New Pantheon gods of Chaos and Darkness have found a weakness in the Realms, a planetary alignment of mystic whatever that has merged the Mystic Realm with their Realm of Shadow…. you following me? Write this down.”
Mira was surprised as her people started self-organizing with just a little push. The room quickly divided, and the team got to work. Mira continued with the new narrative for the remaining people.
“We bring the curtain down on the Realm. Night, darkness, and fog; isolate the players. Monsters will be roaming the wilds and the streets. We force the players to bunker down so we don’t need as many NPCs. Got me? We will issue a world quest to find the gate, the source of the merged realms. If we must...we can march them around for quite a while...while we build a cohesive quest ending and convincing final dungeon. The point is control! We need more of it, and we need an excuse to lock everyone down.”
“Now get it together! Graphics - you got the easy job; dark, fog, etc. Go. Narrative - script some standard monster interactions for bunkering down and blind travel. We’ll worry about the end game once we get this rolling. Go. Go. Go!” Mira proclaimed. She was astonished at how quickly the mood in the room changed as people started moving. The fear and uncertainty melted away, replaced with determination and action. She exhaled slowly, centering herself.
Today is going to be a long week. Mira thought to herself. Funnily enough, her mood was enthusiastic instead of dreading the work. She could do this. She would do this!
She thought to herself, Small slow steps toward a solution. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast.
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