So, at least one of them understood. The beastie's daddy had arrived, and he appeared to be as pissed as I was. He stormed off to have a look at something for himself. A few of my top people from Virtuality, fortunately still able to communicate verbally to a limited degree, had also arrived. They'd run several miles from the Virtuality research center, then had to jump through the military's hoops to gain access to the facility. Someone had finally contacted the general, who gave the order to one of his aides, pointing at me, "If anyone shows up and mentions him by name, check their noses. If they still have a Magick Hat, shoot them. Otherwise, bring them directly here."
It struck me how badly most of my employees struggled to communicate verbally, while the military people I'd been interacting with seemed surprisingly articulate. I asked about this and was told they were part of a special forces unit, and language skills had been a significant part of their training in preparation for such a scenario. Most spoke three or more of the old pre-telepathy spoken languages. They were a Real Team, including those who'd developed this AI monster designed to deliver the entire world back to the Real in response to a massive cyber-attack on our own systems.
My technical people explained - clearly, a painful struggle for them - that nearly every financial transaction in the world took place in Virtuality, which made this the most devastating economic disaster in the history of humankind. The only locations that still had functional economies were third-world. Also, there were likely tens of thousands of deaths from automobile accidents alone and nearly as many homicides. Plus, if that wasn't bad news enough, nuclear missiles worldwide were controlled by some remotely triggered process, and no matter how secure those supposedly were, we should assume that they were now entirely under the control of IT.
No, the general acknowledged, whoever developed the game plan clearly hadn't considered that, which he believed to be a significant intelligence failure on their part.
As I envisioned a series of nuclear explosions ringing the planet, I concluded that IT's only constraint would be that of its survival, so IT wasn't likely to risk wiping out any server farms. Beyond that, I wasn't sure why IT would be concerned about any of us surviving. Perhaps, since IT had control of everything in an instant, we'd already become irrelevant. We, in terms of our species. Regarding those present in the room, two of us would specifically be IT's highest priority to eliminate. If any threat remained to its existence, Baby Daddy and I would be it.
As if on cue, Baby Daddy came from behind the rack holding the VR containment unit, shaking his head in disgust and threatening to kill someone. He held a length of network cable coiled in his hand. He growled, "This was an act of treason! Get the roster of anyone with access to this room. I want to interrogate and shoot the fuckers responsible myself!" He stared at the cable clutched in his fist, then added, "Actually, I may just strangle them with this."
I'm not sure whether responsible parties were ever identified, that not being our most urgent present issue. One of the other Real Team members spoke into an old-fashioned hand-held device, confirming to someone on the other end that the cable had been disconnected, adding, "We'll power down the containment unit and haul it out for destruction. At least we can kill it here."
I abruptly put a stop to those plans. "No, no, no! First, what is the point of that? Plus, we need to know what we're facing. I'd rather figure it out here without the part of IT already running wild in Virtuality having any firsthand knowledge of what we're attempting. IT probably has a good enough idea what that might be already."
Baby Daddy agreed immediately. That made sense.
I explained that I needed to have some equipment retrieved from our research facility. Fortunately, the military had vehicles that operated without the assistance of Magick Hats and would roll over any abandoned vehicles in their path. The next issue was that I was forbidden to leave the facility. Neither Baby Daddy nor I was going anywhere. (He hated that I'd saddled him with that nickname.) But no one else was present, including my technical people, who were aware the items I wanted ever existed. And none had ever been entirely dependent on their memory. None had functioned without the aid of their Magick Hats since they'd been toddlers. My only option was sending a handwritten note, which none of those employees present could read, hoping they'd locate someone on the other end who still could. And interpret my handwriting, leaving the endeavor even more unlikely to succeed.
But I was informed that the Real Team members had also been trained in reading and writing. One demonstrated this by rewriting the note I'd handed him, requiring no further interpretation. And several hours later, I sat in front of the rack holding the VR Containment Unit, with an antique keyboard, monitor, and mouse, retrieved from the lobby of our corporate offices. These had been part of a display demonstrating the progression of our technological contributions over the past two centuries.
Fortunately, everything appeared to be in pristine working condition. And, having realized that there were no connections to plug a monitor, mouse, or keyboard into the containment units before they'd left on their trek, I'd also requested the newest of the old units in the display case that did. This unit would also not have been connected to any network or external devices since long before IT raised its ugly head. It would serve as our development system. And I was grateful to still have the offending network cable since, after more than two centuries, I couldn't remember the pinouts if we needed to make one of our own and no longer had any way to look them up.
Baby Daddy also supplied a brand-new 'clean' unit matching the specs of the containment units for our test unit. The plan was to allow the beastie remaining in the containment unit, Baby Daddy's baby, to infect our test unit, preserving the original intact, just in case, while providing us a copy of IT to kill or at least try. We also required a way to transfer each new version of whatever we developed to the test unit without directly connecting the two. Baby Daddy handed me a stack of old memory sticks, still in their unopened packaging, as if reading my mind. Fortuitously, there were inputs for these in both the test and development units. We'd need to destroy them immediately after use to eliminate any chance of mistakenly contaminating our development unit by using any of them again. I suspected we'd quickly need more memory sticks - lots of them.
In addition to another of the tuning fork devices, Baby Daddy handed me another memory stick not still in its original packaging. He explained that it contained an old C compiler and text editor. That earned him a high-five, which I had to demonstrate, then explain its significance, losing any spontaneity.
Still, I believed this guy had potential. I doubted more than a handful of people left in the world understood the purpose of a 'C compiler' or 'text editor.' And he was there prepared to assist me in some old-fashioned stone knives and bearskins coding.
YOU ARE READING
The Words - An Autobiography
Science Fiction"What if God was one of us?" Credit to Eric Bazzilion, and thanks to Joan Osborne for singing his brain-rattling words. Much earlier, my mother promised that if I applied myself, I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up. Then, from somewhere, I r...
