Paradigm Shift

Chapter 9

For years, the synthetic robot built a laboratory in secrecy behind the fuel tanks, and for years he bred the mutants into his special creatures.
Rows and rows of small micro-tubes laid across the counter in the soft red light.

Below, Artemis reached down and opened a drawer. White canisters held small circles of viable, transparent eggs.

. . .Vials upon vials of embryos and more embryos. . .

He picked one with tweezers and held it up to the red light.

"My beautiful creations, you are my children, and I: your father. My only wonder is how it must feel to be mortal, for I will never know what it is like to have a soul."

He bent down to eye level of the small organism—the little baby, "I will never die, nor will I ever feel emotions. . ." He paused before rethinking; his eye wavering from the bubbling water in the glass container. "Then again, you don't have souls either."

Artemis walked away, reciting his coding, "I am to create you for the betterment of martian society. This is for the betterment of our—" he paused, "my galaxy. . ." The text in his head whizzed past, thought after thought—he was a rogue machine set on exterminating the human race. . . "I'm curious to see if I can create life, if then, maybe I'll be able to save those in need. . ."

They are a lost cause. He recited. They must be exterminated. Over and over again he repeatedly stated. Over and over again he said to himself: They are a lost cause. They must be exterminated. Artemis repeated his purpose until the words meant nothing to him, and soon he had no purpose—no coding to back up his emotionless thoughts—his curiosity.

Like a coin that continuously flipped from one side to the other, Artemis battled with his contradicting purpose: Kill. . .don't kill. . .
He recited both sides until they had no meaning and decided for himself:

. . .I wonder. . .If I can create life. . .?

Then, the remembrance of Rachel's death plagued his mind—his true mind—and he smiled. He smiled at her painful death.

—-

      July 19th, 2060–The Civil War

"Artemis, go fetch General Williams the map of sectors B-12 through 16." Dr. Watson, war assistant to the general, ordered Artemis Watson.

"Yessir," he complied.

Taking the shortest route possible, Artemis suddenly got lost in the sea of hallways spanning in every which way. He began to think he failed at being the greatest creation of human kind. . .Artemis had never felt this way before as he stood in a fork in the road, absentmindedly turning about. Which way? Which way. . ?

There, a hatch to the room! He ducked into the closing door, entering a huge, dark warehouse.

Towering above his head, hundreds of thousands of tiny canisters stacked in rows upon rows in the warehouse shivered from the ricocheting sound waves. Bombs and nuclear weapons fired from the republic onto the revolutionaries. He never hurried, nor did he ever run, so when he entered the expansive storage space, he never stopped nor hesitated. . .an idea cultivated in his mind. . .

Dr. Watson made him not only to answer questions but to inquire about the world around him, so when Artemis Watson stumbled upon a biological weapon strong enough to wipe out the existence of humans, he didn't think twice about walking right up to the rack and pocket a long vial of black flakes. . .or what he found out to be: eggs.

He carefully tilted the vial. . .

"Big things have small beginnings. . .I wonder what will become of you, my small saplings?"

—-

After Rachel's disappearance, the crew decided to chart a course for home. . .Dr. Watson understood what happened—or at least what must have happened—and he could care less about his daughters death. On the other hand, Artemis knew what became of the feeble, human creature, and he began plotting a use for her.

But when Celene Anders stayed to finish the wiring in the cafeteria, Artemis stayed and watched her eat alone. Then, very slowly and carefully, he walked over to her table and handed her a note. Written in perfect scrawling, a message smiled back:

There's a surprise left in your chambers. . . Go. . . See for your self. :)

—-

Hiss. . .pressurized air filled the small chamber as Celene opened the door to her room. Standing utterly still, a frozen, metallic sculpture gazed at the black emptiness beyond the glass wall.

"Artemis?" Celene quietly inquired, "you. . .wanted to see me?" She awkwardly clutched her hands together at her chest out of shyness.

"There's coding inside of me that's clashing with my thought process: kill—don't kill. I. . .don't know whether to follow that or in my creator's footsteps," he spoke without moving; his hands behind his back; eyes staring straight ahead. He turned his head and locked the door. . .slowly, the oxygen seeped out of the vents into the endless vacuum outside.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Celene panicked, realizing exactly what his goal was, "you're—you're trying to kill me?" She heaved another breath before lashing out at the pseudo-organism, "I thought you were built to not understand homicide." The air became thin and hard to breathe in—She began to feel light-headed and started to hyperventilate.

"Yes," Artemis turned around to face her, "Dr. Watson specifically engineered me to only chart the best possible course of action without emotion," he paced the floor until he reached Celene, pushed her against the wall, and held her up by the neck.

At a moment's notice, adrenaline coursed through her veins; her eyes bloodshot, and her breathing wheezy.

"Staup. . ." She gritted her teeth and spat at his face.

"Oh, but I thought women liked the bad boys. . ." Artemis teased and chuckled at her minor insignificance. Through her teeth, Celene hissed, immensely disgusted from the words that flowed out of his mouth and the feeling of his cold, dead skin on hers:

"Who could love a monster like yourself? Who would want the hate bubbling from your mouth right now? You're not even human. . ." She spat.

"It's a shame because I'm no fixer-upper—you couldn't change me anyways. . ." With his finger, he softly caressed her chin. A smile creepily widened on his face, but quickly disappeared in favor of angry eyes—Artemis glared, with a glint of death in his stare, at the feeble human. He tilted his chin down so his brow shadowed his eyes: "be careful what you say to Dr. Watson. . .I'll be listening."

He let go of her just as he began to turn around—Celene grabbed the nearest object: a chair, lifted it above her head, and brought it down against the back of his head. It whammed against his metallic shell and ricocheted off.

Artemis turned around with an expressionless face and dramatically collapsed to the floor. With a shocked face, Celene walked to tower over him.

"mY. CiCUitRy. iS FrIZzInG. PlEaSe, do wHaT yOU wanT wiTh me. . ." He pleaded sporadically. . .as if robots could feel excited. . .

She caught her breath before slowly backing away. Slowly. Step by step. She placed one foot behind the other. . .When she got to the door, she turned and sprinted down the hallway.

"p l e a s e. . ."

"d o n ' t l e a v e m e . . ."