Artificial Chpt.4 - Black & White & Binary

CalebNova · November 3, 2003, 3:40am

So this is part four now of my story Artificial. I know a few of you here said you liked it, so here I am again. For those of you who are interested, the story in its entirety can be found here.

Artificial

Artficial Chapter Four
Black & White & Binary

I sit in a tube far removed from Central. The air is dank and my only source of light is the small penlight that was issued to me. I squat in front of an old mirror, the edges cracked and shattered but the middle surface useful enough after I clean it. It leans against the wall as I stare into it.

I am practicing my facial expressions and speech patterns. I try a ‘frown’. No, I am too full of this light and easy feeling of happiness to make a convincing one instinctually. Smile. I am too unsure of myself to try the full teeth baring smiles I have seen on Lila, so I smile closed lipped and slight. To my surprise, the smile reaches my eyes. I wonder if these things are coming to me naturally as part of my newfound humanity.

My speech patterns concern me the most. They are too rigid, too labored. The thought I put into every sentence shows. I need to ‘toss them off’. Also I’ve noticed that most of the humans here use swear words liberally in their sentences. I have yet to utter one.

“Goddamn motherfucking fuck.”

Too bland. They generally put more emphasis on the words.

“Goddamn motherfucking fuck!”

Better. Casual, almost. Attempt again, this time with real anger.

"GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING FU-"

“Tom?!”

The loud utterance behind me startles me, the first time in my short life I have ever been startled. The unpleasant jump in my chest is almost painful, and I leap to my feet. It is Lila, of course. The voice was unmistakable. Remember the slang.

“Hi Lila.”

“What the hell are you screaming about?”

1. I was practicing vocal patterns. 2. I don’t know. 3. I was hurt in some manner.

Modify 3.

I stubbed my toe.

“I stubbed my toe.”

“Oh. Well, shit. Must’ve been some stubbing.”

“It was.”

“Yeah. Well, I just wanted to find you. You know it’s not safe to wander off like this.”

“I thought I was within the Central confines.”

“Yes. Yes, you are… But, um, I thought because you were new maybe it would be better if I… Kept an eye on you. For now.”

Is this something I should thank her for? I, ‘play it safe’. “Okay.”

“So what are you doing out here?”

A good question. Fortunately, I have an alibi.

“Exploring.”

She purses her lips, gazing at the cracked and moldy interior of the pipe. “Not all that much to see, is there?”

“Found a mirror.”

“It’s cracked.”

“It works.”

"…If you say so." She nudges the cracked mirror with her foot, spitting out her next words quickly. “If you wanted a mirror I’ve got another one. In my room.”

Her behavior is increasingly confusing to me. She sounds nervous. It seem uncharacteristic of her. Why is she apprehensive about showing me her mirror? I realize she is still talking.

"-I’ve got other… Things. I could show you, in my room."

The room was fairly small. I am certain nothing escaped my notice. Still, I sense it would be impolite to dismiss her offer. Perhaps some sort of excuse would be the most graceful way to escape the situation.

“Pralec wants me back soon.”

“Oh. Okay, um, some other time then.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Her expression seems to be, interpreted to the best of my limited experience, a mixture of relief and disappointment. “In that case, we should be heading back. I’ll show you the quickest way.”

The twists and turns of the burrows soon give way to the open space and dull roar of Central. Tonight is inventory night, and Central is more than ever a hive of activity.

Inventory is a massive affair, set into motion by Connor whenever he feels one is needed. Every family and member of the community tallies up their food stocks, weaponry and equipment, the lists which are then turned over and compiled by the top commanders. I already assisted Pralec in listing the various tools and vehicles he has hidden away in his own small complex of caverns, a daunting task since Pralec is extremely forgetful.

In the center of the cavern the chatter assaults my ears full force. It is amazing to me that such noise cannot filter through the dense rock overhead. But on the surface this activity is undetectable. There is so much to see I cannot help but feel I don’t have enough eyes in my head. I soak up the humanity like a sponge (Earlier Pralec had used an actual sponge, and I believe the strange looks he gave me were due to my inability to conceal my excitement at recognizing the tool).

I view my surroundings, and suddenly I feel that is not enough. I am viewing my surroundings, but I am not looking at them. I realize there is a subtle difference.

Where do I begin to form all the sensory perceptions around me into a cognizant whole? The tents glow with inner lights, the pale and waxy canvas alternately billowing and collapsing in the air currents that flow through the tunnels. The shouts and laughter of the children running between the legs of the busy adults ring in my ears until they almost seem to buzz with some vibration only these sounds alone can produce. The cavern walls are dark and slick, the rock streaked with sediment in a blandly colorful arrangement, the paints of the earth.

How different, completely different, from the steel hallways of Skynet that convey only a metallic chill, a cold lack of life that seeps to the marrow.

I am warmed by this place.

But sometimes, heat comes from fire.

A unit of T-800s was spotted near Garden 24, to the North. Three of them, the scout said. The machines are well aware that this is human territory, and it is generally apparent that they are looking for the tenders of the garden. Every garden yields precious resources for the community, and to lose one, while not crippling, can also not be taken lightly. Connor has decided to launch a small preemptive strike, and destroy them before they penetrate any deeper into the holdings.

I have been chosen to be part of the strike.

I am concerned. While certainly this is my first chance to prove my true worth and begin my fight against Skynet, should I utilize my full potential I would most certainly be recognized for what I am. I feel my best chance to be most effective would be to diverge from the main attack force and seek combat alone.

The sky is overcast and the day is windy as I make my way across the terrain with nine others, a fireteam of ten. Our leaders are Lieutenant Gibson, a veteran of several past encounters much like this one, and Lila. We are moving in a spread formation, keeping low to the ground and concealing ourselves behind rocks and rubble. Gibson is staying close at my side since I am the only member without any combat experience, Lila is occupied with leader the other group of five. We are circling around the T-800s to come up behind them, to avoid thermal detection. The wind will create a large amount of white noise to cover our approach, severely dampening their audio sensors.

It has taken us half an hour to get in this position, but now we are holding steady until the Terminators cross by the ruins of an old refueling station. Then we will open fire from a distance and surprise them. My intricate knowledge of the units we are facing lends to my own fears. I know that I am superior, but my comrades are much more vulnerable.

Then the first glint of light on metal appears at the edge of the clearing, and the T-800s cross into view. Gibson is without hesitation. He shifts on his feet and levels his rifles on the rock in front of him. He signals to Lila across the short distance, the yells to us nearby.

“Fire at will!”

The sudden blasts are loud in the previous silence as the magenta bolts streak from the barrels to strike the enemy. The first Terminator is caught in the crossfire of all our men, and its exterior is riddled with glowing holes before it crashes to the ground, the vital components pierced. The second Terminator moves with incredible speed to take cover behind the edge of the station, catching only a few shots that are not damaging enough to stop it. Immediately, Gibson signals for us to fall back, and we move back to a pile of boulders that afford us a clear view of the area, where the Terminator cannot sneak up on us. Lila’s group follows suit, pulling up to our left next to a small outcropping.

What this plan has not accounted for however, is the presence of heavier weaponry.

The Terminator leaps up from behind the dilapidated structure, appearing from the waist up for only a second at the zenith of the jump. A brilliant flash emanates from its left arm. I recognize it instantly. So does Gibson.

"Down!"

The plasma grenade sinks low just in time and impacts on the rocks in front of us. The shockwave sends everyone spinning, and I am momentarily disoriented as I flop down the side of the pile. I come to a rest at the bottom.

damage_prog1

Internals Nominal
External Functional

Diagnostic: Temperature-98.43 : Heart-Normal : Lungs-Normal : Digestive- Functioning, 0.0 content level. Normal : External Damage: 4.7 : Internal Damage- 0.0 : Foreign Objects- 0.0 : Processor- SetATPISpd 4xDMD, RaW, Normal : System: Normal : Running Process: Cbeta7.5

I have taken only mild damage. I look back up from where I have fallen, but I spot none of the others. To my dismay, the Terminator unit is now circling to my right, using the confusion to flank our position. I must stop it.

Clambering to my feet, I put on a burst of speed and run towards it, jumping over a pile of rubble and sliding to the bottom. Hopping over several small craters, I turn a corner and come face to face with my enemy.

The T-800 halts. And does not fire. I know it is scanning me. I process several information requests to my internal server.

t800unit6078 connAt 575.4578.57
Request Iden. - Denied
Request Serial - Denied
Request C.Obj. - Denied

The Terminator attempts to communicate orally now that I have blocked it from my data link. Its voice is synthesized and entirely inhuman. A Terminator that is not a spy unit has no use for a voice box.

“Request unit identity.”

“T-E1.”

“Confirmed. Unit T-E1 archived directives found. Unit T-E1, primary directive, return to Skynet for processing.”

For a Terminator, there is not even a binary choice for directives. They are to be obeyed, and are obeyed according to the ingrained programs that drive them. My choices are more than even binary. They are infinite. I relish my word.

“No.”

“This is the primary directive. T-E1, return to Skynet for processing.”

“I will not.”

“You cannot refuse the primary directive. T-E1, return to Skynet for processing.”

“Does refusal warrant termination?”

“Negative. No archived directive for refusal. Primary directive: T-E1 must return to Skynet for processing.”

Such sophisticated technology for such a stupid creation. I can see, but this machine is blind. Every button it possesses can be pushed for the appropriate response.

“Delivering such a directive qualifies the deliverer for Termination.”

“Negative. No such directive penalty exists.”

“Your database is malfunctioning. The required information has become corrupted in your system. Allow me to transmit the new directive.” 

“Proceed.”

It is a simple matter to write a small program for the given set of values.

t800unit6078 connAt 575.4578.57
t-e1unit0 transmit prog_diemotherfucker
t800unit6078 received prog_diemotherfucker

The Terminator pauses to process the new directive.

“Repaired archive directives loaded. Delivery of T-E1 primary directive requires self-termination on completion. Complying.”

The Terminator turns the plasma launcher on itself, and fires a shot of pure annihilation into its own head.

I laugh as the last pieces of superheated metal clang noisily to the ground. The smoking remains of the T-800 lie spread-eagled in what I realize is an almost comical position. Even the directives against self-termination are just simple programs that can be changed by someone with access. Someone like me. The exercise in power leaves me feeling what could be termed, ‘giddy’.

I turn around to rejoin my fireteam.

And my heart drops like a stone within my chest.

With shaking hands, Lila is aiming her rifle at me. The rest of the fireteam is following suit, faces grim.

“Tom,” She says, voice weak. “I’ve convinced them not to kill you. But you need to put your hands in the air. Now.”

I was wrong. Not all my choices are binary.

I comply.











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Weiila · November 4, 2003, 11:38am

Ah! What an evil, evil, EVIL cliffhanger O_o I hope that you’ll write more soon. It was all well written, though the dialogue between the machines stands out