Ch.1 Prologue or A Dream of Mars
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STARTUP SEQUENCE INITIATED:

MISSION PROFILE UPLOADING:

PROFILE UPLOAD COMPLETE:

ENGAGEMENT SET; HUNT/KILL/DESTROY:

PRIORITY; ALPHA:

STARTUP COMPLETE:

CONTROL HANDSHAKE COMPLETE:

63-C-1453: ONLINE

1453 stood board-stiff at the back corner of the briefing room. The humans seemed to prefer when he acted like the other bots and it also kept them from trying to speak with him, so it was a definite win/win in 1453’s book. Why the humans insisted on waking him just to have him stand around while the humans were briefed on something that had just been shoved inside his head, he would probably never understand.

 

1453 had once asked one of the team’s transport servitors why they did it and all it answered was “TEAM COHESION.” It wasn’t their fault exactly, but trying to get any conversation out of the other bots was like pulling teeth. Instead of dwelling on the issue, as much as it made him want to devolve into hysterics. 1453 usually used the opportunity to catch up on various blogs and media sites that he liked to frequent. Technically 1453 wasn’t supposed to access information that was “outside of mission necessity,” but it was surprising what 1453 had been able to trick his limiter software into thinking was “mission critical.” Pretty much anything was good to go as long as he convinced the limiter it was simply research to sniff out subversive actors.

 

As these things went, 1453 had probably another hour of slide-shows and blithering mouth speak until the human element of the team was up to speed. Plenty of time to catch up on most of the media sites he preferred. A brief exchange with Mother Dearest (1453’s current nickname for the software that kept him under control) and he was off like a shot. 1453 flickered through an array of various security, tech, and news sites, pulled up the plain text versions of all new articles and quickly filtered through them looking for anything interesting. Most of the articles 1453 sifted through were pretty much the same useless drivel that a writer servitor churned out on general news channels. Celebrity speculation, doomsday predictions, and over-hyped technology that would likely never see market.

 

Every once in a while, the wide net would grab something important, and it wouldn’t do to be surprised by new tech out in the field. That’s how you get eaten alive by some gun that shoots angry proteins (which is a dreadful way to die as things go). Having barely made a dent in the briefing after completing a search of the slightly underground news sites, 1453 did a quick comb through a couple academic databases. The whole protein folding gun incident had happened during a raid on a grad student’s house. It was just a routine smash and grab on a suspected IP infringer, but things had gone pretty badly when the team ran up against unknown tech; the sounds his teammates had made after being shot made 1453 wish he could purge memories like most bots.  Sometimes it really did not pay to be special.

 

Through the background recording of his surroundings, 1453 saw that the meeting was winding to a close and started to close out most of his data searches. With only a couple minutes left before the team would be all riled up and trying to rush to the transports, 1453 checked one last site. It had no name, only a meaningless jumble of hex characters for an address, but something about the writings of the mystery author 1453 had stumbled across pulled at him. It was an eclectic collection of poetry, short stories, and journal entries. Something about the blend of melancholy and cheerfulness pulled at 1453. It was like an uncomfortable view you couldn’t pull away from, unsettling but inspiring. Yet again, there had been no update.

 

Three weeks ago the archive had received a regular update which 1453 had saved to his internal storage like every update, but after that the weekly updates had stopped. No warning or explanation given; something about losing the little updates ate at 1453, but whenever he tried to understand what it was doing to him, he was cut off by Mother Dearest giving him a lovely warning pulse to the pain center. Whatever it was would have to wait. The briefing had finally ended and the strike team began to move to the loading bay, each trooper trying to out-swagger and out-pace the others to load up. Some unfortunate mid-level archivist had actually been doing her job and had stumbled on something that corporate had meant to remain unseen. Now 1453 would go to work.

 

***

 

 

The dream of Mars is dead

It was all just in our head

Corporate came

The queen was slain

The Red Planet ran red

~Arch

 

Claire knew she was in trouble, not just the kind of trouble that gets your pay docked or gets you yelled at by your parents, but the kind that gets you to commit suicide by shooting yourself twice in the back of the head and zip yourself up in a padlocked duffel bag. The issue was, what do you do with that kind of problem? She couldn’t just turn herself in. All the police forces in the area were owned by Zeberon. The same corporation that she ultimately worked for. The same corporation that would ultimately have her killed for what she had found. Why hadn’t she just followed her co-workers’ lead and slid by on the bare minimum?

 

If she had just stuck to sorting the work given to her, she wouldn’t be in this mess, but Claire had never been able to resist going a little further and pushing a little harder. It didn’t hurt that a lot of the mis-filed information she re-sorted had been pretty interesting, but then three weeks ago it had happened. She had come across another file that hadn’t been archived correctly. It was small, just a plain text file. It hadn’t been accessed in nearly a decade and seemed to have been forgotten in a retired machine’s temporary file cache. It didn’t follow any of the naming conventions in use, so Claire had pulled the file to her workstation and taken a peek. Just to make sure it was filed correctly, of course! Once she had taken a look inside, though, Claire knew that she had made a terrible mistake.

 

At first Claire had tried to just forget what she had come across. She had immediately filed it away in an unused text repository that had been used by an R&D group that Zeberon had shut down years ago, carefully changing its name to look like any other old research document, and swearing to never look at or mention the file again. Claire set about doing her job as she always had, quietly, and unnoticed. The pressure of what she now knew ate at her each day. Twisting in her guts like something angry and alive. After days of feeling her world crumbling Claire couldn’t stop herself, she had to check, she had to see if what she had read was true. Claire wanted so badly for it to be nothing but a bad dream, some kind of hallucination. 

 

Slumping behind her desk, Claire was absolutely ragged. Her dark hair that she normally kept neatly brushed and smooth was tangled and stuck out at odd angles; she hadn’t changed in days, had barely even been able to sleep. Every time she would shut her eyes, dreams of men creeping into her house, of being another person who had disappeared would rush in and she would wake shaking on the verge of tears. Thankfully, no one ever visited her in the basement where the archivist office was located.

 

Being under so many layers of steel and glass could feel oppressive, but it hadn’t ever bothered Claire. Idly picking at a stain on her hoodie, she set about her usual work day. Pulling up the workbook, she saw the different offices throughout the Pacific Northwest that she was scheduled to help with archival. Most of this kind of work would be handled automatically, simple scripts and bots sorting through the data, ensuring it was organized correctly, even correcting simple spelling and formatting mistakes. Zeberon had exacting data management standards, and it was an enormous effort to keep such a sprawling organization on the same page, so to speak. It was so easy for workers to slack off about how documents were filled out and stored, which inevitably led to other offices being unable to find said information, or even, horror of horrors, data loss. Even the thought of such a thing happening made Clair shudder.

 

After only a few hours of checking over automated reports and manually fixing issues the bots had been unable to handle, she had cleared the work for the day. Usually Clair took this time to dig around and find other things that needed fixing, but today was different. Claire knew that if she let what she had found go, she would never sleep peacefully again, never be able to stop looking over her shoulder. Quickly running a few dozen of her usual searches, Claire dug around, doing her best to make it look like any other day to any observer. While the searches ran, she did her best to be as casual as her racing heart would allow.

 

Quickly flicking through tabs, she pulled up the research repository she had sworn to never look at. Claire’s pulse raged in her ears. It was nearly all she could do to control her breathing as she found the file right where she’d left it, a string of dates and keywords she had left for its title. Bringing the file up, she shakily pulled a notepad from inside her desk, just casually taking some notes was all; she didn’t really convince herself, but it helped steady her hands a little. Quickly scanning through the document, she jotted down its contents in a tight shorthand, her pen flying across the page, only slowing down to carefully draw out the various diagrams and charts that showed the true extent of what Zeberon and its corporate allies had been doing. The idea that stable AI was impossible was a lie.

 

The strange twilight of the Portland evening surrounded Claire as she bustled out of the office, the dark always kept at bay by the constant glow of the city. Brilliant holograms lit up the cityscape as the night descended. Giant glowing figures dancing, drinking, or lounging. Each almost screaming to pull your attention. The constant barrage of the rampant advertisement through the city was almost overwhelming when Claire had first moved to the city, but after a few years she hardly noticed. Tonight, though, the city tugged at her; figures seemed to lurk around every corner as she made her way to the shuttle. Picking up her pace Claire pulled the hood of her sweater a little tighter, as if it would keep away the eyes she knew must be seeking her at this very moment. The walk to the transit array only took about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity with her crime playing itself over and over in her mind.

 

Her transit home passed in an anxiety-ridden blur, every sudden sound or movement nearly making her jump. The constant feeling that someone was about to yell for her to freeze, tell her they knew what she had done. Claire released a shuddering breath when her apartment door closed behind her. She knew it wasn’t truly safer, but somehow being in her home felt like coming to sanctuary. Claire knew that if nothing else, she could start finding a way out of this mess. 

 

As hard as Claire racked her brain, there just didn’t seem to be any other way. She needed to get this information to someone who could use it, at least try to do something, but being a quiet archivist who spent her time hiding at home wasn’t an amazing way to make useful contacts. With a sigh, Claire pulled up her contacts. Flicking through, she found the last person she had ever wanted to speak with again. Her ex-fiance.

 

Gods, what am I doing?  All the doubts came rushing back as Natalia’s name glowed on the screen. The rush of finding such a terrible secret and deciding that she couldn’t live with it had brought her here, but now that she was facing truly going through with her plan, throwing everything away and trusting the woman she had scorned to catch her, she wasn’t so sure it had been a great idea. Taking a shuddering breath, Claire took a hold of herself. If I don’t go through with this, I’ll probably die anyways. It's impossible they’ll never find what I did. Claire knew that if she didn’t follow through with the plan, she would never get a night's sleep for the rest of her short life. Looking at herself, she realized just how bad things had gotten in the past few days.

 

Small smears of sauces and other stains she didn’t want to think about littered her sweater. Her pants felt tight and itchy with days of grime. With a moment to breathe, she could even smell herself. A week of sleepless nights and grinding dread had seeped into her skin. Claire nearly gagged at her own odor. It was good no-one really visited her office. Tossing the display she had been using aside, Nat’s contact still on screen as it rolled up on itself, Claire pulled herself together. If I am going to reach out to the woman I swore to never speak with again and throw away my life, I am going to at least take a shower first.

 

Claire held her face in her hands as hot water pounded her shoulders, her black hair hanging down around her, closing her in from the world as the roar of the water drowned out the sounds of the city. Her eyes stung and her head swirled with the enormity of what she had stumbled across. What she was now doing tried to crush her. Taking a deep breath, Claire leaned back to rinse the last of the conditioner out of her hair, massaging her head as if to push away what she was about to do. Turning off the water, she pushed aside the glass door; it flickered from a murky grey blue, letting in a subtle light to transparent as she made her way out. The faux marble of the shower’s interior might be tacky to most, but it brought a simple pleasure to Claire as she luxuriated herself.

 

Scrubbing herself dry with her favorite towel, she felt nearly human again, firm resolve returning as she pulled on the clothes she had set aside a few days ago before forgetting about them. The tight blue jeans stuck slightly as she pulled them over her hips. She had always tried to look after herself, but when things broke down with Natalia, Claire had thrown herself into her work to forget; her cozy office and habit for easy meals was catching up with her. With a quiet curse, she tugged them up the rest of the way before pulling on a snug tank top that made her feel a bit more comfortable when she wore it under her shirts, The way it flattened out her breasts and smoothed her normally curvy lines helped her feel a little less conspicuous.

 

Finally, feeling a bit more herself and less like something scraped out of a gutter, she was ready to face what she had set herself to do. As she pulled out the display again, it unrolled itself, pulling back to reveal Natalia’s name and the contact address she had left for Claire when they had separated. Claire cursed herself again. She had been so stupid pushing Nat away; she had been right this whole time. It was hard to admit to yourself that the world you had been raised in was rotten to the core, though. So when Nat had gotten involved with piracy, taking patented drugs and breaking their DRM so that anyone could print them.

 

Claire had lost it. Natalia had said she was only doing it to help others, give people the medicine they needed but couldn’t afford, but Claire wouldn’t let herself listen, wouldn’t let herself be convinced that everything she had been raised to be had been a lie. Of course the corporations would keep life saving medicine from the public if it meant a greater profit. It was just hard to make yourself see when you’re told that the corporations have your best interests at heart every day of your life. Once she had seen the document though, read how Zeberon and its allies had conspired to not only push AI to sentience, but then to deny its right to freedom and place the most horrible of shackles on it, how they had made a whole race of slaves that knew what was being done to them, simply to help the bottom line -- Claire couldn’t look away, couldn’t let it slide.

 

It probably didn’t matter; she doubted Nat would even answer after everything she had said to her, but she was still Claire’s only contact that would know what to do with something like this, and if she could just let Nat know that she understood now, that she was being eaten alive by what she had done, maybe that alone would be worth it. Deciding that her doubts wouldn’t just improve, Claire steeled herself and pulled the trigger. She gestured at Nat’s address and it flickered over to a video feed showing a blank screen with a tiny image of Claire in the top corner. Claire did her best to get comfortable on her rarely-used couch. These days she spent most of her time using her dive goggles to explore the net and game when she wasn’t at work. Which was much more comfortable in a proper chair, but she figured she would probably have to wait awhile before Nat would answer. If she even would at all.

 

To her surprise, after only a minute the screen cut away to a view of a dim apartment. For a second Claire was confused as no one was on screen to answer her. Then she heard a scrambling noise as someone came running through the building and leapt into view. Her pale blonde hair was cropped short, spiked messily on top and shaved on the sides, high cheekbones and an elegant angular face greeted her. A jagged scar cut through the corner of her mouth before radiating up the cheek, lending her a permanent smirk which still did not fail to stir something inside Claire. Piercing, questioning blue eyes met Claire’s golden brown. Natalia hadn’t changed a bit.

 

Face to face with the woman she had tried to forget for years, the words Claire had been thinking of for days fled her. All she could do was look at Natalia; she could see how hope and anger fought inside her, her face flickering between microexpressions, not able to decide how to feel about facing Claire either. Finally, Nat broke the reverie.

 

“Uh. Claire, hi! I didn’t think I would ever hear from you again.” Claire looked away, shamed by the hurt she could see Nat trying to keep at bay.

 

“Yeah.. well here I am.” The smallest smile flitted on Claire’s lips as she tried to hold in the tears now threatening to spill forth. 

 

Nat’s rich voice filtered through, stirring Claire’s emotions even further. “Is everything okay, Claire? You look exhausted, and I am guessing you’re not reaching out to me after all this time to catch up.”

 

With a slight breath to steady herself Claire pushed forward with what she knew she had to do. “Nat, first I want to say that I am so sorry. I realize now how right you were, and ever since I learned these things that mistake has been eating me alive. I should never have treated you like that. I was so scared and I lashed out at you. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I wanted you to know that.”

 

Breathing in, Nat’s voice had softened, her face had fallen with Claire’s words. “Gods, Claire, I was never upset with you, I just hated myself for hurting you, for failing to help you understand.”

 

“It’s not your fault I was. Blind. I need your help, Nat. I found something Zeberon doesn’t want people to see. Something I shouldn’t have seen. I am so scared, Nat, but I need someone to know!”. A few tears leaked down Claire’s face as she finally let herself admit how scared she was. Just how overwhelming everything was.

 

“Oh, Claire.. Fuck, I am so sorry. I never wanted for you to get mixed up in this. If it's like you say, though, we need to meet; I am coming to get you.” The soft care and steely determination in Nat’s voice was a balm to Claire’s tattered mind. She had done it. Nat was coming to get her. A few fresh tears found their way down her cheeks as she tried to keep them back.

 

“Thank you, Nat,” Claire sniffed.

 

“Just breathe, Claire, it will be okay. I’ll send you the details once I am closer. I was on a job.”

 

With a quiet shudder Claire nodded.

 

“Are you going to be okay Claire? Are you safe for now?”

 

Claire nodded again, not able to trust herself to speak anymore.

 

“Okay, I have to go, but I am coming for you, I’ll be there tomorrow night. We’ll get you safe, I swear.”

 

With that, Nat ended their session. Claire slumped over, pulling in a shuddering breath as the tears began to run freely. A stifled whine stealing its way out of her chest. She was going to make it, Nat was coming for her. It would all be over soon.

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