I. Origins

The world slowly swam into focus. The light first dissolved into multi-colored blurs and later solidified into vague shapes. The surroundings wavered and then acquired distance. He was in a room filled with what seemed like the technological detritus of late twenty-second century. He felt lighter. His body felt smaller too. There was a tingling sensation on the back of his neck that receded slowly. Who was he? He had a name, didn’t he? The details of his surroundings floated in like a supply ship docking on a service port. He was in a store room of some sort. It looked as if the room was used by service bots to repair security clusters. There were vast stacks of unopened sub-routines and looped commands. There were piles of highly redundant firewalls. In between all this, sprinkled like dew, were the thin trails of data transmission tubes. Yes, now he knew why he was there. It all came rushing back in a streak of silent white noise.

He needed to get the cube.

The contact had been made a few months back by a mysterious caller who never gave her name. But when pressed she had asked to be referred to as Trin. In fact, he was not certain that Trin was a woman but from the beginning, for some reason, he always assumed the caller was a woman. Normally, he never took on anonymous jobs as they were too risky. He made an exception for this one as he had been intrigued. Trin had used a voice masker to hide behind a machine voice. That itself was not surprising as many who contacted him did the same thing at first. But what surprised him was her refusal to meet in person and the vast amount of money he was offered for the job. Yes, the job she wanted him to do was extremely difficult, perhaps even impossible, but the money was really good and even though he hated to admit it the money offered made the job look sweeter.

After all, giving credit where it was due, he was the best in the business. Few people could afford his services. In fact, nowadays, it was only the megacorps that contracted him. He had made his bones at the beginning of the digital age. He hid behind impenetrable barriers and searched for chinks in the primitive armors of the early cyber databases. He had learnt a lot then. He had also acquired his famous (or infamous based on the viewpoint) handle then, ‘Trimax’.

The job she gave him was curious too. She wanted a data cube copied from the main database of the Bangalore based Hive Consortium. Hive was a low profile company involved in robotics and AI. He checked up on them to find that they were heavily funded by the Indian Army and did a lot of highly secretive research into mechanized warfare using AI. He was not surprised to find that their databases were heavily guarded but not in an obvious manner. Surprisingly, no one in his circle knew anyone who had tried hacking into their database. He admired how they had managed to maintain such a low profile even in an age of high level scrutiny. Trimax remembered Trin’s highly specific instructions.

“The data cube cannot be found using ordinary search routines as it is not indexed unlike all the other data cubes in the cluster. You will have to come up with a new routine to find it.”

“Then that is impossible. I do not even know what to look for, leave alone where to look for. Hive’s database is huge. I need at least a tag.”

She paused for a few seconds and replied, “Will a third order tag be sufficient?”

It was better than nothing. He would still need to work fast but he was confident that with a third order tag he could localize the cluster the cube would be in easily. After that it was only a matter of seconds while he narrowed down the search and found the correct cube. So he had said yes and a few days later she sent by secure mail the third order tag. The tag had an innocuous label ‘matrix hive mind access’.

The next few days he spent writing a search routine to ferret out the cube. There was no way to test the routine before the hacking run. The risk of the routine being copied and spawned was too great and she had given strict instructions not to use it in a trial run. So he had to be pitch perfect. One wrong caller function or inexact algorithm and he could kiss his life goodbye. The geisha would be on him in an instant. To increase his chances of staying undetected during the run he also purchased elaborate decoys from a very reliable dealer out of Tokyo. The dealer had assured him that they never had been used and would fool any security drone in the world. The decoys would be crucial in fooling the geisha and buying him some time while his search routine got executed.

I do not watch television. Not just because here everything is broadcast in German (even Hollywood and Hindi films are dubbed into it) but due to a habit borne out of the way my parents regulated me and my brother’s TV viewing habits. For academic reasons they never allowed cable TV so I was never part of the MTV, Friends (and other such popular TV series) phenomena. I grew up on good old DD and DD Metro. It is only recently, through the persistent recommendations of a lab colleague, that I’ve gotten around to viewing complete seasons of a few American TV series. Great TV shows like 24, Scrubs, House M.D. and Dexter have changed my perception on how TV shows can deal with serious issues in often convincing as well as entertaining ways. But more than all these series the one TV series that has impressed and even surprised me is the 2004 reimagining of Battlestar Galactica. Three seasons of the show have been broadcast so far on Sci Fi Channel in the US and Sky One in the United Kingdom and Ireland. A fourth and final season is slated to begin in April 2008.

Battlestar Galactica started originally as a TV series with a huge Stars Wars hangover in 1978 and became a cult hit. The 2004 reimagining is a complete reboot of the original series with significant changes to the storyline. The basic storyline as mentioned on Wikipedia is as follows:

Battlestar Galactica chronicles the journey of the last surviving humans from the Twelve Colonies of Man after their nuclear annihilation by the Cylons. The survivors are led by President Laura Roslin and Commander William Adama in a ragtag fleet of ships with the Battlestar Galactica, a powerful but out-dated warship at its head. Pursued by Cylons intent on wiping out the remnants of the human race, the survivors travel across the galaxy looking for the fabled and long-lost thirteenth colony: Earth.

To elaborate, the Cylons were a form of AI created by man who later rebelled against their creators. After the First Cylon War and a subsequent armistice agreement the Cylons leave humanity to disappear into space. They reappear 40 years later and launch a sneak nuclear attack on the human colonies nearly wiping out humanity. About 50,000 human survivors manage to escape with the Battlestar Galactica and try to survive in the long and arduous journey in search of a mythical Earth as a new home for humanity.

Mendelssohn: Violin Concerto in E Minor Op.64 - Kyung Wha Chung, Charles Dutoit Montreal SO

It was winter in Vienna. I was on the Ringbahn, going round and round the inner ring of Vienna. The ring around which most of the historical buildings in Vienna are clustered. The huge Hofburg receded on my left while the massive Museum for Kunst slipped past on my right. People got on and off. Tourists from Japan, businessmen from Canada, old Viennese woman out shopping, young couples out for the evening and the occasional Indian student.

It was a comforting journey. Round and round, passing the same sights again and again. I could just sit and observe. Listen to the random conversations floating around me.

“Hey Larry, should we do both the museums on the same day?”

“Sato, I think we have got on the wrong tram. I don’t think this will go to the Danube.”

“Dudes, lets go to Kahlenberg. I heard that it has an incredible view of Vienna from the top. I can get fantastic photographs as well.”

“Can you tell me where I should get off to go to the Universität?”

She repeated the question again and only then did I realize that she was asking me the question. I looked up to see her looking back at me, a little amused no doubt to see my flustered look. It is always a strange feeling to be asked for directions when you yourself are a tourist. Did I look like I belonged in Vienna? Could I really pass myself off as a local? Wishful thinking I know. But still I knew where the Universität was. The endless rounds on the bahn had at least helped me in this regard. It was just before the Rathaus; an impressive and imposing building built in the Renaissance style, the university I mean, not the Rathaus.

Sarahir waited patiently in the reception. He had been there for close to three hours already. He was waiting for the bureau officials to call him in. There were two others apart from him. One was a thin young woman in a stiffly formal suit, nervously scratching her nose periodically. The suit made her look older than she was. She seemed to be new to the process. The other was a short woman roughly his age. She was pretty in a mature sort of way. But the worries of middle age were already leaving a mark on her face. In a few years her prettiness would be replaced by a low cunning for the opportunities that life never gave her. She wore a long skirt that stopped just above her knees. She had surprisingly good legs for her height.

He wondered what the result would be. Who would he be assigned to? Would he get what he wanted? It was becoming quite difficult to get your choice. Increasingly, as the genetic pool lessened with each generation the assignments had become more random.

His roving eye suddenly caught the eye of the woman in the skirt. They looked away quickly, a little embarrassed at being caught. He had never seen her in his sector. Perhaps she was from the new sector to the South. They had started that about ten years back. He heard that they had brought people of Indian origin there. She looked vaguely South Asian. He felt a sudden thrill rush through him. South Asians were very rare finds these days for they were highly in demand. Dare he dream? Dare he even hope?

From the time a version of the AIDS virus had mutated into an air-borne contraceptive, all of the Caucasian, Nordic and African races had become sterile. Within three generations the population of the Western hemisphere had become a quarter of what it was at the beginning of the 21st century. For a few short years chaos reigned supreme as whole economies collapsed, cities died and the remaining people (who were naturally resistant to the mutant form because of different protein receptor expressed in their nose) turned to a rural way of life. Out of this chaos it had emerged that South Asia had been least affected by the mutant virus. Most had perished with the ‘normal’ AIDS but the remaining had been found to be naturally resistant to the air-borne variant.

The bureau had been started after those years of chaos. It was more like the old cattle breeding stations. They would genetically profile you and assign you a partner who would match the profile the most, in other words which combination of two people from the available pool would be the most fertile. They needed more people badly otherwise there was talk that the human race might be wiped out in another three generations.

It was his turn today. He had been looking forward to this day with a strange mix of revulsion and curiosity. Genetically, he came from good antecedents. Both his parents had been random mutants, his mother from South India. So one could say he was prime breeding material.

“Attention Mr. Sarahir Prasad, you may go in now”, the receptionist called to him from her desk across the room. He got up, feeling self-conscious. He was the only man there. He sneaked a look at the other two waiting women. They were looking at him. He avoided catching their eye and walked to the door next to the receptionist’s desk. All the way to the door he could feel the curious stares of the women on his back. What were they thinking? Were they thinking the same thoughts as him? He reached the door. He knocked and entered.

(note: to be continued….perhaps)

Her voice rose and fell through his consciousness. In the infinite distances around him the only constant. The stars crowded in around him, hemming his thoughts in, and pushing him ever deeper into the limitless freedom of memories. Happy times, sad times, bittersweet times, fragments of conversation, flashes of forgotten images, all forming a kaleidoscope of the past.

“Do you love me?”
“Yes”
“Will you die for our love?”
“No”
“Why not?”
“Because dying for love is like reaching the last page of a diary. You close it and store it on the bookshelf of your memories and then open the new one you bought after a few days of sad reflection.”

Had he really said that? Words and only words were left behind to distill the thousand little things they had experienced together. The never ending trip to Titan, alone among the stars, making love like only two people madly in love can, on the main deck, in the gravity showers, and even while on a space-walk in a double-suit. Highly dangerous of course but what an experience it was. They had inadvertently become members of a highly exclusive club-the space copulators! He smiled at the thought. Yes, they had had fun. So much fun that they had failed to notice the real world seeping in through the cracks.

His was a job that always left him in transit between planets. She was the domestic kind, kids, family and all that old-fashioned stuff. Both were blessed with immense egos and thus compromise was never a possible solution. So they had let go and drifted. He, to his trans-planet hops and she, to her domestic dreams.

He had received a light packet from her yesterday. She was getting married. New love had caught her in the form of an emu farmer back on Earth. She sounded happy. Her smile, even now, slicing through his heart like a wet razor through foam. He sighed and tried to remember the smell of her hands. They had a unique smell, like freshly ground talcum powder.

Memories never left him alone. That had always been his problem. He never let go.

(cross posted on Caferati)

The databanks glided past him like a vast procession of the dead. The gleaming spires of the world’s elite companies, protected better than some countries and infinitely more valuable than all the gold in the world. But he was there to steal right? After all, giving credit where it was due, he was the best in the business. Few people could afford his services. In fact, nowadays, it was only the mega companies that contacted him at his supra-legal and sub-orbital mansion. He had made his bones at the beginning of the digital age. While people of his age frittered away time in inane chat rooms and writing personal tripe on blogs he hid behind impenetrable barriers and searched for chinks in the primitive armors of the early cyber databases. He had learnt a lot then. He had also acquired his famous (or infamous based on the viewpoint) handle then, ‘Trimax’.

Trimax eased out of the shadows and followed the procession at a safe distance. He cut through the feeble outer defenses without a second thought. At the same time the swipies he had created activated themselves and cleaned out the perimeter defense at the back in one rapid swoop. He rushed in behind them before the redundancies kicked in. Once in, he quickly morphed into a data table and attached himself to the last databank. He was all but invisible now. But like that mythological Indian hero in some forgotten epic he had got in but there was no way back out. The tear had been closed and repaired by the swipies to avoid suspicion or raise an alarm. No sweat. Unlike that unlucky hero he knew the complete framework and could work himself back out. All he needed was a little luck. Yes, if he lucked out today he would never have to think of a job again. He would buy himself a farm on the other side of Mars and relax.

Come on, come on, focus, focus on the job, and don’t start dreaming again.

He executed his search bots and jacked them into the primary network. Now it was lying low and waiting until they found what his clients wanted. He checked his camouflage. It was perfect. Nothing to worry about. He drifted to his dreams, his only real pleasure left. Thoughts of Efwi enveloped him yet again. Would he find her on Mars? His sources told him that she had last been seen there. Would she take him back after these many years? Had she forgiven him at all? He knew he deserved her hate. For had he not left her in search of notorious fame? She was the only person who had loved him with all his faults and he had kicked her aside without a second thought when his needs had been fulfilled. The guilt never left him alone. It tormented and tortured him. With all his money and fame he still could not find peace. She was the only who had what he wanted.

beep…beep…his console chimed softly…the search bots had returned…

Time to shake things up a bit. First, he launched an elaborate decoy. Something he had never used before. Something that ought to fool the deadly geisha. They made killing unique entertainment. He shuddered at the thought. He had seen holo-views of hackers caught by them. He had no intention of going crazy like them. A self-mutilating craziness, utterly horrible.

Yes! His decoy worked. The geisha set off after it en masse. The field was as clear as it would get. He started the speed routine. He zipped in and out of the massed data clusters. Blurred surroundings whipped past him. The sensation of speed was exhilarating. He whooped silently and flashed around a corner, the destination data point looming ahead, the place highlighted with a pink sheen by his bots.

He braked and got off. This was the most dangerous part. He had to work without camouflage or protection. But with luck this should not take more than a few minutes. Ample time to steal the cube and get out. He finalized his cutting sub-routines, the precise iterations that would select the exact data piece he needed from a billion other pieces. He clicked the button and stepped back. Almost done now. Come on, come on, few more minutes and he would be done.

..and he saw her then, looking at him from the shadows, the love of his life in this of all places…

He stumbled with shock and stepped back. For a second he wondered if she was a figment of his over active imagination. No, no her flesh lines were too flawed to be artificial. It was her and she was pointing a gun at him!

They faced each other. Two adversaries connected by the past. One representing good and the other law and order. He wondered if she would pull the trigger if he tried to run. But something stopped him. He knew. He would not run again. Not from her. Life or death he would face it like a man. Death from her hands was infinitely better than the lonely death of an old man later. Like watching something in slow motion he saw her activate the gun and pull the trigger, thrice. Bright light flashed and in the next moment he jerked like a rag doll as the bullets punctured his lungs and burst his heart. He fell back, blood bubbling from his mouth. As the light around faded, the last thing he saw was Efwi looking down at him, a strange look of pity and hate on her face.

(Note: an idea that went nowhere, at least as of now, no wonder the abruptness. And oh, obvious respects to William Gibson, the father and master of cyberpunk.)

The night rolled away powered by our flights of fancy. We were outside the city on a small hill. The Zinian’s alu-boats could be seen far above us ferrying important members of their entourage for a night out in the glittering city that glowed behind our backs. I looked at her sitting by my side lost in contemplation of the crystal sand at her feet. I brushed away the dark hair falling into her eyes. She did not turn. I don’t think she even felt my fingers.

We had to come to a decision soon. For the thing between us would not be a secret for long. Most importantly, our actions would have grave repercussions that could and would concern a hundred planets in the multi-verse. It was not just about simple and pure love. It was also about big words like inter-life relations, space-culture dynamics and other arcane jargon.

She was still an enigma to me. From the time my eyes fell on her in Tulot’s hybrid party I’ve been fascinated by her inscrutable looks. She had the looks of a goddess but the face of a diplomat. We got talking soon. I did not find out her true nature until much later. But how does that matter? For the first time I found someone with whom I could discuss my inner dreams without that person secretly laughing at my naïve notions. Three thousand years of human development and still we hunger for the old basics; love, companionship and emotional bonding. She had a resolve and intelligence within her that could have propelled her to great fame in the known inti-verse. Strangely, she was not in the least bit interested in that. She was the exact opposite of me in that respect. As far back as I can remember I’ve wanted to be famous. I’ve always desired for people to talk about me, to recognize me from a distance as I walked down the virtual boulevards of Semperi City, or when I took a weekend break in the brilliant blue waters of Hintenia’s famous never-ending oceans. It was a hunger that had been driving me mad with frustration. But being with her soothed the raging fires of my twisted ambition. I had never felt more at peace with myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?�?, I asked her. She shook her head gently. I sighed silently. She had been difficult that way, refusing to discuss our situation, even though more than me she knew how difficult it would be for us once everything came out into the open. I let her drift back to wherever she had been mentally. I suddenly started. Perhaps she was consulting the RCI. She trusted that…that thing too much in spite of knowing that I did not like it. What would the RCI say? Would it agree to mediate on our behalf in front of the Global Bureau? I snorted at that. The RCI was notorious for its cunning, almost like a bio-human many said.

She got up suddenly and nodded at me. It was time to go back. I got up and brushed the sand off my clothes and looked at her. We stared at each other trying to divine our respective thoughts. Her eyes were wet with some deep emotion. Was I right? What had that hulking monster advised her? All of a sudden she pulled me to her and kissed me full on my mouth. A deep, deep metallic kiss. I could taste her cold tears in my mouth. Her lips melting and her tongue searching for mine with some desperation. Her hands gripping my head with a fierce determination. I had never been kissed like that before. She let me go as suddenly as she had pulled me. She turned towards the city and started walking without a backward glance. Confusion was stalking my thoughts and nothing seemed to make sense. Perhaps, there would be time for words later. I shrugged and set off after her.

Tell me can a man ever fall so utterly and madly in love with a robot?

They came in their machines and ate us. They fed on our brains, inserting their squeaky clean protrusions at the base of the head and sucking out the grey matter. They left the white matter alone for some reason. No, no they only wanted the stuff that drove us, made us think, made us love, made us hate, the stuff which made us humans. We called them ‘les morts’, the dead ones.

I think I’m the last one left. I haven’t met anyone else in years. I’ve hidden out for long in the forgotten corners, living on scraps and wild roots. But I knew it was a futile struggle from the start. How can one man stand up against their inhuman single-mindedness? This is the job I had set myself to do. To record the passing of our species. Something that kept me alive until now, running and hiding, running and hiding from their horrible sounds.

Yes, yes that is something that drives me mad. That utter, utter horror of a sound they make. It makes me lose grip over reality. It is a like worm digging into your brain, inch by inch, slowly but steadily. Oh…the sheer mental torture of it. I cannot stand it anymore. I cannot run anymore. There is nowhere to run to. Everything is empty. This whole planet is one vast graveyard of the brain-dead. Not a thing moves except for them. Not a sound anywhere except for their wordless whispers.

I don’t know if anyone will ever read this. The last testament of mankind. A message in a bottle for a whole species. But I wanted to do this. To leave a record of our passing. We were good weren’t we in spite of all the havoc we wreaked? We were after all human, not like them, not like them. There they come. I can hear that sound again. It is like a heartbeat speeded up mechanically and played back in reverse in high pitch. Words cannot describe what that sound can do to a mind. I wanted this to be a comprehensive record of our existence and all I could come up with is this disconnected rambling of a mind on the edge. I failed. We failed. They have won. Game over.