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Rogue A.I. has one Last Surprise For Humans
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Sympathy for the Machine
OC
Captain Alverez had been tasked to interrogate many people, but never an AI.
Beyond the one-way mirror stood a large metallic sphere. Numerous wires and cords protruded out through a hundred different sockets. A dozen even-spaced steel wires locked down the orb-like coffin, so hastily entrenched into the ground that Alverez could still see some of the ad-hoc welding stains littering the steel floor.
It looked as if they were restraining a metal god.
…To which there was a certain truth.
Alverez sighed, glancing at the two large exoskeleton-equipped soldiers standing at the enclosure’s only door. Silently gazing at the unmoving sphere. Probably questioning what they’re even doing here, Alverez thought. But the protocol was clear. No matter how immobile the prisoner was.
It still seemed damn archaic, but somebody had to disconnect the sarcophagus if things went sideways.
“Local systems are now isolated from the station’s data network.” A certain Doctor Nachtnebel muttered to nobody. The inspector hummed an old German nursery rhyme as he kept on rheumatically typing on his computer. “All our systems are a-go. Just waiting for the confirmation to link with the sarcophagus.”
“Good,” Alverez said. She took one more deep breath, straightening out her uniform in a final vain attempt to steady herself. Just keep to the script, she reminded herself one last time, taking a seat against the cheap office chair. Alverez stared out at the wide array of displays that hung above the mirror. A dozen different graphs, each filled with a whole family of numbers and figures that flew right over her head.
All of which she wasn't meant to understand. The Spaniard was just meant to prod out some basic responses until the professional from Ceres arrived. That left her as an ad-hoc interrogator, aided by the closest person who resembled an AI expert, interrogating a class of AI that may as well have been a deity of interplanetary warfare.
It wasn’t an ideal situation. “Is our monitoring construct active?”
“I’m talking to it right now,” Nachtnebel said with a narrow bitterness. “The construct’s already measuring baseline algorithmic stability, though it’ll kick into gear when we lift the seals.”
Alverez nodded along. “Has it found anything out of order?”
“It’s having difficulty identifying anything.” The weary man replied. “Can’t tell if the damn thing is working perfectly or is just plain broken. Can’t be sure of either, Overwatch prohibiting machine-to-machine handshakes and all."
The German swung his chair in Alverez's direction. His hands beading down his ram-shackled beard. “That means it’s going to be a hands-on job.”
Nachtnebel returned to his rhythmic typing, yet his fingers seemed occasionally stopped in a fit of uncertainty. Whatever the embedded construct was or wasn’t picking up clearly stumping the man.
An everpresent reminder to Alverez that they weren't dealing with any run-of-the-mill AI.
Her eyes glanced absently at the sarcophagus.
Caliban. The survivor of Deimos. The breaker of Eros. And now the champion of Europe’s spearhead across the Jovian moons.
Or at least was.
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