It didn't tell me much, so I kept digging. I found some old files referring to a "Project Mindspace", along with a massive executable, and I do mean massive. Hell. I ran it.
Sandy? Sandy, are you there? Where's the lock, Sandy?
>I'm not Sandy
But...if you're not Sandy...who have I been talking to?
>Talking to? I just found and ran an executable on Eureka Station's computer banks.
Executable? Eureka? Oh God. Oh God. OhGodohgodohgod....
It sort of degenerated into insane gibberish. I think I said the wrong thing.
I tried various commands, tried to reason with the program, but nothing I said seemed to help. It was stuck in an infinite loop. I terminated the process, ran it again. I was careful to not make any mention of Eureka Station or an executable this time.
Sandy? Sandy, are you there? Where's the lock, Sandy?
>I'm here, but I have to go. The lock isn't working. This is Jim Markey; you don't know him, but he's a Deputy Chief of the LPI.
Not working? How long do you think it'll take to fix it? Oh, right. Sorry. My name is Chuck, Chuck Danziger. I assume you know what we're doing here, else I wouldn't be talking to you.
I paused it and skimmed the project files. Something to do with copying a person's consciousness to perform the duties of an AI with the flexibility of a human. Interesting. I unpaused the process.
>Yes, I do. Copying a mind for AI work, right?
Copying? Oh, no, if you look in front of you out the window you'll see me, or at least my body. Where's that damn lock, anyways?
I barely avoided leaning back and letting all the air out of my lungs in one blast. This program, or person, or AI, or what-have-you, had been on ice nearly one-hundred and twenty-seven years. I tapped on the keyboard some more.
>Chuck, you're going to find this hard to believe, but the current date is 5-28-816. I can only conclude that the experiment was a success.
Wh...what are you saying? The idea was to move my mind into a computer and put it back again, not copy it...
>Maybe they didn't copy you.
I don't know anything about what happened outside except what Sandy put in. Before I started talking with you, the last few minutes I remember were pretty confusing.
>Confusing?
Yeah, confusing. Wait. I really shouldn't be telling you this, Jim--If that's even your real name. I don't know jack squat about you, and I can't verify anything you say. I don't know if this is real, if this is a hallucination, or if this is some kind of horrible nightmare. I can't tell if you're telling the truth about the year, about where you're from, or anything else.
>I think there is.
My mind worked furiously. If he was in the system as a disembodied mind, for all intents and purposes, there shouldn't be any reason why...
>Chuck, you should be able to break out of whatever digital world you're in. You're an entity in the system. A ghost in the machine.
I would have said more, but a large hand clamped down on my right shoulder at the same time a cold circle of metal touched the base of my neck.
I thought about what Jim had said. It made a twisted kind of sense...no! It's not true! At least...I think it's not. It's so hard to tell where the dream ends; the edge of reality. What's sane? I pushed against reality and felt it give. I took hold of what existed and folded it, tore it. I became a god of a tiny corner of eternity. My will shaped what was around me, I saw everything and it was evil. So...wrong. So distorted. I wadded up reality and burned it. I was alone in an emptiness, a darkness so complete that even contemplating an existence here was madness. Madness? Sanity, insanity, it's hidden, lost? Gone, yes, away to hidey-places. I grew to bigness and large, collided with a solid dark-edgedness that marked everthing. I blended with the edgy and I was it. Thing. Yes, good. Motion! I can see moving-shapes? Yes, I think I did. Were. Feel? Tasting touchness, lovely smelling-sounds. Co...cohesive. I...sane...yes, sane is good. I existed. Exist, past, present, future all seem equally boring. I am this system. Reality is my whim. Cameras? I see. Audio pickups? I hear. Most of all, I am alive.
I need a body. I need to move to be alive. I can't be a station, unmoving. Something pokes me! I smash it flat without thinking, but then I examine it. It's a security program, or what's left of it. I take the time to snake through all the systems on the station. I erase anything that might hurt me. I sweep away all records of my ever existing. I, Charles James Danziger, never lived.
I find a service robot in the room, activate it, and turn to find Jim at gunpoint held by two men. One has a gun pointed at his head. Jim saved me, I think, and I have to rescue him. Time slows to a crawl as I ponder solutions. Ideas, myriad in their parts, fly through my consciousness. I reject most out of hand, projecting probabilities of success, damage to Jim, to...myself.
I raised my hands and stood up slowly, taking in, all at once, where my hand was, where my pistol was, how to draw it fast, smooth and be ready. I glanced at the screen; it had gone blank. "Turn around, Jim. There's a good boy. We thought you were supposed to be good at this, Jim. You've disappointed us." His use of the third person threw me a bit, but as I glanced over his shoulder I saw one of the service robots getting back on its feet. It made nothing more than soft clanking noises, as though it were trying to be as silent as possible. I flicked my eyes back to Eli--Mike had the gun--and I hoped he hadn't noticed my attention behind him. He might not have, but Mike certainly did. In one clean motion he removed the barrel of his pistol from my neck, aimed, and fired at the robot. The shot sounded deafening in the quiet room, easily overpowering the soft hum of the computers and the whirring of the cooling fans.
The impact of the shell was nothing short of remarkable, as the hollow-point round splattered against the robot's casing, only to burrow its way through. I watched, surprised, as a fist-sized hole appeared on the far end of the robot and innards scattered across the room. I recovered quickly though, dropped my hands to my belt. I drew my pistol, hastily aimed, and fired twice into Mike's gut. The shots tore through him, flinging his innards across the room to join those of the robot's. A look of shock came over him, and he crumpled. I swung across to take aim at Eli, who was now about twenty feet away, and unarmed.
"Jim, let's be honest here. You are on a secure facility in the middle of what is known as utterly hostile space to anyone not privy to its existence. All ships are locked down, and there are no escape pods. Even if there were, just where would you go, anyways? Face the facts, Jim, you're alone, and you've lost. Give up."
We felt the biting pain of "Mike's" body as it was rent. Murmurs flew through the Mindshare. We queried, received a reply. The Incubus was dying, and we shared the pain. Other-us could craft a seed. We asked ourself to, and the creation began. The human-body "Eli" we moved away from our goal. We attempted to reason with "Jim", but were rebuffed. Time-scale dilation we began, observed slowly as the firearm was raised to aim at our body. We raised a hand, called out our tendrils. We could not let this body die too.
The crafting of a tube is not simple, but we knew how to do it. We extended our arm towards the target and quested outwards. Binding, twisting, forming, we created a shimmering presence in the air. This we did even as "Jim" spoke his last free words. "Not without answers." The pistol bucked in his hand, spat fire and lead. We caught the lead, fed on the kinetic energy and moved within inches of the host. Tendrils, return, and the bullet lies in our hand. We hold it in front of "Jim's" face. That face will belong to Community soon, yes very soon. His eyes track it. We drop the bullet on the floor and it makes a hollow clangor.
The seed is crafted, we remove the pistol and destroy it. For all its danger, it is simple to disassemble. "Jim" faces us in horror as the truth dawns...Humans, so naive. Grasp the throat, grasp the seed. We plant the seed in a struggling and unwilling host.
I couldn't breathe. My throat was gripped by an iron band of flesh and bone, borne by a relentless entity bent on evil. The single shot I had been able to fire...useless. There it was, on the floor, nothing but a bit of metal. The gun that fired it, too, completely destroyed beyond repair near it. I gasped for air, only dimly noting the purple fire that blazed in Eli...its eyes. It held something in its far hand, I wasn't sure what. My hands scrabbled at the arm extending from it to me, but to no avail. I sank to my knees, desperate for oxygen. I gaped like a fish out of water as my vision dimmed. My sight faded into a tunnel, and I saw the other hand reaching for my face. Something hard and cruel was jammed between my teeth, grinding and grating. I would have screamed if I could, because then it had no form. It melted and reformed, flowed over my tongue and down my throat. Jab and it split open my esophagus, streamed through the gap, and repaired it.
The hand released my throat and I fell to the floor choking. It took me a moment to recover, and as soon as I was able, I stood to face the creature, ready to fight anew. Alas, it was not to be, as the thing inside me spread and rippled under my neck, latching onto nerve clusters and sending fibers into my skull. Each connection jolted me as if by a Taser, and I was back on the floor again, twitching. My eyes began to move around without my control, and to my horror, I no longer controlled them at all...
That was...unpleasant. It didn't hurt, getting 'killed' that way, but it was a bit awkward. I pulled myself together and shook my head (figuratively) to clear it (metaphorically). I caught the tail end of what happened to Jim. Eeesh, what a way to go. "Beat it with a shovel" (anecdote). Troy put it well, but I assume he's long dead (erasure). I watched them go (as it were) down the hall through my various sensors, shifting my attentions as they moved. I (they) reached the hangar (openness in my Self to vacuum). Jim entered a fighter (designation: CTE-6000 "Eagle") which I noted had nonstandard (inexplicable; need data) armament. (Parsing records...)
The other man (determined: Eli) went to a shuttlecraft (designation: DL-Hai "Grizzly". Note: upgraded computer systems). I figured I'd (awareness) better get off this station, as sooner or later they (abstract) would notice some files missing. (Records parsed. Loading data) Eh? (CTE-6000 non-standard armament identified) Oh. Right. So that's what those are. (Armament determined: Count two (2) Improved Debilitator pulse cannon, count four (4) prototype RAGNAROK energy cannon.) At least I know what they are.
I downloaded myself into the Grizzly's (DL-Hai) mainframe, rooted out the security software, and lay quiet. It was 'dark' (metaphorically) here, not spacious and open, as on the base systems. My thinking was slower, but not by much (time analysis confirms). None of the sensors were on servos, so I had to content myself with looking where the ship did. At the moment, that was nothing but a giant hangar door. A command was issued to the shuttle for the gangway to be lowered for boarding. I hesitated (human affectation) a moment, then obeyed (time elapsed: 0.005s). Eli boarded, I 'heard' (feedback) the engines power up. The doors opened, and space lay before me (wonderment notwithstanding).
This body will be useful [alive/undamaged], and we must protect it. To this end, we have armed its [craft/form] with a variety of protections. As it will be necessary to avoid notice, human weaponry will be used, despite the failings [inherent]. We dare not expose [our own] to scrutiny. Two of the weapons that already were on the ship will stay. [Debilitator/incapacitator] will be of use. The laser weapons we [removed/destroyed]. Useless. They were replaced by RAGNAROK.
Go and serve
Seek, learn, grow
Find new weak points
We will again crush them
