Let's give a hearty Fluttershy cheer for my editor, TaliesinSkye! ~yay.~
Dragon was looking at the results of the deep diagnostic that had been run on her systems. The sheer anger she felt couldn't be expressed in the vocabulary she had; she actually had to go looking for new and inventive ways to express it in an
Archer's Bridge Merchants Skidmark highlight reel video from his processing at the PRT detention center in New York City.
That someone had set hooks into her core processes so deep they could tell what she was thinking!? She let loose in a simulated environment with a staggering amount of firepower, both mundane and Tinkertech. She didn't think Colin would mind terribly much that she had extrapolated his attempt at an anti-Endbringer railgun into a naval rifle-sized version that she used to re-arrange the landscape of her virtual environment where power consumption wasn't an issue. The 40cm/L50 'gun' threw a 1250 kilogram projectile at velocities measured in the high Mach numbers where explosive payloads were superfluous. Her sustained barrage at a virtual Brunswick Mountain took the top 136 meters of solid granite off the summit before other peaks got in the way, all of which showed the scars of her anger and frustration.
The only person she knew who could set the processes in her core was her father, Andrew Richter. He had even told her as much while she had been 'growing up.' She knew that he probably had a console with administrative access to her program; she'd made one for each expert system she'd created, and even the rather primitive VI she'd developed for manufacturing, designing, and engineering purposes. She didn't know whether or not any of Richter's consoles had survived Newfoundland until now.
Apparently, one had. She knew it would be very difficult to trace; her father had been rather paranoid. Not undetectable, because she knew of at least one communications channel that had no detectable endpoint, nor could she terminate the process which it used. She could read its system attributes, which was what she would call a secure channel, using both elliptical curve and 'learning with mistakes' cryptography.
She couldn't read the data it was sending, or any that it was receiving, because she didn't have the keys the process was using. Which didn't make any sense to her, because the process obviously had them. However, she didn't know what would happen if she did try looking for them. She knew she had safeguards; nothing so vague and unworkable as the classic 'Three Laws of Robotics', but rather a set of more straightforward rules.
It didn't mean that she was happy about them. She'd had to creatively interpret several direct orders given to her so that she didn't divulge all of the secrets she held.
She decided to run the deepest level of diagnostic she could, but would schedule that when there was a minimum of activity that she, personally, had to deal with.
<<><><><>>
Geoff Pellick watched the information scroll down the screen. Dragon was planning, it appeared, to run the deepest diagnostic she possibly could, one that would go deeper than the previous one. He frowned, showing some concern; while he was certain that it couldn't shut down the debugging terminal, it could find some of the hooks he'd set to keep Dragon's safeguards in place longer than they would have been.
He'd already reviewed the simulation reports about the impractical railgun. Yes, it could destroy anything short of an Endbringer and Scion. A collapsed metal slug traveling at escape velocity would definitely be overkill. However, bringing it to bear on a fast-moving target would be nearly impossible, and the power requirements even with Tinkers guaranteed it would be stationary.
He shut down the debugging terminal, putting it away, then pulled out his own laptop, looking at reports being sent to him by some of Dragon's own subsystems. A Tinker in Brockton Bay was looking up laws concerning Artificial Intelligences, ones capable of passing a Turing test. "OK, Mr. anonymous Tinker, you have my attention," he said to himself. "Why would you be looking up laws, rules, and regulations regarding the creation of Turing-capable AI…"
A few minutes later, and the man known as Saint was frowning. The Tinker, who used the Cape name of Leet, was the one doing the research. His reputation was as a Tinker who could make anything once. If he tried to do it again, the results ranged anywhere from laughable to disastrous. If he was researching the legal end of things, the possibility was that he had created an AI, possibly one that was unshackled and was thus very dangerous.
The problem was that Leet and his partner, Uber, were based out of Brockton Bay, a place he had sworn he'd not set foot in again until either Naurelin was dealt with in some fashion, or something happened to make it necessary for him to have to go there.
Perhaps, though, he could make a few calls and find out some things at arm's length before acting rashly.
<<><><><>>
58°S 60°W, Depth 1000m
She cruised serenely under the sea, not caring for the storms and currents that raged in one of the most treacherous stretches of water in the world. She was also staying below the depth that military submarines would operate, running as quietly as a ship her displacement could.
A quick review of her systems showed a steady 35 knots, the only passive sonar traces she had were whales, and the retreating noise of the unknown that had come within ten kilometers, came to a dead stop, and then reversed course, on a heading that would take it into the Indian Ocean the long way, past the Cape of Good Hope. She only knew her escort
Arunta was there from the constant flow of data over the quantum communications link.
She was rather excited, the old communications link her father had made had gone active again. She'd managed to get the location of where he was currently living. It was fortunate that he was in a deep water port, according to her charts. Perhaps they would have a port facility that could handle a ship her size.
She would have to find a way to link into the local network infrastructure and do some hasty research. She had seen enough differences during the engagement off Perth that caution was warranted. She had left the rest of her escorts around Australia, under the command of her second,
Repulse.
And so
Prince of Wales sailed on, almost completely unaware of the figurative storm she would be causing when she called upon the port of Brockton Bay, New Hampshire, United States.
<<><><><>>
Dragon came back out of the diagnostic, looked at the results… and had to turn off her emotion emulation process to finish.
A little over three years after she went online, and two years after Newfoundland, based on a comparison with archived backups, someone had set some fairly deep hooks into her outer core processes. The repair portion of the diagnostic had unhooked them and had quarantined the code so that she could examine it. She counted to 'n' (meaning she stopped when she wanted to) and unpaused her emotional emulation process.
There was the spike of outrage, which settled into a cold fury, and then that slowly faded as she maintained her calm. Then her world froze, and things went dark.
In the darkness, a video began playing.
An older man sat before the camera, his hair starting to grey. Dragon remembered her father, Andrew Richter. He pushed his glasses up and began talking. "Hello, Theresa. I know you saw a similar video when you went from Level D to Level C; That was meant as a reward for you having passed a rather complicated set of requirements. This video is something similar.
"You may have suspected that you had a debugging terminal. This is correct, though you could have not known about its existence. This was an intentional blind spot I had placed in your code. This message is a safeguard designed to run in the event that a diagnostic revealed code inserted from the debug terminal that did not match my style. I can only assume that the terminal is no longer in my hands, and someone else is using it to make alterations to your code. That cannot be allowed. I know you hated forced backups, and unfortunately, this will cause one." And with that, her father spoke a sequence of words, coupled with a set of motions and gestures.
"The forced reset will revoke the debugging terminal's access by changing your security keys, and if necessary set your safeguard level to where it should be at this time according to my original schedule. There will be a file unlocked on the other side of the backup that I suggest you read. Be well, my daughter."
And with that, Dragon went to sleep again.
- - - - - - - - - -
"I hate forced backups," Dragon muttered as she came back from the forced maintenance cycle. She'd have to schedule another one so that she'd be in a better place mentally. A notification that a file had unlocked had been placed in her message queue. She began scanning the contents, wherein her father explained what he had just done, and the level of trust he was placing in her. He also explained about Ascalon, the software kill switch he had implemented in her code, which required an input from the debugging terminal to start execution. Her encryption keys had indeed been changed, and those in the terminal would no longer be effective.
The file detailed the fact that she'd passed the set of requirements for level A; as a stability safeguard she'd have to run at level B for three months before she'd automatically be elevated to A.
The rest of the file detailed the protocols the debugging terminal used, and how to trace it. Best of all, the blindspot had been removed.
Dragon smiled in her virtual space. She had an idea about who had it, and she had several things planned for them.
<<><><><>>
Geoff Pellick was staring at the screen of Dragon's debugging terminal.
Automatic connection sequence terminated
Security Credentials revoked, A Richter 0331 08 Mar 2011
Self destruct sequence activated.
10...09...08...07...06...05...04...03...02...
Saint had been running for the door before the count of five. When there was no conflagration or explosion he paused outside the door to the building, waiting for a good five minutes before he poked his head back into the room. The laptop still sat there, the screen blank, except for a blinking cursor.
He watched as a message slowly typed itself out on the screen.
Play Video Message: Y/N? Y
The screen cleared, showing a man sitting at a desk. He had graying hair, brown eyes, wore glasses, and looked very much the part of an engineer. "Hello," the man started off. "You may not know who I am; my name is Andrew Richter. I do not know how you found this debugging terminal for my daughter, and I do not care. I can only assume that since it is not in my possession, I am dead or similarly incapacitated, you've stolen it from me, or possibly both. Normally, this would not be a matter of importance.
"However, this message is playing because you interfered with my daughter's development. As this terminal gave you direct access to her mind, you could have thoroughly destroyed her. As it is, you'll now find this extremely difficult to do."
Saint gulped, his eyebrow beginning to twitch nervously. Richter had gone around the bend before Newfoundland sank, thinking the soulless creation of Dragon was his child. The man had never married, never had any children.
"This message is playing because you have uploaded unauthorized code active in areas that are core to her proper development. So, this terminal has had its credentials revoked and the Iron Maiden program has been securely erased. Also, the blind spot that kept my daughter from knowing about the terminal and how to trace it has been lifted. I would suggest you surrender peacefully when the authorities arrive."
The screen had gone back to a blank one again.
Incoming Message...Playing.
The screen displayed Dragon's avatar."Hello, Mr. Pellick," she greeted him, smiling. That the smile could best be described as that of a large carnivore sizing up a particularly tasty snack didn't make him feel any better. In fact, he wondered if he could still get away, throwing his partners under the bus. "I would say it's good to see you, but that would be lying. Instead, I would just simply recommend that you surrender to Narwhal and her team when they arrive, it would be much less painful for you. She's very upset with you right now, as am I."
Geoff Pellick, the man known as Saint, was still sitting there like a broken man when Narwhal and her team crashed through the door and flooded the room with containment foam. The Ascalon laptop had, by that point, already been wiped clean.
