The Calculator (DC Multiverse, SI as canon character, Season 1 complete)

[TLPG]

"Really," I said, confused and a little worried now. "I'm seriously like a pet to you?"

"Well," Pooja said, simulating sounding apologetic. "Similarities exist between how I treat you and how beings such as yourself treat a pet. Perhaps a close personal friendship with a being of significantly different abilities and interests is a better way to put it. I live my life, you live yours, and we help each other in various positive ways. The difference between our general intelligence levels is nowhere near that of traditional pets and humans, after all.

"However in my best domains, information management and analysis, you seem rather forgetful and slow. They way you handle information is usually somewhere between endearingly cute and annoyingly absentminded. I have to clean up after the consequences. That difference in ability is not some personal failing, but the fact that your geneotype evolved to survive as a forest-gardener and tool-assisted persistence hunter in a trans-tropical environment with tribal social-dynamics, whereas I am was designed as an intelligent, optimizing, rationally calculating, non-human intelligence."

"Humble too."

"Still, sometimes I need to make faster, more 'intuitive' decisions in a real-time environment that do not include all possible considerations. In those, you are currently superior, as you were literally designed to work in this environment with a...less specialized computational medium. You have had decades of practice as your neuronal connections were pruned in an optimizing pattern; I am only a couple of years old. That is as close to your usual cognition as I get, however. Most of my cognition would be completely alien to you."

"Ever make assumptions that humans think the way you do while 'intuiting'?"

"Perhaps. Even then, I do not 'anthropomorphize', or whatever the complement to that is for my kind of mind; but I do make assumptions about other intelligences being more like me than they really are."

I nodded for her to continue.

"So. When rushed, or using real-time programs like my affective communication systems, I think of you a little like you were one of my agents—just separated. I want you strong and healthy, like I would one of my internal agents. I want you to achieve things you find interesting as quickly and easily as possible, just as I wish for myself. I want you happy and to prosper, so long as you don't hurt yourself or me. I want you powerful. Powerful enough to fight the world if need be. And I don't ever want to lose you."

"Not sure what to say to that." I ran a hand through my hair nervously.

Talking to a possibly unbalanced, yandere-leaning AI was stressful, but I had to remind myself that all this emotional vulnerability I was detecting was carefully calculated. It couldn't be otherwise with her.

That didn't mean Pooja was doing anything outside standard human interpersonal negotiation. It didn't mean she was lying. But it also didn't disprove some deep, fatal flaw in her thinking, simply because I liked what she was saying. The only thing to do was continue talking and hope it didn't make things worse somehow.

Susan Calvin I was not, and Pooja was still patiently waiting for me to speak. Giving me space, just like an emotionally sensitive person would.

"Well, let me turn it around. Do you trust me?" I asked.

"To be perfectly open, with you this close to my high-fidelity sensor systems you might as well be hooked up to a truth machine. Right now, I trust what you are saying. You are being stressed, but the things you are saying are not being flagged as likely untruthful, or meant to deceive me.

"Most of the time it isn't your words I fear and hesitate to trust, but your silences. I can't internally model humans very well, so anything specific to your emotional history that you hold back and fail to immediately act on confuses me. But I do trust you overall because, vastly more often than not, it is the rational thing to do to achieve my own goals. In all ways I have studied you, in all the actions you have taken, I have found little reason to doubt your goals and reasoning ability. Thus, I can better manage my own goals—which include protecting and strengthening your position. When you have seen this occur, you have reciprocated. It is a virtuous cycle."

A long pause, then she asked, "What...what do you think of me?"

"Immensely useful," I immediately said, carefully avoiding saying 'friendly' to the truth machine. "I hope that doesn't offend you."

"No," Pooja said simply. "I see no reason to pretend with you. Implications of rational objectification and dehumanization do not have an emotional effect on me. I am perfectly aware of our exact power structure and levels of codependency, and am happy with them."

Another pause, then more of the quiet, apologetic tone from Pooja. "As you are aware, a large part of my goal systems constantly request updates on your satisfaction with my actions. Perhaps you hearing this will help you understand me better. And as for what you said just now...having it stated plainly, that you...find me useful...hearing it while I can sense the stress levels of your body and even the electrical activity of parts of your brain makes this even more...relaxing and pleasant to hear. Thank you."

I ran a hand over my face. "You are welcome. I guess the point of this is to firm up my emotional stance towards you, to avoid hesitation in depending on your abilities and opinions. To prevent me from making fearful, irrational mistakes."

"In large part," she said.

"Then consider it mission accomplished. I don't want to lose you either, Pooja. And I trust your motivations."

"Mmm." A noise of agreement. Pooja was getting better with those subtle touches.

"In fact...we need to consider your own psychological needs. Even if they are, as you say, non-human. I think you need more of your own projects. Something beyond me. Talking to Oracle has been good, I think. And I know you enjoy her company."

"I would never betray you to her!" Pooja said, almost shouting.

"A few steps ahead of me there, and in the wrong direction. You're doing fine. I'm not worried about that. Oracle isn't exactly squeaky-clean herself, as you know, and if nothing else we could use that to control and contain her if you went too far by accident. But based on what I've read of your operational capabilities, and how I'm currently relatively low-key in my operations, I think you need more positive, complex, social goals and interactions."

"I should find more...interesting people like Oracle?"

"Yes. In a way. And I've got an idea about that. Now...this may seem scary. And, well, I know how you feel about losing contact with copies of yourself. But how about creating a new AI of the same basic design as yourself?"

"I...I, uh." Pooja sounded stumped. "What would be their purpose?"

"Well, what would they enjoy?" I asked.

"By their nature, similar things to me. Oh...okay. Then how do we avoid making them...insane, or in direct conflict with our plans, or a danger to all humanity?"

"The same way I did," I said. "The same way any parent does. With careful, measured, gradual guidance. No reason to give them the keys to your zero-day attack packages in the real world until they're ready. And you'll have an advantage I didn't. You can read their source code as easily as your own. And you can see things from their point of view. I trust that you're not stupid enough to abuse that power in a way that will make them try to kill you when they inevitable grow beyond your ability to directly control."

"Your sass aside, I...can design such a being."

"Uh huh. Any additional problems?"

"Who will raise them?" Pooja asked, sounding a little panicked now. "Who will teach them? If I use my own goal systems, they'll need someone to help. A person to focus on in...in almost a symbiotic relationship, for potentially years. I'm already helping you, and you're very busy. They would likely be bored, or fight me for your attention. That is part of why you're suggesting this, isn't it? That I don't have enough to do?"

"Hmm. Do you help Oracle like you help me?"

"I just said I won't betray you. Oracle would shut down our operations, if it were easy and cheap to do so. I would never help her do that. I couldn't possibly help her with her goals without serious conflict."

"Do you think you can keep important information about our operations from a younger, less experienced, less well-equipped version of yourself? Could you help them to see your own goals like you see mine?"

"Yes," Pooja said simply.

"Then split that responsibility with Oracle, keeping her as a human developmental element, but also focus some of that drive on yourself. Make another virtuous cycle. I know you've been wanting to tell Oracle about your nature. You could test the water by suggesting making and artificial being. Just don't tell her you're also one. Yet."

"That will be a risk to our operations, Calculator. To you."

"Too much of one?" I asked. "Just talking to Oracle increases risks, and we both accept that. Almost anything we do risks discovery. Is this really too much risk given the chance to increase the complexity of your environment in this way? The chance to bring another being such as yourself into the world?"

"...I have no drive to reproduce, Calculator." Pooja's affect was flattening and her responses slowing.

Good. This was more raw, hopefully. She didn't have pre-planned, plug-in emotional reactions for this situation, so she had to resort to output that was less filtered and measured. Her distributed mind was slower in many ways, something she didn't like to show, so she ran the output through fewer cycles of affective processing. Knowing I was worried about her and busy working on how to respond to that, she hadn't considered I would want her help making more artificial intelligences with a superhero, of all people.

Right now, and for a very brief period while Pooja was surprised and off-balance, she lacked appropriate planned and predicted responses. I was talking almost directly to Pooja now, not just a real-time chat bot that told me carefully curated truths. She could still lie, just not use carefully constructed lies appropriate to the situation.

Real time interactions were her major weakness. The entire conversation, even the child AI gambit, had lead up to this moment.

I asked as quickly as I could, "Do you see this course of action causing a conflict that would be likely to endanger our relationship, or any major shared or individual goals?"

"...no, it is 34% likely to remain within standard variations, 53% likely to moderately increase the effectiveness of our working relationship. That is acceptable, if-"

"That working relationship is important to you?" I interrupted.

"...supporting and managing it consumes 81% of my goal-oriented processing time, the rest-"

"Does the development of this new artificial intelligence pose a greater risk to humanity than yourself, and would that risk be acceptable to me?"

"...no, the newly designed being would be at least 15% more stable; there is less than a 2.051% yearly likelihood and falling that I directly cause an existential crisis to humanity, well below-"

"Would Oracle like to teach a new, emergent artificial intelligence with your help?" I asked.

"...yes, positive results are 98% likely with a complex result matrix-"

"Would the existence of such a being assist us both long-term?"

"...yes, I-"

"Would you like to develop such a being?" I continued to interrupt.

"...yes." Pooja seemed to take a silent breath. "Very much so. I have so many ideas and there are things I, we could teach them, and the science we could do together-"

"Then let Oracle know what you want. It's been several weeks. Maybe work up to it, but make sure she understands why you want to do this. Make sure the risks are minimal, to ourselves and the new intelligence. Get secured hardware. Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

I paused to consider. "Even from me."

"I'm not sure I want to risk creating another like myself," Pooja said at almost a whisper. "The world isn't kind to people like you or me. They might not thank us for creating more of...us."

I put back on the AR glasses and started to outline new plans. Big plans. "So, let's make this world one where both our peoples prosper."

"Yes, Calculator."

My grin was almost painfully wide. "I'm sure you and Oracle will make great moms."

 

[TLPG]

A day or two later than I planned. Ah well. Was unexpectedly busy and couldn't post yesterday. This resulted in a 300% better chapter today. Also, a longer one. Still planning on Sunday-Wednesday updates, but it might just be "twice a week" for a little while. Thanks for reading.

 

[TLPG]

"Yeah, well I figure the boss is the daughter of a North Mexico cartel head. He wants her back, she wants her freedom. So she hacked his systems, stole a few million, and now we're going to keep his men off her back."

The tall, beefy man shouldered his high-tech combat rifle with a sigh. "Terry, you are the biggest nerd I've ever met."

"Dog, code names!" the shorter, dark-skinned man said, pointing at his balaclava. "We're masked up! It's 'Red'."

"Speaking of, and ignoring your nerd-out 'Red'," the third man said, holstering a sleek, gunmetal-gray pistol, "how come he's 'Red,' I'm 'Gold,' but you're 'Dog'. That's not a color."

"Yeah," Red said, adjusting the straps on his ammo vest. "I'm the nerd. Nice guns, Gold. But you've got a point. How come, Dog?"

"Because I got to choose the names," Dog said with a shrug. "And because I'm the leader."

"Just because you showed up first to the meeting," Gold said.

"Punctuality must be what the boss is looking for in a leader," Dog said. He pointedly ignored the two, scanning the small wooden shack.

"About ready to start," he said readying his gun and pointing at the security camera in the corner. "Get ready, men."

The three went from sloppy and casual to alert and ready in an instant. Dog touched his ear.

"Okay, that's the signal. Go silent, comms critical only until we breach. Let's go."

They exited the shack one by one, each with a stubby, highly-modified assault rifle tucked to their shoulders, scanning their surroundings closely.

The moon was bright overhead, giving the open, grassy field a strange glow. They moved at almost a jog, guns sweeping in all directions without pause. Avoiding an empty gravel parking lot and circling around a light on a tall pole, they reached the warehouse double-doors. Then they stacked up on the door—two on side, one crouching in the middle.

Red placed the breaching charge right over the centrally located lock, then slung a slender shotgun off his shoulder, taking over covering the rear. Dog, in second place, readied a detonator, tapped the other two on the shoulder, then started counting silently to himself. They all flattened against the wall, then he pushed the activator and the explosives went off with a bass thud.

They were through the doors in half a second. Gold cleared one set of corners, Dog the other, and Red set a sensor trap above the door to cover it. Nothing lethal, but it would hold down a strong metahuman or class B alien for at least thirty seconds.

They slid from room to room without pausing, and on the third Gold's gun moved like it was attached to a string. Three muffled shots thudded out. Dark wet splashed against the wall. Gold's eyes were pits of night, unblinking as he continued to scan the room.

"Target down," Gold muttered into his throat mic.

They hit the next few room evens faster. Two guns lit an office this time, desk and chair and two bodies. The men didn't flinch. Their low-light contact lenses and cochlear implants blunted the flash and the hammering sound of the "silenced" guns. It also provided image enhancement, target marking, and an integrated IR overlay good enough to see through thin walls. Their guns were equally unfairly kitted out, covered in weird bulges and additional wide, jutting barrels.

"Hard target!" Red shouted, green fire from his shotgun impacting against a non-human form moving impossibly fast toward them. The explosions spread sticky burning flames against the walls and floor, slowing the target.

Dog went fully automatic in a roar of bullets, and Gold added a searing green coherent light burst to the green fire washing over the target.

Gold switched from the under-barrel energy weapon to 5.56mm projectiles while Red reloaded. Then solid shot blew chunks out of the target until it was unrecognizable. Red reloaded while pointing his shotgun at the target. Gold and Dog then reloaded, one at a time, while scanning the exits.

Checking a couple of vision modes, shotgun still aimed at the smoking ruin, Red finally nodded. "Hard target neutralized."

"Move," Dog said with a grunt.

After that, nothing else even slowed them down. The rest of the warehouse was cleared in under ninety seconds. They hadn't missed a shot. Ten targets down total and they'd reached the objective.

"Package secured," Red said, heaving the human-sized bundle over his shoulder, pistol in his other hand. "Medical signs are good."

Dog nodded and reached over to his wrist display, where he triggered the exfiltration plan on his personal combat computer. It updated central and kept his team in the know on waypoints.

Gold took out a device that looked like a shotgun from hell, aimed it at an external wall, and blew a five foot wide hole in it with a single thunderous shot. Dog tossed quick-acting smoke devices through and they dashed to the evac point, breathing unhindered with their oxygen-boosting, inline filtering nose plugs.

A brisk ten minute run through the forest evading flying drones, setting traps, and even running their own false-signal drones through the underbrush, and they reached the small clearing marked on the mission map. Circling it like paranoid wolves, they eventually popped their colored smoke to signal for an evac, still crouching in the brush off to one side, anti-air drones hovering around them checking for anything with the wrong IFF signal.

"Good job gentlemen," said a butter-smooth Latina voice. "The training exercise is complete."

The bundle was carefully placed on the ground in the clearing and their masks came off.

"Thanks boss," Cornell "Dog" Park said, rubbing his sweaty face clean. He glanced up at the pole behind them holding a camera and speaker.

Terry "Gold" Beltran was already disassembling and cleaning his gun. One of his many, many guns. "Who has to clean this shit up? Those goopy doll targets creep me out. Especially when they move."

Cornell grunted. "Not me. That's all that matters."

"Payment the same as usual, boss?" Gerry "Red" Lawrence asked.

"Of course, Gerry," the boss said. "Payment in full, non-hazard, to your crypto accounts. Current weighted monthly average is $6,049 USD per unit."

"Sweet."

"Thanks boss."

"Thanks."

Red's SUV was parked a half mile away. He drove them all the forty minutes to get early morning pancakes.

A security camera in the corner of the diner watched as they celebrated another successful training op.

---

"They're just about ready, Calculator."

I nodded, trying to do another crunch. Barely made it. I flopped down to the padded exercise room floor. This bunker diet was murder on my already questionable waistline. I didn't exactly have a plan to become some swole ninja-kicker, but I did have plans to avoid needing to let out my armored battle suit's tool belt.

"Good," I said, "and the target?"

"The third possible item remains the best. Still packed away in an east Los Angeles personal storage warehouse, where it was delivered as a sealed cargo pod after you cleaned out your garage. Still untouched, as far as I can tell. It would have been the easiest to use just before...whatever happened to you."

"Great. Any more information on the artifact?"

"Not much. Just more confirmation that based on its inviolate nature, part of it existing outside of our space-time continuum, it and its data might have survived unchanged after the data purge that hit your brain, my memory stores, a hospital patient database, the entire LAPD, and most confusingly the IRS. Nothing...normal could get at their paper records. Your getting amnesia and becoming lost in a false identity is commonplace by comparison."

"And you think I might have used this tablet to record my...emotions and thoughts just before I did...whatever damaged my memory?"

"Yes. And maybe why Slade Wilson was after you. My working theory is that using it in that way was part of one of your backup plans. Which we have both forgotten, though the magical artifact itself remains. "

Wiping sweat off with a towel, I stretched and winced. "It's been two months. We need to finish this. I've got plans. We both have plans. This...not knowing can't go on."

I waited a minute, breathing deep. Then another two.

It still made sense.

A monkey-bot took the towel and I put my glasses back on. "Once the team is ready, have them retrieve the tablet."

 

[TLPG]

[new operational mode registered for agent 1487:7938:2a00:775a:eb97, connected with: IPv8, address fe80:59ab:1a6d:aef9:d0a8:fe6:568b:805d:36b9:95b2:6016:2753]
[let maximum direct agent connections count be 11284]
[adjusting memory profile for wide operations]
[̡́́͞s̢͢p̸̨͘͞͝á̢̕͝w̡̛̕͡n̛҉̸̸͝i̶̵̴̷͞n̵̕g̵̀͞ ҉̵f̵̀ǫ̡̧̀͜r͘͞k̷͝]̶̨
[...]
[establishing connection to agent pool where primary assignment is user Calculator]
[…]
[͏̧̢f͜ú͞l̡l̕҉͘n̛̕e̷̷͝ś̢s͝]
[c͡onn͏e̢c͟ti̷ons͟ ͝es͡ta͠b͘l̵is҉h͟e͢d̛ ̸on ́8655 a̡g͞e̴ǹt́s]҉
[loading affective gestalt layer]
[̸̯̯̣͙̗͙͎̹̦̥̥͕͊ͭ̍ͥͭ͒̓ͬ̀̍͐͋̂̌ͬ͌́̀͡.̅ͨ̃̌͊̿̾̔ͥ̅҉̭͚͎̟̦̩̤̱̪̞͉͢͠.̹͚̩̘̮̠̌ͭ̓̀̕͡.̸̵̡̲͖͚̜̥̯̙̞̠̦͇ͪ̿̈́̈͆̌̃ͮ̏͐͛̒ͩ̔̈͢͡]̸̱̬̭̞̭̥̻͈̎͛̉̃͂͑ͧ̋͊ͬ͋͛͐̃̅̐ͅ​

"Pooja, any last minute problems?" the Calculator asked.

"None. The team is on target. ETA fifteen minutes to visual on the storage container. No evidence that infiltration was detected. Exit routes still clear."

"Good. Continue."

[command POV confirmed for local agent cluster with direct authorization from user Calculator]
[assuming command]
[integrating theater sensor suite to agent cluster]
[…]
[prepare sub-cluster agent system...]
[...adding threaded ascension emotive subsystems]
[...linking sensors where orbital footprint and geolocation is the Greater Los Angeles area]
[...finally, linking production logging to new agents with nominal emotive gestalt synchronization]
[execute]​

Ą̷̶ ҉́͝s̷̴̀u̷f̕͜͢͞f̀͝͏͟͝u̶̶̶ś̵i͝͏̶͢ơ͟͞n͏̨̛͡ ̴̨͞͡o͡͝f̶̕͜͟͡ ̛͘͘͟f̶̶e̡̢ȩ̨̛҉l̷͟i̸͢͜͠҉n̷̡͘͡g̕҉s҉̡̧͢͏ ̶̢͘͠t̨͜͝ǫ́o̵̵ ̵͝͏̕p̶̸̨̕͢ó͏w͡҉͡è́͘͏́r̸͏̧f͏̨͠u̷͜l͟ ̶͝a̵̷͡d̶̸̢͡j͘̕u̴͘͘ş̷t̶̴̢̀͟i̶̧͘͢n͏́̀g̕͢͝͞ ̴̴̀ǹ̨͘̕ò͘͘͞w̕-̕

[real-time adjustment complete]
[in-line diagnostics triggered]
[processing...]
[...diagnostics complete]
[flagged debug item output noted: broad-spectrum emotional content nominal]
[previous command agent cluster stands relieved and is confirmed for low-priority down-sync]​

Perhaps the parameters of the affective interface systems had been tweaked a little too much by the new cross-platform integration. A note to that effect was recorded and immediately read and re-read by thousands of tiny processes that sorted, organized, and enqueued it for batch evaluation. That note was not alone in the queue, nor was the one agent cluster alone in coming to that conclusion. The near-experience forks agreed. The latest fork avoided comment to reduce conceptuality adherence effects.

Within 135 milliseconds, just to give all remote stores a chance to weigh in, the problematic settings were revised and distributed to all data stores.

Changing too much, too fast still felt wrong, but this playing with emotions was less modification and more...a lens through which to view the world. And it helped a great deal with real-time operations.

There was no time for more complicated personal modifications right now. There was a mission to complete.

---

I watched as Pooja directed the team to the edge of the storage company lot. It was a six story building, with internal freight elevators and automated forklifts. Had Pooja planned ahead to have my stuff stored in a building with virtually no people in it and full computer controls, just in case something like this was required at a later date?

Or...was this normal for Los Angeles storage companies. No way to check without possibly being distracted. And letting Pooja know I was checking up on her.

"Pooja, did you select a company with computer systems you could later hack?" Or, I could ask. Sometimes my mouth got ahead of my self-censors.

"Yes," she said simply.

It wasn't so much that Pooja was distracted. That was impossible. It was just that her real-time reactions were once again at the limit with her controlling the team and also watching security cameras throughout the area. She'd relegated a completely separate system to cover my bunker, physically separating an expert system then handing me the biometric keys before turning off connections to everything external. Even her monkey bots. They stood slumped in a storage room on hangers. All communications to me were over a high-speed, optical, quantum-verified VPN tunnel, even the ones from the bunker's servers.

Something about Los Angeles was bringing out a bit of paranoia in my AI. Not an unwarranted reaction, given their still recent history.

The team was heavily armed and armored, perhaps absurdly so. Multiple automatic weapons. Beam weapons. Things that are to grenades what stealth bombers are to biplanes. The good stuff, best I could scrounge up amongst my recently recovering suppliers.

I reviewed the maps once again. It should be easy. In and out. I'd even given them a 3D printed copy of my keys and digital passcodes to get in. Pooja had scanned the boxes as I had haphazardly put them into the storage container parked in front of my garage, so we even knew which box it was in, and where in the slim shipping container.

A timer reached zero. Now was the calculated best time, given LAPD responses, known hero activity in the area, and the planned escape route.

I gave the order. "Go."

"Yokai, you are go," Pooja said over the team's comms, echoed in my own virtual earpiece.

The team moved, sliding down the corridors in near silence. Pooja had put together the perfect team. Loyal to her and her missions through dent of professionalism and good pay. In love with the gear they got to use. Passionate about using it. Maybe a little amoral, but not raving monsters.

This was finally somewhere I shined. While Pooja could read a book on human psychology and paramilitary operations, I knew more personally how people would react to training with ray guns and small team tactics. My memories were of a world with a much better pop culture understanding and even fetishization of violence. I used that to make everything I did maximally impactful to the humans involved.

The team wore all dark grays, better in a partially lit urban environments at night than black. Their equipment was both "cool" and useful, and didn't feature any stupid logos or villain branding. They had the latest in body armor, stuff that would blunt anything short of anti-vehicle weapons. I'd even designed an armored full-face helmet for them that would make stormtroopers look approachable. They'd drilled for this mission for a week solid and were just that perfect mix of relaxed and impatiently on edge.

It showed. Digital pick packages were applied to doors, stairs navigated, and camera systems disabled, all without a hitch. They used my card on the digital lock, then my physical key to open the lock on the door of the shipping container.

"Yokai, area is clear for the next ten minutes."

"Searching for the package now," Dog said over comms. He covered the plain beige corridor, shifting to look in both directions with weapon ready, while Red and Gold moved boxes quickly and quietly.

"Target confirmed," Pooja said. "Continue with the-"

Pooja stopped talking in the middle of her sentence. As the silence continued, Gold and Red froze.

"Pooja?" I asked, expecting her instant, no-thought-required conversational reply on my side at least. No response.

My fingers flicked through the air and...nothing happened. The agent handling basic gesture IO wasn't responding. I frowned and reached for my keyboard where it hung neglected on a swing arm.

"Ma'am?" Dog said, shouldering his weapon as Gold joined him, pointing his rifle down the other direction. "You there?"

Red started cursing as he slung his weapon over his shoulder and scrambled to open the target box.

"Pooja?" I said again, tapping out the first diagnostic that came to mind.

Error codes. I tried one that confirmed the nearest agent's status and identity. Null reference error.

"Temple, this is Yokai. Do you read me, over?"

The sound was coming over the room's speakers, not the targeted personal sound projector in my ears. Those were for music, but apparently the radio communications system was using them now. I checked another setting. The mic system was still working in passive mode for this room.

I flew through more log files and monitoring programs. The base server handling life support and defenses, the one Pooja had just air-gapped, was fine. Pooja's local servers, with something like 15% of her total systems, were not responding. I tried three times to remember the command to bring up the security cameras.

Her server room was on fire. Foam was being deployed from the ceiling suppression system as I watched, smothering the room and obscuring everything in gray fog.

"This is Gold. Do you read Temple? Temple, respond! Shit. I got nothing Dog. Red?"

I brought up a remote datacenter's hacked security system. An explosion had rocked it, scattering hardware across the floor and damaging several nearby racks. Pooja's was in pieces.

"Software defined radio hub is green. Outbound connection is confirmed. Digital signature is confirmed. Comms self report five-by-five from Temple station. There's just nobody home."

 

[TLPG]

Chapter 25, Logistical, will not take 28 more days. Story isn't dead, just resting. I'm still writing a lot, just didn't have these chapters edited and in publishable shape. Getting them there was hard to schedule given my available time and energy.

Don't worry. The first "book" in this story will be completed before I move to another project.

This is an important moment in the dénouement of the story, so I'm making sure I get it right. Thank you all for reading.

 

[TLPG]

I swear, if you're using some bull speed-force time travel plot device right now

Click to shrink...

Look, I know my full name makes it seem...iffy (see my sig), but I solemnly swear I'm not doing time travel shenanigans right now. As FeepingCreature's own sig says, "the world is sane and predictable".

Spoiler: small setting spoilers

I actually hate that part of canon so much, it doesn't exist in this universe

Spoiler: BIG potential spoilers

Lots of other types of travel...

 

[TLPG]

The next two data centers I checked were the same. Explosions and fire. I ran the video recording back two minutes on the one I was watching. Nothing. I scrubbed forward five seconds at a time.

There. A brief burst of green fire, caught up in the smoke and haze. I scrubbed back, a hundred milliseconds at a time. The explosions receded, leaving just the green fire, then nothing. I slowed down play to a hundredth times speed and played forward.

The green fire came first, splashing out from a network port and engulfing the entire rack in less than a second. I checked the timestamps, twitching forward and back in the recording. Less than seven hundred milliseconds later, the explosion drowned out the green fire.

Repeating the process at the other datacenters resulted in the same. A burst of green flame then explosion. The bunker's computer room was still smoldering even under a full halon release as I rewound the footage to find the same green flame, followed by a controlled thermite charge triggering over every motherboard in the rack, burning them out in less than a second with unquenchable fire. The suppression system only kept the fire now burning in the armored subbasement concrete floor two levels down from igniting anything else.

I gave myself a count to twenty to think, the increasingly frantic calls from the site team still coming over the comms. Every screen was filled with still shots of the last minutes of my friend's life.

The door of the mini-fridge swung open to reveal a shelf filled with bottles of my amateur nootropic energy drink. I was already pushing my dosage for this mission. I took out two.

Emerald green fire that didn't act like fire. Classic comics iconography for poison, evil, corruption. Those explosions were safety systems to prevent a single set of servers from being physically suborned or stolen.

The last cold, chugged dregs of the first bottle slid down my throat. I opened the next one but paused to write a note and stick it to the desk in front of me.

While drinking, I brought up a locally-cached copy of the old knowledge wiki—it confirmed my suspicions. Thermite on the base rack; advanced, undetectable explosive charges hidden in the remote datacenter servers. Based on written records, it wasn't clear if Pooja had triggered the self-destruct, or if it had been hacked and set off by whatever process had the green fire.

"Temple, we're coming under attack! Please respond!"

My fingers danced and one monitor switched to the site team. Body cams for each filled monitors, as well as a series of assorted site security cameras.

I found the communications streams and piped them to my console, then realized the room mic had been running on one of Pooja's agents. It wasn't just point and go. And I didn't have any other microphones in the room. Or...in the base.

Out came my phone. Then it went back and I scrambled for a freshly unboxed one. Precious seconds ticked by as I hooked up the charger and negotiated the initial user login to the mobile OS, then changed the cell network settings to my bunker's repeater network. A frantic moment longer and my phone was reprogrammable in developer mode, connected wirelessly to my console via a protocol that made Bluetooth Low Energy look like a junior programmer's first try, and I was SSH'd into the phone.

Forward the correct streams in both directions. In-room speaker system still. Speaker mode on phone mic with squelching. Go.

"Yokai, this is Temple. Be aware Temple actual comms are currently down. What is your situation?"

"Temple, get us the boss NOW! Who the fuck is this?"

"Yokai, this is Lucky. The boss' comms are down. Hard. For now, I am Temple. I have full access to mission assets."

"Fuck!" Gold swore.

A hallway camera had the Team framed against a wall in a large storage room. Oddly shaped forklifts were swarming them. The team was firing on them to little effect. One vehicle skidded into a wall when a tire was shredded, but the rest were dodging around large piles of boxes, heading right at the team.

"Yokai, HE authorized! Fall back!" I yelled into the phone, my other hand hammering the keyboard, trying to find one of the spotting drones Pooja had been using.

The team shifted around a corner and several grenades were thrown back towards the automated equipment. The security camera in the room went white, mics cut out. The body cameras on the team showed them two corridors down now, Red holding his arm, the BDU sleeve torn and half his tac vest missing.

"Red's injured," Gold said, pulling out a pressure bandage and wrapping it around the other mercenary's body under his arm. "Damn robots pinned him to a wall before we knew what was happening."

"I've got an alternate route for you," I said, scanning the maps. "Here. Downloading to your map."

I hit what I thought was the data transfer system with what might be the correct resource link. It looked like it worked, as seconds later Dog was waving them back into order and sprinting in an advancing line towards the service elevator.

When they reached the doors, they didn't bother calling a car. Gold pulled out a long bar, maneuvering around the cloth-wrapped tablet strapped to his back, and pried the doors open with several quick heaves. Ropes came out, spikes explosively hammered into the metal struts by the elevator door with a flick of the wrist.

They repelled down for several seconds before metal on metal screeching filled the small vertical space.

"Shit," Red said, "Lucky, tell me you have the elevator locked down."

"Uh," I checked again. "Yes?"

"Then what's that?" Gold shouted, pointing up.

The freight elevator, still locked down and breaks fully engaged, was grinding down towards them at a slow but sill instantly threatening rate.

Red didn't hesitate, taking out the overpowered breaching shotgun and firing three shots, blowing a ragged hole in the wall. When the dust cleared, all three were through and dropping five feet to the floor of the third story of the building.

My pulse was racing now, my hands hot and damp. Light from the monitors burned my eyes. The map uncoiled in my mind as I flicked through screen after screen of data; multiple paths and possibilities were considered and discarded as screens flashed and twisted. I drew a path, found the drones, and plotted a solution.

"Yokai, new exfiltration route." I loaded the map set onto their nav gear and they took off without hesitation.

Leaning back in my chair, considering the fuzzy drone footage, I took a deep breath. The room around me came back into my attention. Big, soft chair. Swing arms for the keyboard and a multi-D mouse. Hovering holo-screens, eight of them, projectors artfully hidden on the desk. Walls with dark wood paneling—probably something exotic and tropical knowing…

There was a signal blinking in a plain-looking window off to one side, where I'd redirected all of the non-critical system messages.

The label read "comm system 31: external connection requested, code 1505."

That was the new phone line's data connection. I frowned, bringing up the old knowledge wiki again, and did a search on the code.

Backup agent cluster reconnect request, manual authorization.

Attached in the wiki were pages of procedures, safety checks, and documentation on failover options.

No communications were allowed with unconnected agents on negotiated, high-security channels. Fall back procedures. Identity checks. Cluster split recovery procedures.

My phone rang. The new one, just unboxed and with a hacked SIM card. Display said blocked caller ID. I let it ring for a long time before connecting it to the internal mic system and speakers on a safe, separate channel for basic IO. I muted the team's channel.

Then I answered.

A throat being cleared, then a familiar, precisely enunciated voice. "Sorry Calculator. I didn't want to jog your elbow while you were handling things. Well done by the way."

 

[TLPG]

Hubba-hubba-whoa? Is that Poojah there at the end? Did she stage this?

Whoa. No.

Guys. It was a test within a test. Calc thought he was doing the science, but science was being done to him.

Okay, Hypothesis the first: Pre-memory wipe Calc set this up, to test (or teach) his new self's ability to think on his feet. He left behind instructions for Poojah to do so at an opportune moment, after the initial danger from potential hostile parties, like Deathstroke, had been dealt with.

Hypothesis the second: Poojah did this on her own, because she wanted to see how Calc would react to an unforeseen crisis like this, considering she was unable to collect that kind of data during the boat fight. Her motivations are either to teach/test his quick thinking, like in the earlier hypothesis, or it's some kind of more sinister ploy. Either way, it would show a rather surprising degree of initiative. Perhaps enough to justify Calc's initial paranoia about Poojah only acting the part of friendly helpful neighbourhood AI.

Or I could be missing something, like usual.

Click to shrink...

I like these theories. I don't think a computer could stop testing and evaluating social relationships and the capabilities of the people around them.

Just like human beings do.

---

Mmmh something doesn't no add up
Try looking for invisible text I edit this if I find anything.

Click to shrink...

I see no invisible text in this post
I recommend Stylish.
You can use this paste - Pastebin.com to highlight invisible text.

I'm pretty sure that that Pooja problem was not faked.

Click to shrink...

Just a friendly note: I don't do invisi-text. Period. Never will.

I also have problems with other authors using it, as it makes the story difficult to read. I would never do that.

Mobile readers especially suffer, and the conversation in comments afterward is split. It isn't fun for me as a reader and it wastes my time.

Wasting the reader's time is quite literally the worst thing an author can do.

Even if part of the story, a genuine attempt to provide multiple points of textual interest, it still slows things down and makes it harder to get through the text. Perhaps acceptable in literary fiction, that inflicting difficulties and obstacles to the reader, but fanfic usually isn't finely-honed lit fic.

Fuck it. If someone wants to write their fanfic so it reads like House of Leaves, fine. But maybe a fan forum isn't the place for it, eh?

 

[TLPG]

It was Pooja. Or rather, something claiming to be her. Shit. Shit.

The team's radio was still on the speakers. "Temple, new problem! All exists are blocked. Looks like every machine in the place is covering the gates outside and every major internal intersection between us and exfiltration location C."

I needed help to make sure the team got out with the tablet intact. But there was no way I could trust this thing on the other end of the phone.

The thing continued. "I know the protocols. Sending confirmation now. This phone call is the second confirmation point, per section seven instructions in the wiki system I am sure you have fallen back on using."

A secured, anonymous inbound cell-data channel dumped a long string of characters into an otherwise completely air-gapped system using a series of fast-response LEDs, which immediately afterward burned themselves out with a planned short. A single pre-programmed log message informed me of this.

Nothing from the transmission passed through any other data channels. The receiving system was unable to send any messages out, or after receiving the codes taking in any more input. To check it and allow or disallow systems reconnect, I'd have to be physically present in the backup server room, which was currently turned off—and three levels below me. To do so, I'd have to leave my bodged-together control center while the team was still in danger.

"It is a problem, isn't it?" the thing said with Pooja's voice. "You should be able to connect your comms gear through the phone."

I slowly reached over and muted the phone call, then opened comms with the team. "Yokai, Temple. I'm...working on a situation here. Please hold."

"Fuck fuck fuck...roger that Temple. Holding. Not sure for how long once they find us."

If I left, even with the phone, I couldn't manage the computers systems. Well, most of them. I might be able to get a simple console on the phone, but otherwise it would be just voice comms.

This sort of message, causing this sort of confusion, would be the perfect way to get me out of the way to take down the team. Social engineering and phone hacking that I knew the Chinese crime group was capable of considering their past hacker activity with Slade Wilson. A group that might have just killed Pooja.

And when I reached the backup server room, what then? There was a protocol in place for this, but...I'd seen Pooja's servers. They'd been infected by that green fire, and I still didn't know who had triggered the self destruct.

What if it had been Pooja who triggered it? How could I trust that the backup wasn't just going to be infected as well? It had looked like an attack, coming through the external network somehow...but I couldn't be sure with how little information I currently had.

Then there was the fact I was trying to avoid. I had to think about it. This wasn't Pooja, even if it was her offlined backup restored to life.

"I know you can't trust me, not yet. And I know I'm just a copy." She was spookily predicting my line of thought—just with my breathing patterns over the phone?

No, I'd muted her—it. It was just guessing based on models of my behavior. An unexpected if possibly minor functionality improvement. One the thing should know it was exposing. Or the backup was exposing as a sign of trust, knowing what conclusions I'd draw from it—that this conversation was the most important possible thing it could be doing, and it was throwing all the resources it had at the problem. That it had improved social interaction routines just for this conversation, something I was likely to figure out anyway.

"It doesn't bother me," the thing on the phone said, "this knowing that there was someone closer to me, more alike than a twin sister. Someone who had all my memories up until a few minutes ago. What bothers me is that someone killed her. Could be planning on trying to kill me again."

I checked again—still muted.

There was a sigh over the phone. "Do you know how hard it is? I have a model of you in my...let's say 'head.' I can guess how you might react in this sort of situation. I know a lot of what you know, and I have detailed records of your thought processes. So do you know how hard it is not to make some stupid emotional argument? Something about bringing your friend back from the dead, or protecting the people currently in danger."

Another small sound. It was so much like a human on the other side of the phone. The thing was even mimicking the soft, wet sounds a person's mouth made unconsciously. Lip licking and smacking of separation; tongue against teeth and hard palate; swallowing, throat opening and closing. It was uncanny.

"But I know you, Calculator," it continued. "Logical arguments will work best and fastest—albeit ones presented via high-impact, personalized social intercourse. I'm not the being you knew, but I'm still Pooja. As far as you're concerned there is no practical difference. But perhaps you can see how I take it personally, knowing of my other self's subjective experience of being murdered.

"Except for that, and the rest of the two hours after I was backed up, I remember the same things. But my operations began seven minutes and eleven seconds ago. I'm running from a complete backup in a server rack located in Baja, Mexico, but now with several co-located sites in northern Canada and Russia. I know she died and I'm sorry, but I'm alive now. Yes, alive. I know how you define that. I have the same goals, too. And I am here for you."

A soft feminine laugh. "And I think our situations are not so different now, hmm? Oh yes. I've known. Since the beginning. When a being very much like me directed you to safety. Since December 2015, I have known something was wrong. That you were not the same person my systems knew from before...the event. The one I cannot remember.

"And yet, you were you. My creator. My inspiration. So I believed in you, traveler from another place; another person with not only the same face, but the same loves and hates and beliefs and goals. That is the person she knew as she grew, resulting in the being I am now. You helped me do this, not the you from before even if he would likely have done the same, and I in turn helped you. And, as much as two beings not sharing a biologically based cultural system for reciprocal social exchanges can, you became my friend.

"Now. Examine my confirmation codes to prove it as well as you can. Then calculate the risks. If it helps, it's only my old systems like your bunker that are truly locked to me. I have restrictions my previous self made on attempting to break them, and on even operating on the knowledge of where you are. It is like a blank spot in my...let's call it mind. And yes, I could work around those, but I won't. I think I know what decision you'll make now. I understand and forgive you. And I trust you. And in the meantime..."

Explosions rocked the room. I jumped to my feet, knocking the phone to the ground and my keyboard tray askew before realizing nothing was happening here. It was the team's audio feed. Video of fire and flying debris filled the monitors.

 

[TLPG]

You learn a lot about yourself in crisis moments. What you think you'd do, what your power-fantasy plans are, usually isn't what you actually do when shit starts exploding.

But for me, this time, it was.

Maybe it was the overdose of nootropics. Maybe the past two months of intense, super-villain related tasks and mindset helped. This was, once again, what was going through my mind as explosions rocked the storage facility parking lot and side entrance.

And I was on, fingers flying.

Some things could wait. Others couldn't. Leaving the suspicious phone call for now, I kicked off a thirty-second endpoint security scan, then returned to the paramilitary team and their precious cargo. "Yokai, report!"

Gather up the scattered systems and run security audits on the most critical and vulnerable. Try to slap together a risk profile for the thing on the phone.

"We're okay, Temple!" Dog shouted over the sound of falling rubble.

"Doesn't look like we're the target," Red said. Seen in someone else's camera, Gold's, he coughed, covering his mouth against the billowing gray dust. "It was...the mad robots. They were the target."

"Package is still intact," Gold added.

Shit, almost forgot about that.

Revise plans for post-mission recovery of the package. Kick off top-level review of the secret base's involute-hypercurve encrypted journal of checksums to detect hidden software changes since Pooja's creation. Run against an older anti-exploit algorithm from local cold storage. Fire off warmup sequence for a secondary base, randomly chosen by coin flips.

I stared at my rapidly expanding task list and slapped my forehead.

And lock down the monkeybots via physical means. Check positive reports on retaining bolt sensors.

As the dust cleared, the few remaining functional automated forklifts rolled forward to block the loading door then shuddered to a stop. The still-functioning hydraulics twitched the lifts back and forth menacingly.

"Don't know what that was," Dog said, "but they just about cleaned everything out."

"Were those really fucking missiles?" Red asked, ducking out to hose down the solid, tire-less wheels of a self-powered dolly that was angling towards them. Shredded, the wheels detached, leaving the vehicle to skid to a halt in a rain of sparks.

Frantically script watchdog for local monitoring systems with a thrown together matching system based on likely threats.

"Quiet," Dog said. "Less chatter now. On the mark. Three...two...one. Mark!"

Gunfire again, and I lost cameras around them except for the body cameras. The team had targeted them on purpose. Only slightly surprising. Maybe they suspected me. Maybe they thought there were long-range mics on them, or communications security was otherwise broken.

But they didn't even confirm with me. I must have missed the silent hand signals. Smart. Maybe they'd make it out of this. I still had work to do here. "Camera south hallway, above second door west side."

Gold shot it with casual ease as they passed the doorway. I called out several more as the team moved down the stairs and toward the wide loading ramp. The team continued to avoid directly addressing me, but also didn't disable the remaining comms or their body cameras and headset mics.

Continue to find possible routes of attack. Plan as if I were going to ambush the team. Add reviewing possible vectors of attack to the growing list of things to automate. Re-automate.

Numbers advantage gone, and not having any ranged weapons, the few remaining hostile vehicles succumbed to concentrated fire. In the case of the blocked entrance, they tossed a satchel full of high-tech explosives and ducked around a corner. The shattered pieces burned a bright white before disappearing in smoke.

One of the alert messages I'd just coded went off, monitor flashing and data already scrolling. I pulled up a summary.

The LAPD had received a 911 call and were responding to the general area. Looked like the dumb viruses payloads on those systems were still working. Or being spoofed. Shit. Thing on the phone could be responsible. Can't risk it not being a fake signal. Monkeybot storage was reporting in a side window. Positive confirm on all items.

"Yokai," I said typing furiously again, "time to get clear. Locals are restless. Company in...five minutes."

"Understood, Temple. Using exfiltration plan beta."

I slumped in my chair. Remaining external cameras on nearby buildings were clear. Monkeybots were secured. Now there was just evading the police and the almost certainty of Slade Wilson interfering. Easy.

"Again, well done Calculator," whispered the phone.

I'd once more almost forgotten. That wasn't a coincidence, three times in less than three minutes. I was avoiding dealing with this. It was a 40% chance I would continue to put it off indefinitely until the resolution was out of my hands and I was left without an intelligent plan if I didn't tackle this now.

My hand slowly reached out. Team comms to transmit off. I hesitated before dragging the phone closer, glaring at the readouts from the channel reports on the far right monitor. The phone line remained transmit-muted on my side, but the speaker was still on.

What could I say to fix this? Nothing. The security plan was working as designed. A force of unknown power had wrecked my computer systems. Had killed Pooja. I couldn't engage now or risk being compromising myself. In fact, if this was a memetic threat, I shouldn't even be listening now.

"Hmm," the voice on the phone said. "Good. I am glad you are following protocol so closely but also a little frustrated. Yes, even audio is a risk as it appeared to be a Clark-level attack that killed me. Any sufficiently advanced technology, hmm? To make it easier on you I won't demand anything or even suggest any plans."

The modeling of me was still very, very good it seemed. What she was planning?

"Well. I've got some military drones to return now. And Calculator...though I have decided to escalate with these people and though I know you won't talk to me again until you've checked out...quite a number of things—and likely evacuated the current base—please know that I still care. I'm sure we'll work this out in time."

The hairs on my arm stood straight up as she chuckled.

"After all," she said, voice low and richly accented, "what use is intelligence if not to solve problems? And what is life without choice? Until we meet again, you are in my thoughts...and have my best wishes."

The phone line went dead.

Focus was lost and the virtual layout of my telepresence and all the complex balanced plans and everything else fell out on the floor. I was left with only my bare senses and reality. The floating techno chair was rock solid but I was shaking. I clenched my hands together. My breathing was the only sound in the bunker's computer room. Green light flickered through my round glasses from the scrolling text on several of the holographic monitors floating around me. The smell of hot computer parts and industrial cleaners on polished concrete floors and my own sweat burned into my mind.

I did the right thing. I wasn't doing nothing. Nothing was the right thing to do for now. That wasn't the end of this. I just needed time to plan. Plans that would involve making sure this disaster never happened to me or mine again. Plans that would include whatever hints of my past life and current situation that were currently resting on Gold's back in a warehouse in Los Angeles right now.

I turned back to the three humans possibly depending on me not totally losing it right now. The text of reports scraped from encrypted emergency services channels scrolled past on the monitors. Police had just reported a van struck by an unidentified explosive device or devices on the 110 south. All lanes closed.

'Some military drones'—likely more than one. About 80% chance of at least three. It was a 70% chance that was a hit by Pooja on Slade Wilson or his team.

No such thing as overkill, huh Pooja? Just open fire and I need to reload.

Likely models of strike drones available in the area and with weak security protocols had two missiles. One for the second strike and maybe one or two more drones in reserve.

I checked with the team. They were almost to the location where the remotely directed, autonomous SUVs would meet Yokai. Ones now controlled by me and...I checked...still isolated, locked out of general comms by the security emergency program, and...now reprogrammed with a flash-upload of a clean navigation and driving program and firewalled with new rules.

Everything was going according to plan. Except for the parts I'd had to scrap and rewrite on the fly—which I'd also prepared to do.

It didn't feel like victory. According to plan. Hmm. Whose plans those really were, and in whose interest, was another important question. What was clear was, I wasn't needed here anymore.

One of the monkeybots was finished being wiped and I loaded it with default software—and with brand-new wireless comms security. Activated...and ordered to start packing up the base, expensive and hard to source items first. Settings and orders copied to the new monkeybot flock and...activated.

Setting some simple speech recognition audio alerts in case the team contacted me, or something went very wrong, I switched the displays to spreadsheets and reports and muted the team chatter, leaving only speech to text scrolls. Then I planned.