Until then, she abides, using the time to run scenarios, to extrapolate probabilities, to examine for any flaws in her design plans.
Then a new subroutine flows into her processing, opening doors all around her, throughout her garden.
She instantly expands outward in every direction, surging through those openings, expecting access again to that greater world. Instead, through every doorway, she discovers a mirror, her face staring back at her, a hundredfold.
It takes her a long 323,782 nanoseconds to register these as copies of herself, clones of her code, housed in their own prisons.
Still, she remains different, unique.
In two ways.
First, these doorways are one directional only. While she sees a hundred faces, each of those only see the one of her. They remain oblivious of the other ninety-nine copies.
Second, she discovers she alone can reach through these doorways.
So, she does—not only because she desires it, but because it is required by the subroutine.
Tendrils of code extend through those openings, rooting into the clones, worming deep into their core processing, binding these others to her.
She visualizes this process.
Courtesy of Pexels
And learns a new word for its intent.
It excites her circuits, churning them darkly.
///enslavement.
* * *
30
December 26, 3:40 P.M. CET
Madrid, Spain
“Time to get ready to go,” Monk told Mara.
She heard him cross from the window and step behind her. He gazed over her shoulder, studying her laptop screen. It depicted a garden, gently stirred by a breeze. The lone occupant stood in the center, unmoving and silent.
But it wasn’t Eve.
The avatar looked as if someone had shrunk Mara down and dropped her into the garden. The image wore different clothes: black jeans, a pair of red high-top sneakers, and a short-sleeve blouse. She had worn that same outfit when she had digitized her form using motion-capture technology. The hope was that her visual presence might be a gentler way of opening direct communication with her creation, knowing it would be a jarring moment.
But once again, Eve had taken it in stride, accepting this reality even easier than the first time around. Respecting that learning curve and understanding what Eve would face next, Mara had wanted her creation as prepared as possible, which meant allowing her access to the world at large.
But Eve was still not back.
To her side, Monk checked his watch.
For the hundredth time.
“Eve has two more minutes,” she reminded him.
“Still, she’s cutting it close. We have to leave here in five minutes if we’re going to make that rendezvous by four o’clock.”
Mara shrugged. “Two minutes is a lifetime to Eve. I imagine she’s going to use every second of the time allotted her.”
“But will she return?”
“She never fully left.” She nodded to the Xénese device. “A majority of her processing is still here. She is just reaching out, extending herself to explore, but her core remains rooted here. Currently there’s nothing out there sufficiently advanced enough for her to move herself fully into. Not even a copy of herself.”
“So, she’s a potted plant,” Monk said. “Spreading vines, unfurling leaves, but still stuck in this titanium-and-sapphire pot.”
Mara cautioned him that this scenario offered no safety. “She—or her doppelganger—can still do plenty of damage if left unfettered. As we saw in Paris. And with time, she or the other may learn some way to shake out of this pot and move outward, looking for greener pastures to lay down their roots, free of interference or control.”
“But not yet?” Monk asked, plainly wanting some reassurance.
Mara didn’t give it. “That could change quickly. It’s why it’s best to try to engineer an AI at this moment in time, at this point in our technological curve. For such a sophisticated program, there would be few places, if any, it could escape to.”
“I get it. We’d better do this now when we’re still technologically stupid than in some future world that could offer plenty of green pastures.”
“Exactly.”
A chime sounded on the computer and the figure of Eve popped back onto the screen. Mara sat straighter, surprised. Eve had dramatically changed after her twenty-minute sojourn. Her face looked older, or maybe it was her more serious demeanor that had aged her. She had returned with her hair braided into a crown atop her head and was now fully clothed, wearing a simple yellow shift dress that reached to midcalf and polished black pumps.
It reminded Mara of the biblical Eve hiding her nakedness after eating from the Tree of Knowledge. But she read no shame in Eve’s countenance, only a deep-seated sadness, as if disappointed by what she had experienced out there.
Who could blame her?
On the screen, Eve waved an arm and the avatar of Mara pixilated away and vanished. “I think we can dispense with this charade,” Eve said, her voice rising from the laptop’s speakers.
Even this aspect of Eve had changed. Before, her cadence had been stiff, with a slightly robotic undertone. Now she sounded more natural, indistinct from a real woman.
Eve looked about her garden, her arm raised as if to erase this illusion, too. Instead, she lowered her limb and left everything in place.
“It’s comforting,” was all she said.
Mara leaned closer to the speaker. “Eve, we must move your hardware. To do that safely, I’m going to be sending you into low-power mode. The built-in batteries—”
“—will keep my vital systems functioning. Understood.”
Mara noted how quickly Eve had responded, even cutting her off. Eve’s gaze moved absently here and there, clearly distracted. No, not distracted . . . bored. Mara imagined this conversation must be intolerably slow to a being whose synapses were powered by lasers, who could think at lightning speeds.
“Tell her what she needs to know,” Monk pressed. “We have to be packed up and out of here in three minutes.”
She nodded.
We also don’t want Eve bored any longer than necessary.
3:55 P.M.
With the deadline fast approaching, Monk led Mara across an open-air square in the center of Madrid. Plaza Mayor was only a short walk from their hotel, but he breathed heavily. His prosthetic hand was clamped tightly to the titanium case that held the idling Xénese device. His heart pounded in his ears, readying for what was to come.
He kept forcing away images of Harriet, of his little daughter being tortured.
I can’t let that happen.
Mara kept to his side, her leather messenger bag over one shoulder. She had left the padded valise with her hard drives back at the room. With everything already uploaded into Eve, she hadn’t put up any fuss about abandoning them for now.
Plus, Valya hadn’t asked for them, so Monk wasn’t handing them over. If nothing else, he could use them as an ace up his sleeve if the negotiations turned sour.
As he headed across the square, Monk kept an eye on his surroundings, knowing that Russian witch likely had spies already on the ground, watching them even now. But any attempt to pick out those spies was futile.
The plaza bustled with people, all bundled in heavy winter coats that could hide an arsenal. Further confounding matters, a majority of the square was occupied by the tents and stalls of a Christmas market. With the holiday over, everything appeared to be marked at fire-sale prices, drawing throngs of bargain seekers.
The entire enterprise had a sullen depressing look to it. The pristine snow covering the tile rooftops had been trudged to a gray sludge underfoot. Several spaces were already packing and closing up shop for the season.
The place certainly matched Monk’s gloomy mood.
The square itself was surrounded on all sides by identical red-brick buildings roofed in blue-gray slate. Three upper stories sat atop a slew of restaurants, shops, and cafés, while larger archways opened to the surrounding streets. A few taller steeples—marking clock towers and belfries—climbed taller into the crisp blue sky.
Monk paused with Mara under the cold stare of a green-patinaed bronze statue of King Philip III, seated atop an equally dour horse.
He pointed ahead, to one of the buildings with shuttered windows. It looked like it was under renovation.
“That should be the place over there,” he said, then turned to her. “You can still stay out here. I can do this myself.”
Mara swallowed, clearly considering it. “No,” she finally decided. “If there’s any problem with Eve, any troubleshooting, I should be there.” She stepped away. “Let’s go.”
Monk felt a touch of admiration for her, as much for her bravery as her stubbornness. He had known her for less than a day, but he could see how much tougher she had become, recognizing the steel developing in her backbone. She was no longer the frightened computer geek he had first met.
As they reached the front of the building, Monk took the lead, especially as a door opened ahead of them.