Artifact Page 22

  The difference between the artifact and a digital computer is that if you remove a chunk of neurons from this thing’s growing processor, it can still function, with other parts taking over for the missing parts, and then it simply starts building again as long as it has resources to build with. Digital computers, on the other hand, will fail even if a single transistor is removed. With respect to the artifact, we can’t localize where it “thinks” because it no longer has a central processor. How it thinks at this point is spread over a large part of its constantly growing neural network. I have no idea where it’s going from here. I couldn’t say for certain, but to me, the artifact looks like it’s trying to not only build a brain, but build a brain that can calculate at nearly the speed of light. Organic brains, on the other hand, are incredibly slow – with neurotransmitters traveling at about three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. The way the artifact’s neurons are firing appears to be massively parallel, that is, it seems to have hundreds of billions of synthetic neurons operating at once, each one performing a tiny portion of computation, with each synthetic neuron connected to hundreds of billions of other synthetic neurons. I’m not sure how it isn’t burning up – but it isn’t. It has remained room temperature since we noticed the marriage of the first thousand synthetic neurons or so. I’m not sure how it has learned to cool itself, but it has. We’ll check on it next week, and send a more detailed report. If anyone needs me in the next few days, I can probably be found in the lobby.

  I stretched my back and messaged my temples. Nothing that I learned about the artifact until that point added up to any of these reports. I was suddenly, irrevocably in the dark again. I felt as if I lost what ground I had covered in the past however many hours.

  “Mo Stack,” I said. “Go back to Mars dot Pho, dot Dei.”

  ARCHIVES, PERSONNEL, PROJECTS

  “Projects.”

  [SITE.const], [excavation.] [LAUNCH], [Neurl.limbic.archi], [MICROelectromech.systems], [HIL.lex], [Onsite.artifact]

  “Excavation–”

  “Lance,” Sarah said sharply. “The thingy’s have stopped turning.”

  I glanced at Sarah, who was staring intently at the dials.

  “Listen,” she said, hushing me. “It stopped banging on the door.”

  “Maybe it gave up and left.”

  “I – I don’t think so.”

  Neither did I. It didn’t look like the quitting type. I rubbed my eyes and scooted the chair a space away from the wall–screen – the size of it was a bit overwhelming after a while.

  “Did you find a way out yet?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “But I think Alice and I were trying to reverse engineer the artifact. I can’t figure out why she didn’t tell me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it looks like we were trying to take the artifact apart so that we could understand how it worked – and then it looks like we were trying to build our own device, or something like it.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Uh,” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Right now I’m trying to find a report or something detailing the artifact’s excavation – where we found it, when it was found, stuff like that. I’ll be honest, I’m confused. These reports imply that either I have been involved with the Martian artifact since the beginning, or that what we were doing here at the CEM was trying to build our own kind of artifact. It’s confusing for two reasons. One, Alice told me that I didn’t get involved with the project until after it was found – after the government started pulling experts to examine the discovery. Two, why would we be trying to open the artifact, if we were already at the point of reverse engineering it? If we were building our own artifact, it implies that we must have already opened the one from Mars, and mapped out its construction. But I specifically remember trying to follow a radiated algorithm for the purpose of receiving some sort of message inside the artifact. We hadn’t opened it yet – we were trying to open it. I’m also confused because I can’t find a single piece of evidence or reference to anybody finding anything on Mars.”

  Sarah frowned and looked at the floor for a few moments. “What does it mean if that thing wasn’t found on Mars?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know what that could mean. “I’m not sure. It would either mean that someone is lying to me, or they were just extremely misinformed, or both.”

  I turned back to the wall–screen.

  Construction Started: 5/15/32

  Completion: 7/10/34

  Cost: $838.1 Trillion (November 2053 estimate)

  Depth: 4.828 km

  The installation was reconstituted from one of the three Deep Level mines of the Olympos Mons chromite field just off the northwestern edge of the Tharsis bulge. The mine lies in the Amazonis quadrangle (MC–8) and the central and eastern segments in the bordering Tharsis quadrangle (MC–9). The mine was originally built by Egt Industrial Supplies Corporation with its 4.8 km (3 mi) deep main shaft being sunk in 2032. The mine began operation in 2034. It was one of the most efficient mines on Mars and remained in operation until it was purchased by the Center for Energetic Materials and Human Knowledge Consortiums in May of 2036. Since construction began, we have added twenty seven additional shafts bringing the installation to its current depth of 4.838 km. Because of the heavy use of automation, there were a recorded zero deaths or accidents during the installation’s reconstruction. The purpose of this installation is to serve as an off–world (Earth), self–contained, self–sustainable storage facility for the Artifact upon its completion. Allison Swick was overseer of construction until its completion on July 10, 2038. For information on the details of the installation’s construction, see file [SITE.const].

  Storage facility for the Artifact upon its completion.

  I carefully walked toward the wall–screen, so dazed that I nearly lost my balance.

  “Mo Stack,” I said. “What is the Artifact?”

  STIPULATE

  “What is the device that was created by the Center for Energetic Materials on August 19, 2042?”

  THE ARTIFACT>IS A LIMBIC AND NEURAL TURING MACHINE>REFERENCE ALAN TURING>REFERENCE A.I.> REFERENCE ARTIFICAL INTELLIGENCE>THE ARTIFACT IS THE NAME OF A LIMBIC AND NEURAL LEARNING DEVICE THAT HAS DEMONSTRATED PROFOUND CAPACITY TO LEARN ABOUT ITS SURROUNDINGS, ADAPT, PROCESS AND STORE INFORMATION>ITS CONSTRUCTION BEGAN IN MAY OF 2034 AND WAS COMPLETED IN AUGUST OF 2042>IT WAS DESIGNED AS AN INTEGRATED STORAGE COMPONENT FOR THE WORLDWIDE LEXICON >REFERENCE LATINATE>REFERENCE LOW ORBIT TIGHTBREAM>REFERENCE IVORY TOWER

  “Mo Stack,” I felt a slow searchlight illuminating a dark structure of my memory. “Was there an ancient artifact discovered in a chromite mine on Mars, or was the artifact put there by us?”

  STIPULATE

  I collapsed back into the chair. I tried remembering everything I could about the accident – setting my papers down in the airlock and approaching the dais. Alice was in the observation tank. The roller spun the artifact, and we were adjusting for the direction of rotation as the light continued to flow over the surface. I saw a shift of something in the backdrop – a lighter spot on the wall going dark. The artifact started to glow in visible light at that point – a bright blue light emitting strings across its face. The humming grew and grew until my visor cracked. I glanced at Alice, but she was gone, and my peripherals picked up another movement on the wall – it started to implode, as if something were clawing its way into the Clean Room, like the giant savrataur that killed Patrick. I looked at the artifact one last time as it spun so fast that the cuboid edges took on an almost spherical shape. My visor cracked. I panicked and turned to run. Then nothing – everything went black. I woke up shortly after in an ambulance with a massive burn on my chest.

  Sarah was worriedly looking back and forth between me and the wall–screen. I tried for the millionth time to put the pieces back together. A sudden
thought occurred to me, and my childhood anxieties spilled forth, afresh with new dimensions of horror, as the possibility burst into my thoughts to the extent that I could no longer shut them out. The truth was there, always there, immediately out of reach. I told myself that the various worlds I was falling through were not real. Real. Reality. Knowledge and experience. Zombies and monsters. Nonlinear time. Guns that never ran out of bullets. Faceless copies of myself. A cave of cultural artifacts. Blackouts…

  “Mo Stack,” I said quietly. “Are we inside the artifact?”

  STIPULATE

  Sarah arched her eyebrow and settled into the bed a bit more.

  “The accident,” I leaned forward, cradling my head in my hands. “Was my consciousness somehow uploaded into the artifact? Is that what happened?”

  STIPULATE

  “Is this some sort of computer program? A type of virtual reality? Some sort of elaborate anti–lotus eater that I can’t escape?”

  STIPULATE

  “We didn’t find anything on Mars, did we?”

  STIPULATE

  “We put something there–”

  The combination dials started frantically spinning again. Sarah and I snapped our heads toward the door. Outside, we could hear an earsplitting shriek penetrate the thick interior of the vault. Sarah sprung to her feet and backed herself into the far corner. The dials suddenly stopped, and then started again, only this time the movements were deliberate. They were moving in the right to left pattern that indicated whatever was on the other side at least knew how a combination dial worked.

  “Can it get inside?!” Sarah screamed.

  The lock on the right suddenly popped open, while the other dial continued snapping through strings of digits.

  “Mo Stack, get us out of here.”

  STIPULATE

  The lock on the left suddenly popped open and the door jolted inside of its thick, permasteel frame – there remained only a single lock below the torsion assembly, and it was clicking furiously. The massive savrataur on the other side was screaming with blind rage. Sarah flung herself into my side and wrapped her arms around my waist.

  “Mo Stack,” I screamed. “Get us out of here!”

  The final lock popped open.

  STIPULATE

  “How do we get out of the vault!?”

  DESTINATION?

  “Anywhere!”

  PLEASE SPECIFY DESTINATION

  The first thing that popped into my head was Sarah hugging me in the generator room, right before we phased out of reality together.

  “Take us to Kate,” I said as clear as possible. “Take us to the generator room.”

  The door ripped open and the giant savrataur forced its head into the vault – earsplitting decibels bounced around inside the room as the monster howled its triumph. Its massive, arachnid arms pulled it in, and the last thing I saw were deadly hooks on the tips of its fingers as it reached for me, and then the world blasted into starlight–

  TEN

  1.

  Reality pushed the atoms away from us, then away from each other until the world conflated into pitch nothingness. The smell of diesel was instantly recognizable. I could hear the savrataurs still trying to rip through the door. Sarah stayed clung to me until our eyes adjusted to the darkness, and we could make out a tiny beam of light coming from the farthest corner of the room. It was Kate’s flashlight.

  I followed the beam until it rested on the door, which was hanging from the jam – the hinges were ripping off of the frame, and I counted four humanoid arms forcing their way into the generator room. The hallway outside must have been filled with them – they were rasping and hissing into the breach. We had mere minutes before they gained entry. My eyes went to the floor and I traced the puddle of fuel until I found Kate in the far corner on her knees, with tears running down her face, drenched from head to toe in fuel. She was trying desperately to strike a match. I glanced at the generator and saw that it was still functioning. This meant that the fuel on the floor was from the Clean Room generator, and that it must have seeped in from the hallway.

  “Kate!” Sarah yelled.

  Kate spun around and fell to the floor, laughing and weeping at the same time.

  “Kate…” Sarah collapsed at her side. She reeked like diesel.

  “You – you came back,” She wept.

  “I – I lost your coat.” Sarah said.

  Kate embraced her, relieved to see that she was alive and okay. The box of matches lay forgotten at her side. She caught me looking at the burnt matches scattered around her knees and took a deep, shuddery breath. “I’m not letting those things have me.”

  I nodded, and bent down.

  She suddenly and violently snatched my collar. She pushed me to the ground and pounded my chest with her fists, not bothering to wipe the tears of both rage and happiness from her eyes.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” she rasped. “Where did you two go?”

  “Long story.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she pushed herself roughly to her feet, she stared hopelessly at the serpentine limbs thrusting into the door. “We’re dead anyway.”

  I glanced back at the door and nodded. I sat up and gently wiped the diesel out of her eyes. Already I could see chemical burns raising the skin on her shaven scalp. “I think I can get us out of here.”

  “What…?”

  I nodded.

  “How?”

  “Here,” I offered my hand. “Take it.”

  She hesitated. Sarah gave her one last squeeze and then grabbed my other hand.

  “What’s happening?” She asked.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  The door behind us finally gave way, and the chitinous wall of monsters flooded into the generator room, screaming that horrible, wounded animal sound.

  Kate reached out and took my hand–

  2.

  […] I found the gun somewhere along the way. There was a pile of firearms from different eras on one of the granite entresols – muskets and single shot muzzle loaders, canons, ancient siege batteries and slingshots. I grabbed one that looked familiar enough to use – it was a revolver of some kind. The black smoke was thicker near the top, and still no sign of an exit.

  I tucked the jigsaw puzzle under my arm, determined to keep moving. The smoke was so noxious that bubbles of thick liquid smoke collected below my nostrils and around my mouth. Several times I thought about turning around and making my way back – to make my way below the smoke, where there was a bit more air left – but the oily flames spread so far that the only thing below me was an ocean of burning silicon, steel, iron, and concrete. There was no turning back. This was it – I would either find a way out, or I was dead.

  Every giant brazier that was suspended above the endless cave broke free from their moorings and spilled fathoms of oil onto the various cultural monuments. I heard the most dreadful sound a while back, and I looked toward the center of the mausoleum just in time to see the Burj Khalifa buckle at its foundation, then majestically crash into the solemn faces of Mount Rushmore. Both structures were now a single molten pile of meaningless nothing.

  Giant sheets of ash blew around the mausoleum like an abhorrent, abominable snowstorm. There was no way out.

  I held the gun to my forehead for only a few moments. Even as my finger threaded the trigger, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to do it. Hope, that selfish, piece of shit feeling would not allow it. The more I thought about it, the more I felt like a coward. I snapped the loader open and dumped the bullets onto the ground – I wasn’t surprised to find that they were merely empty shells, completely useless. I was disturbed at how hilarious I thought that was. No matter how terrified I felt about death, which was coming pretty quickly here in the next few minutes, I still felt that it was important not to finish as a cowa
rd.

  I pitched the gun over the side of the mezzanine just as my knees gave out, watching the chrome object spin away into the distance below. I dropped the jigsaw, and puzzle pieces spilled across the ground. I tried cleaning it up – to gather all of the pieces together again – hoping that the act of keeping together the only thing that seemed complete in this place would both focus and sublimate my anger and disgust at the mistakes of my own species. As I looked around at the evidence of our genius, it reminded me of so much wasted potential.

  My burned clothes peeled off easily. I tried casting them over the side of the mezzanine as well, but I couldn’t get to my feet. No matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t draw enough breath. I wasn’t deluded enough to believe that I was going to survive. My breath came slow, as particles of excited wood and silicon shredded the blood vessels inside my lungs. My eyes got heavy, and the final moment was building in me like some oppressive evocation. So I lay on the cool granite, staring up at the opening folds of black and white smoke shedding glowing feathers of cinder, as it all rose toward the cave ceiling, and thought about what it meant to die.