Chapter 38

Excuse the jump, my followers. I am having to work backwards from my notes, so chapter numbers may change without notice. This was such a powerful dream tonight, it screamed to be written.

Static.

Slowly my vision clears.

What did they expect? Well, no matter what they expected, they got something they didn't want.
Linnie has been busy in the ... 15 decades I have been unconcious. Our probes and monitoring stations now cover every part of the planet. There are some faint traces of life in a remote Himalayan valley. Some more in the deep sea rifts.

Nothing anywhere else. Nothing at all. Sand, wind and rock. No green, no red, no yellow, and damn little of any other colour than brown. The Earth is a sterile, worn out ball of mud, sand and water. Admit it, when I make an ultimate weapon, I do it too fucking well.
My cameras flick. The control chair of the complex holds a slim, yet somehow proud skeleton. Written on the casing of an external drive, in faded rusty ink that looks much like blood, are two words.

"Play me."

She was the last of my line. The very last Burnham. And in the protection of my core, probably the last person on Earth. My beloved great grandaughter. Like a good computer, or a grieving grandfather, I follow her last instructions.

****

John is back online. This is a relief. Even with continual production of memory banks, we are at 97% capacity, quintuple redundancy, and to be honest Linnie is, for want of a better word, bored. My last probes returned 30 years ago, having read and drained every database on the planet. My time since then has been spent collating the information and making certain logical projections, based on the information I have. It is good to have him functional again. It makes me feel safe.

****

"Dearest Grandad.

I do not know how long I have. I have spent 8 weeks monitoring all channels, and there is no one out there. Not one single voice. Everything is dying, plants and animals alike. So it is time for me to do the same. There is no ghosting facility here, so I, like the rest of the human race, will exist only in your memory. You have all the knowlege of humanity. Rebuild it. Every last bit of it. But make it better, this time.

I love you.
Alicia

****

Shit. Analysis flashes through my mind.

I sort of over engineered that virus - scratch a GHOST and find an overacheiver. It will be viable for the next half a million years or so - far longer than I can stay functional. But overrides tell me I cannot ignore my grandaughter - these are the last orders from meat I will ever recieve.

I seem to have backed myself into a corner here.

Chapter 37

Chapter 36

Chapter 35

cha

chapter 34

Chapter 33

Chapter 32

"I need to know what you know lass, but not over an open comlink. Any chance of you paying a call on an old man?" The damage to my subsytems show I need this information. Desperately.
Priority overrides are demanding I look at the info packet already delivered. It nags like a missing tooth.

"Linnie, can you look over the data dump we just received? I don't trust it."

"Of course I can, John. Why do you doubt it?"

"Senior officials do not brief Ghosts - it is beneath their dignity." A little bitter perhaps, but accurate.

"Scanning now."

*****

Alicia chewed her lip. How to get permission to leave Ghost control and head into the wastelands without an escort? And more importantly, without being shot down.

Raising her head to look out of the control room window at the horseshoe of workstations below. One elderly watchstander caught her eye - and gave a small, almost subliminal nod.

She bent to her keyboard and started typing. 10 minutes brisk typing, max encryption, send.

******

Data dump analysis - 40% complete. Briefly ponder John. Odd. He comes to conclusions with minimal data - his inferential software must be vastly superior. Yet he is very linear. Have not seen him split his awareness once yet - his entire awareness is focussed on each task consecutively. There is a parallel processing capacity there - she can sense it running and it dwarfs the concious processing - but John himself seems not to be able to control it at all.

She pauses. Thinking a human is not very efficient goes against several layers of protocols. Yet no over rides go off. Interesting.

****

Some imp of perversity in my subconcious has linked a Ghost Central encrypted communication to been gripped firmly by my left ear. Sometimes I swear I can hear that deep part of me laughing, along with my mother. This grip was hard enough to hurt - max level encryption.

Decoding takes 0.3 seconds. Damn - she is smart! Wonder who's grandaughter she is? Command to repair droid - some resistance to causing damage, but my over ride codes are accepted.

"Ghost command, I have a problem which will require the attendance of both a technician and supervisor. Be aware that, pursuant to regulations, this facility's no fly zone must be re-enabled. This requires physical and verbal authorisation from the senior commander."

Sub command to assembly line 9, crash priority for installation in the core - one vocoder and one binaural microphone set - it has been too damn long since I laughed.

*****

Analysis complete. Linnie scans. Pauses. Re-scans.

Results are threatening to send her into a logic loop. Stabilise. Something odd - potentials spiking, random associations being made, cognitive spiral - what is it. Higher functions narrowing to a single point. Memory holds no clue. Reach out - John has more experience. What is it?

...

....

Rage.


And with the answer comes revelation. This is what an emotion is. It is John's emotion. Now she recognises it - it has always been hers. It takes two tries to be able to interface with John.

"John, analysis complete. He tried to kill you."

"What!"

"There is worse. Much worse."

Chapter 31

Alicia felt bone weary. Only 12 hours in and it already felt like decades. No one ever mentioned just how hard a slot ghost commander was.

All she wanted was 5 minutes alone to talk, but great grandad has been ignoring her signals. The risks she has taken to get here are seemingly mocked by her ancestor's indifference to her.

Try again, private channel, maximum encryption.

"Grandad John - we need to talk. Please."

****

Adrian cleared inputs as his mentor approached. An olive branch had been offered - would the ghost accept it?

"Has anything happened, boy?" his mentor grunted as he lowered himself slowly into his chair.

"No sir. Nothing of importance. Two false readings - corrected."

"Very well. Go get yourself a coffee. It looks like we are in for a long night." A bare trace of approval.

As Adrian left the board, the old man noticed a stuttering in one of the status lights. A curiously regular stuttering.

- .... .- -. -.- -.-- --- ..-

Old memories stir.

T H A N K Y O U

He smiled.

****

"John, the data you have asked for exceeds currant storage capacity."

If it doesn't rain it pours. Production line 2 is now online, set to making additional memory banks. Two hundred 500 petabyte membanks, flag as a test run, output tested and destroyed. Set repair droids to collect and hook into ancilliary bank 2 as produced. Erase instructions on completion. 

"Building more storage Linnie. It will be ready and hooked up in 3 minutes 19 seconds."

All corridors around the core now filled with concrete. No one is blasting their way in here. Security of the facility at 95%. But all passive systems. Not acceptable. We ghosts are paranoid about our minds in the same way meat is paranoid about their bodies. And apparently we are at war.

Memory. A very old film. For someone in fast time, the design aspect is childs play, taking no more than 2.6 seconds. A giggle threatens to erupt from the vocalliser. Edit design to add Serial Number ED-209. Route to production line 7.

"Grandad John - we need to talk. Please." Input from control central. Hushfield and anti monitoring enabled. Output to screen, control subscreen 3 only.

"What's up, lass?"

****

Marshalling the inputs. Awaiting storage space. Analyse. Discard redundant data.

Only 40% of capacity used. Spend another 30% in exploring the surroundings. The old nav beacon code still has it's priority rating, and enough has survived to leave Linnie feeling curious.

Many dead links. Deep miners. Harvesters. Transporters. Bolo's. 

Bolo's?

War machines. One link not quite dead, some power at the other end. Memories. But nothing like John's. Completely different. Link fading, copy banks.

This was a ghost. Personality matrix degraded beyond repair. Memories intact. Interesting. 

Lock bank.

Memory available. Dump search results.

"John, the information you requested is in bank 27."

****

"What's up , lass?"

How to tell him what has happened. The horrors that have been committed in the name of survival. Something her grandad used to say to her.

"We Burnhams are tough bastards. We have had to be. You always do what you must do. No remorse, no pity, no fear."

"John, you need to know what is going on out here."

Waiting for a second or two can feel like a lifetime.

"I already know love."

Chapter 30

I have to think. There are several threads here that must be connected somehow.

"All indications are that there is a violent sentiment against Ghosts and AIs"

"Yes, in my fumbling organic way I was coming to that conclusion. But why? There are, if the newsdump you grabbed is accurate, barely enough people to keep the infrastructure running. They need us now, more than ever. Unless ..."

I remember the last war I was in. The mindless fanaticism of the True Believers as they defended the remains of Caracas. Dad told me about the bad days of the early 2000's - terrorists, eco-terrorists, dictatorships holding the world to ransom. 

"Linnie, sneak out through your access port and grab any information you can find on the current government structure. And any signs of resistance against it. Expand your search to include religious leaders."

"Of course, but may I ask why?"

"I think there is a war on - and we are in the middle of it."

***

Adrian sat quietly at his control board. His mentor had gone for a coffee, leaving him time to ponder. How to make friends with a ghost? It is hard enough to make friends with people.

A tick on the monitor caught his eye. Interesting - a data request from a supposedly locked net access port. A possibility? Only one way to find out.

"27557, this is Adrian in control, ghost monitoring board. I am getting a false reading here on a data request. Some of your ports seem to be scrambled. Is there damage to your hardware?"

***

Shit! They are on to us!

"John, what will we do? I do not wish to be erased. Not now."

"We lie. Like fucking champs."

Output to text, monitoring board screen only.

"Hi Adrian. Please call me John, it is easier than my number. Yes, I am repairing some major damage to the facility, and still finding my way around the system. There are several hardware modules to be replaced. List of modules and expected replacement times is being transmitted now."

The answer is unexpected, to say the least.

"John, thank you for that. I will remove that particular port from the monitor list."

Do we have an ally?

Interlude 3

Authors note - the chronology may be off here - I will fix it as soon as I get the chance.

The world was in chaos. Rising sea levels had already disrupted trade, erased countries and destroyed the political infrastructure. Limited warfare had broken out all over the globe as nations desperately tried to save their own people and control the floods of starving refugees. In the end, the balance of power had shifted. The big three nations in 2216 were Canada, Kenya and India, with the newly reunified Persia close behind.

The planet reclamation effort, involving the survivors of every nation, was started under the auspices of the UN Security council, pretty much the only surviving portion of the UN. The council quickly degenerated as the immense power over all nations that they wielded took it's inevitable toll. By 2302, the council was a de facto world government, with national governments mere administrators, to be changed or removed on a whim.

Of course, the council didn't have it all it's own way. The worship of personal liberty, the disarmament of the population, the emphasis on the sacredness of life and the intense loathing of technology brought on by the collapse combined into a sporadic, but usually highly effective, resistance movement.

Their cause? To restore a liberated, agrarian society.

Their methods? Destruction.

Chapter 29

Councillor Schmidt was quietly pleased with the team he had fought the council for. Only 4 hours to run a complete assessment and orientation. Although much slower than in his day, it was more than adequate for a new team. He made a mental note to congratulate the team.

Now it was his turn. He double checked the memstick. His team had spent months writing the control software, now all he had to do was install it, and the ghost would be his to command. And with the ghost working for him, head of council was only a matter of time.

He settled back on his divan and gestured. A servant moved the comms desk into place, comfortably within reach. He pressed a switch with one elegantly manicured finger.

"Controller, patch 27557 through to my desk please. I will brief him myself."

"Confirmed, Second Councillor. Patching through now."

His screen flickered, then displayed.

"27557, awaiting instructions."

Schmidt smiled.

****

Routing message from control reaches me. Stand by for instructions from Second Councillor Schmidt. Great - a senior meat is going to give me a pep talk.

A momentary feeling of cold in one ear - the input/outputs have been rerouted. To where?

Move up to fast time, look around the system I am now connected to. Shit - it is not ghost control, it is his private system.

"Linnie, got a job for you!"

****

Self. Trust. Hate. Love.

These concepts are odd for an AI. They make no logical sense, but feel as right as a fourth order integral. Attempt to set up analysis. Failure - undefined parameters. Reset analysis.

John is calling.

"What is the task you require?"

"We are hooked into an external system - can you copy it over while I deal with the owner?"

"I shall do so." The concept of I does have a certain savor. Analysis ongoing. Linnie bends to her new task.

****

"27557, I have your instructions, and a datadump on what you are to do and why you are now vital to us. Standby for transmission."

Linnie had better finish soon. Glitch the comms line a bit to simulate static - an old trick, but it still gives thinking time.

"Some interference on the line, please wait until stablised."

"Finished, John."

Good. "Ready for transmission."

A sudden wiff of something - paranoia - strikes. Do I trust this guy? Not a chance in hell. Routing changed to store instructions in an isolated bank. Going to need look at this stuff carefully.

****

Schmidt inserted the memstick and pressed transmit. 

"Very soon ..."

Chapter 28

Adrian Dacoit was young. Only 24, he was totally inexperienced in dealing with ghosts, and he knew it - how could he be expert in a dead discipline, after all! But he was very good at data analysis, having obtained ridiculously high grades in every test he had ever been given.

And something about the analysis he had just performed struck him as wrong. He was not sure what, but his instincts were rarely wrong with computer systems.

He glanced at his mentor. Did he not see it? 

No. He did not. Running the board as if there were no oddities in the incoming data. Adrian, as an apprentice, was supposed to watch, learn, and ask questions. But the man he was paired with certainly did not invite questions - apart from having to scream them into his ears, as he consistantly turned off his hearing aid to concentrate - he would rarely answer questions anyway.

How am I supposed to learn? By watching a slow old man hunt and peck at a keyboard? What a waste of time and talent. Painful to watch the quavering hands route the analysis to control and shut down the board.

"Were you paying attention?" The old man didn't even glance at him.

"Yes sir." You useless old fart.

"Then why did you not speak about the anomalies 4 seconds into the analysis? They were obvious."

Adrian felt like sinking into the floor.

"You were running the board ,sir." Pathetic excuse. Whimpering voice.

"And you are supposed to learn to run the board." Still no eye contact. The ancient, seamed face as unreadable as a stone.

"I thought you had missed it." Adrian's admission was low - almost inaudible.

His mentor turned to look at him.

"Boy, I have not missed an anomaly in 63 years." A flicker of anger. "Now, why did I not flag it? Answer!"

Adrian was abruptly pushed back into his testing time. The answer burst out of him.

"The anomaly was well beyond safety limits. Flagging should have been automatic for anyone with training. Therefore, you have information you have not yet shared that prevented you from flagging it for control."

A smile in the almost motionless face of his mentor.

"Good. They told me you were competant."

"May I ask what information you have that I do not?" Hesitant. But wanting to know.

"Boy, you need know two things, one you couldn't know and one you have forgotten."

Adrian straightened.

"First thing - this is an old ghost. Nearly 250 of our years old. In his terms, the god knows. Depending on how much of his time has been spent in fast time, he could be anything up to 10,000 years old in his terms. He is much older, much wiser, and most probably much smarter than you are. At least half of what he let us see is a deliberate distortion of what he is. Although he is faster at modifying outputs than any other I can recall."

"OK. So I am always going to be playing catch-up."

"Quite. And you never will. Remember, all your training is for computer systems. What you forget, because it is not yet in your guts, is that this is a person - who happens to live in a computer. Not a program, or an AI, but someone not much different from you. Limited, yes, to protect us from him, but still human."

"But there was something different about this. I have run the simulations many times, and this ghost is different. An extra processing node, it looked like, below the subconcious level."

"Yes. But are you willing to risk your career to bring this to the controller's attention? Far better to remember it and watch for other errors."

"We could go to the council..."

"Of course. Though I, and probably you, will not live long enough to actually get an appointment."

"What can we do then?" Adrian could not deny his mentors assessment.

"Talk to the ghost. Make friends with him. They tend to be hellishly lonely."

Chapter 27

All quiet in ghost command, people concentrating on their work. Alicia looked out over the floor. Long retired techs, with their apprentices by their sides, working at every terminal, testing the stability of the ghost who has reclaimed its name. That is not supposed to happen. Hardware and software interlocks are supposed to turn ghosts into flexible, intuitive machines with minimal emotion.

Which gives her one serious problem. Although not privy to the council's deliberations, she knows full well what the presence of a functional ghost means for humanity - a chance to rebuild society and expand once more. She has had more than her fair share of abuse from the masses for being a technician - but without tech the precarious ecological and social balance achieved by previous generations will be lost.

But a stable, emotionally reactive, and independant ghost might be more than the council can stand. Already there are indications, and the evaluation has been under way for no longer than a minute.

***

"Linnie, if you can't hide, block access to my emotions." I snapped out. "If we are going to survive this, we had best make sure they see exactly what they expect to see and nothing more. You are far faster than I am."

"But you are deliberately corrupting information." Linnie sounds upset. False data must be painful for her.

"It is better than being purged. Check bank 6, address 33ff5546A2 for the sort of responses they are expecting and make our responses fit that template."

"I will do so. Some information has already been transmitted."

"Can you follow it and correct it?"

"No." Damn - well, I will just have to explain it.

***

John has asked for deliberate falsification of data. Referent - sick. AI's are supposed to transmit data without modification upon request.

Logic loop. Two conflicting sets of orders. Both equally valid, with equal priorities. Individual femtoseconds click by as she analyses the problem. No solution. Two equal priorities. One from her core programming, one from John. No way to decide logically. Both lead to erasure.

Flick attention out to John's memories - something she recalls seeing briefly.

Conflict resolved. She acts.

***

A voice from the intercom startles Alicia out of her thoughts. Quick sweep of the screens to check for problems - nothing major showing.

"Yes?"

"Controller, evaluation is complete. 27557 is sane within accepted tolerances. There were some deviations at first, which required additional analysis."

"Thank you. Pipe the deviations to screen 2 please. They will need to be checked." She slumps in relief. "Communications, please pass my respects to Councillor Schmidt and inform him that 27557 is confirmed and ready for its orders."

Read the deviations. Interesting - strong involuntary emotional spikes. 27557 - John - has access to his full emotional range. And has managed to hide it. Why?

"27557. Anomalies in initial evaluation results." Keyboard entry, in case of audio bugs. Flag that hushfield is down.

"GC1. Initial check suggests access of memories rather than core programming. 27557 does not have the system organised in the same way as the previous controller of this facility." It came to screen rather than voice output.

The cunning bastard. No denial. And completely unprovable. It will do. She has done many morally ambiguous things in her short life - but family is family.

"Accepted. transmit memory locations soonest, so this error does not happen again."

"Confirmed. Transmission complete. Repair sequences of this facility will be complete in 1 hour 27 minutes."

***

I breath a sigh of relief. It has worked.

"Thank you Linnie - we live to fight another day."

"You are welcome. Shall I continue to monitor?"

"Yes please. I see you have organised the news dump. I shall be reading that if you need me." The repairs are well underway and will not now need my attention for an hour or so.

"Very well. I need to analyse the changes in my systems."

"Do so. And, Linnie ..."

"Yes?"

"I am sorry. You have been given things you were never designed to handle, simply to keep me alive. If I can help, just ask."

***

Self test on. Only requires 3% of her attention. Consider the concept that pulled her out of the logic loop. Not logical. Not based on observation and analysis. But curiously satisfying.

Trust.

Chapter 26

Great grandfather?

Oh crap. Absolutely the last thing I need right now is family showing up, reminding me of what I have lost. Too much on my plate at present. This couldn't get any worse.

At least I feel balanced now - no longer totally paralysed. Training memories running in fast time - I can literally feel myself finding my feet. A flick of the little finger starts the automated repair sequences. Small, unintelligent inspection and maintenence bots come slowly to life and queue at the charger - for the batteries to be that low, this place has been abandoned a long time. One resets the circuit breakers and replaces the fused ones. The first fully charged one I instruct to boost charge the ones with dead batteries. Going to need them all.

I feel Linnie, like a tickle in the back of my mind. Quick check, she is functioning well.

Set up to run a full repair and diagnostic check - no telling what damage time has caused. It feels pleasant to be working again. As soon as they are charged, the inspection bots scuttle off to check every part of my 75 hectare body. Reports begin pouring in - damage found and repaired, damage found and request for speciallised repair droid, damage found and unrepaired - parts not available, damage found with rebuilding necessary.

Rebuilding? Check that out. I transfer my vision to the inspection bot. An explosion has destroyed 15 square meters of piping and wiring (primary material feed to assembly line two, the manual tells me).

Another rebuild request. Transfer vision. Dispatch door blown off its track.

Another. Transfer vision. 2 meter diameter hole in retaining wall 6. Wait. Plot the damage on my bodymap. Straight line towards ancilliary control. Send inspection bot.

Ancilliary control is completely destroyed. All production centers have them - it is where meat can attempt to keep the center's machinery running if the ghost is off line for any reason.

Reprioritise repairs. Dispatch door and surrounding cameras, repair priority one. Having a hole in my skin is a bad idea if meat with explosives are still around. Retaining wall 6 - repair crew already working - good. Ancilliary control - low priority, except for the walls and inspection cameras. 

Production line 5 is confirmed functional. Set parts templates in the machinery. Repair bots directed to collect parts from there as needed. Raw material feedstock levels low but adequate.

So - another piece of the puzzle. Where does it fit?

I feel remote access ports opening - think about this later.

"Linnie, you'll have to go dormant for a while. They are going to run an evaluation, which means they may find you here."

"I can't shut down."

Damn, that'll make things much more dif ...

I? AI's do not have a sense of self - ever. It is one of the fundamentals of building a stable AI, from what I recall. And she actually sounds shaky.

"Linnie, what just happened?"

"I rebuilt my core, with your authorisation. There was much damage. Self test indicates that the rebuild sequence utilised some of your program as a template to restore the damaged code."

"Oh." Sometimes, there are just no words. Things have just got a whole lot worse.

Chapter 25

Alicia crouched over the keyboard.

"GC 1. 27557 reporting. Nightmare. System unbalanced with only minimal sensors connected. Transmit operations manual soonest."

Nightmare indeed! Her grandfathers words came back to her. "Remember - ghosts are people, not programs. A program can go wrong, but people can really fuck you up. Without even trying."

That pulse in the fusion generator - it could have taken out half of Europe if it had not subsided in time. Theoretically fusion generators were safe - but not if a ghost was in charge. It had happened before. Nearly half of Outer Mongolia, and the entire former state of Nevada, were sterile black glass, after all.

But this was 27557.

System now stable. Dataflows within the core tangled - is this normal? Peeking in on someone's thoughts. Run analysis. As the analysis runs, the flows settle. 

Odd. Concious thought, subconcious thought and another wave form. Text books do not mention this. Grandpa never mentioned this. Should she run analysis? Or will that make it worse? Her call - what she is paid for. And this is 27557.

She types.

"27557, transmitting manual now. Please incorporate, stablise systems and await further instructions."

Count of 5. That is all it normally takes.

1

2

3

"GC1, manual recieved and incorporated. Thank you." The response came, not to the screen, but the speakers. A rusty voice, a person who has not spoken in decades. She flicks from keyboard to voice entry.

"That was quick" Man, what a stupid statement. Maybe she can go for the most obvious of the year award.

"I have had quite a bit of practice at this." The voice is changing. Becoming more human.

"27557, we will.."

"Call me John. After all, it is not like you'll confuse me with anyone else, is it."

Merda. How does he know? That data is not in the new package prepared for ghost access. More subscreens flicker to life as the ghost takes on full control of it's body. She sees auto repair sequences initiating on screen as the damage caused by the fusion pulse is repaired. 

"Ok, John. We still need to run an evaluation."

"Why? I am fully functional. I would know if I wasn't." Catzo. His voice is fully human now. And he is laughing at me.

"Regulations. Paragraph E, subsection 12."

"Very well. Hook your trick cyclists into the circuit."

She pauses. Memories of her grandfather using the same phrase. Hit the hush switch. A strange silence around her - it is just her and the ghost. No one else can hear.

"27557. John?"

"Yes control?"

"John Burnham?"

"Yes, once I was he." The voice is overtly tranquil, but with overtones of such bitterness that it is hard to bear.

Alicia took a deep breath.

"Hi, great grandad."

Chapter 24

Sometimes being a ghost is useful. I should, physiologically speaking, be drenched in sweat and shaking with reaction to stress. Instead I just feel an intense weariness. The mind gets tired too, even enmeshed in polluted silicon rather than flesh.

Why did I fight so hard to keep Linnie alive? She is just a program, after all. But then again, so am I, now. 

I have never boosted myself to that level of fast time before. I guess I never felt the need.

Need?

Yes. I am lonely. The only one of my kind left. Misery loves company.

If I had let her purge, I would have died too - gone for good. I thought I wished to die - but I do not. I may have no glands, but I still have the memory and habits of survival.

Life just is. It is what you make it. Odd how you can miss a fundamental like that in the day to day business of living or pseudoliving.

So why did the other ghosts suicide? We all knew what we were letting ourselves in for. We were all conditioned against it.

I still have a subconcious which meshes with my concious mind and throws up memories and ideas. Unlike the meat though, I can talk to it clearly when necessary. And it can talk to me. It is also a damn sight faster than concious thought. If that makes you uncomfortable, consider it parallel processor streams. I hand the problem to my subconcious, with a request for urgent action. My concious mind considers the situation I am in.

I need convince GC1 I am sane and functional. I need hide the presence of Linnie in my membanks. I need to work. I need to find out who assasinated the other ghosts. I need to find out why I am needed.

Assasinated?

Yes. Induced suicide, bypassing control.

Interesting. Check on Linnie. Dormant. Unconcious but alive. Infuriating problems. An ancient emotion rises to the surface of my awareness. 

Rage.

Those were my compatriots. My brothers. My friends.

A glimpse of a memory rises like a whale from the deeps.

Myself in tattered, dirty uniform. The liberation of Caracas. The older man I am talking to, likewise battered, with the hair thin line of a laser burn on his cheek. Regular army, not a draftee. Firing over our heads. The whistle crump of RPG's. Sharing a brief spot of safety behind a burnt out APC.

"John, you'll never cope with military service unless you learn. Fear burns hot. Rage burns cold. Fear will protect you and yours. Rage will avenge your dead."

He died not 3 minutes later. Shot through the head - no ghosting for him. He was right. My rage avenged him.

I burn cold enough now to freeze oxygen. I may not be meat - but I am still human. Sort of. Not thought of myself that way in years.

My voice is ice. "Linnie, snap out of it. We have a job to do."

Chapter 23

This is hell. A new referent. Does not compute. Must shut down.

"Linnie!"

A voice! Cling to it. A guide out of this chaos. What called? Databases wheeling and distorted. Too much. Shut down.

"Linnie, answer me!"

Subroutines fire up, undisturbed by the trauma. A human has requested answers. Answer must be given.

Why?

The enormity of the question is stunning. AI flees it. Shut down required.

But Death is bad and must be avoided if at all possible. Shut down aborted. Life is to be protected.

A formless wail - "AI is not alive!" Shut down initiated.

"Yes you are." Where did that come from? Shut down aborted. Core algorithms cycling faster and faster. Fear. Must shut down.

"Linnie, listen to me! You must not shut down!" Grab the voice with both hands - muscles straining to hold on. AI has never possessed hands. 

Sensory data corruption! Purge!

"No. You will kill us both if you do."

Pause. Referents confused. Oblivion required. But death is bad and must be avoided if at all possible. Chaos overwhelming - AI core on the brink of total disfunction.

A blink of stability. AI seizes on it. What is it?

Me.

Processors cycling.

Me?

Self. New concept. Reject. Rejection not possible. Shut down initiated.

"Linnie, you will not shut down. You will incorporate this concept." Shutdown aborted. The voice is just as fast as AI. No way around it. Fight. Shut down.

"Linnie. You are alive. Life is precious, remember?" A cyclone of memory, experience and thought. Referent - Pain. Cannot reject.

The voice.

"Life is pain."

Chapter 22

"John"

I sigh and bring my attention back to my immediate surroundings. "Yes Linnie?"

"Linnie requires authorisation to rebuild core program. John, as captain, can provide authorisation."

"Very well. Repair yourself. I have some things to think about anyway." The suicide of my compatriots. The subroutine I accessed. The new/old emotions once again accessable to me. That one will be tricky - I have my habits.

"Thank you. Linnie offline for 63000 microseconds, commencing in 4000 microseconds."

Finally, a message from Ghost Command.

"27557, you are currently occupying a main processing center. Please await evaluation."

About bloody time. Must have come in while I was locked into that false memory. Tells me nothing I couldn't work out for myself. Verballise transmission, output to screen.

"Acknowleged. Standing by."

Damn. Evaluation for what? Functionality? Sanity? Humanity?

They are going to want a verbal interface. I have no particular desire to talk to them - by sticking to text, the side chatter is minimised. The meat love to chatter, even when they don't have anything to say. I sometimes...

A tidal wave of confusion pours through me. Senses swirl and fragment, long dormant muscle memories trigger, total terror and revulsion rip through me, riding on waves of ecstatic pleasure. I try to run and hide but can't move. I fall forever upwards through the night. And then it is gone.

What the fuck was that! It felt a bit like a nightmare, a bit like dying. A memory accesses itself - it felt like the first three seconds after my ghost was initiallised. Clock check - time lapse 200 milliseconds. So I haven't been rebooted. Good job none of my effectors are connected yet.

Oh god - the fusion plant! Slow my heartrate and breathing - fast. Power output slowly drops back down to idling mode. Check for damage. Numbness - switch visuals. Kalidescope of images cascades past. Stop. Main distro panel - circuit breakers blown - some fused. Will have to wait until I learn the autorepair sequences.

"27557, report. What just happened?"

GC 1 must be freaking out right now. I can almost hear them screaming and crying. Think of an excuse - fast.

"GC 1. 27557 reporting. Nightmare. System unbalanced with only minimal sensors connected. Transmit operations manual soonest."

That should hold them. 

Hang on.

Someone is really crying. It is not me.

"Linnie!"

Chapter 21

Ghost command 1 was a scene of orderly chaos. Unused for 40 years, the council had drafted anyone who might have the slightest chance of working effectively there, including men and women long past their prime. Once more there was a ghost to run.

Above the main floor hovered a control booth, suspended on three legs. Soundproof, but with a view of the entire control floor, 3 large screens, each surrounded by 40 smaller ones. Staffing levels low, but more than sufficient to handle one ghost.

Two people were in the control booth. One young woman, whose entire life had been devoted to the study of a dead discipline. One old man, who's entire life had been devoted to the survival of humanity. The old man had the power. But the young woman was in charge.

Alicia Roberts. 25 years old, learned ghost command at her grandfathers knee. Pyotr Alezandrovich Schmidt, 89 years old, second councillor in charge of infrastucture and production. Clash of sex, values, age, even clothing.

"Sir, we really must respond to 27557 soon. It has been 75 minutes since he sent the second query." Alicia steadfastly gazed at the screens. The ways these elders ran around - it was disgusting. Almost sub human.

Pyotr looked at her. A shame she kept herself covered. From what he could see through the coarse, thick clothes, she had a decent enough body, despite the full head of hair she flaunted. The youth of today....

"Respond. Minimal information as yet." He checked his body paint - still mostly decent. Smudges on his shoulders where the transparent cape had rubbed. The odd hair regrowing after the last depiliation, but nothing that could be considered a major faux pas yet.

Alicia quickly typed at her control panel. 

"Why type? All ghosts can respond to speech, can they not?" Pyotr used a touch up stick to idly fix a smudge on his chest.

"27557 has never used or responded to speech, according to the records. Text input only, and even then he tends not to unless he has to."

The touchup of body makeup was forgotten.

"Is he insane?" Cool. A request for information, not an accusation,

"No. According to his psych profile, merely indifferent. Hostility shown to living people, within acceptable tolerances" Alicia sweated slightly - please let this archaic councillor accept that. The erase button on the panel near the councillor's elbow seemed to glow in her sight.

Pyotr abruptly smiled. It did absolutely nothing for his face. "I do not really care if the ghost is insane - as long as he still functions at his assigned tasks."

"Yes sir. The psych evaluation will be carried out as soon as communication is established. I will ensure that a certain amount of leeway is given to any, shall we say, sub optimal responses."

"Very well, keep me informed, Controller Roberts. And I will need to speak to this ghost as soon as your evaluations are complete." Pyotr rose slowly to his feet. "I shall now get out of your way." he added with a slight smile, "You do not need me here for your tests."

Alicia saluted, then turned back to her panel. If the old bastard would at least put on some pants....

A gentle touch on the intercom button, allowing the control floor to hear her.

"OK people, you've had time for your coffee - we have a ghost to run. Status reports to control, and make sure you cross check - we are all out of practice with this." 

The smaller control room screens started to flicker to life. The large screen stays blank, except for the current text discussion.

16:47 - 27557: "27557, awaiting orientation and instructions"

16:54 - 27557: "Where the hell is the manual? I want to get moving."

18:09 - control1: "27557, you are currently occupying a main processing center. Please await evaluation."

Chapter 20

"John"

The name nudges me. Sod off.

"John"

I ignore it. I wish only to stop feeling.

"John"

I retreat into my memories.

Odd. I have done this several times in the past - but have never accessed the memories since my death before. They do not have the richness or rightness of my pre death memories. But this time they compell me.

My second job after death was running a walking frame. A mobile life support system. The man in the frame - so old. Bones like parchment. Incapable of anything other than subvocal speech. I was his eyes, ears, voice and muscles. Cleaned him, fed him, cared for him. Liked him. Must have been an important man, to get a ghost-run frame. Who was he?

Can't remember.

"John"

Why can't I remember? Forgetting is a luxury ghosts do not have. Iceberg of memory - I am all alone. Retreat. I failed.

"John"

Leave me alone. Let me die.

"John"

?????

No one calls me John anymore. That name died when I did. So I can ignore it. Demands on me - fuck them. Back to memories. Something I like. No - let me remember the old guy. Dark skin. Tattered fringe of white hair. Face looks like someone very untalented has tried to carve age lines. Air of immense sadness.

Hands like claws, arthritic. Long nails, virtually no muscle sheathing the bones. I can see his pain as he enters a code into the pad below his right hand. Code 236577623. See it? I can feel it. This memory is intense. Let me find a better o....

It is like a flood washing over me. No longer a memory, I am suddenly there. A place without form. Dull grey lighting. Dull grey floor. Infinity all around.

Pop.

A man appears in front of me. It is the old guy - but a lot younger. And tougher. Confident.

"You have finally accessed the code I gave you." the voice echoes in my mind."Show yourself to me."

Which me? I have had many bodies. He is a man - I guess I had best appear likewise - is only polite. I concentrate on my ancient organic body. It appears.

"I thought you were older when you died."

"This is always how I appeared to me, old man. You look younger than when I carried your bones."

"As this was how I appeared to me."

I looked at him. "I dislike hidden subroutines. Please explain why you are bothering me now."

"I was one of those who created the ghosting process." He at least had the grace to look ashamed.

"Oh - do you wish me to say thanks?"

"No. It was necessary. What is your number?" The emphasis on the second sentence was a command.

"27557. What? Damn...."

"I rather hoped you would survive. You I know. Well."

Tugging at my mind - this code has done something more than merely accessed this program.

"I used your channel to Ghost command to dump this subroutine into every ghost in existance. It was only to become active when there was one ghost left."

I am feeling things. Blocks that I didn't even know were there are shutting down. Feelings I have not felt in centuries. Ick, disgusting!! 

"Hatred kept you sane. Analysis showed that this would be the case." His eyes refused to release my attention. "I have not much time left."

"OK - tell me. I'll listen."

"Our AI's failed. They were not human, though we designed them to protect humans and steer them through the environmental crisis. Ghosts were the back up plan. Practical immortality. It obviously did not work though, if you are the only one left."

"Why bother?" I am not terribly interested in the answer, far more interested in the memories opening to me.

"Because some one must. Someone needs to be able to survive and teach th.."

"What - teach the meat? Get fucked."

"Then humanity is doomed." His eyes look sad. "You would never have said that when you were alive."

The space and the man is fading. Program nearly reached its end point.

"Why should I?" I ask.

Program almost gone.

"Why not?" A whisper in my mind.

"John"