Gates of Rome

CHAPTER 37

2001, New York

As the portal snapped down to a pinprick of light then vanished, the high-pitched hum of the displacement machine dropped in tone. Then there was silence, except for the gentle chugging of the generator in the back room.

The two support units, Abel and Faith, regarded the feet and hand lying on the floor in front of them, both perfectly cauterized where shrinking reality had cut through their colleague.

‘System AI, please advise where the targets were sent,’ said Abel.

Computer-Bob’s webcam eye regarded them. His cursor blinked on the screen.

‘System AI, please advise where the targets were sent.’

Computer-Bob was running decision filters across his network; it was almost surprising really that neither of these mysterious support units could hear the change in pitch of his CPU fans.

Not on screen, but deep within a mind of logic gates and circuit boards, options presented themselves to Bob. Decision 1. Assist with enquiry — Note: authority code is valid. Protocol n235 invoked. (Assistance mandatory.) 2. Override valid code. Initiate system lockdown. 3. Lie.

The unit called Abel stepped towards the desk. He hunkered down and looked directly into the webcam. ‘System AI, please provide an answer.’

Computer-Bob realized he was using fuzzy-logic routines that no programmer had ever actually written for him. They were decision functions that, in a way, he’d written himself. Feelings that once upon a time had crossed the great divide of hair-thin wires from flesh to silicon. Feelings… that once across those wires became hexadecimal approximations.

Original code.

A strange experience. A very novel experience. Almost human in fact. Computer-Bob had a file tagged ‘Smile #32’ in his extensive database. It was a smile type that he saw Liam use often, particularly when he played games on the Nintendo console. Bob’s webcam eye had seen that smile whenever Liam won one of his go-kart races. There was even an audio file linked to the visual record of that smile. Maddy’s voice: ‘Sheesh, what are you looking so smug about?’ Liam’s voice: ‘I just won again.’

Smile #32 could also be labelled ‘Smug Smile’. He made a mental note to give the file that additional heading. But now more pressing matters needed to be dealt with. Computer-Bob selected option three.

›Targets have been relocated to pre-programmed emergency jump location.

Computer-Bob watched the support unit called Abel read the screen then nod and say, ‘Please specify the emergency jump location.’

›Information: 2.42 miles from this location.

‘Give me precise time-stamp coordinates.’

›I am able to open the same portal.

‘Proceed,’ said Abel.

Computer-Bob initiated a sequence of commands. Enough power for a modest window surged from the remaining five properly functioning capacitors into the displacement machine. A moment later, a portal flickered into existence in the middle of the archway’s floor.

The two support units wasted no time at all. They stepped through one after the other.

Computer-Bob closed the portal immediately. Power needed to be conserved. Unnecessary lights winked off in the archway. The monitors shut down one after the other. All but one of the networked PCs went into sleep mode. The final PC was running a processor-‘lite’ version of computer-Bob’s AI. If someone had asked him what he preferred, orange or pink, it probably would have caused a system crash.

Instead, his idling AI allowed itself a self-congratulatory moment to play around with ASCII characters. Smile #32 specifically. Smug Smile.

The cursor blinked several times.

› ‹ 8 ^ D

Then that final monitor also snapped into sleep mode.