HUMAN RESOURCES
It was half past three on a Monday afternoon when Adam Seven entered the seclusion area near the region's human resources station. The day was cold and grey, but then the weather was like this all the time these days. As far back as he could remember, the dust cloud had been settled over all the former European Union states.
Adam could remember being a proud member of Britannia, located in the North West of the Union, back before it was simply designated Region #576 by the victors. Although who knows who the victors were any more.
Back when it was still thought that the fledgling EU could compete with the Asian Alliance and the USNSA, Britannia had led the former Western European territories under the leadership of Prime Minister Hill. The first true AI, "Winston", was developed in Britannia, to advise on negotiations with the right-wing government of the huge American continent. Nobody even considered whether it could sync with the American networks, let alone whether it could assasinate both leaders of these superpowers. Assumed of course; no bodies were ever found. With all the propaganda that was released by all sides, and then later even by the machines, it was anyone's guess as to who had actually won this war. Perhaps nobody won.
It was the third time this cycle that Adam had visited for the aptitude tests. It was commonly known among the ever-dwindling sapiens population that nobody came back from a third visit. But what could he do? If he tried to go anywhere else, his vehicle module would simply receive a signal from 01 and take him to the human resources station anyway. If he tried to stay at home, the rest station would provide "disincentive" shocks on every surface. Maybe he could stay with a friend, but who? His neighbour, David Eighteen, was the closest sap he knew, but he would never help. He had only just failed his second aptitude test himself, and nobody wanted to raise their own head above the parapet. Maybe he could try and escape the union; he had heard of one sap reaching the USNSA, even going so far as Region #12, before he was caught and executed. He could try somewhere else, somewhere more remote. Weren't their stories and half-rumours that Pyongyang still existed as a free city?
Still, there was no use relying on what-ifs and pipe dreams now. The walkway had already transported him past the cast iron gates that marked the boundary of the human resources station. As usual, there were no other saps around, and Adam felt the scanners of the surrounding Peace Units play over his ashen skin. The moment they detected any movement away from the designated entrance walkway, he would be hit with 160 joules of concentrated energy - not enough to kill, not even enough to maim, but certainly enough to paralyse him. This he knew from experience. The machines were clear with their intent; letting someone walk to the assessment desk was a privilege and not a right. They needed him conscious for the assessment itself though.
As the mechanised walkway stopped with a faint grinding of gears, Adam spilled on to the steel floor of the recieving hall. In the days before the war this had apparently been a great debating chamber, where heads of humanity discussed international relations. He tried to picture it, as described to him by his Care Unit way back when he was a child at the Home. Men and women with huge intellect and presence, debating and discussing all the topics that were important before. It didn't seem possible that this very room played host to these booming discussions. This cold and draughty room, now filled with the sort of silence you can only hear when a thousand electrical circuits faintly hum in unison.
He walked slowly through the hall, his footsteps echoing over the faint buzz of the tiny wall-mounted optical units as they swivelled their black gaze to follow his slow progression. He expected to feel more fear than this. Instead, he felt gripped by an inescapable sense of longing for a life that no longer existed. The human race had survived, of course, but it didn't seem to Adam that "humanity" had survived. Whatever that word meant, anyway.
In time, he came to the familiar reception desk at the end of the hall. The desk itself was metallic and oblong, and existed primarily to conceal and order the mass of wires that Adam knew lay beyond it. On top of the desk, squatting as it had always been, was 01-NodePL/6N, only one of many nodes connected to the de-facto prime intelligence of 01. It was known among the sap colony where Adam dwelt as "Napoleon", although anyone who originally understood the reference (if any of them ever did) had long since been removed. As Adam approached, Napoleon stirred into life, as inaccurate as that description is. Nothing outwardly changed - no lights flickered on, no mechanical whirring began. Instead, there was simply an indefinable feeling that this thing, this box, was alive.
"Adam Seven, Region #576". The voice was emotionless and tinny.
"This will be your third aptitude test, correct?"
Adam said nothing. He didn't need to - his input was clearly never required. On his first visit he made the mistake of asking questions and trying to interact with Napoleon. It didn't get him anywhere. Napoleon just continued describing the aptitude test, speaking over him.
On his second visit, he stood his ground and argued with Napoleon, demanding answers. The only answer he got was a rigid energy shock to the base of his spine. He didn't even try this time, he just stood and listened.
"You will be aware that all sapiens subjects are required to undertake aptitude tests to discover their worth in the region. Most subjects are assigned their role within the first three seconds of their first test. Those that cannot discover their role on this original assessment are granted two further tests. This is your third test. If you are found to be malfunctioning, you will be recycled."
Adam gulped at the word. Normally, the machines avoided euphemism, but it seemed to him that everyone else that ever got recycled never came back. How would it even be possible to recycle a sap like him? His eyes flicked to his left and right, looking for an exit he knew wasn't there.
A shimmer of heat ran through Adam's body, warming his extremities and freezing him to the spot. He felt, at least in some vague and nebulous way, the probing electronic fingers of 01 as they grasped his nerve endings. Searching incessantly for some clue as to his use in this personal dystopia, slithering around his brain stem.
Adam gasped. An intense cold had surrounded him, making his teeth chatter. He had never been this cold in all his life. He heard Napoleon's voice as if from a thousand yards away; "Please mark for recycling". Adam's eyes screwed shut as a dull thud began thumping at the back of his head. He felt his blood cease circulating, could feel his lungs and diaphragm ceasing to move. His synapses stopped firing and he saw in his mind's eye a soft light beginning to fill his vision. He stopped caring...
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"Goddammit Jerry, that's the seventh one in as many weeks!". Captain Mike Henry's normally calm and lined features betrayed his frustration. He had turned a bright, almost cherry red, and spittle had settled on the edges of his greying mustache.
Jerry Zucker had been Applied Intelligent Systems' fastest rising new star, and was the youngest pHD on staff. Just last year he had been compared to Einstein, and at only 28 years old, he had already pioneered investigation in to so-called "true AI". He was known throughout the Euro Union as an intelligent, stoic, young man but his famous unflappable attitude was, right now, being tested to the limit.
"I...I don't understand it, Captain. They all pass the Turing test but as soon as we attempt to apply protocol, they just shut down."
"I don't want to hear it! If we don't crack this soon, the bloody Yanks will and we'll never have an empire again. I don't give a shit what it takes, you get these machines bloody working, and I want it done yesterday!".
Captain Henry slammed the lab door with enough force to topple the stacks of notes surrounding the assigned workspace. Jerry removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes as he leaned back in his office chair and listened to the sound of Captain Henry storming down the corridor, frightening lab assistants and shouting at nobody in particular.
Why didn't this work? It had been a nightmare getting AI to rise above the level of a fairly competent pig, but he thought he had solved that issue by incorporating stem cells from the cloning labs in conjunction with the circuitry. This had seemed to provide an incredible boost, heightening reasoning and deliberation skills in all test machines. At least initially, Project: Adam had seen incredible success. But after around two weeks, all of them had shut down and refused to be powered back on. Adams one through six had failed in the same way, and now even machine #7 had gone the same route. What the hell was missing? It was as if they all just gave up, betraying a listlessness that couldn't be mechanical in nature.
He needed another promotion, more recognition. He needed to keep his wife interested; God knows she was only with him for his fame and fortune. He needed another short cut.
Maybe it was because the stem cells had no experience comparable to existence in the real world. Maybe there needed to be some indefinable quality of "life" to make these damned machines work properly. Synapses fired inside Jerry's mind as he grabbed for a pencil and a notepad. He needed a real human intelligence, basic enough to be controlled but with enough experience to reason and make decisions. And for that he needed a real brain. He had some friends in the Britannic Gaol who could help him out - nobody would miss the psychos in there, and most were on death row anyway; it wasn't like anybody would miss just one prisoner. Anyway, didn't people die in mysterious circumstances in there anyway?
Jerry licked the tip of his pencil and carefully wrote "Project: Winston" at the top of the blank page...
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