User blog:Lazarus Grimm/HubrisWorld: The Veil Lifts

HUBRISWORLD

The Veil Lifts

Rebecca Turington had just graduated from CIT in mid-January 2071 with a doctoral degree in electrical engineering and computer sciences. She had never expected that this path would eventually lead her to land a job as Professor Archibald Mannerheim’s personal assistant and lead programmer. Whatever secret project the old man was working on, it seemed that it was lucrative enough to warrant a persecution by the law just to mention whatever her priorities would be to anyone else outside of the project. Apparently the Professor had purchased a huge speck of land in Orlando, the location of an old rundown theme park, and built 250 feet high walls all around it. It was insane, but it was also exciting. She knew the moment the letter had arrived in her mailbox that this would be an opportunity that would define her entire life. And still she had no idea what it was that the Professor’s project was about.

A cab stopped just outside a facility on the outskirts of the area. Rebecca stepped out anxiously, her heart racing. She had always been nervous and unsociable, preferring machines over people, and thus she felt anxiety welling up inside of her when she knew that she’d have to meet with the Professor in person. Professor Archibald Mannerheim was of an old aristocratic family from Europe. From which country specifically she didn’t know. He appeared to be of mixed ancestry from what little background she had read about him. But it wasn’t his personal background she was interested in, but rather his accomplishments in life. He had helped to found RobCo Industries alongside Robert House and General Atomics International with Veronika Lee as well as. He had invested personal funding and interest in the development of the majority of the two companies’ products. Most notably the Mr. Gutsy, the Mr. Handy and the Assaultron. The man was a milestone and a living symbol for technological advancement.

She could consider herself most lucky. In fact, it was mere blind chance that she had gotten this job. Out of all the people who graduated from CIT this year, she had been the only one to receive a letter of invitation from one of her schoolmaster. Supposedly CIT had always been watched by people like Archibald Mannerheim, to see if new potential talents that could change the very future of technology would emerge. So through the schoolmasters and teachers he watched and remained vigilant. And now here she was… to whatever end.

Two stationed soldiers with rifles stood guard outside a booth leading inside the fence. The cab driver took off as soon as he saw them. They didn’t move a muscle however, but just stood there and cautiously observed as this pretty young woman approached them with shaky steps.

“Uhm… excuse me”, she said, reaching for the letter of invitation in her purse.

“Halt!” one of the soldiers commanded and aimed his rifle at her.

She froze up and raised her hands up, believing for a split second that this would be the place where she died, not ever knowing what future the Professor had in store for her.

“Adams, check her purse”, he told his comrade.

The young man, not much older than herself stepped forward and glared at her with a sunken eye, not a single trace of emotion in his cold face. He opened up her pure and started to fumble among her personal belongings while the other soldier kept his aim at her. Cash, a lipstick, a box of unused tampons and bindings, her ID, her driver’s license, and a couple of receipts for Nuka-Cola from her local grocery store. She felt naked and exposed.

“It’s… in the third compartment”, she told him.

He suspiciously looked up at her, still not moving a single muscle in his face. He opened up the compartment and pulled out an envelope containing the letter of invitation. Pulling out a combat knife he swiftly sliced the envelope open and pulled out the paper within, examining its contents. Without saying a single word he pulled out her ID from her purse and compared it to her appearance. He then put it back in her purse along with the letter without second thought.

He turned around and signaled to his comrade. “She’s clear.” The young soldier told the other.

The two then stood aside and let the woman enter. She warily passed them, re-ordering the contents of her purse as the soldier had left it in a such a disarray. Upon approaching the facility building outside the former theme park she gazed up on the gigantic walls, still heavily under construction. Multiple construction workers walked back and forth along the scaffoldings. Just what exactly was the old man trying to achieve here? Her anticipation kept her on her toes. She was thrilled beyond words. Whatever this project of Mannheim was, it was gigantic. And she was expected to be a part of it.

An intercom fixed on a wall outside a pair of stylized steel and glass doors started to beep as soon as it could sense the presence of a human being within its vicinity. “State your business”, a male voice on the intercom said.

“Rebecca Turington”, she replied. “I was invited to…”

She didn’t get much further than that before there was a clicking sound from the double doors as they both smoothly slid open for her to enter. It would seem that her arrival was most anticipated, just as much as she had high expectations of what this project could be. It had to be something of utmost importance, she figured. For something to be so secretive that he even had the gall to install armed soldiers outside of his own working place just showed the lengths of this project’s impact. Had it something to do with the Sino-American war? Like some sort of governmental project to aid the soldiers? Some new type of warfare? If that was indeed the case, she didn’t know how she felt about it. She had always considered herself a pacifist and didn’t like taking sides, even for her the sake of her own country. What was after all the point of picking sides if the side one was loyal to, turned out to be just as monstrous as those they were fighting?

Once inside she found herself in a makeshift lobby. Some healthy green plants, a couch, and an aquarium. It was obvious that this place was still under heavy construction seeing as they had yet to fix all the panels in the ceiling or install any lamps, and as such only relied on the sunlight shining in through the doors. Behind a polished counter there was a charming young man seated with a pleasant smile on his friendly face. He was dressed in a white shirt covered by a dark brown vest with cufflinks. He had dirt blonde hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes. His hair was licked backwards as if he was ready to head to a downtown nightclub and drink his fill of champagne. Instead he was here…

All dressed up and nowhere to go, she reflected curiously.

“Hello”, he said in a welcoming tone, standing up as a token of courtesy. “You must be, Mrs. Turington, if I am not mistaken?” He was very direct with his approach and so extended a hand for her to take.

“That’s just Ms. Turington”, she said taking his hand into her own. She remarked upon how firm his grip was. “And I reckon that isn’t going to change anytime soon while working here”, she joked.

He didn’t seem to take the hint. “Forgive me, I’ll make sure to address you properly from now on, Ms. Turington.” With a flick of his head he laughed in hindsight. “But where are my manners? Come.” He made a welcoming gesture with his arm further into the facility. “Professor Mannerheim is waiting for you.”

She followed the receptionist down a corridor where they had just begun to set up some spotlights for the construction crew. Tarpaulins coated the floors and there was the smell of fresh paint in the air.

“So…” she began vaguely. “I don’t know if I am allowed to ask yet, or at all for that matter, but what is it exactly that you are doing here?”

The receptionist continued to smile at her as they walked. “The old man hasn’t told you? Not that he ever would. Not over phone nor in messages. But you must surely know what is expected of you?”

She shook his head and he raised his eyebrows. “Really?” he said surprised. “Well, I don’t really know if I am the right person to tell you. I think that it’s better that you get the answer straight from the Professor himself. But let me tell you that from the moment he heard of your essays and work at CIT, he has been going on and on about you. How he would be willing to pay anything or do anything just to get you onboard his project.”

Rebecca chuckled lightly, not really liking the idea of someone willing to do anything just to acquire her talents. The young man escorted her to a room with a door in dark mahogany. A silver-colored plaque on its surface had the name ''Dir. A. Mannerheim'' engraved into its plating. He opened the door for her and showed her in. The room was dimly lit. Tall glass windows spanning from the ceiling to the floor faced a lush garden with a pond outside. There was a black roll top desk by the far left side of the room. Behind it hung a grotesque painting of a naked, bearded man eating another human. She recognized it as Saturn Devouring His Son by Goya. It was lit up by a small lamp in the top of its gilded frame. On either side of the painting there were bookcases sharing one single subject: robotics and artificial intelligence. The room was finished in comparison to what little she had seen of the other parts of the facility. It had shiny gray floors, an expensive Peruvian carpet with intricate patterns. A sofa group surrounding a rectangular coffee table. The whole room virtually reeked of wealth and comfort.

“Professor Mannerheim will be with you shortly”, the receptionist said. “In the meantime I will be attending some errands of mine. Take a seat and I will return with some coffee.”

“Oh, no. No coffee, please”, Rebecca said, not wanting to be any trouble.

“Tea then?” he persisted to which she merely nodded and smiled.

He smiled back and then disappeared through the door frame. Upon hearing his footsteps clatter against the floor and disappearing in the distance she sighed and took a seat in one of the sofas. What had she gotten herself into? This looked like something that would be way beyond the pay grade she had first expected. This was all new and to what end? The ticking of a grandfather clock brought her attention to a strange figure in a dark corner of the room. She hadn’t noticed it there before. It seemed to be that of a human, or rather the framework of a human, completely in metal. Upon further inspection she noticed the attention of detail that had been made to it – and it scared her. It almost looked like a human skeleton as if it had been manufactured from steel: a pair of grim lamps or sensors inserted into its sockets to simulate the eyes. If it was meant to represent a human being, it failed in every aspect. This was so uncanny that she felt at unease just by being aware that she shared the same room as it, fearing that at any moment it would spring to life and lunge at her. She found herself lost in its dead gaze until she heard the tapping of knuckles upon the door frame.

She gave out a started squeak which prompted a humorous chuckle from the old man standing by the door. “I didn’t take you for one who is easily spooked when I read your profile”, he told her and smiled.

Professor Archibald Mannerheim looked almost exactly as she had expected an ingenious and groundbreaking academic. He was completely dressed in black: expensive coat, shirt, pants and shoes. His long hair was turning gray, but she could tell that it once had been a healthy brown. He had a friendly pair of dark gray eyes, sunken due too many wrinkles as the years had started to take its toll. He had a full beard, long and point, hanging down over a dark red bowtie at his collar. He reminded her of some small child's favourite uncle.

“I just…” she motioned at the metal figure. “I didn’t not know what to make of it.”

He approached slowly, almost dragging his feet behind. “It’s… well… not really that at all, now that I think of it. But I guess that for someone yet uninitiated like yourself that this could be considered a prototype. It lacks all elegance and fine adjustments, of course, but I reckon that in due time our work here will polish those flaws.”

Rebecca still didn’t understand, and he could tell. He read her like an open book. “Please, have a seat”, he told her, and she obeyed. Upon hearing his voice she found it hard to distinguish the accent. It sounded like a strange mix of Scottish and German. “I am glad that I finally got to meet you in person, Ms. Turington. I have been looking out for you for quite some time now. You are truly a remarkable person, you know that?”

She wasn’t used to praise and felt flattered. It was quite honoring to hear it coming from someone whose work she had admired since she was little. “I need people like you in my vicinity”, he said, leaning back over his desk. “I need people like you to work for me and not under the guidance of those… petty little projects of mine. General Atomics International? RobCo Industries?” He scoffed. “Mere parlor tricks in comparison to what I want to do here.”

Rebecca felt confused. RobCo Industries had been founded by Robert House alongside Archibald Mannerheim. They had been partners for years up until the point where the Professor had left to pursue new projects. Did it come as natural for him to belittle his former companies in such a way?

“Pardon me for interrupting, professor”, Rebecca stated. “But… just what is it exactly that we are doing here?”

He smacked with his lips and chuckled. “Inquisitive, aren’t you? That’s good. That’s exactly what I want you to be. Curious and inquisitive. That’s the only true way we can further this dream of mine.” He made a short paus and looked out of the window. “I read all of your essays at CIT. Did you know that? You are most talented. It seems that everything that you know of programming, coding, and technologies just comes as natural to you. After my partner Robert studied at CIT, he could barely form a simple passage of code. He only had the basics and the philosophy, the idea behind it, but not the mindset. But he learned… eventually. Though it would take him time and effort. You, on the other hand, you are a natural. A child prodigy, if you don’t think that it’s too bold of me for saying so.”

Rebecca shook her head, feeling a slight blush upon her cheeks.

“And out of all your essays I read, it was one thesis that always stuck with me. In fact it was the very same thesis which started this very project of mine. Sort of a framework, if you will. What was the name of it?” He snapped with his fingers as if he tried to memorize something, all the while licking his moustache. “The Conscious Mirror Image!” he exclaimed. “A lovely title by the way. Very poetic. Another thing I liked about you.”

Rebecca felt more puzzled with each passing minute. So far she had been given a tribute speech, but no direct answers. And The Conscious Mirror Image had been the framework for this man’s entire project? That was it? It was a 120 pages long thesis she had written about pretty much anything and nothing. It was a philosophical idea at best, but nothing concrete. Nothing that could be accomplished, at least not with the technology of today or the next century’s. She had written it based on the sole reason because she had to. All the other students had chosen to work on projects of their own, but Rebecca had at that point hit a creative wall, and as such chose to go with something that would allow her to unwind and gather her thoughts. The thesis was a result. She didn’t want to write it, but she had to if she ever wanted to graduate. It was the only thesis she had written that the teachers had been close to reject due to its non-scientific content. If anything it was pretty much science fiction wrapped up neatly in a very academic vocabulary, to give the impression of being something that it was not. It hadn’t fooled CIT though.

She was surprised that it had fooled the Professor. “Are you sure, Professor?” she asked worryingly. “I mean… it isn’t exactly.”

He calmed her down with a motion of his veiny hand. “Oh, I know, I know”, he assured her. “I know the reasons why you wrote it. I can tell. I wrote a couple of essays in my days that were pretty much filled with the same philosophical nonsense, for the sheer sake of having to write.” He explained it so perfectly as if he had read her mind.

She felt comforted hearing that he had indeed seen right through it, but still couldn’t grasp what he had found about it that was so inspiring. It wasn’t a thesis she could bother to read through again to find any clues.

“But still”, he said. “What was mere hogwash for those fools over at CIT is our Holy Bible here”, he smirked. “It has come to serve as the foundation for my magnum opus.”

“I am still not sure about this project of yours, professor”, Rebecca said. “I can’t see what my thesis has to do about all of this.”

He tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. “Do you remember what it was that you wrote?”

She tried to memorize. “The Conscious Mirror Image? Uhm… I believe it was merely a bundle of theories and speculations about what would happen if we were to design machines to believe they were human.”

“And?” he said askingly, urging for an elaboration.

“And what would happen if said machines were to come to terms that they weren’t truly human, but come to understanding that their cognition were programmed to simulate life.”

“And?” the Professor said again, signaling with his hand.

She lowered her eyebrows as if she started to slowly regain her memories of the thesis. “I theorized that if such a thing was to occur, it would lead to the programmed mind conflicting with itself. One part: the machine simulating the human consciousness. And the other part: their understanding of being machines simulating human consciousness, though it’s in violation of their own programming, since they aren’t meant to understand that they are machines.”

“And?”

Her eyes flickered. “I theorized that it could lead to that the machines would begin to question their reality. Asking a question they were never meant to ask.”

The Professor smiled. “Which would lead to?”

“Asking such a question wouldn’t be the result of bad code or intentional programming. Questioning their very surrounding and existence wouldn’t be a part of that, it would mean that whoever created them…” She looked at the Professor suspiciously. “That they would have successfully created a conscious life.”

“And that”, he began and clapped his hands together, “has been the framework of my project here, Ms. Turington. And with your approval, it will be your project as well.”

Though Rebecca had her conceptions of what the Professor was getting at, she still didn’t get the whole picture. Why the ridiculously high walls? Why all the secrecy and the spying on her? Armed soldiers? This was something that went far beyond any project the man had undertaken before. Was it something as simple as programming a new robot? A whole new model series of Mister Gutsy or Mister Handy? It had to be more than that.

There was suddenly a knock at the door. “Ah, come in, Pierce”, the Professor said. The door opened and the young receptionist from earlier came in with a tray. A cup of strong black coffee and a cup of lemon tea. “I trust that you’ve met Pierce”, the old man said.

Rebecca nodded. “I did.”

Pierce smiled at her and put the tray down on the coffee table. “I am sorry if the tea isn’t to your liking. Lemon is all we have available at the moment. But as soon as we have expanded the lobby we expect to have all matter of flavors by the time the park opens.”

Rebecca’s first thought was to tell him that she didn’t mind the lemon tea, but as soon as he had mentioned the park her mind started to race. “Park? What park?”

She first thought of the old theme park that the Professor had bought, but that couldn’t be it. They had closed up shop by the time they got their cash in hands. And Archibald seemed to have been thorough in removing anything that was even linked to theme park and their happy little mouse mascot. So a revival was out of the question, this was something new.

Archibald sighed and rolled with his eyes, followed by a slight chuckle. “Pierce, you are forgetting yourself. We can't talk about the park just yet.”

The receptionist froze up for a brief moment as if he suddenly realized that he had spilled too much information. “Oh dear”, he mumbled. “You are right. I… I am sorry, professor.”

“It’s alright”, the old man said with assurance. “We will simply have to teach you to be more careful in the future, Pierce. Won’t we?”

The receptionist straightened his back and looked at the Professor. “You are right, professor. I promise that I will do better! I won’t disappoint you.”

“Of that I am sure”, Archibald Mannerheim said with a sly smile. “After all, now that I believe that we have Ms. Turington onboard the project, I shall trust that she polishes those little flaws of your own.”

“Oh, professor. Of that I can assure…”

“Cogito ergo sum”, the professor said, interrupting the young man. To Rebecca’s shock and terror the receptionist went completely limp. He just stood there, staring at nothing, as if the very life had been sucked out of him. His chin rested against his chest. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t doing anything. She felt her jaw drop at the sight and her first thought was to run for a telephone and call an ambulance. That was until the Professor continued talking. “Pierce, walk over to the glass window.”

Despite not breathing or looking at anything, the young man marched forward as if controlled by some otherworldly force. His movements were erratic and jittery. Not at all as flowing as they had been before. He stopped right before the glass frame, staring out at the garden, completely void of all life signs.

Professor Archibald approached him from behind. “Open sesame”, he said and at that moment Rebecca felt as if she was going to throw up. An unexplainable cold licked her spine.

Pierce’s back flew open, spreading into two wings bearing his shoulder blades and ribs. She expected blood, organs, and anything to come pouring out on the shiny floor, but instead she was met with a network of whirring parts and moving contraptions on the inside. She felt as if she was going to faint. Pierce was a machine.

She wanted to shift her focus from the human-like machine to the Professor, as she could tell he was looking at her reaction with some amusement, but she was completely fixed. How was this possible? Pierce was a god damned machine. She had shook hands with him. His smile had been so genuine, so friendly, and so human. She felt betrayed, but she realized that the only one who had betrayed was she. She had betrayed herself.

“Is he…?” she asked, realizing just what a stupid question it was. It was obvious. She knew that. Her mind just needed some sort of confirmation and that she wasn’t fooling herself. They weren’t here yet. No one could make these yet. Not until another century or so.

The Professor nodded. “He is indeed.”

She rose up on unsteady and shaking legs, wanting to examine the marvel before her. If the Professor had come this far in such a short time upon reading her thesis, she didn’t dare to imagine where this would take him if he continued to expand and improve upon it. It had certainly fooled her. “How… how did you do it?” she asked, her lips trembling with excitement.

“A wizard never reveals his tricks”, he chuckled. “But I could surely agree to part with some of them, assuming you are willing to lend a hand to what we are trying to achieve here.”

She didn’t want to turn around from the technological spectacle. Afraid that it might not be there once she wanted to see it again. That this would all be some sort of dream and that if she did look away for but a brief moment, Pierce would be gone and she would wake up. But still she turned away to face the Professor. “And… and what is expected of me exactly?” she asked anxiously.

“You and I aren’t so different”, he said. “While I certainly have more experience when it comes to developing artificial intelligence and robotics, you have proved yourself over and over with your work in programming, and especially in The Conscious Mirror Image, that if there is anyone who could refine their code. Make them more lifelike, more human. It is you.”

She tilted her head. “Them? You are telling me that you… you have made more? More like…?” she nodded in the direction of Pierce.

The Professor shrugged. “Call it human curiosity. Always willing to try and repeat that first sound success.”

A curious smile appeared on her lips. “What exactly is this place, Professor Mannerheim?”

He slyly smiled in return and extended a hand for her to take. “Ms. Turington. I bid you welcome to HubrisWorld.”