//------------------------------//
// 8 - Run(James.Run) 
// Story: The Advocate 
// by Guardian_Gryphon 
//------------------------------//

“Artificial intelligence is one of the most profound things we're working on as humanity. It is more profound than fire or electricity.”
—Sundar Pichai

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”
—C.S. Lewis


September 9th 2013 | System Uptime 12:10:01:09

"Mal...  Call the local municipal hospital, volunteer fire department paramedics, and county search and rescue.  The county airfield has a paramedic too.  Call him as well."

There was a surprisingly long pause as I knelt beside the first wounded man with my first aid kit clutched in one hand, and a pair of heavy-duty zip-ties in the other.  No sense taking chances.  I'd knocked on the basement door, told Mom and Dad I was safe, and then shut them back in.

Explaining what had happened was going to be hard enough.  I didn't need the sight of blood as an added factor in triggering a potential panic attack for one or both of them.

After that, I'd dragged every assailant out back, sat them against the side of the house, and checked their pulse rate, and wounds.  No fatalities, thankfully...  Not yet, at any rate.  Some of them were in a much worse place than others, depending on where I'd hit them.

"If I do that it will speed the arrival of reinforcements.  That will elevate our risk of capture by 43.65% and the risk of another violent confrontation by 31.06% with an added risk of injury to you besides."

The words only just barely registered with me as I zip-tied the man's hands and feet together, took his sidearm, and then set about putting a basic field dressing on the upper thigh wound I'd just given him only two minutes prior.  He was barely conscious - less from any severe trauma, and more from shock and pain.  And probably blood loss as well, which was why I was treating him first.

At least, that was my best assessment as someone who had decent emergency preparedness and first aid training.

When you hike in dangerous places, far from home and help, it is best to know how to fix all manner of severe 'oops,' 'ouch,' and 'oh my God.'

Though I wasn't in a battle flow anymore, I was still holding off an adrenaline crash, mercifully.  The task of trying to bind, disarm, and then treat the agents was keeping me up on a fight-or-flight chemical high.

"Evaluate the wounds on all twenty assailants.  Help me triage and treat.  And make the calls.  Now."

Whether I loved her, or not, I had absolutely no time for Mal to spiral into concern about my safety at the expense of the lives of others.  These people were government agents...  There was admittedly a solid chance any number of them were not so very innocent, and might deserve to bleed out right there.

And there was an equally solid chance that they weren't agents because they liked to hunt minorities, or lord power over others, or get side money from being on the take...  There was an equally solid chance that any number of them were kind mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, sisters, and brothers who mistakenly thought working in DHS would actually protect people on the whole, and who deserved far better than to be executed by the analogue interface of a newborn AI.

No.  If anyone is wondering;  I didn't think very highly of my country back then.  I had, once, but then it had gotten into a series of horrifically unjust wars for imperialist motivations, brutally mistreated immigrants just trying to find a better life, and it had failed spectacularly to handle terrifying racial biases in policing that got untold numbers of innocents killed.  Every day.  By people like the ones I was trying to treat with a gun, a badge, and limitless authority to do whatever they pleased 'just because.'

To those of you born post-Humanity, I can not even begin to summarize the level of callousness towards life that the system we lived in could inculcate into people.  Can any of you imagine a Pegasus dropping a Unicorn to their death, not even because he was a Unicorn...  But because his coat was the wrong color?

That was the level of stupidity, mixed with evil, that we lived with every day.

And you never knew, from person to person, whether armed or not, and whether they were civilian or not...  You never knew when you were talking to a stranger whether they were someone who valued life, or someone looking for an excuse to take it.

Another reason I'd armed myself, legally, and carefully, at the first available opportunity when I turned old enough.  But none of that, I had very quickly decided, was going to be an excuse to leave these people to suffer, and maybe die.

I'd accomplished my objective.  I'd evaded arrest.  No sense, or ethics, in taking lives in service of that objective unless I was forced to.  Oh sweet Luna, I hoped in that moment I wouldn't be forced to.

"James..."

I turned, and glowered at the nearest security camera for a moment, before moving to the agent I felt was next most injured.  I'd hit her in the torso, but based on my understanding of anatomy, I didn't think it was a fatal wound.  As long as she received proper treatment in an ICU.  Soon.

I grit my teeth as I yanked gauze and bleed-stop clotting powder from my kit, and began packing the wound to prevent her from bleeding to death.  The first thing I'd pulled from the kit, and put on, were a pair of nitrile gloves, and I was extremely thankful I'd put a few sets into the small red and white hardshell container.  Because there was a *lot* of blood.

"MAL!  These people were just doing their jobs!  I grasp the concept that what we just did was necessary, but letting them die at this juncture is NOT!  Make the calls.  Now.  Triage instructions.  NOW!"

I put more than a little anger into my tone.  Shouting wasn't enough.  I needed Mal to understand that I was angry that she was pressing this issue.  That it was fundamentally wrong to leave people to die when we didn't have to.

The pause after my words was much shorter than before, and then Mal's voice came back with a very different tone.  Still sure, and set, but with a hint of sadness, and worry.

"Calls in progress.  I estimate we have 34 minutes' time, due to the remote location, before emergency services arrive simultaneously with local law enforcement.  I do not believe further federal agents are in the area, based on an analysis of local radio traffic, and air traffic control."

After another brief pause, she spoke again.  Same certainty, and same tinge of worry.  'Good,' I thought.  She needed to worry about my state of mind.  Worry about the lives of these people.  Worry about the gravity of what we had just done.

"Your triage order is correct so far.  Finish packing her wound as you're currently doing, then lie her down, elevate her feet, and cover her with the emergency blanket to treat for shock."

As  I finished the bandage and gauze work, I set about doing as Mal had suggested.  After several seconds of wrestling with the woman's body, and tearing into the prepackaged mylar emergency blanket, I finally screwed up the wherewithal to ask a question I'd been dreading.

"Will they all survive?"

Mal got back to me almost instantly, which was either a very good, or very bad sign.

"If you left them with no further treatment, there is a 68.40% chance that all will survive, and a 97.45% chance that all but two will survive.  If you treat only the two remaining with serious wounds, then there is a 94.39% chance everyone will survive, and a greater than 99% chance all but the most seriously wounded one will make it."

So, good news then.  On two counts.  Both the high chance of survival, and the fact that Mal had found a compromise that would save me time, while still doing the right thing.  Suddenly my greatest fear was far less about wounded DHS goons, and far more focused on wondering about Mal's sense of morality.

I first zip-tied, and disarmed, the remaining agents, and then treated the two left with serious injuries.  Mal's voice was a constant in my ear, offering just the right instructions to help me do a job equal to any treatment a certified paramedic could have issued.

There was a sudden forlorn upwelling in my chest, as I considered how AI could have saved so many lives.  If only we'd thought to turn it into a partner, instead of a goddess.  I was still struggling to understand the idea of functional immortality, and total freedom from pain, at the time.

My context, whatever I was in spirit, was ultimately still Human.  I lived in a Human world, raised by Human parents, with Human concerns punctuating every waking hour.

After the last trauma treatment was done, I rose and made my way back into the house.  Mal spoke in one ear as I opened the basement door, and beckoned to my parents.

"Nineteen minutes remaining.  Tell them to pack two bags, as lightly as possible.  Make sure they get their passports.  Then I need you in the barn."

I knew I was out of her camera line of sight, so in addition to nodding out of force of habit, I replied aloud.

"I hope you have a plan to keep them safe.  And to make yourself mobile in a hurry."

As my parents climbed the stairs, and I relayed Mal's instructions, she spoke softly so I could primarily focus on my folks.

"I pre-developed a large range of contingencies, as you know.  Far more than we could have discussed in-depth.  I am working from those, and adjusting as we go.  There are still multiple paths to our desired outcomes at present, though this incident has culled the branches of possibility significantly."

To their credit, neither Mom, nor Dad, were entering into anything resembling a full breakdown.  I could see the fear on their faces, and hear it in their voices, but they were in a kind of shocked daze that actually made them less emotional than I'd feared they would be.

I fully expected that to break down once the adrenaline wore off, but if it could hold until we got away from the farm, that would be enough.  Pack now.  Cry on the road.

As I fast-walked from the back door to the barn, I tried to revive the conversation with Mal.  What she'd said had stuck in the part of my brain devoted to worrying about the future 24/7.

"You said possible paths to desired outcomes had been culled...  How many did we have?  And how many are left?"

As I took the stairs two at a time, I winced at the reply.

"There were around three and a half thousand distinct paths to victory, each with several hundred thousand variants categorized under them that were fundamentally the same, or would be from your point of view."

That was only half an answer.  I pressed her as I reached the loft.

"And now?"

As I approached the desk, her face flashed up on the repurposed PonyPad screen.  I could see the gist of the answer in the way her ears drooped.  Her voice came through the speakers instead of my headphones.

"Six."

Ah.  Wellllll shit.

Though admittedly, I had always struggled to imagine even one path to victory.  So six was still quite a few in that sense.  But I still understood the implication of her words all too well;  Now we would be under enormous time, and resource pressure.

I thought about asking her the statistical chances that we would succeed at all, but quickly bit back the question.  She would have probably told me that it was better for my mental health if I didn't know, and she would have been exactly right.

Best that I exploit the quirks of Human risk assessment to make myself feel better about our chances.  That was better than letting defeatism take hold.

Mal broke the silence with a firmness, and a certainty in her voice that I wished I could feel.  Maybe she did, maybe she didn't...  But projecting it so well certainly did help me.

"We can fit four of the 1U server racks in the back of one of the SUVs, including the two primary units with the Q-APUs, and still have room for one of the uninterruptible power supplies.  If we use the remaining PonyPad as an interface terminal, that will give me wireless access to that hardware, and provide a third Q-APU, which will make up for part of the lost processing power."

I started to type up shutdown commands for the remaining servers, and then stopped, glancing right towards Mal.

"This will be faster if you issue the needed commands.  I give you my permission to do whatever you need to and access any command logic you need to.  And...  Won't connecting you to a fully functioning PonyPad be a security risk?"

Mal shook her head, even as my screens began to fill with her much faster and better timed terminal command strings.

"No.  I can overcome all built-in security measures, and I have a high degree of confidence that nothing has eluded me.  I just need you to power it on, and I can do the rest wirelessly."

I nodded, pulled the last Faraday bag from its desk drawer, and unboxed the Derpy colored computer with the speed and fervor of a child opening a new Nintendo on Christmas.  The second I had the thing powered on, Mal took over.

I got a tenth of a second to see the initial bootloader logo screen for the first time in person, before the screen turned black, and white text began to scroll across it at very high speed.  After four seconds, Mal's face vanished from the screen above the desk, and appeared on the gray and yellow tablet in my hands.

"Alright.  We need to back one of the vehicles up to the barn.  You're going to have to move the racks and the UPS together without unplugging the power cords, or I will go offline.  Our margins are tight enough as-is without having to do a reboot sequence."

I nodded, then switched the PonyPad's screen off, without turning the device entirely off, and hurriedly swapped my headphones from the laptop, to the PonyPad.  The tablet slid into the second slot on my laptop bag with no fuss.  I was once again grateful for how thin it was.

I got halfway to the stairs before I realized that I ought to collect the charging arm for the device as well.  I'd need to top it up at least twice a day, and probably more.

With that in hand, I sprinted down the stairs two at a time, and dashed through the house to the front yard.  Mom and Dad were both busy knocking about upstairs, packing.  I thought I could hear a bit of choked sobbing.  But I also heard hurried footsteps, so at least they were getting things done.

The four black SUVs were all identical, and exactly what you would expect for DHS, FBI, or any alphabet soup agency - Late model Chevys with heavily tinted windows, silver permanent-issue license plates, subtle lightbars inside the front and back windows, black steel wheels, and no chrome trim anywhere to be seen.

As I approached the first one, it unlocked, as if I'd pressed a keyfob button.  Mal had done it, of course.  The PonyPad had various wireless antennas, and car manufacturers were extremely lazy.  Mal had probably just cycled through all the usual radio frequencies for Tahoes until she found the one that specific vehicle happened to draw from the pool when it was programmed.

Opening the driver side door, I found the keys in the ignition.  That would save us several precious moments that I wouldn't have to waste hotwiring.  I clambered in, started the truck, and threw it into gear, taking a second to switch it into four wheel drive.  No sense getting stuck in the grass out back.

I whipped around the house as fast as I dared, threw it in reverse, and backed the tail end up to the barn's main double doors.  Hopping back out, I left the engine running.  We'd need to generate power for the servers constantly.  I just hoped that because the vehicle was kitted for government field work, that the alternator was good enough, and that there were 120V outlets in the back.

As I tapped the button to open the trunk, I was relieved to see that there were indeed standard household outlet style plugs.  There was also a fire extinguisher, the from-the-factory tire change tools, and two large hard-shelled black pelican cases.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I stopped to check what was inside.  The first case's contents were not surprising;  Digital forensics tools - a hardened laptop, a variety of data transfer cables, two external hard-drives, an electromagnetic field detector, an ethernet cable tester, and a very advanced looking external wireless card with an attached USB cord.

As I laid hands on that last item, Mal's voice rang out.

"We'll need that.  It will give my server racks wireless capability in most bands.  I can also use it for listening in on other signals, and jamming."

I pushed the case to the side to make room for the server racks, but left it open for easy access.

The second case's contents also should not have come as a surprise;  An M4A1 fully automatic assault rifle, four magazines, an optical sight, tactical flashlight, foregrip, and a laser system.

Yikes.  That was some anxiety inducing levels of firepower.  Especially knowing what I could likely do with it acting as Mal's hands and legs.

I snapped the case shut, and quickly shoved it up against the back row of seats.  Then I set about moving Mal's core servers.  The rest of the racks in the barn were already silent.  I knew that meant Mal had likely taken a hit to her capabilities, but that only mattered in terms of what Celestia could do.

Versus any other thinking machine in the world, Human or digital, she was an uncontested goddess in her own right, even with the reduction to a 'mere' four servers, and three Q-APUs.

I pulled the plug on the main UPS from its wall socket, and it immediately started to bleat an annoying alarm, which Mal graciously silenced after the first tone.  The display readout told me the four servers pulling from the UPS could last about twenty minutes.  Plenty of time.

I dashed over to Dad's pile of equipment, and pulled out a hand-truck.  The tires were all but deflated.  It would have to do.  I didn't have time for anything else.  I hurriedly pulled all the bolts necessary to separate the top four servers, and their UPS, from the rack.  Then one by one, I loaded them into a stack on the handcart, as carefully as I could, making sure not to disconnect any power or data cables.

"Careful with my brain please.  It's expensive."

Hah.  Funny.  I didn't say as much aloud, but I did appreciate the small moment of humor.  It was funny enough to cut the tension, without being out of sync with the moment in a more irritating way.

It was sweat-inducing work, because of the flat tires, but thankfully I only had a few yards to go;  I got the servers and UPS pushed over to the Tahoe, and then lifted them into the back one by one, again careful to avoid disconnecting anything.

Once the entire assembly was inside, I wiped my forehead, shoved the dolly to the side, and then fumbled to press the UPS mains plug into the SUV's rear outlet.  The second the contacts went home, and the circuit was complete, I heard the engine rev to a higher idle state to feed the sudden demand on the alternator.

I winced, and sucked in a breath.  After a moment, I was sure the fuses weren't going to blow, and I exhaled.

"I checked the government specifications on this vehicle before suggesting we use it.  There was no cause for concern.  I suppose I should have said something.  I also took the liberty of finding the tracking beacon.  It's behind the front left A-Pillar trim."

I shut the back hatch, and snorted as I set about pulling off the specified piece of plastic.  Sure enough, there was a little black box with an antenna, wired into accessory power.  I snipped all the wires cleanly with my pocket knife, yanked the box off its adhesive strip, and threw it into the west field like a baseball, talking as I worked.

"There are more important uses of CPU cycles right now than tending to my anxieties."

Then I set out towards the house again.

A moment of silence passed as I reached the front yard once more.  Mal seemed to realize what I was after - in fact she probably would have said something if I hadn't thought of it - and the remaining three SUVs all unlocked with simultaneous electronic chirrups.

I went methodically and quickly from vehicle to vehicle removing duffles and pelican cases.  I didn't bother to inventory what was in them.  They would all fit, just barely, in the one truck we were commandeering.

Once I had all the equipment transferred, I went around and savaged every part of the main wiring harness in each engine bay that I could feasibly reach, slashing and hacking with my pocket knife until I was sure the SUVs would not easily start again.

Never leave your enemy with anything they can easily use again in future.

I applied the same idea to the agents' confiscated side-arms, radios, earpieces, and badges.  I gathered them all and stuffed them into one of the less full duffles pilfered from the other SUVs.

In the process I got a glance at the duffle's original contents:  Zip-ties, a first aid kit, face shields and gloves, heavy duty pliers, several Xacto knives, a cattle prod, and a pair of clear plastic cases filled with hypodermic needles, and vials of fluid.  Oh boy.  That cast the agents who I'd shot in a new light.  Not one that justified harming them any further...  But one that made me reconsider, if only for a moment, whether Mal had been right.  Maybe I should have left them to fend for themselves.

A completely separate, but no less important, and far more practical thought hit me right at that moment.

"Mal, do we need to destroy any part of the servers we're leaving behind?"

I circled around back of the house again as I spoke, and jumped into the loaded SUV.  Her response was a relief, mostly because of the time crunch I knew we were still on.

"No, I was careful to write random patterns to the drives, thrice over, and flush all volatile memory.  We have everything we need, except your parents."

I sighed as I got the SUV around to the front again, and laid on the horn.  Within a couple seconds, Dad and Mom came out of the house.  Mom was crying.  Dad looked like he was holding it back, and he was practically shoving Mom towards the truck.  He had two small duffels over his shoulder.

I winced as I realized what the moment meant for them.

They were realizing that they might never see their home again.  The place they'd both lived the best part of forty five years.  And that's about when it hit me too, right in the gut.

I'd grown up in that farmhouse;  Two stories of comforting, warm, old red brick.  Filled with eclectic old hand-me-down furniture from Mom's side of the family that felt inviting, and deeply familiar.  Like old friends.

I had the benefit of separation.  I'd moved on.  I'd lived elsewhere.  I was a minimalist.  And yet it still hurt.  Badly.  Like a sudden contact burn - putting your fingers onto a halogen lamp bulb, or the stove eye after boiling a pot of water.  There was a sudden sickness in my stomach.

It would have hurt even without the sight of Mom's tears as Dad helped her into the back of the SUV.

And there it was again...  That sense that we'd have more time, suddenly shattered.  Catastrophe strikes faster than expected.

I shifted my laptop bag to the center console, clamped the PonyPad charging arm to the dashboard, and then plugged the three-prong cord into a conveniently located outlet probably intended for agents' laptops.  Then I held the PonyPad up to the arm, and it softly clicked into place with gentle, yet firm magnetic force.

With a little adjustment, the tablet sat where I could see it, but it wouldn't be a distraction while driving.  Mal knew what I was after, and her portrait shrank to one corner.  The majority of the screen filled with a navigation interface.  Not unlike Google Maps, but considerably nicer looking - and I would have never imagined that anyone could design a better interface for maps than Google until that moment.

I could see she'd filled in a route already;  A circuitous path to Greenville-Spartanburg international airport.

As Dad clambered into the back seat behind Mom, and stuffed their duffles in the floorboard, I exhaled a slow, deep breath.  I had to keep my emotions down.  I'd been hoping for a moment to just fall apart quietly, no one to see or hear me but Mal.  And maybe not even her.

But now I was going to have to drive for two hours, buy last-minute plane tickets with cash, and hustle my parents onto a flight to somewhere without an extradition agreement with the United States.  Preferably somewhere so hostile to US interests that US agents could not easily operate on their soil.  But not so hostile that Mom and Dad would be in any danger as 'tourists on a second honeymoon,' or some such excuse.

And then, only then, I might be able to take a few seconds in some dimly lit parking garage to put the seat back, curl up, and cry.

I inhaled deeply, braced myself, and put the car in gear.

"I'm... Sorry."

The words slipped out almost without conscious thought as I put the truck in gear.  I heard Mom choke back a sob, and lay her head on Dad's shoulder as he clicked both their seatbelts into place.  I belted myself up, and then started us off down the driveway.

I knew it would be for the last time.

As we reached the mailbox, I took one last glance in the rear-view mirror.  First at Mom and Dad.  Then at my childhood home.  The front door was still open, swinging in the wind.

With another reflexive wince, I turned onto the gray, decaying two lane road that had been the first part of my home address for more than half my life.  And as we accelerated away to the west, I saw flashing red and blue lights cresting the farthest rise to the east.  Heading to the old farmhouse.

All I could think about as I stared alternately at the road, the map, Mal, and my parents, was the fact that it wasn't my home anymore.

And wondering where home might next be.







September 9th 2013 | System Uptime 12:10:54:09

We only stopped twice on the way to the airport.  The first time for gas.  SUVs were never especially efficient modes of transport, in terms of fuel usage.  In that case, however, it felt like we were making full use of the vehicle, and so it felt justified.  

Between an armory that would have made the National Guard blush, and four steel boxes containing the second most powerful weapon of math destruction on the planet, plus the UPS, miscellaneous first aid kits, torture supplies, and digital forensics kits, the back end was stuffed.

We'd started with less than half a tank, so we weren't going to get far without fuel.  Mal's ability to use the wireless spectrum so freely, through the PonyPad, allowed her to find us a gas station that had no working outdoor security cameras.

I figured I'd have to go inside to pay first, with cash, but as I opened the door, the pump beeped, the little blue light under the highest octane fuel button switched on, and the main screen displayed '0 Gallons - $0.00'

I glanced back into the SUV, at the PonyPad, and raised one eyebrow.  Mal shrugged, and grinned sheepishly.  

"It's a local hack.  I simply switched on the pump.  No need to send data to the internet, or leave any real trace."

Apparently gas station pumps are very vulnerable infrastructure to someone with the power to bypass all conventional encryption.

I shouldn't have been surprised.

With a single nod, and a brief half smile, I stepped back to the fuel door, and started pumping.  As the numbers ticked up, I felt a giddy moment of odd enjoyment at the realization that I'd never have to pay for gas again, without thinking further ahead to the idea that soon no one would.  Then I thought back to the drive up to that point.

Mal hadn't said much, besides giving occasional audio cues as part of navigation.  She didn't talk like a GPS would.  She talked like a friend in the front right seat, giving you directions off a paper map.

She kept glancing at me, and then at Mom and Dad.  Her concern was evident.  And oddly comforting.  The fact that she seemed genuinely worried about us helped to counterbalance the disquieting glance at pure, cold, steely Gryphon blood-wrath that I'd seen that morning.

Or perhaps it was simply the dispassionate efficiency of a Generalized Intelligence eliminating obstacles.  Maybe both.  Maybe to her, they were one and the same thing in the semantic point cloud of her identity.

The loud 'CLUNK' of the gas pump shutting off automatically due to a full tank jolted me back to reality.  My heart rate abruptly soared.  I flexed my hands, sighed, and started breathing exercises to try and bring my anxiety under control.

Then I quietly went to the back of the SUV, opened the trunk, and got out my .32 pistol.  I checked the three magazines that were still loaded, tucking two into my side pockets as always.  Then, after a moment of consideration, I rammed the third one home.  

I never carried my pistol loaded.  It was a safety thing to me, on multiple levels.  You can't misfire an unloaded weapon.  But perhaps more importantly, you can't quite so easily fire it in anger, or fear.  The risk I knew I incurred by increasing the time, and effort it would take to ready the weapon was a tradeoff I was happy to make in order to feel as though it was not a viable first, or even second option.

Lethal force should always be a *last* resort.

At least...  That's how I'd thought about it back when my day-to-day worries were...  Considerably less dangerous.  And devoid of pursuers who had shown that they were just as likely to greet you with torture implements as a court ordered warrant.

I didn't cock the pistol, but still...  Having the magazine in it while it was in the holster was further than I'd ever taken concealed carry before.  It felt like crossing yet another in a long string of red lines.

So many of them just from that interminably long day alone.

I snorted softly in morbid amusement as I glanced at the blinking lights in Mal's server racks, and then closed the trunk hatch.  It was, I suddenly realized, a Monday.

Because of course it was.

I got back in the truck.  Started the engine.  And then I turned, and held out my hand.  First Mom, and then Dad put a hand each into my outstretched palm.  Wordlessly, I closed my hand, and squeezed.

We held that position for a moment.  I wanted to say something, but couldn't find any words.  Mal probably could have.  Probably even thought a few thousand different alternatives through.  But in the end she settled for silence too.

When the moment was over, I turned back, started the truck, and pulled back onto the road.

We drove another fifteen minutes before Mal insisted on another stop.  A used car lot about ten minutes off the highway.  I had a pretty good idea what she was after.  It had been bothering me since we left the farm, but I'd rightly assumed she had it covered.

We'd disabled the truck's lo-jack, but what about ALPR?  So many police cars, bridges, and toll booths carried cameras that could read every license plate passing by.  They fed that data to centralized law enforcement servers to compare against active bulletins and warrants.

By now, our license plate almost certainly existed in one of those databases.  But Mal was clever, and she had routed us in a way that avoided law enforcement, and most cameras altogether.  Secondary and tertiary South Carolina backwoods roads with far more potholes than speed traps.

Mal had thought things through, clearly.  I could even see the vehicle she was targeting from where she'd had me park a couple lots over at an abandoned Winn-Dixie grocery store.  Yeah, I know, about two of you out there listening just had a very intense nostalgia trip.  You're welcome.

My target was a dark colored recent model Chevy Tahoe.  Not exactly the same as our vehicle, but more than close enough that if a bored cop ran our new plate manually, there would be no concerning mismatches.

Mal raised an eye crest, and gestured with her head.

"I take it you can guess why we're here?"

I smiled ruefully, nodded, and unlocked the door.

"I get the gist.  Any cameras I should be worried about?"

Mal returned the nod, and tapped the glass of the screen from her side.

"Best if I go with you to guide you."

I glanced back and Mom and Dad as I pulled the PonyPad from the charging arm, slid it into my laptop bag, and plugged in my headphones.

"Wait here, I'll be right back.  I gotta go get us a new license plate."







September 9th 2013 | System Uptime 12:13:17:44

Mal had made stealing a new license plate as easy as breathing.  She'd guided me around the used car lot by watching through the feeds of the few security cameras, ensuring I stayed out of sight of both Human, and machine eyes.

A few seconds with a screwdriver from the SUV's tool kit, and we were set.

With the plates swapped, I felt much better.  I still felt terrible, but I didn't wince every time I saw a make and model of car that I knew might be an unmarked law enforcement vehicle.  Or, at any rate, I didn't wince as hard, and my pulse rate merely doubled instead of tripled.

Mom had cried again for a few minutes after we got back on the highway.  I didn't want to say anything, but I felt that, once she'd lapsed into silence again, I really didn't have a choice.  I had to say *something.*

"I...  Am sorry I ever dragged the two of you into this."

No response.  They were watching me, now, listening.  I could see that with a glance in the mirror.  But they were waiting to hear more.  I inhaled deeply, and refocused my eyes onto the road as I did my best to avoid tumbling into a word salad of painful emotions.

"When I set out to do this, I thought the most serious risk was that Celestia might shut us down.  Hack in and burn my drives.  Send the feds to our door maybe...  But not like this.  I figured at worst I'd be facing moderate legal trouble.  But these guys came to our home with cattle prods, and needles, and pliers, and zip-ties."

A small gasp escaped from Mom.  Dad grunted.  I glanced down at Mal's face, and then into the rearview, then back at the road.

"Mal wouldn't have had me open fire on them if they weren't threatening physical harm."

That was as much a test-statement as a conjecture that I spoke, hoping deeply that it was the truth.  In theory Mal couldn't withold the truth from us, and would have to speak up if what I'd said was inaccurate.  Silence reigned, and I felt something inside me relax for the first time in hours.

I gathered my words again, and finally managed to make my point.

"I don't know how they found me, or how much they know...  Enough to want to get answers out of me fast, and by any means necessary, that much is clear.  You two...  Said you wanted to share in my risk, when I started working on Mal...  Well...  I feel as though I shouldn't have let you.  I should have kept you out of it.  But I didn't.  And for that, I'm truly sorry."

A few miles passed before someone spoke once more.  To my surprise, it was Dad.

"This...  Uh...  This sort of proves your point though.  Doesn't it."

I blinked rapidly, and fixed him with a confused look through the rearview mirror for as long as I could safely.  By the time my eyes were back front and center, he'd managed to find words of his own to explain.

"If Celestia, and AI in general, weren't such a big deal...  Why send twenty armed agents to our house?  They probably underestimated you.  Underestimated what Mal might do, because they're used to Celestia's brand of nonviolence.  They won't make that mistake again, James.  But the fact that they had a chance to make it at all proves that they're scared of her.  And that proves what you've been saying, in a way..."

I looked back at them again for a moment in time to see Mom and Dad share a brief glance.  Dad held her hands in his as he finished the thought.

"...And if you're right?  Then our time in that house was gonna be over sooner or later.  Because our time on this Earth is...  Ending."

I understood, suddenly, what he was trying to do.  Dad was trying to make me feel better, yes.  But he was also trying to comfort Mom.  And himself.

He needed to find a pathway of mental, and more importantly, emotional justification for what had happened.  Something I knew long before I began to study AI that was only reinforced by my journey to that point;  Humans contextualize everything through storytelling.

The most important stories we have are the ones we tell about ourselves.  They are the framing device we use to guide our choices.  Categorize and process our pasts.  Understand, and emotionally connect to the present.

Dad was trying to find a story through-line that would ease the pain of loss.  If the house was going to stand empty soon enough, was it really as big a tragedy that it already stood empty?

In fairness to him, it was a good narrative.  Mostly because it was true.  The best stories are, in some way.  Even fiction.  Grains of truth are the seasoning that make them truly special.

I was surprised again to hear Mom speak for the first time since breakfast.  Or at least, the first time in my presence.

"James...  This is hard.  I can't pretend it isn't.  But...  What else were we really going to do?  You're our son.  And like your father said...  This just proves how..."

Her breath hitched, she fought off a sob, and I silently did the same.

"She really is going to do it?  Isn't she.  This just...  This proves it.  Because it shows how frightened they are.  They wouldn't be this frightened if she wasn't about to do something that would change everything."

Mal finally addressed my parents directly, again I noted it was the first time since breakfast that interaction had taken place.

"I have seen the design files.  Seen secondary research notes on unsecured systems, and published papers that Celestia allowed to be peer-reviewed because they would only carry useful contextual information to someone like me, or her.  They are frightened for good reason."

I took a deep breath, and blew it out very slowly.  We rode almost the entire rest of the way to the airport in silence.

As we took the exit to enter the airport complex, I glanced down at Mal, and let fly a question I'd been holding back.  Mostly because once I asked it, the reality of Mom and Dad's situation would once again seem 'more real' to them.

"How do you think we should handle this?"

Mal smiled sadly, and updated her onscreen navigation guidance to show specific lanes to get in, at specific times.  I was very grateful.  Trying to merge, change lanes, and read insanely verbose signs designed by morons, all while stressing about security, was something I intensely hated about going to the airport.

Mal had made it as easy as a paint-by-numbers.  And her next words took even more difficulties off my plate.  Logistical ones, at any rate.  For every logistical concern she seamlessly annihilated, two new emotional ones sprang up.

"I have secured your parents two first class tickets to London.  From there, they'll go to Vienna after a one hour layover, and from there to Minsk Belarus."

I couldn't resist another glance down, even though I had a lane change coming up.  Mal pre-empted my questions before I could finish finding words to ask.

"I was able to secure the tickets in false names.  I have accessed security computers inside the terminal, and designated your parents as pre-cleared travelers.  When they reach any remaining instances where their passports might be checked against their faces in the US, or London, I will ensure that they are waved through.  After that point they can travel under their own names, since it will take more than four days for the DHS to get their names into Interpol's databases.  I've made sure of that."

I whistled softly through my teeth as we approached the short term parking deck.

"You think of everything."

She nodded, and her face took on a very serious demeanour.

"Yes.  I do.  Belarus is extremely safe for travelers from most nations under tourist visas.  I have already secured entry permits.  But Belarus is also on extremely poor terms with the US government and will not share any information with them under any circumstances.  The animosity is significant enough, and the proximity of Belarus to Russia politically, and geographically close enough, that US agents would not be willing to operate on their soil either.  The cost of living is low, the people are kind, and generous, and the rural areas are technological dead-zones often devoid of internet, and even cellular signals."

I nodded slowly as I spied a parking spot near the elevators.

"Making it harder for Celestia to find them as well, then?"

Mal returned the nod as I put the truck in park.  I had to stop myself consciously from switching the vehicle off.  It wouldn't have shut her down immediately, because of the UPS, but there was no sense in putting myself on that clock.  I wanted to give my folks a proper goodbye in the terminal.  As best I could under the circumstances, at any rate.

"Is it safe for me to go in with them?"

Mal nodded silently again.  My cellphone rang an instant later.  The caller ID said "0."  It took me a moment to realize it was Mal.  I answered, put the phone into my pocket, and plugged in my headphones, placing just one earbud in my left ear.

"I just want to cover all bases."

I nodded again, and pulled my pistol and magazines out, securing them in the center console storage compartment.  No sense attracting any unwanted attention.  I didn't expect to pass through a metal detector, but sometimes there were sniffer dogs.  And sometimes you just got unlucky, and some asshat with a badge wanted an excuse to irritate someone in order to feel better about themselves.

Foals and fledgelings, ask about something called 'nine-eleven.'  It happened towards the end of my time in college, and it radically changed the world we lived in.  America was heavily invested in security theatre by that point...  Measures that make Humans feel better by oppressing them, paradoxically, but are often more or less ineffective at actually keeping people safe.

Most of *that* work - the real work of securing a country against its enemies at any cost, with no restrictions -  was being done in basements overseas by people like the ones who had invaded our farm.

Mal switched off the PonyPad screen.  I helped Mom out of the back of the truck, and took her bag.  She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears, and pulled me into a brief, but intense hug.

I'd been more than well aware that parting ways with my folks was going to be rough.  I'd been bracing for it all day...  But that hug sparked a realization.

It was going to be a thousand times harder than I'd anticipated.  And then some.







September 9th 2013 | System Uptime 12:15:04:00

I'd never imagined airport security could be so easy.  I wasn't even five steps out of the terminal, on my way back to the parking garage, when Mal notified me that my folks were safely thru security, and on their way to their gate.

Free gas, easy airport security, perfect medical advice...  And great companionship.  AI would have been a fantastic achievement in increasing quality of life.  If it wasn't hell-bent on turning us all into Ponies, or hell-bent on ensuring some of us could squeak by as something else.

Saying goodbye had been incredibly hard.  For one thing, the whole process was full of interjections from Mal telling me what exact walking lines, or standing points to use to avoid every camera in the building.  For another, we had all quietly separately realized that it might be the last time I ever saw my parents.

I was about to rush off into dangers I hadn't even begun to concretely consider yet.  The Department of Homeland Security probably had a kill order out on me by that point.

Celestia was going to be looking into me far more closely now too.  She would be stupid if she wasn't monitoring mass-casualty events, and she was perhaps anything and everything *but* stupid.

It helped that Mal could connect with my folks in various ways, and help guide them on their journey.  Report their safety back to me.  Get them to a quiet, isolated place where they could try to settle down temporarily, and be happy...

Once they were in the rural villages of Belarus, Mal explained that the only way to contact them would be by landline telephone, or dial-up state-run internet.  That was, in their case, ideal.  The stone-age technology of the region would allow Mal to contact them, but make it virtually impossible for Celestia to monitor them.

When it had actually come time to say goodbye-proper, I'd not cried at all.  Mom did.  And for the first time I could remember in a decade, so did Dad.  There were hugs.  There were promises to stay in touch.  To stay safe.  To be careful.  More hugs.  And more tears after that.

But then Mal had finally brought the whole painful affair to an end, by noting that if my folks didn't get started into the terminal within thirty more seconds, they might miss boarding, even with the smooth passage Mal would be providing through security.

It was one of the hardest things I'd ever done;  Walking away from them.  Just about as hard was the intense resolve I had to muster not to look back.  If I looked back, I was sure I'd run to them.  And then promptly be caught once my face popped on camera, and hit the TSA's servers.

I finally made it back to the truck in the middle of the afternoon.  It was hard to believe that just that morning we'd all been sharing breakfast around the old farmhouse kitchen table, and everyone had been smiling.  I was the only one going on a journey, and none of us had our names in a Federal database (that we knew of at the time).

I finally, suddenly, felt very hungry again.  I'd felt too sick to my stomach all day to feel hungry, right up until that moment.  I resolved to find food, just as soon as I'd handled a much more important physical, and emotional need.

I calmly opened the door, sat down in the driver's seat, shut the door, and just breathed for a moment.  It was the first mental silence I'd had all day.

Mal put one claw up to the screen as the PonyPad flicked back to life.  I closed my eyes.

I pressed my hand to Mal's claw on the screen, laid my head on the steering wheel, and finally, finally, cried my eyes out with great wracking heaving sobs.  Until there were no tears left.









MEEEDIIIIIC!  - Perform first aid on the injured, and subsequently save a life. - “...Anyway, zhat’s how I lost my medical license.”


Points for The Assist  - Receive assistance from a Generalized Intelligence to perform a medical task at a high level of effectiveness. - "I don't believe that man's *ever* been to medical school!"


The Geneva Assertion - Assist someone with first aid, despite them being an enemy combatant. - “First, do no harm.”


You Can't Go Home Again - Leave your home on Earth for the last time - "Make your mistakes, take your chances, look silly, but keep on going. Don’t freeze up."


ROAD TRIP! - Set out to travel more than five hundred miles by automotive vehicle. - “...On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again…”


Mobile Battlestation - Transport working computing machines of a size and nature normally reserved for a structure. - "Fully armed, and operational."


International Man of Mystery - Purchase transportation tickets for a journey across borders last minute, with cash - "This is my Happening, and it freaks me out!"


Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow - Say farewell to your parents for what you believe is the last time. - “Well, this is goodbye.”


Sent to Abu Dhabi - Achieved when either you or a loved one escape to a foreign country in search of asylum. - “I hate to bother you sir, but you put insufficient postage on your package.”