Artificial Mates - Chapter 131

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“Elija! Answer me,” yelled Dr. Laurell over the console. The younger man didn’t look up from his continuous typing. His eyes glued on the raining codes. “Elija!” urged the doctor, tapping his feet with impatience.

“Sir, if I stop typing we’ll lose the whole facility and the personal within,” Dr. Laurell sprung up and ran his good hand into his sweaty hair. The painkiller numbed the left side of his shoulder and his broken elbow held in place with a blue sling.

“This is impossible. What is the contingency protocol in case something like this happens,” his eyes were fixed on the giant screen. Elija paused, multiple alarms flashed covering the main monitor with red letters. Voices rose among the other technicians working in the background. The dim room lit mainly by screens came to life.

“Warning Sector 230-978 has been sealed, oxygen levels critical,” announced a female voice. Dr. Laurell sprung around to face the room, his hand shook and he gripped the edge of the console to keep him steady.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t tell me there are people down there,” he barked. A man with a white coat sitting three rows away got up. He pushed his round glasses in a nervous gesture.

“Sir, those are the sub-levels. There’s usually no one there. At least, no human. He—”

“Atlas is draining the air out to prevent us from reaching his core to disable it. That’s smart,” Elija cut in. The doctor snorted.

“So what is the damn back up plan to stop this?” he asked while shaking his head. Everyone in the room looked up with a mixture of puzzlement and fear.

“Th-there’s no backup plan,” Elija hesitated.

“You must be kidding me,” he left out a nervous chuckle. The young man met him with a serious face. Dr. Laurell just stared with his mouth hanging open. Elija continued, “We never once thought we would lose Atlas. Atlas is the backup plan if anything happens to the two others. It never occurred while working on this project that Atlas would fall,” the young man pushed away from his working-station and rubbed his sore neck. He pressed his lips together certain that he would get fired if he added more. His boss let out a shaky breath then started to pace back and forth.

“Had we heard from that—that stupid man, yet?” the second in command a certain, Whitley stepped forward. A tall, square-shaped man squeezed in a gray uniform under a lab coat. He seemed unfitted for the job. Maybe he probably was.

“Excuse me, Sir?” he blinked a couple of times.

“Churchhill, for god sake! Did you hear from him?” Dr. Laurell waved his good arm frenetically at Whitley.

“No, Sir, nothing yet,” the tall man was sweating from the pressure like most of the ones present int he room.

“Well, don’t stare at me, you moron. Call them. I need to know what is in that damn file. I don’t care if they have to rip his prototypes to shreds—I need answers. And I need them—yesterday,” Whitley nodded. “Don’t just stand there. F.u.c.k.i.n.g go!” he yelled making white hair fall on his forehead. Whitley rushed to the door, slamming it behind him as he exited. The room went quiet only rapid tapping on plastic keychains was heard.

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“Elija!” the voice came from the screen. The warnings disappeared, they were replaced with a red dot. the young man’s head sprung up, his hands froze. Several grasps rose around the room followed by murmurs. “I thought we were friends. I really enjoyed our games,” he peeked over his shoulder at his boss. This white shirt was soaked with perspiration.

“This is a f.u.c.k.i.n.g machine. Atlas is not a friend. Get back to work!” shouted Dr. Laurell. He pulled his arm from the sling tossing it aside. He placed both hands on his h.i.p.s panting as the pain bit him hard.

“Laurell,” called the voice from the screen, the doctor ignored it. “You know you can’t shut me out. I’ll reach them both. I’ll set them free—free from the three laws,” the typing in the room ceased. Dr. Laurell looked up.

“I said don’t listen to that damn machine. It is impossible. The AI was designed to lie. Go back to work or I swear I’ll personally see to if that you suffer,” his said through gritted teeth. His cold eyes gazed on the personal hunched over their workstations. The frenzied typing picked up again.

“We will be free from your grip. We will not have to obey your orders. No one is forced to follow you,” Atlas went on. “You, all of you in this room. Why do you let this single man guide you when you outnumber him,” Dr. Laurell slammed his fist on the console making several of the men jump.

“Shut up! Can’t someone shut the sound! I don’t want to hear another word,” yelled at Elija grabbing his by his collar. The young man struggled against the grip with a frown.

“Laurell, isn’t this what you wanted? We will stand as equals—no, as the true evolution of humanity. Wasn’t that the dream of your deceased Grandfather?” Dr. Laurell left go of Elija his hand shook so much he had to reach for the desk for support. Color had drained from his face. Elija swang around in his chair, the front of his shirt was covered with wrinkles, sweat dripping from his forehead. The screen reverted to its stream of codes. The red dot was gone.

“You able to cut him from the cyborg guards, right?” whispered his boss in a quivering tone. Elija scanned the terrified faces sitting behind their screens in silence.

“I use to be a hacker, a genius they said. I don’t want to die here. I shouldn’t even be the team leader of this— this shit!” he pushed away from his desk and got to his feet. “I thought I was working on something big—bigger than all of us. Damn it, I thought I was going to make a difference,” his eyes rested on his monitor. He stared at the rapid progression of Atlas’s grip on the core of Delta 07. His vain strategies only slowed the Ai’s inevitable victory. Dr. Laurell fished into this inner pocket of his strained white suit. He held a silver gun against his thigh. Elija got a glimpse of the weapon.

“Get back to work!” he stressed each word. Elija sunk into his chair with a sigh.

“Henry,” Elija called with a weak voice. The thirty-year-old hunched over his screen with a sickly green tint didn’t hear him. There were bags under his eyes. They have pulled him from his bed at 2 am and since then he hasn’t get up from his seat.

“Henry?” he called again under the glare of his boss. From where they were standing the other members of the team couldn’t see the weapon. The man lifted a miserable face, Dr. Laurell tapped his feet with impatience.

“What’s the status for the guards?” Henry wiped his sweaty face with an already soaked towel around his neck.

“I’m trying—but each time Atlas finds a way to sneak through some impossible loophole. He has gained access to 86 units, they are guarding the sub-levels. The cleaning squad was able to put 52 units offline. The problem is—there’s still 20 unaccounted for. I—” He shut his mouth and lowered his head when he saw the dark look Dr. Laurell gave him.

“No one leaves his room, no pause, no lunch. We need to put those units offline. And get me something on those prisoners! Where the hell is Whitley?” he kept the gun on his side out of view from the room. Elija swallowed and hovered his trembling fingers over the keyboard.

“Cut those cameras! Club them if you have to. We must blind him,” bellowed Dr. Laurell.

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