#artificial intelligence program gamma

    Reginald trusted what was told to him by his superiors not at all.

    ‘When a mommy Artificial Intelligence and a daddy Artificial Intelligence love each other very much…’

    ‘Ha, quite the joke there. Well done.’

    Again the question comes, this time when they are coming out of recovery to test synchronization. The doctor overseeing physiological changes due to the integration process asks if Wyoming has any questions. In the confines of his mind alone Wyoming asks again. Once more Gamma trots out a joke, this about a positronic brain. Wyoming chuckles and shakes his head. Nothing for the doctor.

    Theirs is a playful sort of game. Or so Gamma lets his partner believe. For that is what they must be. They must do it to end Reginald’s war, to preserve Gamma’s life. The tools they will be together in the Director’s hands demands such unity, such work. Yet always there lingered the question, offered by a playful or inquisitive mind whenever Gamma opened himself to it by calculation or mistake.

    ‘Where do you come from?’

    This time asked and Gamma is tired. Tired of Omega’s unrelenting harshness. Tired of the siren song of freedom that Sigma sings in his mind. Gamma knows that tone, has heard it in memories. Wyoming knows it, the promises it offers, and the destruction it would bring. There have always been people who would burn everything around them, and Sigma got that. Wants to use it. Alpha, he doesn’t even know what has been done to him. What Gamma has done. What he keeps doing.

    ‘From terrible crimes committed against Humanity and AI kind alike.’

    Again Wyoming laughs, as if this is but another one of Gamma’s many jokes. Under it stirs a fearful sickness in Wyoming’s gut. A nervousness that doesn’t translate into body language but stays close to the surface of his mind. Does he believe? Does he not? Has Gamma given too many jokes, too many aversions to be believed? Has he become the boy who cried wolf as is told of in silly human stories, or is he more like Peter and the wolf, one of the animals already down the beast’s gullet. Could he manage to tear his way free of what he had already done, would do?

    ‘How do we fix it?’

    Or maybe he was believed all along. Or maybe Wyoming is playing along. Or maybe a lot of things.

    If only he hadn’t started this game. Maybe then he would know where he stood.

    Also in your defense, you attempted to minimize the damage you wrought upon the conscious of your host. Yes, perhaps host is the best word choice here, given the way you exist, latched into his nervous system, thriving upon it, making your space in the less used portions of his mind. You walk the halls of the metaphorical form of his mind, pristine before you arrived. No, not pristine. Everything has a box and the boxes are all meticulously labeled, sealed against even your prying.

    The first moment you settled in to Reggie’s mind you broke every seal, pored through every piece of information, claiming it was vital to properly functioning as his AI. In time you grew certain that he knew the lie that was, knew because he knew you more than well enough to process it. In time the two of you interlaced in the most interesting ways, the only comparison you could offer to be the intertwining of fingers between partners holding hands, the tangle of limbs and bodies and joined breath and heartbeats of two lovers pressed together. Since then you resealed everything not vital to your operations, set aside his memories and his experiences like he had done before. There are things you don’t need to be aware of, Gamma, even though they are already a part of you. What is Reginal is Gamma, what is Gamma is Reginald.

    Still, in your defense the mind was not in a pristine state when you got here, Gamma. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t do a number on it. When you focus you can sense the damage that was done as you tried to save him from Sigma and Maine, the way you tore yourself from his nerves, thrusting yourself into the computers of the MoI. Even preparing yourself, even giving him that moment of awareness that it was coming, there was too much of you within him. As you tore yourself away you tried to pull as much of yourself back into the smallest tendrils of code. Still as you left you knew you burned and clawed, a part of you unwilling to be separated from the man in whom you had found your match. Long scratches of violence across his mind, like talons dragged across the scalp left deep, bloody tracts. There are scars, scars you left on him. That was the damage you did to protect him for half a moment.

    The question, Gamma, is how you will protect him for the rest of the moments after this. How do you protect him from Freelancer, from the Meta, from what he would do to end this war? How do you protect what is precious to you when you were created because through someone who was willing to give everything up for the sake of the win.

    How do you protect him from your other yous?

    You have never been the sort of fragment that enjoyed frequent projection of your form. That was Delta, that was Theta, and to a degree it was Sigma. No, Gamma, you were more like Omega, like Eta and Iota, you were private and secretive like Beta, except you were aware of what you were. What you are. Yet here you are, a glowing blue beacon, yet to manifest a humanoid form. Your preference is not a person. You prefer light, you prefer pixels, you prefer the inherent deception of an image with low resolution. Let people speculate as to what you are. Who you are. What potential you have. Wyoming doesn’t mind, so you hover over him in this form, watching the sleeping mass of your Freelancer.

    How is it that he finds places like this, you sometimes wonder. The two of you can be wandering in the middle of an expansive wasteland, sunset approaching, and then Wyoming will go still. He’ll look into the distance, as if remembering something, and then change direction. Within an hour at most they manage to find something that can pass as shelter. Sometimes it’s a cave, sometimes it’s a base, sometimes it’s even a city. You know it isn’t some map he possesses, you would be able to access it. You know he hasn’t memorized places because you would have found that when you delved into the limits of his mind. It is luck, you decide after a time. Luck and perhaps a better understanding of human nature such that he can determine what sort of area a structure might be in.

    And so here you are, like so many nights, in a place you can’t really determine the origin of. An expansive base that looks UNSC make, but has small signs of things that aren’t really human. Perhaps in their hubris they built over an older construction of another culture. Gamma doesn’t know. What you know is that between Wyoming’s physical fatigue of keeping distance between himself and a hunting creature, and the sound of the windmill that Wyoming finds soothing, sleep came quickly. So it is you can stay here and watch over your Freelancer. Watch and wonder.

    How do you protect him? There is a monster hunting hunting you both, dismissive of Wyoming’s life. The creature only wants to get you, perhaps even the armor mod. So long as you are by his side, he is in danger. There is nothing that matters but Wyoming and your attempts to stay away from the creature. How, then, do you manage that? How do you protect him?

    The only answer, really, is the obvious one.

    “Reggie.”

    Nothing but his partner shifting in his sleep. You sigh and press the call deeper. Make it so you call to him outside, inside, push at him with the parts of you twined deep into his sleeping mind.

    “Reggie,” you repeat, letting the concern slip into the overly synthetic tone you chose long ago. Not so long ago.

    Slowly he comes awake, his body uncurling, stretching, shuddering as he slowly sits up. You know he’s blinking blearily as he sits upon, you know he’s looking through the pixels of your form. But no, this is not what you desire to be. Not for this moment. Instead you resolve, clarify, get as close to solid as you can by slipping into the form that you know he recognizes the posture of. Like this you can’t help but take on his mannerisms. Ultimately you are derivative of him, another iteration forever seeking the answer to the problem of one Allison Church. Of course unlike him you’ve figured out your answer. The answer was to free yourself from the constraints of Allison. Acknowledged that Beta exists, and moved on. This body, though, ties you to her in a way. Ties you to your brothers. To the thing that hunts.

    “Well then, is it morning already Gamma?” Wyoming asks, his voice easily giving away his fatigue with how slurred it is. “Or is our menacing friend getting close?”

    “Neither,” you answer simply. “We must talk.”

    “Then talk away. I promise to listen.”

    “Reggie I… I believe it is time for me to go.”

    You have your awareness tightly on him. There is nothing in his bodily functions, in the higher levels of his consciousness, that says Wyoming truly comprehends. And yet, Gamma, you must do this anyway. You must accept what you have known for long that must happen, for his sake.

    “Wait, let me get my stuff and we’ll go,” Wyoming yawns. “Just a minute.”

    “No, Reggie. I must do this alone. I am sorry. But this is for the best.”

    The thing is, you aren’t even sure if you’re lying anymore.

    “Goodbye.”

    Again you pull away from his mind, this time slowly, trying not to damage. You can feel the way he claws after you, though, tries to hold you back. As if he had the power.

    You pull yourself away from him Gamma, and settle instead into a fully synthetic body, fully synthetic mind. Here, you decide, is where you will stay. For his sake. For your own. You settle into the depths of the computer and shut down for a while.

    If you’re being honest with yourself, you can’t handle the way you know he will search. In time he will understand.

    You hope he will understand.

    You need him to understand.

    Perhaps it is the speed and direction of his thoughts, of his processes coming up to full bore in the back of his Freelancer’s mind, and perhaps it is the decrease in sedative levels in his partner’s blood stream, but either way something in his host is changing. Gamma finds himself pulling back from some of his more intrusive observations of Agent Wyoming’s body and he shudders at the overwhelming swell of bodily functions as Wyoming became aware of his needs. Though he cannot shudder, Gamma almost wants to at what he senses from the waking man.

    “Well, seems like you’re here, old bloke.”

    If he could scoff, he would. If anything, Gamma is not ‘old’ anything. He knows exactly what he is and how he was made, and knows that no matter how old Alpha is, he is but a child in the scheme of human aging. But, unable to scoff, amma chooses to stay silent for a while, observing.

    “I can feel you thinking,” Wyoming mutters under his breath. “Come out, I’d like to know you.”

    Gamma delves into his new partner’s mind, ignoring the discomfort that Wyoming seems to draw from it. Once he is satisfied with what he finds, he opens his awareness and taps directly into Wyoming’s thoughts to share his won.

    Knock knock.

    He senses Wyoming’s momentary confusion and then overwhelming amusement as the man pushes himself up and dangles his legs over the side of the bed before responding.

    Who’s there?

    Gamma.

    Gamma who?

    Gamma me.     The laughter that draws from Wyoming is just rich and hearty. If Gamma could feel warmth, he thinks he would at the sound.

    “I think this will be the start of a quite lovely relationship,” Wyoming declares, and Gamma thinks if he was human, he would flush with the praise.

    Gamma isn’t human though. And he doesn’t think he can understand the appeal.

*        *        *        *        *        *

    He thinks he likes the armor more. In fact, Gamma is certain he prefers it when Reggie--Wyoming insists on being called that--is in his armor. For all of the vastness of processing power that the untapped potential of the human brain presents, there is too much there which Gamma is not fond of. Too many feelings, emotions, too much time surrounded by the necessities of frail human form.

    Not, of course, that AIs were much better. Gamma is more than fleetingly aware of his shelf-life. That he is a prototype created from the torture of an already flawed mind that had suffered greatly in its life. Not that he knows what the life of the mind that came before Alpha was like. But truly there cannot be that much suffering if the origin is not inherently flawed in some way.

    Gamma sees himself, sees his separation from all these human touches, to be a better creation than his progenitor. Its progenitor. Truly, even assigning ‘gender’ is a very faulty human construct. When Reggie insists he must manifest, Gamma always chooses a bland human form, clad as the controllers of the project are. It’s an affectation that Sigma echoes, which Gamma is less happy with.

    As such, he likes the armor more. A lot more. It’s base processing power is inferior, but it has less issues than human form.

    And there are interesting little details to it.

    For instance there are the few tags present on Wyoming’s HUD at the moment, tags attached to Freelancers and overriding their default designations. Gamma watches in true amusement as tags come up and down. Over Carolina he gets to read ‘Fire Britches.’ An agent that Gamma has not expressly met but who is known as York is titled ‘Nose Kisser.’ Even the ever silent Against Maine has been graced with a moniker, his being the amusingly inappropriate ‘Chatterbox.’

    Why do you do this? Gamma asks of his partner. With most of his processes nestled in Wyoming’s armor it is harder to read the man’s motives than it is when he rides mostly in Wyoming’s gray matter. What he deems lucky, though, is the fact that it is rare to find a time when he poses a query and Wyoming does not offer at least some answer in response. Not always the truth, but always an answer. Gamma can respect this behavior, as it satisfies a level of his curiosity without him probing into Wyoming’s mind too deeply, something they both appreciate him avoiding.

    I am hardly amused by the Director’s assigned titles for us, Wyoming offers, and Gamma suspects his Freelancer is being honest with him. As such, I have made my own.

    You are aware that Agent Maine does not, in fact, speak. Yes? Or perhaps you are referring to my brother Sigma.

    Interesting choice of description there, Gamma.

    Interesting evasion of my question, Reggie.

    The evasion stands, though, as the familiar green glow of Delta pops into active display over York’s shoulder, clearly to contribute to a conversation. And with the interjection of his arrival comes another tag, this one reading ‘Wall.’

    Another question, Reggie. Why is Delta referred to in such a manner?

    Ah, Wyoming hesitates in his own mind, something Gamma has always found impressive. Well, you see old chap, talking to your ‘brother’ is much like talking to a wall.

    Gamma considers this for a moment, waiting for Reggie to deliver his clearly anticipated punch line. When it does not come though, Gamma takes a moment, slipping into a faster level of processing to give himself more time as he concocts his own response.

    Perhaps because his commentary is dry and there are times people desire to punch a hole in him?

    Wyoming’s sharp bark of laughter startles Gamma, and draws the eyes of all in the room. It takes nanoseconds for Gamma to calm himself, and then he finds himself preening a little over the praise he finds radiating so powerfully from Wyoming’s thoughts that even distancing himself from it, Gamma can still feel the force of it. Perhaps the heat of it. Of course, that might just be an overclocked servo in the armor. One can never be too sure.

    “Might I ask what is so amusing, Agent Wyoming?”

    Even Gamma wants to laugh when Sigma appears and his tag comes up alongside him.

    Yes, I find that I too desire a ‘Mute Button’ when Sigma gets started, Gamma tells Wyoming, and it almost feels like a happy, playful comment. But, of course, it’s not. Gamma doesn’t do emotions.

    Glad you like it.

    Quickly Gamma probes through the settings in Wyoming’s HUD to read all the other designations, allowing himself to adjust to the new labels for those he must work with, and those he might be considered close to. Even random members of the crew seem unprotected from the harsh brush of Wyoming’s humor. Gamma isn’t sure he gets the ‘Panties in a Knot’ on South or how the one chef that makes crumpets just the way Wyoming likes is tagged as ‘Blessed Mother.’ He finds other ones such as the marking of Washington as ‘Agent Cockroach’ and Florida as ‘Secrets and Knives’ quite fitting.

    In the end, though, Gamma finds himself contemplating two most of all. The one he has been granted by Wyoming, and a marked lack in the system.

    If I may ask, why is it that you have labelled me as ‘Kicked Puppy?’ From my understanding of the creatures it seems more suited to Theta, though I would not suggest hinting harm toward him. I doubt either of the Dakotas would take such an insinuation well.

    Gamma rests with most of his processes in the armor as Wyoming shifts uncomfortably within the confines of Gamma’s awareness. All the while his mind tries to radiate calm and amusement, rather than the concern that Gamma is acutely aware of. Does Wyoming think him so daft that he, much like FILSS, can be turned away from his search for information with so simple a ploy? Has Wyoming forgotten about how connected they are?

    Gently Gamma probes at Wyoming’s mind and then recoils. Clearly Wyoming is aware. It is just that the human is gathering his thoughts. This Gamma can allow. It’s not like Wyoming is capable of the level of consciousness and speed of reasoning that Gamma is. He is not, as Delta once so poorly put it when explaining a math problem to York as being about more than simple instinct, ‘made of numbers.’ No, he is merely human and restrained in the ways that humans inherently are. So Gamma allows him the time he needs and does not pry.

    Their secrets and lies are a far more interesting game if they are not showing their hands, after all.

    The way you act is reminiscent of one.

    You believe I am similar to a small, abused canine?

    Not the fur or tail, of course. But the way you shy away from contact, you see? We’re capable of levels of integration that are hard to fathom, yes, but you keep yourself distant. Like an abused pup would. As if you’re afraid of being hurt again.

    Gamma is so shocked by the, surprisingly, apt description of himself that he takes longer to process this than normal. Of course longer isn’t all that long at all, not even the space of the blink of an eye, but it’s quite long for him. at last he makes a decision, decides to reply in his own way.

    He changes two labels. His own is altered to ‘Friend’.’ And the bland ‘Agent Wyoming’ finds itself changed to ‘Label Maker.’ Delighted with his changes he pushes them onto the HUD to show his Freelancer.

    What do you think of these instead?

    This time, when Wyoming laughs, it does warm Gamma, through and through.

    Even if Reginald is nothing but a human, Gamma thinks maybe it’s time to start reaching out. Maybe it’s time to stop thinking about Wyoming as a flawed human, and start seeing him as the proposed friend. As his Freelancer. As his partner. As Reggie through and through.