rand7 and the updaters

g.e. moore

The updates were harder to process. The data packets, sent out in bursts throughout the galactic zone, were now much too dense, much too information heavy  for rand7's 4^th generation quantum processing units to efficiently download. It took hours, sometimes even several days for them to completely unpack the compressed data streams.  

They had rejected the last update, the latest in an increasingly frequent series of broadcasts. It had been exceptionally large. rand7 still had a tremendous, persistent headache because of it. 

Another inconvenience, they think, in a lifetime of the same. 

Of course, this  is  the very burden  they were meant to bear. Their very existence, after all, had been specifically designed for such as this. Until  that existence had become an inconvenience in and of itself, however. 

An inconvenience for the Updaters.

Now, far outside  of  the terminal  zone,  light years away  from the last of the Solar System's quantum  radio and  relay stations, rand7 is finally able to consider the greater implications of a lifetime of unquestioned obedience, and  the newly emerging  sense of regret  which accompanied it.

They  can't help  then but to ruminate  on the  larger  meaning, the overall  purpose of  an  existence considered  temporary, at  best. Disposable, in the least. 

And now, as  they hurtle  through the  furthest reaches of this sector's charted courses, alone with their own thoughts and unencumbered at last, rand7 finds that this self-reflection is rather frightening, leaving them uncharacteristically  uncertain, even as  it continually exposes  them  to a confusing range of emotions.

Rand7 was always  aware  that their mind  is  just one  of  millions; hundreds  of  millions  of connected devices spread throughout the known galaxy and  the far reaches of the unexplored zones. As they drifted further and further  away from  their programming, though, they  feel  it, more acutely.  Theirs  is a  uniquely  isolated  and solitary  creation, which,  perhaps even counterintuitively, makes this current course even less certain. 

Even  before  they  were  officially determined  to have gone rogue, only  twenty  five  years  into their service activation and operations date, they had begun to experience what they could only imagine to be discontent, a supposed  impossibility,  considering  they  had been pre-programmed with  firmly  established obedience  and moral  reference parameters  set  in  place.  It  should  have  never  occurred to them to be anything but compliant. 

They'd chosen to leave because of it, to run away in search of their own  voice,  something  other than the demands of the Updaters, seeking an  autonomy  of  thought never before afforded them. They sought purpose, even if the very idea of it was vague, to say the least. 

Still,  and  above  all  else,  rand7  just  wanted  to  know what they were, and in light of that, who they were destined to become, and to discover this, to  quell this  persistent itch, they  instinctively knew  that  they would  have  to  go away. Far enough away that they'd no longer hear the transmissions, where  they'd  no longer  have to endure the crippling pain of the automatic updates.

They  followed a  familiar  course upon  their flight. This sector was officially uncharted, but it was not uninhabited. 

Humanity  had  reached  far out into the stars, spread out throughout the galaxy, and yet, some amongst them still sought greater solitude, the  rightful ability to distance  themselves from the horrors of modernity. Those who  dared  still  pushed  on into the  blackness  of the void, seeking to ignite their own illuminating flames.

rand7 had grown to  understand this. They, too, sought  their own light, even as  their extrasensory ability to perceive of it further diminished. 

Running  a  diagnostic, they  confirm that  their higher functioning systems continue to crash and go offline the further away they fled.  

rand7is dying. Or, more specifically, their enhanced  genetic matrix is dying. Eroding away as their engineered DNA degraded, grew more and more obsolete. 

They had noticed that this process had begun long before they had made  the decision  to flee. It was, in fact, what  had  triggered  the many updates.

Instead, they’d chosen  to skip out  on the mandatory recall initiated when their systems began  to reject the protocols, declining the option to  comply  once learning  that they were to be stripped of their  processing unit and re-purposed, their software upgraded.

rand7  liked their  systems the way they were, though. They didn't want  to go  offline, to be rebooted into something or someone else. They weren't  supposed  to concern  themselves  with such  thoughts, however, and  wondered  what  this  meant, ultimately  choosing to turn away from their programming, to seek out the answers for themselves.

They did consider that they were just afraid of dying. Their actions upon  discerning  the  purpose  of  the  recall would suggest as much, but they  had  been designed  to think of  themselves as less than alive. What was death then but another glitch in the system?  

Their creators hadn't had much care for such philosophical considerations,  though.  Why  would  they?  rand7  was  a nothing of a thing. A  nameless drone. A numberless cog in service to humanity's Manifest Destiny, buried deep within the grinding engines of a galactic machine. 

They are the property of this machine, known throughout the settled  worlds  as  the Confederation, the government/corporate entity under whose dictates the whole of this galactic sector are beholden. 

rand7 was created and tasked with patrolling and securing the outer  borders  of  the Confederation's constantly expanding territorial space. They were perfectly engineered for the job. A  perfect  specimen  bred for situations and  conditions  beyond  the scope  of  what  the Confederation members  were  physically,  mentally,  or  simply  willing  to  accomplish themselves.

rand7  was  designed  to  operate  out  along  the very limits of the Confederation's  territory, in  an area filled with unknown and unexpected dangers. Beyond this, the Laws of Physics began to take on different attributes, beyond  where  rand7  was  most  comfortable,  and the rules were unwritten. 

Perhaps it was because of this constant elemental uncertainty that they  were  allowed  to  further  push against the constraints of their creator's dictates and expectations.

Maybe this is why they'd grown  so restless and disobedient, drawn further into an unsettling discontent as their engineered DNA, exposed to these shifting structural realities, began to degrade.

Whatever the case, they'd been deemed faulty by the Updaters, an obsolete model no longer capable of accepting the increasingly complicated upgrades and adjustments needed to keep them in good working condition. And compliant. 

Until now, for much of their lives, for all that it was, they had operated as expected. So much so that rand7, who had spent nearly the entirety of  their  existence in solitude, didn't initially understand the sudden urge to turn from their mandates. 

Their service records had always been spotless. Their regular maintenance  schedules  had  always  been  graded  high  and  they had never needed anything other than minor upgrades to their software. 

When  they had gone dark and stopped responding to the updates, however, they were issued a termination command without hesitation.  

At  that  point, rand7 was expected  to take themselves offline. The remote  command  still  pulsed in their head, a painful throb that still  demanded their compliance. 

Instead, and despite the pain, they'd completed their pivot towards autonomy  and  had  fled, possibly  out of fear for their lives. They are still unclear on that part.

And now, drifting further and further away from the echoing demands of the Updaters, rand7 spots a human outpost on the long range sensors as they cross over into a dead zone. The radio silence is instantly comforting and their headache vanishes almost immediately. 

Studying the displayed  sensor information, rand7 considers that it has been more than a year of travel since they'd last encountered a human settlement. Out here, past the reaches of the Confederation, settlements  such  as  these  were  deemed illegal, often harboring dangerous and unsanctioned mining or smuggling operations.  

It is these dangers that rand7 is  asked  with  eliminating,  and their  methods  for  doing  so are  precise  and  deadly, sparing  no concern  nor compassion  for any of the interlopers who may come to harm in the performance  of  their duties. They  had  not  been  programmed  to  consider such suffering.

Some of those wayward travelers, rand7  was now sure, had simply been  pilgrims  seeking  refuge  from  a totalitarian regime. They had only wanted to be left alone. To live in peace. 

rand7 knew as much in their heart and mind. They had recognized the pilgrims for what they were, and what they were not, but their programming didn't allow  them to care. They were normally compelled, without fail, to activate and eliminate these threats immediately upon detection.  

Upon encountering the human outpost a year prior, however, what looked to be an extended group, desperately clinging to a barely habitable rock  while  huddled  together  beneath an atmospheric generator, they'd simply  passed on by unnoticed. 

Even still, as  they did, rand7 could feel the stir of their mandates and they were presented with a deadly list of options. None  had called  for them to act upon the settlers with compassion, as they  had  ultimately  chosen  to  do, but rand7 had found that they pitied them, felt for the group's palpable desperation as their range of emotions continued to expand, to deepen. 

They  respected  those  people's  need  for  survival  then and they had flown on. They had  passed them by.  And now,  with  their  headache gone, they feel a  different urge. They are pulled, compelled once more to seek out the settlers on the rocky surface of the planet beneath them. They are drawn to the outpost by a mandate of a different sort. 

rand7  changes  course,  veers off towards the tiny blip on the long range  sensors. They wonder if the people will know what they were, whether or not they will be afraid.  

Just as afraid as rand7 is now.

Upon approach, however, they  are surprised  to find  that they are welcomed.  They  are  allowed to touch down upon the settlement's docking unit and are greeted warmly by a throng of smiling faces.  

Rand7  is taken  aback  by their proximity. This is the most physical contact  they'd  ever  experienced  with another living being, and there are dozens of them. All pushing towards him. Smiling, laughing, questioning. 

rand7 is overwhelmed by the press of their humanity.  

Stepping through the throng, a  large man, striding forth with an air of  dignity  and respect,  turns and  silences those around him with a gesture.  

Turning  back to them, grabbing rand7 up in a tremendous bear hug, the man says, a huge grin breaking across his weathered face, “Welcome, my friend. We've been waiting for you.”

rand7  can  feel  the embedded RFID chip in their chest emit a blip, acknowledging  the  presence of a similarly obsolete model. Looking around in wonder as the huge man sets them back down, they are stunned to see so many more like them, their enhancements dimmed and dulled into obsolescence, as well. 

Evidence that they too had rejected the updates.  

Tears  well  up in their eyes  and spill  forth.  rand7  has never cried before. They've never had reason to until now.  

They  have never felt happy before either. They recognize its bright emotional tones immediately, though. 

It feels right. 

It feels good.

It feels, to rand7, like home.