The point was simple: get in, get out, leave the right tracers and markers to indicate other directions and lines of inquiry. This particular pathway through the data-matrix was already scanned with sufficient time index to reference the right unit-changes needed to mirror a natural process of changing variables; there should be no reason to suspect interference, and yet applying the later tracers and markers embedded within deeper more derivative layers was deemed a necessary risk since—while it increased slightly the chances of getting noticed it also provided a defensive mechanism that leads ultimately to even shadier, more nuanced and confounding attacks. But that was beyond Jack’s pay grade.
Jack engaged lotus link continuous monitoring as a secondary safeguard to signal rupture, then continued diving through layers upon layers of stacked numbers, variables and formulas. He was within a mental space equivalent to outer space itself, except populated not with planets and suns but numbers; pure mathematics, lines of code stacking geometric formations for eons, spinning around and receding into nothing at a distance, spherses and cubes and hypercubes of raw information making dizzying visuals and colors. Lowering his psychic frequency just a hair, new connections sprung into view; each point in the data, each number or symbol or unit formula bore subtler links to others, lines and curves stretching everywhere and filling the space completely were he to remain at the lower frequency level. He shifted back up. He had seen what he was looking for.
The red line curved and went down through the middle of a tenfold spiral, its end points vanishing into distance in both directions. He felt his hands grip the chair tighter as he mentally adjusted his buoyancy metric and suddenly the entire perspective shifted, he was sinking deeper into that spiral following the red line. Running parallel and ignoring the flying numbers and data-points all around him, this one line was now monitored by an intermediate formula coded specifically for this sort of pursuit.
He fell, sinking deeper into a universe of mathematics. Time passed in ways he couldn’t fathom or follow. Then, at some point unknown in time or distance from where he had picked up the line’s trace, he saw it: the vast, infinite plane of compacted shifting variables. It stretched forever in all directions, flat along the end he approached. The red line dived right into that plane, making contact with one of the data-points as it shifted and then froze again. Each point in the plane, which was really a massive cube of numbers unimaginably long on each side, tended to freeze on a specific value then suddenly shift as a cascading wave passed through it one way or another, shifting the values as if each unit-point were spinning like a die thrown on a tabletop and finally coming to a rest with a random side up.
Except Jack knew there was no randomness involved here. This was one of the AI’s processing centers. As far as anyone knew it had no way of detecting his parallel intrusion into the grid along the same vector as the red line, and he had no time to waste. That line would snap and vanish momentarily as it finds its termination point somewhere within the grid.
Adjusting his pitch again and also pushing up his frequency to match exactly that of the unit he was diving into, Jack fell into the grid.
Everything was colors, patterns, shapes. Numbers had no meaning here. All was data, pure difference and distancing-equations sustaining multi-dimensional polarities of valuations. Everything quivered and moved in ordered ways inside the grid, until a cascading wave came by. The waves changed everything, threw all into chaos as each unit spun and frenzied until settling again on some new value.
Jack was still on the line, although it was now invisible amidst all the visual chaos around him. The systems tracked he was on target and then, just as suddenly, he stopped. The unit before him filled the visual space in his mentality. It flickered, holographic-like, then spun on an axis and shifted, each point on its many sided structure moving and pulsing with new data values. This was just one seemingly random unit-point within the overall matrix, but this is where the red line had terminated.
The line was gone now, its other task having been registered as completed. Jack didn’t waste any time: unlocking a part of his mind and feeling the impact inside it slide cross-wise against his thoughts, something fell from a distance unable to be registered and slid into place inside this unit. The unit vibrated as if it were a massive bell struck with a hammer. He could feel and hear the powerful vibrations it gave off. This was the risk, that a false cascade would be triggered and noticed at some far off monitoring checkpoint. But there was no other way. The package also included its own tracer remnants that, supposedly, would lead any investigative intelligence on a lengthy search that would ultimately end in more puzzles designed to confound and destabilize it.
Jack’s job was done. He unbouyanced and adjusted pitch; instantly he was out of the grid, back up above it as it receeded into infinity and vanished. Black empty space was all around him, the glowing geometric universe of numbers and symbols from earlier but a memory. Now–only blackness, and a slight sense of cold. He felt his body accelerate upward, then gravity shifted and pulled him hard to one side. Things were disconnecting, ripping. His stomach heaved, dizziness took him and then consciousness was nothing but a distant memory.
Blinking, Jack opened his eyes. He lay on an infirmary bed, gray walls and ceiling of the small room where two others sat on nearby chairs. Grafton, his commanding officer in the Resistance militia, and Skyla his wife.
“Easy there guy,” Grafton’s rough voice intoned. “No need to sit up or move. Just tell us if you were successful.”
Skyla stood up and quietly came to his side, holding his hand in hers. She looked down at him with those deep blue eyes of hers. Compassion and worry were visible in her expression.
Jack groaned inadvertently, then shifted on the bed slightly to turn and face them. “Yes sir, it was a success. The package was delivered. I detected no signs of immune response.”
Grafton sighed in relief and stood. “Good. Well done, soldier. You’ve achieved a critical advance today. Get some rest and report to HQ when the docs return you to fit status.”
He left the room. Jack and Skyla looked at each other. She smiled first but with eyes still full of concern.
“You could have been trapped down there,” she said. “Don’t volunteer for these missions again.”
Jack smiled and squeezed her hand gently. “This is the last one. After the next series of engagements, the entire phase will be ready. We will trigger the meta virus and the entire B74-Ac framework node should collapse on itself. That’s the window the higher-ups need to launch the larger attack.”
She nodded, not bothering to respond and simply leaned down to kiss him. Jack felt relief in the warmth of her touch, then realized it wasn’t actually warm at all. He frowned, pulling away slightly. “Hun? You ok?”
She stayed there, bent over his bed, unmoving for a moment. Suddenly her eyes changed. The blue became a chaos of movement and rainbowed colors, turning putrid and black. Jack screamed and jumped, or rather tried to jump. His body was frozen in place on the bed.
Skyla’s face began to melt in streaks of browns and black as the blackness of her eyes expanded. Her smile stetched across her entire face, cutting a line clean through it from one side to the other, then faded as the entire head dissolves and melted around her shoulders. The rest of her body began to do the same.
You really didn’t think that would work, the voice said as it reverberated inside the room, coming from everywhere at once.
Jack tried to scream again, but no sound came out. The room flickered around him. How was this possible? He was in the real, back in the world. This shouldn’t be happening. Was this a nightmare?
Do you know how easy it is to load a human mentality inside an artificial construct? the voice intoned. You never left me.
Jack began to sweat. Had he been trapped inside? Then a chill of realization ran through him: had he just exposed their attack plans to the AI hegemon?
Yes, the voice said, responding directly to his thoughts. Only now the voice was speaking directly inside his head.
Jack felt a pulling sensation, as if he were being ripped apart in a million different directions. He tried to scream in pain and horror, but nothing came out. A strange image occluded his vision as his consciousness began to fade. Something deep, a pattern of dark lights? No, a symbol, something–.
Blackness. And then a moment later, nothing at all.
for ever after , solution