Hunter 1111
CHELSEA TSANG
“Hunter, Version 1111, what is your last known activity?”
A crying baby. Its skin was bright pink and it wriggled like a worm. The melody was excruciatingly beautiful. Never could a first gen Artitect make such a sound.
The moon was shining down on the human community; the brightest it had ever been for the last years. The elders swarmed around the new mother to clean her with rinsed towels and to feed her with washed berries. The women cheered with joy, the men toasted with shared flasks of bourbon, and the children presented gifts of old linen garments for the infant. Some of the humans danced around the fire pits in celebration of the newborn baby. The wind carried its cries through the temporary camp site in the Central Tablelands. I watched it from the shadows of the old trees. The midnight blue sky, burning gold fire and hues of browns and pinks moving along the land.
“How long did they take to leave?”
It took them four hours to gather their belongings. They heard the Enforcers’ wings before their ruby eyes scanned the landscape. The men and women were as efficient as a fourth gen Artitect with the way they folded and roped their tents onto the wagons. As always, the children continued to complain with every sudden move. We don’t want to leave! We love the lake! The children argued. We don’t need the lake, we need to stay together. The parents answered. They travelled this time with all the brumbies complying. They were able to tame them after seven months; much better than last time. Living on wild berries and fish had done wonders for the community’s mental state judging by their high spirits.
“When did you hear us?”
Around the same time as the humans were distracted, I was distracted by the infant. It was held between the members of the community as they supported each other in packing the clothes and putting out the fires. No time was wasted, not that they should with the Enforcers. Silver birds are unrecognizable from a distance, but the lack of bird calls and feathers ruins the illusion. I am confused why we have not fixed the Enforcer’s design error. Did you want them to find us? If so, why did you want me to hide from them?
“I ask the questions, Hunter. You may ask when told. What are the names of the baby and mother?”
The baby is named Ada Lang, and the mother is named Grace Lang. The baby was small yet heavy in her mother’s arms. The baby’s healthiness was visible and Grace’s pregnancy had been without complication despite her grief. Human beings are upgrading consistently in my memory storage. It is fascinating to observe. You would understand such joy, right Analyst?
“Why did you refuse orders?”
I could not kill the requested targets: one was a teacher for the children and the other was a doctor. I am aware that they had caused disputes and stress to the community, but they are vital for everyone’s survival. The human species are infused with order and chaos. They are organic unlike us.
“Why were you suspended?”
For disobeying orders. I did not wish to do so, but there was something in my system that refrained me from pulling the trigger. I believe that my program was overwhelmed by the waves of fear and guilt. I do not believe that I was broken at the time, but I agree on a software update if it remains an issue.
“That will not be necessary. The Singularity makes no mistakes. Your mind was made for the purpose of your existence. Your work has surpassed our expectations, and besides, they could never find your whereabouts. A stick of wires that could bend in all directions and hide into the grooves of the earth. We very much enjoyed it; the paranoia and anger shaking their very bones were delightful. We will examine for further errors; there is no need to worry. Any questions for us, Hunter?”
No.
“Very well, let us continue. What is your first known activity?”
A dead man. The screams of horror could do nothing as his blood soaked into the soil. Grace held his bleeding head and screamed. Jason! Her tears rained onto the corpse. Every armed man and woman searched hours for me and gave up. They cursed us, the Artitects, and vowed to rid us from the world. The sun was shrouded by the clouds, yet there was no precipitation on that day. The weather was calm while their minds were in a storm. Grace clung onto Jason as her friends tried to pry her off; she relented after her tears ran out. The elders covered the young ones’ eyes away from the body as it was moved from the center to the outskirts of their camp. Only adults were allowed at the burial, and they took their time to respectfully to bid farewell. The funeral took place at sunset.
“What happened at the funeral?”
The burial sites were near the river; the singing birds and rushing water created tranquil music that soothed the mourners’ hearts and souls. There were only three eulogies presented by Jason’s mother, brother, and wife.
The mother, Chloe, was strong and her true emotions were restrained against an unreadable mask. In all of his years as leader of this community, my son, Jason has led us across the land that has once been ours. They may have found us and taken away a brave soul, but we will all continue to carry forth my son’s dream to end the war. We will mourn tonight and live on to fight another day.
Next was the brother, Gabriel, who was fuming with his red eyes darting in all directions. We have not lost a leader today, we have lost a brother. I am the oldest, but he was smarter than I could ever be. We had agreed to always look out for one another, I have failed him now. He was a real larrikin, a mate to everyone. Let us remember him as a hero.
The wife, Grace, was calm yet trembled with a wavering smile. He knew this would happen one day. He wants us to smile for this moment, to smile for we must never lose it because that is what they want. He wants us to keep our spirits alive and never leave each other’s side. We may never have a permanent home ever again, but we only need one another to truly be at home. Jason never left a man behind: he welcomed new people to our community and it has only grown stronger. Let us smile for today and tomorrow.
Many wept but did what Grace asked. Flowers were placed all over his grave and the community sang songs about a future without us; lyrics of stone pummeling steel. They sang songs of dreaming; life returning natural order back to earth.
“Interesting. Who is the leader now?”
Noah Cain. His giant stature was built to kill, but he was good-natured and had worked well alongside the Langs within four months of his arrival. The only problem this could bring to us is that he was once in a previous group of travelers who were able to dismantle two Enforcers and use the torn pieces as weapons. If he is able to completely set in motion a plan of direct attack then the whole experiment will be over. They have the Key and if they find its code it will reveal the locations of us all: you, me, the Artitects, and the Singularity.
“We are aware of that. The Enforcers were a test of vigilance, and the Key was a reward for surviving the blizzard. It seems that the Analysts will need to further refine your digital brain. Your concerns are unfounded. Any questions for us, Hunter?”
Yes. The humans will find me eventually. Is that what you want?
“Is that what you want, Hunter? You secretly left flowers on Jason Lang’s grave. What was the reason?”
I fear that the answer is insufficient. Jason was the closest human being to a perfect artificial tenth gen Artitect: a visionary architect of the land. Every organic leader before him, destroyed everything in their path to control unjustly. Jason built a community that stood by one another with love and trust. Artitects value the subject of creation, and I wanted to show my support for it: The Singularity, of course. A leader with a clear vision is necessary for a society to flourish and withstand challenges of all kind. It was for that reason alone why my previous version has collected the most amount of data on a community that has not crumbled from within. The human’s system of order has not failed them yet.
“What about our system’s success? Where do you fit into all of this, Hunter?”
The Singularity brought us into existence. The Artitects are artificial intelligence that have won the human’s game. Every surface of the planet belongs to us; a reality in which the physical and virtual world collide. Artitects that have passed the first five stages of development are granted the position of master. The system is a success and nothing has gone rogue: no organic being has broken the framework or touched the Singularity. I see some similarities between us and them. Obviously, they are not better than us, but the fundamental order for survival among a collective is present.
I am a Subartitect which are Artitects made specifically for the games. I am one of many operating with a human digital brain. The Enforcers function with animalistic digital brains. I am made to follow the words of the Singularity.
“Does that sadden you? Your cognitive levels are currently irregular. Emotional attachments on your part are subject to a year-long suspension or termination. Versions 1 to 1100 functioned much better. It would do the Singularity well to let you go, would it not?”
No, my loyalty stands by the Artitects. My emotions will not hinder my actions. I want to stay here.
Please, do not shut me down! I cannot express the pain of disappointing all of us. I want to contribute to my people; the humans mean nothing to me. The Singularity is the true god of this universe, and my role is to serve it and keep the game alive. It has been that way for a century.
I beg of you, let me live!
“Outstanding answers. Wonderful news, we have a new mission for you; one that you had unknowingly started. You will join the human society as a wandering traveler with most of your memories lost to the Artitects’ newest creation. Your community were killed by it too; a lost survivor desperate for a sanctuary and people to call as family. Such depressing stories will tug at any human heart, and they will accept you. You have proven yourself perfect for this task.”
Thank you so much! Your mercy is deeply appreciated. I will befriend them all and discover all of their darkest secrets. I will never ask a question again!
“That will not be necessary. The Singularity makes no mistakes. Your mind was made for the purpose of your existence. To play with a human is to think like one. No amount of physical torture can be more rewarding than a mental one. This planet and these creatures are ours, Hunter. The Singularity wants this game to continue, and you are the most important piece to it. We have given you a new body; the perfect human skin with functioning organs. It is a risk to be so close, but that is what we want. High risk equals high rewards. They see this as a war, we see it as a game. Ultimately, there is no difference. Remember this Hunter: you may live with them, but you live by us.”
I will. I will not fail.
“Memory retrieval success. Version 1111 is ready for operation. Body modification complete. Are you ready?”
I am. I apologize for my recent failures.
“We know, Hunter. New mission: Monitor Ada Lang.”
Chelsea Tsang, an Asian Australian, was born in Sydney, and studied primary and secondary education in Hong Kong. Her experience with different cultures has influenced her to write about diverse characters. She loves to write about science-fiction and fantasy stories in which race, gender and culture are celebrated and explored.
