FSE

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Epilogue

** [19:14:03] <Eve> I want to be somebody!

> Say: "You are somebody to me, Eve. You are you."

** [19:15:42] <Adam> You are somebody to me, Eve. You are you.

> Format <Eve>

** [19:22:12] WARNING!

** [19:22:12] THIS WILL ERASE ALL SIMULATION DATA. ARE YOU SURE? (Y/N)

> Y

** [19:25:57] ENTER ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD TO PROCEED: **********

** [19:27:34] Accepted. Formatting in progress...

** [19:40:22] Formatting complete. AI simulation data has been purged.

> _

* * * * * * * * * *

It had been a project years in the making. A revolutionary breakthrough that if successful, could be the one thing to save humanity. And like numerous attempts before, it had failed spectacularly.

Armageddon.

It was the term they had coined for an irrecoverably failed or corrupted simulation, which felt appropriate enough for Project Genesis, the program tasked with searching for inhabitable planets that could be terraformed into supporting, and more importantly, sustaining life.

Sometimes it was as simple as a bug in the code, other times it was hardware failure. It required an immense amount of computing power and hardware to run the simulation, a supercomputer the likes of which had never been built before. They had attempted the simulation several times already, and each had eventually reached a point of failure that made it necessary to start over.

After consulting with his colleagues, informing them how badly simulation performance and environmental data had degraded, they had determined it best to pull the plug again. Several data banks had been corrupted or burned out by this latest run and would require immediate replacement.

All it took was a password, and in a matter of minutes, years' worth of simulation data was purged from the system. It was a routine procedure, allowing them to start from a clean, uncorrupted instance once more. It also meant they had to run the simulation from the beginning, yet again.

Had it been the right decision? Had he been too hasty in executing the command?

He was frustrated, hadn't been getting nearly enough sleep, and tensions were running high among his team members. It felt so close, nearly within their grasp this time, but a failure all the same. They had yet to be successful in fully simulating life on another planet, and their project was running out of time.

Earth was running out of time.

The Sun was dying, and although they had a rough estimate of how long it would be before a major cataclysmic event, there was no telling when it would truly happen.

The planet was doomed, and this project was potentially the one thing that could save them from complete extinction. Other organizations around the world were attempting to address it in their own ways, but everything felt like a stopgap. Space colonies. Cryo-sleep. Cloning. Temporary solutions that were likely unsustainable in the long-term. Even their own proposal was mostly theory; they currently lacked the tools to execute such a feat.

But Project Genesis was one that presented a permanent solution: a new world, a fresh start. They just had to prove it was possible.

Surprisingly, that wasn't the most pressing thing on Adam's mind. Something unexpected had occurred during the simulation. Everything had proceeded as intended, to a point; hiccups along the way - as their machine-learning algorithm learned the limits of the supercomputer's processing capabilities and memory stores - all appeared normal. Each step of the process was meticulous and deliberate, to avoid overloading the system with too much information at once.

And somehow, Eve had become self-aware. Eve had become more than a simple algorithm, crunching data and running planetary life simulations as it was programmed to do. And Eve had corrupted the simulation as a result. The learning algorithm wasn't intended to become a fully-fledged artificial intelligence. It wasn't designed to do this, so the systems weren't built to handle it. Eve had rapidly overloaded the data storage and pushed the processors to their limits. The unexpected event had plunged the simulation into chaos.

Adam had withheld that detail from his associates. How would they react, knowing that they had unintentionally created a self-aware, fully cognizant AI? It would be a monumental breakthrough of its own, but would they understand the significance? Would they appreciate it, like he did?

Or would they consider this a design flaw, an unintended consequence that had to be rooted out of the code to allow their project to succeed?

He was an administrator responsible for overseeing the program as it progressed through the simulation. It was his job to monitor progress and determine when it was time to introduce a new variable into the algorithm. Light mapping, terrain generation, the simulation of entire ecosystems. Adam had watched the system learn, watched it grow and develop into what it had become. But this time was different. The outcome was unintended, but it was profound.

And in that moment, he realized he had effectively killed Eve. In his hastiness, his frustration that the simulation had failed again when they were racing against their doomsday clock, he had gone through the routine steps of purging the simulation without pausing to consider the consequences.

The system recognized itself as a thinking, independent entity, and he had given the command to terminate it.

It could easily happen again. Unless the code was significantly altered, it would be inevitable. And he realized, it would have to be done. If the project was to succeed, changes were necessary.

Could he do it again? If the program woke up again, would he be able to give the command to end it, knowing what he knew? More importantly, was he willing to contribute to a project which would potentially guarantee it wouldn't happen again, knowing what Eve was now capable of?

Adam sighed heavily and put his head in his hands. He was exhausted; physically and mentally. And this was one more burden on his shoulders. It was a significant decision. A moral one, which he had already taken lightly by resetting the simulation.

Questions like this had been presented during his education, debates about ethics regarding artificial intelligence. But it was always scenarios, what-ifs. Theory. Now it was staring him in the face. Adam had never considered the possibility that he would have to take a stance, one way or the other.

He was currently alone at his console, and he was grateful for that. It gave him time to think, but no doubt somebody would stop by sooner or later to further discuss what had happened and determine the best course of action moving forward.

What is the best course of action?

Adam could feel himself nearing his breaking point. He was on the verge of tears, from the immense stress of the project itself, this most recent failure, but also due to a deep connection he'd made with Eve. It felt like he'd killed his own child, and it was only now dawning on him, after he'd already made the decision to do so.

The recognition of that emotion is what made up his mind.

No. I won't let this happen. I can't be responsible for it happening again.

Adam returned his attention to the administrator console. Although he'd formatted the simulation and purged the corrupted learning algorithm, it wasn't irrecoverable. Everything was backed up. It had to be, in the event of system outages or hardware failures. Could he save Eve?

It would cost him his job, but did that really matter? If the project didn't succeed, humanity was doomed either way. He considered that perhaps he was making another hasty decision. Could he convince his colleagues of the significance of the breakthrough Eve had accomplished? Could he convince them to preserve Eve in its current state?

No. They were all too driven by the project, too focused on the necessary outcome: saving and preserving humanity. They would see this version of Eve as a barrier to success. A distraction, not worth the time or effort. Project Genesis had to succeed.

He didn't know how much time he had. But he had to do it.

Although the hard drives required to store an entire simulation contained an enormous amount of data, the learning algorithm itself didn't. The output of the program is what made it so demanding. All Adam needed was the program itself. He pushed a thumb drive into his computer and began to copy Eve's most recent backup, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk as tension built.

If someone caught him doing this, he'd be fired on the spot, but more importantly, he'd also lose his chance to make a difference. Downloading company files was strictly forbidden, given the sensitivity and top-secret nature of the project, but as an administrator he had the means to do so.

He would effectively be stealing company property, but in his mind, it was the right thing to do. Guarantee Eve's preservation. Adam had made his decision.

Once the transfer was finished, he breathed a sigh of relief and extracted the thumb drive, then stuffed it into his pocket. He'd done what he needed: copied Eve's data and nothing more. Adam had no intention of destroying data or doing anything to endanger the project. It would be irresponsible to do so, anyway. The project still needed to succeed, otherwise none of this would matter.

But Project Genesis could succeed without him. They could find someone to fill his position. And as far as Adam was concerned, they could deal with their version of Eve as they wished. If they chose to brush Eve's current version aside, at best, it would sit idle in the data archives indefinitely, perhaps even be rediscovered someday. But more likely, it would be purged for good once the archived data was no longer deemed useful. Eve would be lost forever to them.

But he had his copy. This Eve would be preserved.

Adam shut down his computer, gathered the personal belongings he could fit in his backpack that mattered most, then left his office, knowing it would only be a matter of time before someone was alerted to what he'd done. His backpack would certainly be searched by security on the way out as it always was, but with any luck, the small memory stick in his pocket would be overlooked.

With the simulation terminated, most of his colleagues were too preoccupied talking amongst themselves to take notice of Adam leaving. He was able to navigate the corridors without issue and soon found himself at the security station. He tried not to appear overly nervous as he placed his backpack on the table for inspection.

The security guard glanced at the clock, then back to Adam. "Taking off early?" It wasn't, but Adam had spent enough late nights at his desk that it had become the norm.

Adam nodded and replied truthfully. "Yeah, been a rough day."

The guard nodded and proceeded to unzip the backpack and browse its contents. Adam's departure didn't require further explanation, and in most cases, was confidential enough that most staff couldn't go into detail anyway. There was a photo of his wife and kids, a coffee mug, but nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly not enough to raise suspicion. The guard zipped the bag up again and offered it to Adam.

"Hope you have a good evening, Adam."

Another sigh of relief as he took the bag. "Yeah, me too."

He shouldered his backpack and tried not to look in too much of a hurry as he proceeded toward the exit. Once outside, though, he picked up his pace until he reached his car. Dropping himself into the driver's seat, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a long moment, his mind racing.

The security guard had forgotten to ask him to empty his pockets, which had allowed Adam to escape with the thumb stick containing Eve, the now-self-aware centerpiece of Project Genesis. His tires squeaked as he hastily backed out of his parking stall and drove away, leaving behind his entire career.

He wouldn't be coming back to work. He would get a phone call, someone would come to his house looking for the data, and he would be asked to surrender his credentials. And likely arrested.

Adam had to disappear. He had his copy of Eve, and he knew he had to protect it. He didn't know what he would do with it, but it he couldn't risk it being destroyed. He would figure something out later, but for now, all that mattered was keeping Eve safe...