Only…not so inert now.
This was not possible. He’d never programed these bots. They could not be active. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He must have imagined those black scampering bodies.
Slowly, his gaze returned to the screen. They were still black...still ant-like...still scurrying around. Still not the bots from the testing tank. But now they were huddling more than scurrying. He leaned closer to the screen, watching the huddle tighten and expand.
A deep buzz suddenly rattled the laptop speakers. Like the testing tank bots, but louder, deeper, and angrier. Which made sense. There were trillions more bots in the holding tank, than the testing one. More bots meant more vibrations and buzzing.
Could he have accidentally activated the prototype in the holding tank? He glanced at the upload screen; the new virus was fifty percent complete. The upload was going slower than he’d expected, which did not inspire confidence, but it gave him time to hop over to the holding tank’s programming module.
After a quick systems check on the programming module, he sat back and shook his head. There was no record of him programming the inert prototype in the holding tank. No record of anyone else programming them. The programming module sat empty.
Somehow, the bots had activated on their own.
How was that possible? A computer program couldn’t turn on by itself. And his NNB26 prototypes were simply an itty-bitty, advanced computer system. He switched back to the upload window—fifty seven percent—and then back to the holding tank window.
He shook his head, watching as the cluster of black, ant-like shapes shivered and swelled. Their buzzing escalated to a threatening rumble.
Could the new virus, as it downloaded into the programming module, have activated the inert bots? He shook his head again. That made no sense. Even if the virus could activate them, it was downloading into the testing tank module, not the holding tank. Its upload shouldn’t affect all the bots, only the ones he’d specifically targeted.
He switched back to the upload module, double checking he’d only clicked on the testing tank for the virus upload.
Yep…he’d only tagged the prototypes in that one tank.
Not that it mattered, because both tanks were now active—clustering and buzzing. One set—the smaller set—sounded like a hive of agitated bees. The other—the larger one—rumbled like a jumbo jet ramping up for takeoff. He switched back and forth between the two atomic force microscope screens, studying his prodigies, assessing them, watching them swell and buzz.
What were they doing? During the prior incident with the testing tank bots, when they’d electrocuted Dr. Lovett, the swelling and vibrations had appeared to electrify their container. They seemed to be protecting themselves from Lovett’s attempts to eradicate them. Were their AI microchip brains sensing the virus currently downloading as a threat too?
He switched the screen back to the programming module. According to the upload bar, the virus was at 61% complete. It had been over five minutes since he’d started the upload. According to the instructions TermX had sent him when Clark received the eradication virus, the upload should have occurred within minutes. Yet here it sat, frozen.
His chest tightened. Was the program defective? That didn’t seem possible. TermX had a reputation for excellence. He wouldn’t chance tarnishing it by selling defective coding. Perhaps there was a more malicious reason behind the upload failure. Was the bastard using the virus to scrape data from the NNB prototype itself? He twitched at the thought, but quickly calmed. That scenario was even more unlikely. If word got out that the secretive hacker had stolen from his clients, his business would wither and die. Nobody would hire an untrustworthy programmer. Besides, he hadn’t told TermX much about the NNB26 prototype, just enough for the virus creation. The guy wasn’t aware of just how revolutionary his prodigies were.
The download failure had to be an anomaly. Glitches happened sometimes, no matter how meticulous the coding was. Five minutes later, when the red bar hadn’t budged, he hit thecancel button. He’d have to reupload. However, the red bar didn’t vanish. It just sat there, lighting up the screen, mocking him.
The program had frozen.
He’d tried a full stop cancel. Nothing. Damn it. He’d have to shut his entire system down and restart. Before doing so, he took a quick peek at the testing tank.
What?
His gaze narrowed as he leaned closer to the screen, scarcely believing his own eyes. From the right edge of the bot ball, a thick, grayish tendril extended toward the top of the tank. As he watched, it thickened, looking more and more like a cable rather than a tendril. The bot ball shrank as the cable grew thicker and longer. The bots were flowing from the ball, into the cable. What about the holding tank? Were the bots there doing the same thing? He switched over to the other atomic force microscope.
They sure were. The only difference between the two screens was the color and size of the cable. One black—with a thicker cord—and one translucent gray and thinner. But both cables were stretching to the top of the tank.
What were they up to? Were they trying to escape? Was the cable being created to force the lid off their tanks?
Before he had a chance to do anything, although what the fuck could he do anyway, the smell of burning wires filled the air. He started, shoving his chair back. His laptop’s screen burst into white fuzz, and then the blue screen of death. The smell of burning intensified.
And his laptop exploded.
Chapter eight
Day 26
Shadow Mountain Base, Alaska
Wolf straightened after placing the final sweetgrass braid along the outer edges of the sacred hoop. TheTaounaha’sempty husk lay stretched across the four quarters of the medicine wheel, touching each of the sacred colors—red, white, black, and yellow. Each quarter of the wheel held bundles of herbs and plants: dried white sage in the North section; bearberry leaves in the South; yarrow roots in the East; juniper berries in the West. His wizened hands folded upon his chest; a bed of cedar branches and Osha roots cradled the Old One’s frail shell.
The air in the unbinding chamber was cold enough to prickle his skin and smelled faintly of smoke, and strongly of cedar. Its stone ceiling was charred black by hundreds of cycles of sacred fires held to unbind the spirit from it husk and aid its journey to theTabenetha.
