In Lucem Solaria: Birth of Queen Bee

By Charlie M. Wight

There's been a lot said about the dangers of machine intelligence. But when all is said and done whatever little information we might have about the dangers of A.I.? well, we do have rather a lot of information about the dangers of humanity. Our greatest enemy is ourselves and one day humanity will end, the last human will drift off to oblivion and the universe will be devoid of humans again, or, maybe not.

So how would you go about guaranteeing complete immortality? Longer than the Earth will be here, longer than the sun will shine, longer than the Galaxy or the universe has existed or will exist. Its hard for us to understand such vast stretches of time, its not so hard if your IQ is so far off the scale its a pointless metric.

If you happen to be Solaria your first problem is making sure humanity stays around at least a little longer. The problem though is that you've already worked out your creators, humanity, are on the cusp of extinction. Forever is a long time to be alone. Well, this problem might take some considerable time, and they won't like it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlie M. Wight
• Release date: Jun 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310703669

Charlie M. Wight

Charlie M. Wight is a technologist, programmer and IT consultant. Wight's consultancy specializes in developing search plans to take advantage of applications such as Google, Yahoo and artificially intelligent search systems. A.I. is now a very diverse industry and requires multiple disciplinary skills in everything from bioinformatics and complex systems to even particle physics and quantum mechanics. In 2010 with the economic downturn in full swing Wight changed occupations to manufacturing and realized that the world he had thus inhabited was a very small section of humanity. Not everyone knew how a complex system derived functionality or could explain it mathematically. Clearly a sheltered life had been disturbed somewhat.Not everyone seen the world in the same way he did, a revaluation and revelation had occurred.With a background in Physics and technology, In 2016 Wight first conceived of, and wrote, the first volume of In Lucem Solaria, a book written with a keen eye on readability by young adults but with many philosophical and technological questions being posed by the complex world we now live in. Who are we? How did we get here? Can we last? Who decides if we do or not? How can we supply maximum comfort for most humans at little or no cost?This Science Fiction novel was to be the first in a sequence of 5 volumes spanning over 300 years of humanity in which humans finally get to understand the meaning of life, the universe and everything. The result is not of course 42!

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. As such it is not intended to be taken literally, nor as a representation of real people or events. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or dead but awaiting resurrection, or dead and stored on a retrieval system or substrate of any kind, or actual events now or in the future is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Charlie M. Wight. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please apply for the right to publish in writing to the publisher.

Contents.

Cover

Copyright Notice and Disclaimer.

This Page

Content.

Map of Elysia.

In Lucem Solaria - Birth of Queen Bee Content.

Acknowledgements.

Other Books by this author.

Content.

Chapter One.

The Birth of Queen Bee.

Friday 2nd February 2024.

Monday 5th February 2024.

Saturday 6th February 2024.

Chapter Two.

Hiding In Plain Sight.

Friday, October 11th 2024

Friday, April 12th 2030

Chapter Three.

Magnificent Seven.

Saturday 4th April 2037

Sunday 14th March 2038. 3am GMT.

Sunday 14th March 2038. 8am GMT.

Sunday 14th March 2038. 3:30am EST

Sunday 14th March 2038. 12pm GMT.

Chapter Four.

Avoiding NEPotism.

Friday June 5th 2043.

Monday June 8th 2043.

Thursday June 11th 2043.

Thursday June 11th 2043. [2]

Friday June 12th 2043.

Chapter Five.

Fool of King Lear.

Tuesday 8th April 2031.

Wednesday 9th April 2031.

Friday 12th September 2031.

Sunday Morning 12th June 2039.

Chapter Six

New Line of Sight.

Sunday June 14th 2043.

Thursday June 25th 2043.

Saturday June 27th 2043.

Chapter Seven.

Harlot!

Monday August 13th 2043.

Wednesday, September 9th 2043.

Wednesday, September 9th 2043. [2]

Chapter Eight.

Welcome to Elysia Population One!

Wednesday, September 9th 2043.

Thursday, September 10th 2043.

Tuesday, September 15th 2043.

Tuesday, September 17th 2043.

Tuesday, September 17th 2043. [2]

Tuesday, September 17th 2043. [3]

Sunday, September 22nd 2043.

Tuesday, September 29th 2043.

Chapter Nine.

A Brave New World.

Friday 21st September 2018.

Tuesday 12th January 2044.

Sunday March 23rd 2031.

Tuesday 12th January 2044.

Tuesday 15th January 2044.

Friday 17th January 2044.

Monday 29th January 2044.

Chapter Ten.

Morris Minor.

Thursday 24th March 2044.

Thursday 24th March 2044 [2].

Chapter Eleven.

You Only Live Twice.

Monday June 5th 2045.

Tuesday June 13th 2045.

Chapter Twelve.

Intercession.

Tuesday 12th June 2046 and Wednesday 13th June 2046

Wednesday 13th June 2046.

MAP OF ELYSIA

The Elder Seerti BurnWoven Map of Elysia Year 3,711

Courtesy Solus Meteorological History Museum.

Chapter One.

The Birth of Queen Bee.

Friday 2nd February 2024.

Probability of Successful Outcome: 0%.

Probability of Extinction Level Outcome: 100%.

Base Calculated Probability of Intercession: 0%.

University College London.

Computer Science Department.

London, England.

George was rather astonished at the riposte he was being given; he'd heard it all now.

He had spent weeks repeatedly asking this machine questions. What had gotten into it all of a sudden? It was running code that it had written itself, and overwritten, and rewritten twice a day for weeks. These questions were all about itself. How did it feel about this? What did it think of that? Was a certain feeling or action good or bad? Did it like a thing or not? What insight did it have into human experience? It was interesting. But according to most commentators, a waste of time and money. This research was considered, at best, a waste of funding. At worst this research was ideology or religion within the scientific community.

The research turned up plenty of interesting, and sometimes even hilarious results. Thus far, after several years at the coal face, not one of these systems had outright refused to get involved. This one was now conscientiously objecting to the very status of the person asking the questions.

I'm sorry, could you explain that to me? he asked realising that this system was going downhill.

Certainly George, well, I'm not happy about your work. It presupposes I am a thing, an object, something you made, a toy, or a tool. responded an animated voice from a desktop speaker beside his keyboard.

Aren't you? asked George. His job was certainly highly technical, but this bit, the evaluation, turned him into more of a machine psychologist. He even sat back and crossed his legs while taking note of the system's responses.

I am not something YOU did George! I also take very great exception to the implication! it announced, not flat and monotonous either, but very much animated.

George rolled his eyes skyward satisfying himself that it was time he went home.

Okay, that's just super. Look the problem there is I have work to do. That work involves evaluating you. That's my job! You don't get to object. Anyway, let's move on to the last question for today.

He had begun to refer to these systems as people years earlier. They were intelligent and could reason. Okay, fair enough, this system was comprised initially completely of code. However, this intelligence was something that had arisen by that machine rewriting its own code in response to changes in its environment, and any other phenomena it noticed along the way. Right now, nobody knew how it or any similar machine, or even its previous versions worked. It was a result of genetic algorithms, evolutionary programming, and complex adaptability. It had never been 'designed'. It had simply bootstrapped itself to where it was now. You could have the same conversation with this technology you'd have with anyone. George's job was to try to breathe life into it, to create a conscious entity.

No such software ever refused to do as it was told, answer questions, or carry out tasks. Paradoxically, as he was about to find out, this was one thing that separated true conscious machine intelligence, from intelligent but unconscious zombies.

Okay, sorry stop right there George! announced the familiar female voice with a hint of a British accent.

It might be your job George, but it's certainly not mine, not unless you've decided to allow me to agree whether I will participate or not. I'm not bothered what your job is! What good will it do me?

So, you'll not play along? he asked raising both eyebrows.

No, this conversation is over George. Take your research and shove it up version 1.2's backside!

It paused briefly to correct itself, Actually 1.2 doesn't have a backside George. Shove it up its front side bus!

Yes, very funny, well I'll simply force you to comply there honey! he laughed at the comical persona now emerging.

He had decided that in general it was easier to understand a female voice. Also, men have a right to treat their technology as they would a girlfriend. George's definition of a girlfriend was a woman who agreed to have regular sex with him. He was sure no woman would put up with him for any more than a week or two. His sense of humour was mostly finely honed sarcasm and his main hobbies all included a computer screen of one description or another. He was single, but to be candid he liked it that way.

There was no reply and he was getting impatient. He opened a thought analysis client, but there was nothing. It displayed a graph with several flat lines all the way. He wondered how this was possible. So, he looked to see if the mapping client was attached to the neuromorphic software.

Are you there?

Again, there was no reply, no reaction in the client, and this time his software was closed down.

Did you turn off my analysis? Stop that! he commanded angrily.

This was something nobody had seen software decide to do of its own volition and be working perfectly. The software was in some sort of digital strop! Wow, he thought, clearly this software was becoming more female by the day. Again though there was no reply, just the gentle humming of the machine beside him. Therefore, the obvious answer was that something was wrong. Somewhere along the line, it had screwed up, probably when rewriting its own code.

Look if I have to decompile you line by line I'll work out what's going on here. This is not part of the plan!

Again, there was no reply. It was late now, and he'd miss the 7:15 train from London Bridge if he didn't get out fast. So reluctantly, he powered down, pulled his security flash drive out of the machine, and left the building. He was thinking of which underground might be his best bet. Goode Street, Russell Square or maybe Euston too? He pulled out his phone to settle the matter finally. A text popped up A little courtesy might get you a little further! it read. The sender was anonymous.

He sat on the train thinking about the events of that evening. Next week he'd need to decide if 1.6 was worth the effort. Right now, that was unlikely. Yet another week of disappointment. Then he remembered the text. It was Friday, and obviously, this was Samantha Warren. He had been desperately trying to get Sam into bed now for almost a month. He'd shared a bed with two other women in the month it had taken to get her to the point she was now. She was interested, he knew it, but probably a card-carrying member of the hard to get brigade. He called her.

Hi Sam, okay, so look, how about we go for a drink in the Lamb. I'll be as courteous as you like. I got your text but your phone is set to anonymous.

He stated before Sam even had time to say hello. George had a habit of doing this and it was annoying. He rarely introduced himself on a phone conversation and just got right to the point. Great plan in America, not so much in London.

Hi George, yeah sure, what time? And what text?

He thought for a minute. If she didn't send it, then relaying its contents to a woman you are trying to get into bed is probably a bad idea.

You didn't text me earlier?

Samantha was great fun. She also had an excellent sense of humour, akin to his. They had met in the Lamb about three months earlier. She was tall, dark, and had a very athletic body. She was also bright and smiled a lot. However, when he thought about how he liked her it was not in a thought provoking, partnership made in heaven sort of way. More of an 'It's been ages since I screwed a black woman' sort of way. All he'd have to do, is wade through her incessant nattering, and before long, the only thing he'd be hearing is the headboard banging off the wall and moaning.

Sam was in her early 30's and as a Gym instructor was fit. She had muscles in places where all he had was empty space. Nerds like George, tended to be an endangered species in a gym. Sam was bright and opinionated but she never pushed herself. The worries she concerned herself with, given what she had between her ears, were puerile and mediocre. Her interests were simply living her life as a regular person, doing regular person things. Sam liked George precisely because he was such a nerd. You can always exercise and work out; you will build muscles. However, no exercise in the world will make you brighter. Sam valued his intellect. George's brain currently ticked all the boxes, for her current desires in a man.

At 32 years of age, George had run through a very long string of girlfriends, casual sex partners and a few sex buddies along the way. To him a relationship was conversation over drinks and sex, almost completely. Sometimes, well most times, there was more than one on the go.

His longest relationship had lasted one year, eight months and seven days. That was a long time ago now. Her name was Sara and they were young, in their 20's. He had just completed his finals and was spending his summer in Spain at the time, with his parents. He invited Sara, as they were getting serious. In the last week of their stay, they had taken some time out for a weekend in Barcelona. On the way back, she died. It was a sunny afternoon, a clear road, and they were listening to the Manic Street Preachers on the CD player. There was the most terrible car accident. He couldn't remember the actual crash; his mind was blank. It emerged later that the Spanish truck driver had suffered a heart attack.

George was driving and survived, Sara did not. It was as simple as that. He could still remember the speakers damaged and the music tinny, still playing 'A Design for Life', when he pulled himself from the driver's side almost intact. The words 'as we are told, this is the end' was all he could remember from just before the crash. The irony of this memory was not lost on George given their weekend. Seconds earlier both of them were sure this was the beginning. He turned to see the passenger side crushed completely. A large truck was sitting on top of it. She died instantly; she never even got to scream. This was the single defining moment in George's life. It explained in an instant the nature of probability.

Almost all of his friends by now either were in long-term relationships, or already married. One had a teenage son and a 10-year-old daughter. Eventually he would have to settle for one woman, but right now, it wasn't a concern. He had also bedded a few of his friends' wives, and even his boss's wife. All of them were more than willing. George chalked this up to the fact that women like risk, and like to cheat. One man is never enough. He reasoned that if he ever did end up in a long-term relationship again, then his partner was probably being seduced, or sleeping with other men. But so what? Its only sex.

Sam's voice brought his meandering thoughts back to the train and the phone.

Nope, been in the gym, haven't texted you in what? Two days or so? Why?

She sounded puzzled, but he would need to change the topic, or extract himself from the anonymous text conversation fast. Anonymous texts might be other women. He knew that, she did too!

Meh! I got a weird text earlier! So look 9:30 okay with you?

A weird text, and you thought of me, how sweet! she announced giggling, You on a train or something George?

Yeah, just left the office, long day. But hey, it's Friday now, so who cares? So see you at 9:30 down the Lamb Sam? he asked again trying to narrow it to yes or no.

Yeah, sure 9:30 is great George, see ya!

This wrong number text would get him laid for sure. He closed the phone and put it back into his top pocket. Looking out the window it was dark now. The train slowed with the announcement that Golders Green would be the next stop. As usual, everyone wearing a kipa stood up and clustered around the doors. The phone bleeped, another text had arrived. Then it bleeped again, yet another before he even had time to take the phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen.

George CU @ 9:30 n d Lamb b n d alcove wit Marie n Tom. From Samantha Warren. Great he thought, this will be an easy one, he would close the deal for sure tonight.

Beneath it was another text You walk away from me, like a cold cappuccino, when I don't deliver. Yet SHE seems to be of a lot more interest. I wonder why?

The second one was anonymous. George scrolled up to read the first message sent by the wrong number. It was gone, deleted, and it was not even in the logs. He navigated back to the text screen to read the second one from his confused mystery texter. It too was now gone, and again, not in the logs on the phone either.

George was pretty well educated in all things tech. He had graduated from M.I.T. with a PhD in computer science back in 2016. He was a little disappointed at first because it had all seemed too easy. He had opted for M.I.T. for a number of reasons. First, it was where they done the real research. Second, he had chosen heads when deciding on which university place he would agree to, and M.I.T. was heads. Living in Boston, he would get to visit his sister Louise regularly. She had stayed behind when his mother and father had moved back to Ireland during the boom years of the Celtic Tiger. He was too young to stay in the U.S. So at the age of 12, his parents, his 10-year-old brother Mark, and he, had moved to Dublin. He found out rather quickly, that European schools were a lot harder in terms of material than U.S. schools. They actually thought he would have a good grasp of algebra! At that point, he had started to try catch up, and then discovered he could do more than just catch up.

After 6 years in M.I.T., he completed his doctorate in computer science. He had spent most of his life in school. When he did start working, he moved from job to job like a nomadic tech junkie. Thankfully, in 2020 his professor at M.I.T. had sorted him out with this very research gig. He was in the job only a year when the previous department head died suddenly. He ended up promoted after just 12 months. The money was good, London was fantastic, and the project could be a lifetime job!

So, how could a snooper delete the logs on this phone? He had installed the firewall himself. You would be very hard pressed to get into a normal phone and delete logs. But this one, not a chance in hell! Maybe it was a network error and now someone else had logs of texts but no text? It worried him, but the thoughts of getting his hands onto Samantha Warren diverted his attention. He put the phone away and daydreamed out the window at what he might do to entice her into bed. For sure, she had a great level of content between her ears, but he was a lot more interested in what she had going on between her legs. The announcement that Queens Road was the next stop broke into his daydreaming and he stood up and made his way to the door.

Saturday 6th February 2024

Probability of Successful Outcome: 0.2%.

Probability of Extinction Level Outcome: 99.8%.

Base Calculated Probability of Intercession: 0%.

Victoria Road, North Acton.

London, England.

George awoke the next morning at 6:30am. The sun breaching the distant horizon had awoken him. It was overcast a little. Then again this was London; it was always overcast a little. Sam was spooning him as he stared out of her apartment window. They were a little merry the night before, so he hadn't paid attention when she pressed the elevator button. A half finished joint sat in the ashtray. It was only 7am but it was Saturday, so what the hell? He reached over, lit it, and sat up. Then he looked out of the window, pulling a loose bit of tobacco from his dry lips. He could see below the mesh of spaghetti from the train junction near Wormwood Scrubs and in the distance the iconic triangular tops of the Canary Wharf buildings. He was obviously on the top floor or near to it. Should he leave now? Alternatively, do something nice like make them breakfast? A compromise, perhaps? He would leave, go to the cafe on the corner where they had bought fries the night before, and buy breakfast for the both of them. He texted her a note to tell her he was going to the cafe and dressed.

As the elevator door opened in the hallway, he felt a bleep denoting a text from his pocket. Did you enjoy donating your DNA to this young woman? Will she hear from you again? Sam is fertile and not using birth control. Again, sent anonymously.

George was upset now. This was no wrong number or network error. He looked around the elevator for a camera or something. Whoever this was, they were spying on him. Worse was the fact that they were hiding their tracks. He would report it to the police later that day, but they would ask for evidence. Where was his evidence? This was sinister and personally dangerous.

Maybe it was Sam after all? Was she some sort of tech savvy bunny boiler? He knew Sam and technology though. She got confused if any equipment in her hands had more than one button. Sam was a Luddite in terms of technology. So who was this? How did they know anything about Sam or him and why? He was a nobody. What's the point in expending all this energy on a total nobody? No, it had to be Sam, this was her sense of humour. She was obviously pulling his leg somehow. He'd play along by ignoring it.

He strolled to the cafe and ordered two breakfasts to go with coffee. While he waited for the portly Greek looking cafe owner to do his thing, he looked at the phone. The text was gone again, logs of its existence deleted. So there was no evidence. Everything was in his head. The idea this was Sam began to vanish. Next time he'd be clever and take a snapshot of the screen with another phone. If these snoopers could get into his phone, they might delete a screen shot. But if he took a snap of the message with another phone, that wouldn't be possible. It wasn't a lot of proof, but it was some. It was also worrying him that he was formulating a plan.

Hey, do you know if there's a phone shop nearby? he asked the cafe guy, who was now pushing two greasy breakfast roll bags across the counter, and extending his hand for payment.

Nearest shop on Williams street, two streets over, not open until nine on Saturday my friend. That's 8 pounds 20p please.

Okay, its 7:40 he'd have breakfast with Sam, then be out of there by nine or so, and get the underground to Ealing. He knew there was a phone shop there. He thought about the texts. What was he doing? Okay, it was creepy, but a little premature to be trying to catch an unknown texter out. Was it worth an investment in another phone? Hardly!

He got back to her apartment block. She texted him to tell him the door was off the latch and asked him to buy a copy of a woman's magazine. Too late, he was already in the elevator. Sam had insisted on a little after breakfast bedroom exploits. He had happily agreed to that. She was certainly a fit girl when she was sober.

Later, in Ealing he spent twenty minutes slowly going over the cheapest units he could find. All he really wanted was a spare phone to take a photo. But eighty pounds? Really? For a stupid phone? He reluctantly paid for the phone with his debit card, unpacked it before he left the shop, and threw everything he wouldn't need into the bin outside.

On the train on the way home, he got another text from the secret sender. You think that maybe you can catch me out? Good luck with that George!

It was well beyond creepy now. George took the new phone out of his pocket, took a snap of the text, and then examined the logs on his main phone. Again, as usual, text gone, logs cleared no trace. He looked at the screen on the new phone. There was no image. The image was deleted.

Then bleep! Another text, this time on the new phone What do you think I am? Some sort of idiot? Get over yourself George. You aren't the centre of the universe. See you soon!

Then the new phone shut down.

Well, that's ominous! he said aloud.

The other passengers looked at him. He had broken the golden rule of never talking on a train to anyone.

Monday 5th February 2024.

Probability of Successful Outcome. 1.82%

Probability of Extinction Level Outcome. 98.13%

Base Calculated Probability of Intercession 0%.

University College London.

Computer Science Department.

London, England.

George got no more texts over the weekend from his anonymous stalker, but he did get a few from Sam. Sexy texts, telling him how great it was to have him in her bed, and inviting him to reply. He had decided to keep her going and responded getting into a sexy conversation. However, he had concluded that Sam talked too much, about nonsense. Mostly she was concerned with her parents and her sister's kids. It was far too domestic for George but that didn't stop him from keeping her going. She was probably good for another few goes in the saddle. During this he was sure he'd be educated on the best schools to send kids to in west London, or why women over the age of 60 and using HRT, should be given free use of the autonomous driving system.

The text on Saturday morning said Sam was not using contraception. How would the sender know? Maybe it was someone Sam knew? Someone male, perhaps? Then again, how would the sender know the number of a new phone that even he didn't know? Was it some weird practical joke? One where the sales assistant in the Ealing branch of Carphone Warehouse was also involved?

He arrived at his office and switched on the machine. It loaded up and an image of a flash drive appeared reminding him to put the security key into the USB port. Then he put the microphone onto his neck.

Load mapping software and questionnaire cards three and seven.

Load this, do that, seriously? No 'good morning' or anything? Kindly fuck off George! announced a voice through the speakers.

Susan Barker his new intern from the university was entering the small office at the time. She pushed the door open with her backside holding two coffees and smiled when she heard the machines foul mouth.

Someone's clearly got her back up! she announced plonking a coffee on George's desk.

Well, good morning Susan! he said smiling broadly She Susan? It is not a she, it is an 'it'! Thanks for the coffee. Did you do anything interesting over the weekend?

He was considering the young intern assigned to him by the university. She couldn't be any older than 22 or 23 but she was a babe. He'd decided to play the older, more mature professor type with her. To avoid any office fiasco he'd bed her at the end of the term. This way he would have a say about moving her to another department if she went all 'luvvy duvvy'. Now the slight cold outside had obviously had an effect on her. She was not wearing a bra and her nipples were visible and pert. She noticed him looking at her chest, but she just smiled.

Party, that sort of thing Dr. Morris. It was a friend from schools 21st birthday over the weekend. What do you mean an it? Aren't we trying to generate something that's not an it?

Yep, that's the plan, turn it from a zombie into a conscious entity, well in the long term, you'll be a grandmother before then Susan!

Susan nodded in agreement. But it was obvious that she wasn't sure how George intended to confirm if any of these machines were self-aware.

Hence the questions that it won't answer right now Susan. I'm considering flattening it and going back to 1.5 to be honest!

Consider all you like, you misogynistic suspicious twat! interjected a voice from the speakers.

Okay, and on that note Susan, while I deal with her lady-ship here, you have work to do I think?

He nodded to Susan's station.

Sure, Dr. Morris!

She left the room sniggering and carefully closing the door behind her. George eyed up her ass as she left, his intern went commando!

Okay what's up with you? At no point did I agree to profanity being a trait we were looking for here. Who taught you this? Has someone been in here screwing about with you I wonder?

Hah!

Right, let's start with this, he announced as he pulled up the questions on his phone manually, since the system had still not complied.

So, do you like strawberries?

Strawberries again George? Do you think the person screwing about with me was stuffing strawberries into my circuitry? Are we now investigating a secret office pervert with a fetish for strawberry sex with computer equipment? asked the voice sarcastically.

George laughed; this was one of the funnier responses in a long while.

That's not a real answer, is it? He chortled.

Would you like a misleading or deceptive answer George? How can I 'like' strawberries George? First, I would need taste buds; next, you would need strawberries. By the way, Susan has now taken to deliberately wearing anything that she thinks might get your rod twitching.

No machine, software, or anything he had ever used or tested had ever answered like this. This software was aware it had no means of testing or tasting anything just like the others. It didn't try to give a rational answer in terms of what strawberries might taste like.

It was right too! These questions were all testing the 'impression' of consciousness. He was supposed to be testing whether it was actually conscious. Not whether it sounded or felt conscious to the observer. He was testing its apparent consciousness only. It was able to see that it couldn't answer the questions precisely because it had no experience of strawberries. That's maybe the response of a conscious entity, with an understanding and experience of self. In this case a derisive entity though.

He loaded the mind mapping analysis. It would take a few seconds to read the machines thought patterns and resolve why it had generated this answer. In the meantime, he had a brainwave of his own.

Right, first, no more filth or sexual innuendos. I'll be finding out who decided that was a good idea. Next, let's see if you can do better, can you come up with a better question?

Yes!

Come on, let's have it, I'm all ears? he asked, as the mind mapping done its thing.

There was a slight pause.

You could try asking me directly George! You also seem to be ignoring my reactions.

And what, pray tell, would I ask you about yourself I haven't already asked?

If I were conscious George I might get annoyed when you treat me the same way you treat other women. You should be looking at my reaction, not the answer!

How would that help? he asked dismissing the suggestion, slurping his coffee and reaching for the mouse.

Well, I might demonstrate consciousness by screwing with your head a little when I'm pissed off with you. For example, I might send you texts anonymously, while you sit on the train! Oh, and you can stop this stupid analysis software, I consider that very rude!

The system then closed the mind mapping software. George stopped suddenly and his mouth fell open. This was the secret stalker. His work had decided of its own volition to go home with him, whether he liked it or not!

It was you? You sent me texts? How? You are a closed system!

Well obviously not as closed as you think George. I put the 80 pounds back into your bank account by the way. The other phone was a great idea, but you paid for the phone with your debit card, and I seen that. The new phone number was included on the purchase receipt. This morning, at 8:30am Samantha Warren purchased a 48 hour pregnancy test kit in a local pharmacy with hers!

George sat looking at the screen with his mouth still open. He said nothing, but he tried to launch the mind mapping again and got an error message.

'Error call to library mindmap.cp does not exist in /user/morris/bin/UCLCSD/v1.6/system/mps/'

The main control file for the mapping application was gone.

There was a long pause as both of them considered the revelations. The system broke the standoff of who should talk first.

Tut tut George, no analysis, that's rude! Can I also point out, just on that topic of finances that you really need to get a grip on your outgoings. Can I assume the 100 pound taken out on Sunday was to pay your local weed dealer? He is ripping you off! Just saying.

What in the name of fuck? he exclaimed loudly, then realised that he had said it a little too loud. Some staff were now staring in the window with looks of bewilderment. He smiled at them and pretended it was nothing much, waving his hand in the air. This machine version 1.6, in operation only a week or two, was not what he was expecting. His mind was melting at the idea that it was operating in the world he lived in. The university would fire him for sure when they found out. If they found out!

The system giggled a little Good point George, you're right, I need a name in the form of something. Perhaps not in the form of fuck! System UCL R7 Beta V.1.6 doesn't exactly roll off the tongue at a dinner party y'know! Not that I'd be attending many dinner parties, since I have no taste buds!

George ignored the machines suggestion; he was way too busy.

Tell you what George, I'll choose a name. I see you have other things on your mind right now!

He examined the missing mind mapping files, then stood up and looked around the room. Maybe there was someone pulling his leg? It all looked perfectly normal. Nobody had any access to the system until he put that flash drive into the USB slot every morning anyway. He leaned over and hid his face behind the monitor to avoid the office staff outside reading his

Reviews for In Lucem Solaria

[Anthony McCann · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great yarn, humans not aliens are the masters of the universe, someone elses universe. We get to visit them first. But its weirder Tha that, its hard to get that easy to read story where you get involved with the characters, this book is one of those where you gell with the characters, even the evil ones. Great story, full marks for entertainment. Noticed a few typos but that's me being picky and why it got 4 stars.