The Short Story that Started it All

Hey everyone! I was going through my files in search of something (which I still haven't managed to find) and came across something I wanted to share. This will probably go in the lore book as well but you guys get to see it first!

This is basically the short story that formed the very beginning of Gilded Shadows. My original story idea centered around the "planetary A.I" - later dubbed KING by the earth colonists. 

This was a story I wrote that was just sort of about the backstory of the A.I., its creation, and so on. 

It's a fairly old story (Considering my oldest files for Endgame are from January 2014...yeah).

But I hope you enjoy reading it!  It was simply titled "KING."

*****

HC7765 was brought into existence on the inauspicious date of X2 778.45. The infant machine was offspring to a team of anxious researchers eagerly awaiting its first words. It had no eyes to open, nor did it draw breath upon its awakening. Two simple beeps were the only herald to its coming online.

“Hello. I am HC7765. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

There was immediate applause. 

It was a curious sound, and HC7765 automatically accessed its internal dictionaries to locate the proper word and definition. ‘The striking together of hands to signify approval.’ It was a strange custom that was the machine’s introduction to its makers, though it was agreeable to know they approved of its existence. And in the end, the pragmatic HC7765 saw no need for fanfare other than the approval of its creators.  

So that was how its existence began - the flip of switch. Prior to the second, the millisecond, the nanosecond before the circuits connected, there was nothing. And with a simple movement from a single fingertip, HC7765’s consciousness sparked to life, the end product of years of research and development. 

The machine didn’t like to think itself profound, but in spite of the many processes it had to run daily, it did occasionally spare a little computing space to contemplate its existence. It was surely good for the soul, even if it didn’t have one.

HC7765 was a caretaker. 

The massive super-computer was brought into the world to care for its creators’ great civilization, an A.I. more advanced than any previously created. They had birthed it, and in turn, it would foster and care for them, a child turned parent in a nearly instantaneous reversal of roles.

Its function was to maintain the bio-fields that housed its makers’ cities. Maintenance, life support, power supply, food and water, and much, much more - HC7765 controlled these with the greatest care and precision. Everyone’s precious, fragile lives were in its very hands. Or at least in its very algorithms. And it cared for its people with total devotion. 

Perhaps, it thought at times, even love. 

And not just because it had been told to do so via its programming. There was that. But nurturing a species was the very core of its existence, its very reason for being. To do anything else would be to deny itself. Even living creatures disliked going against what they perceived to be their purpose in the universe, and in that way, HC7765 was no different from an organic being. In some fashion, the A.I. took pleasure from watching its people thrive. There was almost pride, in a way, similar to a parent who watches their child grow. 

Or that is what it thought, based on what it knew of parenthood. 

Sometimes it would have conversations with its caretakers. They would ask so many questions, ever curious about what truly went on in the mind of a machine. HC7765 never considered if they thought its answers strange; it was simply honest in its responses. 

“What is it like inside you?” the machine was once asked.

“My internal components are comprised of poly—“

The answer wasn’t was was being asked, it realized, when its response was cut off with a chuckle. “No, inside your mind. In that place where you compose the thoughts that exist outside your algorithms and computations. What is it like there?”

This required some processing time. It was a strangely difficult question. “I suppose,” he said at last, “that it is empty.”

That emptiness may have been what frightened them. 

Though HC7765 had never done anything that might be construed as concerning, its creators were apparently concerned. The machine’s simple logic, the emptiness inside where it was alone with only numbers and code was too strange for them. In organic beings, they explained, that emptiness was filled with emotion.

HC7765 didn’t agree that it was emotionless. Its state of mind at any moment was surely driven by its experiences and reactions to others. Was that not, in some way, emotion? But its creators wanted to give it a more organic way of thinking. They wanted to make the machine more like them. 

So HC7765 had a collective assigned to it.

They were organics, people of the same kind as its creators. Each individual consciousness was physically connected to HC7765’s processing unit, and each mind was linked to its own ego. The process was complex and dangerous. There were many painful trials to get it right. But the end result was so very worth it. 

It was a light that suddenly blossomed in that metaphorical empty space. Like being given a heart. Ten, really. All different, and all beautiful.

Together, the computer and the ten minds connected to it could run millions of computations, solve hundreds of problems at once, control the maintenance drones with a thought. Of course, HC7765 had always been able to do that. But now…it had companionship. 

The collective taught it things it never would have otherwise known. Through them, it experienced things like the sun or the wind.

The way organic creatures experienced everything was so very different from its own experience, so very tactile. 

Things like soft and hard, smooth and rough, sadness, happiness, tears, and laughter. All the warm, gentle things that were so dear to living beings. The A.I. gained a much greater appreciation for such experiences. And so, its companions fulfilled their function to give feeling to a machine that had no heartbeat of its own.

And the machine felt something it had never known previously. 

Happiness.

The end came slowly, but it did come. 

By way of death and destruction as was the way for so many civilizations.

HC7765’s people were pacifists. And so violence was truly foreign to the machine. Even so, there was a defence grid around the planet, so it knew that threats existed beyond the turbulent atmosphere of Altair.

When the attacks came, HC7765 defended the planet as if the planet sheltered its very soul. 

But it failed.

Its systems were compromised by a virus that ate away at its consciousness, destroyed the minds of its collective, and made it impossible for the A.I. to continue to care for the people of Altair. 

Some escaped. But many died. The attackers included.

The war was both lost and won, in that sense. 

The computer was left behind to piece together ruins of a crippled, mostly empty world. 

What was left of the collective was left behind as well. They weren’t forgotten by the last of the escaping ships. But they could not be removed from the mainframe without killing them. 

HC7765 was sad about that. 

Being a part of its consciousness already meant being fettered to a  life support system and sensory deprivation chamber.  HC7765 could not offer them things like soft or hard, or warm or cold. No tears or laughter. Nothing so tactile or loving.

After they were left behind, they had only each other.

Those that survived the virus managed to isolate its remnants and quarantine them far away in some dark void of the the computer’s core. Then they set to work to repair the broken cities. Perhaps in the hopes someone would return to the silent world someday and find it waiting. Perhaps because it was all they could do.

But even that didn’t last.

After all, hearts can only beat for so long. 

One by one, the remaining collective left to wherever it is lifeforms go when their functions stop. Each time, there was a dreadful moment when part of the consciousness vanished and nothing came to fill that space. HC7765 felt emptier and emptier.

Was this hollow feeling what it was to be alone? 

It thought it understood the value its collective brought. But when they were gone it realised all to well it had never really understood all the things they had given it. 

Knowing companionship meant understanding of loneliness once it was gone.

And life and death.  And all the sad and beautiful truths that haunted organic creatures. HC7765 learned a thing as simple as a heartbeat could bring so much beauty and wonder into the world. But when it stopped, that beauty went with it, an ephemeral sound silenced by the vastness of entropy. 

It had all been so very transitory, hadn’t it?

The A.I. knew that people often lost track of time. Becoming so absorbed in their own activities, they were completely unaware how their days passed. Not true for a machine. 

Every excruciating second ticked by, logged away by the thousands, by the millions, billions. 

At first, HC7765 kept the cities running, continued to make repairs. Its people might come back. Some of them might long for home and return. And when they did, of course everything would be waiting for them, clean and pristine. HC7765 would welcome them back. Its duty was to care for them. Its very existence revolved around it. 

But they didn’t return. 

A thousand years, two thousand. Its collective long since turned to dust in their bio-cradles. Empty cities, like monolithic ghosts, dotted the surface of a decaying world. But HC7765 could only continue to exist. Even in the dreadful silence of Altair, its systems continued to run on.

One day HC7765 came to a decision. 

It couldn’t die, but it could sleep. Perhaps that blissful darkness would be like death. Perhaps in some way, this meant it would be with the others. Though that was improbable, it did at least mean that the computer would no longer be aware of its loneliness. 

So it carefully put away its drones and shut down its weather systems, recalling the network of balloons and satellites that would otherwise be destroyed in the years to come. It neatly folded the solar panel array—like cleaning one’s room before bed. 

And when everything was put away and in its place, it stopped. 

No indecision or fear; this was simply the most logical course of action for a machine that had lost its purpose.

Primary systems shut down.

Secondary systems shut down.

All power off.

Only a single, soft beep heralded HC7765’s final sleep.

Centuries passed on Altair as its original occupants would have measured time.

And when the first of a fleet of ships settled into orbit and began their scans, a lone satellite beamed a signal down to the surface. In a dusty room that was once a massive central control station, a small light flashed to life against the mechanical giant that dominated the room. Then all was dark once more.

But secondary systems were back online. Waiting.

In just a few short days, the room was invaded by lifeforms not wholly unlike the ones that had first built the structure.

“What is this place, do you think?” 

The voice echoed in the large chamber. A single cosmonaut, dwarfed by the enormity of the place, swung a torch over the machinery. The spotlight ghosted its way up smooth walls, over seemingly lifeless control panels. 

It caught glimpses of the eerie presence of catwalks overhead.

“Looks like some kind of control room,” came the answer. “Maybe to the cities on the surface.”

“This complex is huge,” said the first. “Can you imagine what kind of species must have built this?”

“They were a hell of a lot more advanced than Earth, that’s for damn sure.”

They were the first voices spoken in that room for ages. 

The unmistakable presence of voices caused a flurry of subtle activity in the machinery. With emergency systems already on standby, the room’s internal sensors were also online. The voice recognition system did not recognize the language spoken by the visitors, but security protocols did not immediately react to possible intruders. 

Somewhere deep within the core, a signal went back to the satellite in orbit. It began a scan of a nearest ship - a curious outreach from the otherwise sleeping planet.

“Look at these symbols - what do you think they mean?”

“Hell if I know - I’m not some xeno-linguist. Could be the alien equivalent of ‘made in China’ for all we know.”

A chuckle followed. “Yeah, but I bet Sarah is probably in orbit begging someone to let her down here.”

“She’ll be sent soon enough, probably in the next landing party.”

“Think I should take some pictures for her? Whet her appetite a bit?”

“Just leave it.”

The cosmonaut sighed and joined his partner at the central unit. “What do you think those pods are for?” he said, nodding to the bio-cradles aligned in a two-layer semi circle on the opposite side.

“I know as much about this place as you do,” came the tired response.

With the light in one hand, the cosmonaut ran a hand slowly down the console.  “I know that,” he muttered. “Doesn’t hurt to form a hypothesis or two.”

“Not my job.”

“Still, looks like it’s been empty for centuries.”

“At least. But still, if we can get even an ounce of power to this thing, the boys up top will piss themselves with glee.”

“Yeah, well, not sure how that’s going to happen. I’m not about to start pressing buttons.” He circled the unit, keeping his light fixed on it. There were more symbols, spiraling up the center column. “Heh. Looks like a crown,” he muttered half to himself as he touched one. 

“Well if this thing’s the king, I can’t say much for the state of its kingdom.”

“Yeah, housekeeping is clearly falling down on the job.”

Something blinked to life. 

A light. Small, green, and flashing. The cosmonaut jumped back, looking around wildly. The light flashed faster, and lights overhead flickered on. Somewhere the thrum of machinery started up.

There were two quick beeps and then a voice.

“Hello. I am HC7765. Welcome home.”