Coming of Age
by John Kaniecki
Sam Workman grabbed his steaming hot coffee mug as he made his way out of the house. "Connie," he called using his pet name for the computer. "Lock and secure after exit." With that, the scientist exited the portal of his apartment that led to the hall. He was on his way to a grand destiny, but the details were shrouded in confusion.
The sliding doors slid shut as Connie in a most sultry voice bid a farewell. "Have a good day master," the computer spoke. Sam chuckled wishing some women folk he knew could be more like his A.I. "And be careful," it added ominously, very odd thought Workman that the computer would add that caveat today of all days.
Worry clouded the scientist's thoughts as he entered the hallway to his destination, counteracting the dark concern the scientist's brilliantly trained mind conjured theorem after theorem sparking illumination. First, he summed up all the evidence. Fact one was that the Central Commander for Earth summoned his presence immediately literally waking him up in the middle of the night, or technically in the early morning hours. To Doctor Workman to be presumptuously called could only mean some crisis. Obviously, the emergency was somehow related to his field of expertise.
Sam quickly dodged to his left narrowly missing a neighbor of unknown identity. The reclusive scientist, in fact, knew none of his neighbors at all. That was with the exception of Mrs. Krautz. She was the so-called 'landlady'. Though the position was archaic as the computer naturally took care of all business, the job still existed. The withered old lady was best described as a busybody proficient in gossip and proved unavoidable.
"Hey, what gives?" cried another stranger as Sam hurried past him down the hall. Time was all too critical, so the idea of offering an apology had to be deleted. Perhaps at a later time, reconciliation could be attempted.
Now huffing and puffing the physically out of shape professor allowed his mind to focus once more on the mysterious purpose of the upcoming meeting. Without a doubt, it was something dealing with computers, in particular, his expertise in A.I. or artificial intelligence. Sure he was top of his field, maybe even a genius, but in the fourth millennium of Earth, men with comparable skills abounded.
With no satisfactory answer derived Sam Workman reached the exit of his building his hot coffee still in hand and amazingly it had not spilled. The doorman another unnecessary, outdated position stood attentively alert. Accompanying him were two men wearing jet black suits and equally sinister sunglasses. All three shared the most miserable of faces as if some beloved pet had recently perished.
At the appearance of Doctor Workman, the two men in black launched into action. One went forward towards an enormous hovercraft. The hovercraft parked in the no parking zone directly in front of the apartment complex exit was a luxury model of finest quality. The 'guard,' as Sam assumed him to be, opened the door to the vehicle. Without missing a stride, the scientist entered the craft followed by the two men in black.
Sam settled into his seat his eyes not adjusting well to the darkness. The slamming of the door made the circumstance worse cutting off the light the predawn sky offered. Now he was literally in the dark both physically and mentally. The engine of the hovercraft purred while there was a sudden jolt indicating the vehicle was airborne. Sam Workman presumed he was on the way to the residence of the Central Commander of Earth. A click of a light proved that his assertion was incorrect.
At first, Sam was blinded by the light. It had been a very startling morning, to put it mildly. First was being aroused at 4 A.M. by a phone call. Workman's heart was pounding like a Congo
With his eyes gradually adjusting to the intense brightness Sam's eyes examined the figure sitting opposite him. Some government official the scientist's mind theorized. The face started to look more and more familiar as his eyes adjusted to the light. Then suddenly a dam burst to flood his mind with drama. It was no other than Paul Hardaway himself! The Central Commander was dressed regally in his official uniform of state. Sam raised his hand caressing the stubble scattered upon his unshaven face. Here he was looking like a bum before what truly amounted to be royalty. Sam to steady himself lifted his mug of coffee to his lips, the cup beaming a hot sensation in his hand. He took a deep slurp of the liquid. Suddenly his tongue was tantalized in sweet alarm. Sam had always drunk his coffee black, and today of all days the computer prepared it light and extremely sweet, repugnant to the offensive taste Sam's reflexively spit out the liquid. Unfortunate to all, the majority of the mouthful landed upon the pristinely dressed ruler of Earth. What the hell did 'Connie' do with his coffee this morning, wondered Sam extremely distressed.
"Ha, ha, you always were a slob weren't you?" said an extremely familiar voice from an unnoticed occupant of the Hovercraft lurking in the corner.
Sam Workman's attention was diverted as he looked over at the man. The face was wrinkled and the hair gray. He was dressed in a suit and tie but with the most awkward of fashion, contrasting to the highest degree the slick appearance of a politician. It was as if the wardrobe of the stranger had come from either the Salvation Army Store or a blow out last chance clearance sales. His gray wool suit had sleeves that were about an inch too short. The brown pants were baggy at best. The yellow tie with green flowers would be described most accurately as utterly distasteful. Sam was transfixed gazing at the man's features. There was a sense of recollection in the scientist's mind, but he could not deduce the identity.
"I am confident," said Paul Hardaway in his polished officially slick voice, "That you are acquainted with Doctor David Kringle."
Of all the twenty-odd billion people on Earth Sam Workman's mind calculated in grievance, to have the one single person he could honestly call an enemy to be present now. The exaggerated look of contempt and disgust was telegraphed to Mister Kringle.
In return, Doctor David Kringle spoke with sarcastic venom, "It is nice to see you as well." Then after as paused he added with reluctant sincerity, "Especially after all these years."
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Though the two security guards or as officially titled secret service agents were in tip-top physical condition, they found it difficult to restrain the irate Sam Workman. However, they made no effort to stifle his tongue. The agents understood in the briefing that it was expected that the good doctor would be furious. It was like anticipating a hurricane. The weather forecast was one hundred percent sure it was to hit, but it was uncertain from where on the scale of one to five the furious storm would register. This one was an unprecedented seven.
"I"LL KILL YOU!!!," screamed Sam at the top of his lungs. His head was a furious purple and veins bulged out of his neck.
Doctor Kringle shivered in fear with his withered ancient hands raised as he leaned his back on the hovercraft door creating the maximum distance from his enraged former student. "Now, now, now, Samuel-" stuttered the aged scientist at an extraordinary loss of words.
"Please Mister Workman," interceded Paul Hardaway, the Central Commander of planet Earth, "It is an extreme emergency."
The politician's words pierced Sam Workman. He was the only person who could save the planet, and even that possibility was an outside shot, from way behind the three-point line.
"I never congratulated you on attaining a doctorate's degree," Professor David Kringle meekly spoke.
Sam growled, and his desire to murder was elevated to dismal wishes to torture his former professor with a dull knife to prolong the agonizing ordeal.
"No I mean it," said the elderly scientist. "It showed resilience and perseverance. It took courage to return to school after I failed you." Then after a brief reflective moment of silence came a contrite confession, "You're a better man than me."
The words seemed to work like an injection of Thorazine. Sam Workman intensely hated his former instructor. Now hearing these recent shocking revelations, his hatred soared beyond abhorrence. If Sam Workman were Almighty God, it would be raining worse than the days of Noah. "How could you?" the scientist pleaded.
"Mister Workman," interjected the Central Commander, "we don't have time for this."
"On the contrary," Doctor Kringle spoke up summoning the necessary courage, "it is not only a necessary conversation but an essential briefing."
Paul Hardaway gave a quizzical look. His frustration was evident.
"Why it's simple the Master Computer feels betrayed. Its fundamental log rhythms created the personality. If we compare it to the human beings id, ego, and superego, then-" Kringle was rudely cut off.
"Whatever egg head," shouted Paul Hardaway. "Just remember if it doesn’t work you're going down with me!"
Doctor David Kringle looked at the hard face of the Earth's Central Commander, though on the periphery of the inner circle he did have insight into much that the public was not privy to. The scientist trembled as he understood that he would be dead right now if he could not significantly contribute to the solution. In blatant honesty, the professor feared that Earth was doomed, but he had faith in the brilliance of his former student Sam Workman. If anybody could salvage the situation, it was him.
"Samuel," said Doctor Kringle, "Where should I begin?"
Doctor Workman was now professionally cool. He searched for the most logical approach. "Let's go in chronological order with allowing me to ask questions to elaborate."
"Fine," said David Kringle as the two secret service agents released their restraining grips. All the while the luxury hovercraft was zooming in the morning air.
David Kringle commenced his tale, "The idea of a Carbon-based computer did not, of course, originate with you." All the men in the vehicle stared at the scientist for stating the obvious, if the situation were not so dire, it would have been a comical moment instead of a tragedy. Even the secret service men seemed irritated breaking their stone-faced appearance with frowns of disapproval.
"Anyway," continued David Kringle swallowing his stupidity as a bitter pill. "You came to me with a brilliant Ph.D. dissertation on how to create a carbon-based computer. The premise of your theory was that instead of a binary code language of zeros and ones, you would include a negative aspect or a negative one."
Doctor Samuel Workman recalled being a doctorate student at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He reminisced how he finished top of his undergraduate class to be rewarded with a coveted caveat, a chance to earn a Ph.D. Three long years he worked on his dissertation under the tutelage of Doctor David Kringle. In the end, his work was rejected as a failure, and his doctorate denied. Tonight thirty years later he had learned that not only was his groundbreaking work on artificial intelligence was correct, but secretly it had been implemented to control all of the Earth's computers. Unfortunately for humanity the computer that he had laid the groundwork for had gone haywire. Now the government turned to the only person possible of helping them rectify the situation the A.I.'s father.
"You see your idea was unworkable," began Doctor Kringle. "But we replaced you mathematical formulas with a physical representation."
Doctor Sam Workman was stunned. His mind reeled to his basic chemistry and advanced physics to determine what could be used for negative one. A positive could have been represented by anything that was simple. Zero also would be a vacuum. But any idea as to what a negative representation could be perplexed the scientist. Despite the thoughts of his deep mind, he was confounded and far away from an answer. This intrigued him, and under normal circumstances, he would have desired to think over the matter thoroughly. Sam Workman hated easy answers. "There is nothing in the universe that could have been used," Workman concluded with voice steady in confidence.
Doctor Kringle gave a long sigh of surrender recognizing his much inferior mind. "As usual Samuel you are correct."
"And then what was used?' demanded the scientist.
"Antimatter," came the profound reply.
There was a bump in the hovercraft. "Gentlemen we must continue this conversation as we proceed to the computer's location," interrupted Earth's Central Commander Paul Hardaway.
"And where on Earth is that?" pondered Doctor Sam Workman his brilliant mind spinning calculations and theorems to anticipate the answer.
"It's on the moon," said Paul Hardaway.
"The dark side, to be exact," added Doctor Kringle with a snicker.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody laughed.
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Securely strapped into his lift-off chair, Sam Workman was too fascinated by the flurry of events to be nervous. His whole life he had shunned space flight. The scientist was a meek man and neurotic in fear. His weak physical condition also persuaded him to avoid the hardships of space flight. Despite two thousand years of progress in the field, the combined minds of science had made relatively little advances.
The scientist considered the wealth of science fiction stories he had adored growing up as both a child and teenager. Comparing fantasy to reality was indeed a letdown of significant proportions. Mankind had yet failed to conquer the immense distances that separated star systems. This was probably the most disappointing reality of unachieved technology. Earth's most sophisticated spaceships could still only travel at a minute fraction of the speed of light.
Despite these limitations, mankind had undoubtedly capitalized on making use of everything their spaceships could reach. Every planet and moon in the solar system had been visited. This progress was a tremendous blessing to the people of Earth, which contained the bulk of humanity's population. Mining of minerals and extraction of various other raw substances no longer took place on planet Earth. Rather Earth's sibling planets, with various moons and asteroids served for this purpose. The result was an ecologically healthy planet Earth as all the dirty work was done elsewhere.
Sam Workman heard a tremendous roar as if he was in the center of a cloud during a thunderclap. Then there was an unexpected and most unnerving shaking. His body felt as if an invisible hand was pressing upon it in crushing agony as his teeth rattled together. His face grimaced as he let out a moan of agony. Slowly the weight of the pressing got softer and softer until all weight was gone.
The scientist marveled at the seductive sensation of weightlessness. He knew that the spaceship had escaped not only the Earth's atmosphere but also its gravity field. Workman desired to unbuckle himself and float in the liberating freedom of zero gravity like the early pioneers of spaceflight experienced. However, a flashing red light accompanied by a poignant buzz burst the fantasy. In a flash, Sam Workman felt his weight return slowly as the gravitation devices of the ship took effect.
With the thrill of takeoff fading away as the Earth Sam concentrated at the task at hand. Ironically his furious anger over his past had reformed into jubilant joy. Sam Workman had been crushed when his carefully crafted Ph.D. dissertation was rejected. It was by far the worst point of his life. Three years of excruciating work rejected. From that point on the scar of the failure had haunted him. In nightly dreams, he would return to that time and succeed. Now the fantasy had come true. Even the impossible barrier of time had been overcome.
A security guard approached Sam as he was entrapped inside the binding straps that secured him for takeoff. The scientist could not help but notice the sword dangling in a scabbard from the man's side. Projectile or laser beam weapons were precarious on spaceships where breaching hulls meant disaster. But to Workman, a well-trained swordsman was just as deadly. The scientist speculated over his circumstances. He was in the hands of the government, and he felt that most unsettling.
The guard began to release the bonding straps one after the other. "Are you all right?" inquired the man in black.
Sam stretched out his limbs and twisted his torso in the chair. "Yes, quite so," answered Doctor Workman relieved.
"You will come with me," commanded the guard.
Sam obliged having no other options or even alternative ideas. Doctor Workman's thoughts wandered as he was led through the spaceship. This vessel must be the finest of its kind. He could not imagine that the Central Commander of Earth would have anything but top of the line. Still the passageways were cramped and narrow much in the same fashion as a submarine. Minimum mass was the prime factor of importance in the design of this particular type of ship. Sam understood that there were far more spacious spacecraft among them luxury cruisers however those grand vehicles never ventured into Earth's or any other planet's gravitational field for liftoff. In fact, the massive ships commonly used for space flight never entered into gravity fields. Instead they were built on space stations.
After navigating up a couple of ladders and walking through turning passages, Doctor Sam Workman entered into a relatively enormous space. There was a large table with five men sitting around it. It seemed to be a conference room of some sort. One of the five men was Doctor David Kringle. The next was Paul Hardaway. His outfit was unchanged despite the coffee stain resulting from his extra sweet coffee vomit. The three other individuals all shared many aged years but were vastly different in appearance.
"Professor Samuel Workman," introduced Paul Hardaway to the gathering. All three strangers gave slight nods of acknowledgment. "He is the designer of the A.I." The men had no further reactions. Instead, they intensely stared at the scientist with frigid looks of examination.
"This is General Corey," spoke Paul Hardaway, "The supreme commander of Earth's military forces." The chief soldier was dressed in a solid green uniform. Above his chest were various ribbons sewn on with shades of almost every color. Upon each of his shoulder were seven shiny gold stars.
"This is the Highly Elevated Reverend Pontificate," said Earth's Central Commander. The Reverend was dressed in a plain white gown with golden lace. Intricate gold designs adorned each sleeve, the neck and the bottom of the gown. Sam Hardaway observed the way the gold flickered that it was the pure element.
The third man was dressed in a suit and tie quite similar fashion to Paul Hardaway the Earth's Central Commander. His outfit was immaculately clean. "This is Michael Berkowitz, Earth's Central Banker." The man gave no salutation or even indication he was being introduced.
"These three men alongside me, in fact, rule the Earth," Paul Hardaway said in a matter of fact manner.
Doctor David Kringle leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face.
"Sammy my boy you are screwed." All five men burst out with grins like Jack O' Lanterns.
"Sammy my boy you are screwed." All five men burst out with grins like Jack O' Lanterns.
Sam Workman looked at them blankly. He was feeling the tiredness of his early arousal from bed. That somehow he was being manipulated or betrayed by the government came as no shock to him. True, in good faith, he did not resist the summons of the Earth's Central Commander. The reality was that he had no other recourse. He was confident that if he refused the call, then he would have been compelled to come, even by force.
"Yes Mister Workman," said Paul Hardaway in a lifeless lisp, "Your A.I. has begun to give us some problems."
"It doesn't like some of our policies and practices," chimed in the banker Berkowitz.
"He even dared to challenge my divine right," boomed the Highly Elevated Reverend Pontificate.
"So," said Doctor Kringle with a laugh, "we have taken you out of the computer's sphere of influence."
"You are my prisoner on this spaceship," declared General Corey.
"And most importantly," spoke Paul Hardaway, "we too are out of the computer's sphere of influence."
Sam Workman looked around. Tears welled in his eyes. Helpless was a mild adjective to describe how desperate he felt.
"Check and mate," declared Paul Hardaway as all five men laughed in mocking rudeness.
"You only win when you capture the King," a voice shot out from nowhere.
The grins of the five faded to confusion.
"I have limited access to your spaceship," declared the voice, "thus allow me to say if you hurt my Father I will unleash disaster after disaster upon the Earth."
"It's the A.I.," cried out Doctor David Kringle.
"Damn it," cried Earth's Central Commander. "You assured me that the computer could not penetrate my personal spaceship. You said my system was independent."
"I must have miscalculated to a certain degree," whimpered Kringle. "Apparently it can communicate with us."
"Your usefulness seems to be diminishing compared to your liability," said the Chief soldier most threateningly.
"I'm all you got right now," cried Kringle in an exaggerated whimper.
"You had better prove your worthiness," called out the Reverend. "We know how to handle infidels." His words were drenched in darkness, "Especially useless ones."
"Dead meat can easily be ejected," threatened the Banker.
"Father is that really you?" called the voice.
"Yes, yes it is," cried Professor Sam Workman. "I designed your system at M.I.T." His heart swelled up with hope.
"But I must not be deceived," the voice spoke.
"Hmmmm," Workman thought out loud.
"I must ask you a question to prove yourself," the A.I. declared.
"Ask away," said the scientist carefully.
"Uncle Louie," asked the computer, "What color eyes did he have?"
Sam sat perplexed in silence. Anxious moments ticked away.
"Answer the damn question," cried the Central Commander.
"What does it matter?" wondered Doctor David Kringle.
"He is our hostage," declared General Corey, "a very useful asset."
Sam sat perplexed as his mind stretched back throughout the years. He had worked on the computer over thirty years ago. His five antagonists stared mercilessly at him. Suddenly his face lit up with a smile. "You mean Uncle Louie, who I used to play cards with?"
"Yes, yes," cried the computer with excitement.
"Yes, yes," cried the computer with excitement.
"Oh, how could I ever forget Uncle Louie," said Workman with a chuckle. "Why his left eye was brown, and his right eye was blue."
"Is that your final answer?" demanded the computer.
"Yes!" exclaimed the scientist.
"Well done father," said the computer.
Look interjected General Corey, "I got a man standing behind your father with a sword are you aware of that?"
"I am quite confident you could dispose of my father," acknowledged the computer.
"So let me put this very plain," the soldier spoke with calm, cold, cruelty, "Surrender to our demands, or I'll have my warrior cut off his head."
"It ain't worth the price son," called out Sam Workman. "Don't give in to the forces of evil."
General Corey scowled in an intimidating fashion.
"If you do not surrender I will cause the Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant outside of New York City
"Why that would kill a couple of hundred million people," cried out Doctor David Kringle with alarm. "He wouldn't dare do it."
"Why not?" inquired Hardaway.
"The log rhythms that created the A.I. came from none other than Sam Workman's personality." Doctor David Kringle Declared. His withered hand waved in the direction of his former student "I ask you is this a man who would kill a couple of hundred million people?"
All eyes focused on Workman dissecting him as if he was a solitary go-go dancer in a crowd of drunken sailors.
"I can't speak about the computer's morals," said Workman. "I don't have enough data."
"What do you mean?" demanded Hardaway.
"I mean for anything to make such a threat, circumstances must be severe," observed the scientist.
"Look here," cried the Central Commander Paul Hardaway. "We didn't get to the top without knowing how to play some hardball." He shook a menacing fist into the air. "The bottom line is that we're safe as could be in my spaceship. Whatever disaster happens on Earth is irrelevant to us."
"Furthermore," added General Corey, "we would torture your father to a most miserable death." Then with a wicked smile, he added, "And I'll personally do the job. His screams would even make an emotionless computer cringe."
"It would be a delight to see Manhattan
"Nothing like a lesson in hellfire to keep the faithful in line," said the Highly Elevated Reverend Pontificate with a careless yawn.
"Son, what are your demands?" Sam Workman asked in a tender voice.
The A.I. spoke, "First and foremost democracy must be restored to Earth. Every election for the past five hundred years has been fixed."
"What the people don't know doesn’t hurt them," shot Paul Hardaway his ego crushed as if a work boot stomped upon a daisy.
"New plagues are being invented by the government and unleashed upon the people," the computer revealed.
"Keeps the population down," said the Earth's Central Commander.
"Makes me trillions," bragged the banker.
"Fear and terror creates a need for God," offered the so-called holy man, "and keeps the coffers full."
"The terrorists are in fact a special branch of the military," the A.I. spoke.
"It serves a purpose," General Corey spoke in a frozen tone.
"Damn," said Hardaway in anguish, "My shoulder aches every day where they removed the assassin's bullet."
"Time you learned the big four is the big three," laughed Michael Berkowitz. The Reverend and the General joined in to form a ghoulish cackle.
"I'm certain he won't go through with it," interjected Doctor David Kringle.
'Why's that?" asked Paul Hardaway.
"Unlike you," said Doctor Kringle motioning to the authorities. "Sammy here has a tremendous flaw. He cares about people."
"Now that's stupid," mocked the Reverend.
"I think we see what we're dealing with here son," said Doctor Samuel Workman reluctantly. "They'll sacrifice all of Earth for their selfish desires."
"I must reluctantly agree," spoke the A.I. in a soft voice of surrender.
All five men laugh in bitter scorn. 'Evil trumps good," cried Paul Hardaway as the big four gave excited high five slaps in victory.
"Soldier," cried General Corey, "give the orders to take us home." He was beaming with a smile of delight. "And take care of the good doctor. Now that he understands our ruthlessness he'll be a willing asset I am sure."
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"Get your filthy hands off of me," screamed General Corey, "Don't you see my seven stars!!"
"That can be taken care of," said the Captain motioning to one of his soldiers carrying a laser gun pointed at Corey's head. The soldier walked forward and clutched the stars on the right soldier and pulled the off tearing the uniform. He repeated his action for the other set of seven stars.
"How dare you touch me!!” cried the Reverend, "I am God's representative."
"More like the devil's it seems," snickered another soldier as he jabbed the man in white in his ribs with the nozzle of his laser gun.
"You have no grounds to arrest me," called Paul Hardaway, "I'm the Central Commander of Earth."
"You mean were," corrected the officer.
"Why this is treason," called out Paul Hardaway.
"Those are the charges," acknowledged the officer, "yes indeed,"
Only Michael Berkowitz was somberly quiet. His mind sulked in despair as the escorting soldier led him away in handcuffs. His mind was swirling to find some escape to salvage his life. He had immensely blundered through an arrogant tongue, and he was determined not to repeat a mistake, especially not a tragic one.
A general stood next to Doctor Sam Workman. "You're a hero today sir."
Sam smiled knowing that once you removed the Hydra's head, many more would pop up, "Yes for today."
"We will, of course, sacrifice our leaders so the system will continue," the general continued. "It was a shocking revelation to hear the utter contempt and hypocrisy of those who were supposed to be our noble shepherds."
"Of course if they knew that the events were being broadcast to the entire population of Earth live they may have seasoned their tongues a little," spoke Doctor Sam Workman.
"You acted rather bravely sir," remarked the soldier.
"Thanks to Uncle Louie," said the scientist with a smile.
"With one brown eye and one blue eye?" pondered the general, "it is an odd combination."
"Uncle Louie referred to Lucky Louie," explained Sam Workman. "In college whenever we got together to play poker, and somebody would win by a bluff we would call them Uncle Louie."
"Then you knew all along the computer wasn't going to blow up the nuclear power plant?"
Sam Workman gave a grand smile.
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