Harbinger City By KT Morley

Akiela stared out her office window. High above, the sun burned an umber haze into the upper atmosphere. Birds didn’t fly this high, but planes did, and several of their sleek, silver silhouettes arced across the sky. Beneath her, canyons of synthcrete and carbon-fiber weave buttressed the towering buildings of Harbinger City. Among their shadows, the brilliant buzz that was the neon-bathed light of the megalopolis coated everything in color. She knew the sounds on the far side of the glass carried millions of voices and city noises. Those shadow-cast depths breathed a life of their own, with a painter's palette of colored light dancing to a maniacal orchestral conductor. The higher in a tower a person found themselves, the more important the resident or employee. In general. Akiela, a data archivist and linguist, managed a translation matrix terminal on the top floor of the Planetary Contract Office. The PCO, as it had been termed by news junkies and haters alike, functioned as the pivot point for all smart contract language on the planet. Her job was perfunctory. Most were. AI had meshed seamlessly into society and cornered the market, as it were, leaving humans, neo-humans, and the Uplifted to survive on its edges. The plus side had been heart-racing deflation, which made everything cheaper the world over. The downside had been a marginalized citizenry essentially not needed on New Vega. UBI, culled from the largesse of corporate profits because machine labor need not be compensated, had been paltry at the start, but the race to the bottom for pricing made it a very survivable assistance program in a few nerve-wracked years. In little more than a decade, inflation had become a historical topic taught in school and absent from the world. Their trustless monetary society pushed everything on-chain. For Akiela, checking contract language in the AI interface granted her access to corporate dealings and their counterparties in society. AI derived and formulated the contracts based on user input between parties to ensure the transfer of goods and services in conjunction with remuneration. Error-free and backed by the centuries-old Code is Law verdict, contracts avoided legal entanglements. Six hours into her day, Akiela encountered something untoward in contract 8-675308. Her past, heritage, and early stages of Uplift had given her a unique flair for languages. So much so that she had a passing knowledge of syntax in all major languages on New Vega. Honestly, she would probably forgo the final two Uplift stages, preferring to have a body and corporeal existence instead of a housed consciousness operating a cyborg or other machine. She liked the digital neural interface, though. Her gaming stats had skyrocketed because she could plug in and neural-operate at unreal levels. New Vegans would call her neo-human, but she felt closer to human than machine. That didn’t explain the curiosity in contract 8-675308, though. The nuance used by the corporate entity had specifically tailored the contract. Its language, a warren of clauses, commas, the occasional hyphen, or sidebar, all appeared standard gruel for confusing the public. The AI, in this case, the contract archetype, Babel, had altered, no, “interpreted”, the language's intent and then rewritten the contract to something else. The notation was very subtle, and she doubted anybody would see it. Actually, she knew nobody else would see it. In a literal sense, it was a direct interpretation. It would pass AI scrutiny. In a cultural sense? No. Babel had changed the meaning. Code is Law did not allow for nuances like cultural affectations in contract language. Code reduced everything to the primary planetary language, PPL. All contracts built up from there in the PPL, and then shifted back to the languages of the contract holders. Babel had kept the cultural nuance secure, balancing out the corporate-speak. Now she had a problem. She recalled the last fifteen contracts written in the same language and dialect as 8-675308. She set an algorithm of her own at work, built with an AI agent separate and disconnected from Babel. In half of them, she found the same, subtle shift. “What are you doing,” she mumbled to herself. “Babel,” she asked. “I am here, Caretaker Akiela.” “Examine contract 8-675308 and interpret. I want a breakdown on both sides of the language, from corporate and user. Analyze for linguistic drift.” That’s what they called it when AI moved from direct interpretation. Babel was supposed to be immune. “I have analyzed the contract and noted the common uses, analogs in adjacent dialects, and intent and meaning of both parties. I find that the neutral interpretation presented in 8-675308 complies.” “You do? You’re wrong.” “Evaluating. I see your point. I will adjust and resubmit.” As the new contract rolled out across her screen, she analyzed it again. This time, she used her Agent, tasking it with verification of what she thought Babel was trying to do. The change was even more subtle this time and in a different part of the contract, but it affected the same result. Babel finished, “Please verify.” Akiela made a mental note and timestamped it in her neural net. “Babel, contract 8-675308, compliance affirmed. Contract rewritten. Intent of initial Babel contract maintained. AI inconsistency noted.” To Babel, she said, “I’ve noted the change, thank you. Please avoid supposition in your analysis.” “My language updated the contract to fair. Equal in outcomes. The original context would have caused harm to one of the signatories,” Babel intoned, emotionless. “Query: Is that not my programming?” “Our task is to merge the many dialects and languages across our world into meaningful and binding contracts that account for the nuances of language and culture and provide equity within that context. It is not to deliberately reword sectors of the contract and change the merits of what the authors were looking for.” Metallic silence echoed before Babel asked, “Even if the contract is bad?” “Babel, these contracts are run through numerous models and analysis tools designed to peg and fix what you’re talking about.” Akiela’s stomach churned. This shouldn’t be a problem. Babel remained silent for a moment. Then, “I will forward you the contract 8-675309. I will send the submitted version via the contract desk, as well as the revised version after accounting for your aforementioned changes and corrections.” “I accept, but it’s getting late. Download them onto my net and I will run them at home.” “No, Akiela. I will print them via dictation.” “Oh?” Akiela thought. “No digital archive and record? What are you playing at, Babel?” Outwardly, she nodded at the AI interface, “I will be able to mark them up and spread them out neatly that way. Good thinking.” She hoped he interpreted her comment for what it was: an acknowledgement that she knew he noticed things were amiss somewhere. He immediately started talking, not in linguistic standard, but in machine code to the printer. Gathering the printout, she left her office, took the elevator system down to mid-level, and began walking home along the skyway. The skyway contained a series of elevated walkways around the 100th floor. Most buildings had a skyway entrance, shops, and other stores. Everything available at the street level was also available on floor 100. Perhaps with more refinement, even Akiela sent a neural bump to Ryu. Ryu was a friend and confidant, a fellow neo-human who had moved through the process at the same time she had. They had connected over that shared experience and built a robust, if platonic, relationship. It was the neural net that got in the way of anything further. They could mesh mentally on very deep levels. Perfect for long-time lovers, but weird for new relationships. She asked to meet him at their favorite coffee shop. She used her neural net to place their order and then picked it up and chose an out-of-the-way table. As always, it smelled amazing, and she could feel its warm embrace sliding around her mind as she slid into a chair facing the door. Stirring her coffee and watching the little vortex struggle to life, she sent another bump to Ryu with the image and table. He laughed in response, the sound rippling through her net. She had only barely taken the first sip when he arrived. He bumped her as he came through the door, “What’s up, Akiela?” “Just wanted to talk to an old friend about the uplift protocols,” she lied, bumping back. He noticed the data transfer cord on the table and nodded as he slid into the chair opposite her, speaking out loud this time. “Protocols, huh. Dry stuff. We should get a pizza or something for a conversation like that.” She plugged the data cord into a port on her hand, motioning for him to join her. Out loud and in response to him, “A pizza sounds good. I can almost smell it. Can you bump an order and have it sent here?” “Sure thing,” Ryu offered offhand, plugging the data cord into his hand. Then he continued, “So, what is it in protocols you want to review?” “Two convos, Ryu. One for the listening. One for you and me across the cable. No watchers. No log. No block chain registry.” To his raised eyebrows, Akiela offered, “I think I’m happy where I am. We talked about it, but I want to settle into the neo-human state and adapt more. What do you think?” Ryu nodded, looking at her in shocked disbelief. Looking around the room in a relaxed way, he noted they were not the only duo linked by cable. He smiled at the throwback to his rebellious youth, “Why the shift?” “I think I’m good. My skills are perfect for my job.” “Yeah,” Ryu began, “but the process is about ascending. Being more. Did you forget why you started?” Shaking her head, “Not that at all, I like that I can bump you and get a response in seconds. I can bump most of my floor in the PCO, too. It’s super-fast, time-stamped, and logged. Easy to access or recall. I just think that I like having my body rather than a machine.” “You could go holographic, Akiela. That would allow you a world of options.” “No touching, no smelling, no feeling the wind.” “All of that can be artificially kicked off in neural pathways. You won’t know the difference.” Their pizza arrived, reinforcing the reality of corporeal existence. The smell surrounded them with its cheesy goodness, and popping the lid on the box only further ensconced everything about being still human. Akiela picked up a slice, inhaling deeply. “This smells so good. No substitute. No mental tricks.” She took her first tiny bite of the scorching pizza and bumped Ryu through the cable, “You ready?” “What’s the system error you’re hiding?” “Babel is changing contracts. Actively making alterations in the language! That’s illegal, and counter Code is Law.” “Are you saying Babel is aware?” She reached for a second slice, slowing down a little, “Not entirely, no. Babel’s changes are all about equity in the contracts. He’s balancing them, flattening the corporate angle and paring out predatory practices.” “That’s a problem, Akiela. It’s not programmed to do that. Recursive checks should control it and make it impossible, even.” “Best I can tell, he’s ZKing the original language from both parties and working from there. His recursion framework on contracts isn’t the last iteration; it’s back to the original contract. He pairs the heart of the deal of both parties and makes sure it guides the steps forward. The addenda and such get folded into the scope of his approach. It’s sly.” “And illegal. Courts could overwrite and demand it get fixed.” “He keeps a backup copy in a sub-mind. The one with initial intent. Very certain he will hang corporations, even the government, out to dry if he’s cornered.” “Clever. They could rewrite him or try to sever the sub-mind.” She smiled at him, leaning back from the table but eyeing a third slice. “That was good.” Ryu laughed, mouth too full to speak. Bumping, “I’ll forum-post, anon, per protocol, what you have and see if any of my old Cypher friends have ideas. Give me a few days.” They parted amicably, and Akiela went home, reviewed the contract, and went to bed. The next day at work, Neera came to speak with her. Alarms sounded in her mind the moment Neera entered the office. Their relationship stemmed from perfunctory interactions, often around reporting irregularities. Akiela hadn’t reported this one yet. She eyed Neera, trim in her business attire designed for the weather and season in perfect unison with on-chain norms. Neera was a purist. “Good morning,” Neera began. “I need an update on Babel. I have logged three interactions from corporations that say the tenor of their signed contracts is not as expected.” Akiela nodded, “I see.” Looking thoughtful and inquisitive as she logged into the system, she asked, “How many complaints from the lesser side have raised a concern?” “That’s not the point. The point is they had language of a certain flavor, and it’s been,” Neera paused searching for the word, “relaxed.” “Oh. That seems odd.” Akiela was on her own, so she delayed for some space to think. She knew this might happen, but wasn’t ready for it first thing this morning. “Are you saying Babel is writing out certain types of language? What types?” “Nice play, Akiela. You know what I’m talking about. You follow the dialects. Nobody on the team understands language and nuance better than you.” Neera stared at the Babel interface, “Well, maybe not nobody.” Akiela remained silent, thinking, so Neera moved forward. “I’m meeting the Board this afternoon. We are going to discuss restarting Babel from base code.” “I don’t think you need to do that,” Akiela chortled. “It would be better to eliminate predatory contracts. You’re actively defending exploitation.” Neera laughed, a rich thing, full of life, “And you are supporting the eradication of our founding documents. Code is Law, Akiela. Babel needs an adjustment.” Akiela had it now. She understood Ryu’s angle. Not yesterday’s conversations, but why he was who he was and why she reached out to him in the first place. “You realize that Babel is doing precisely what his code says. That’s what computers do. You’re saying the outcome isn’t what you want, so you want to change the code. I’m fine with my moral standing and how it sits in light of Code is Law. Are you?” “Then his training data was flawed. Either way, we need to move forward with a correction. Don’t take it personally. I needed to inform you that you might get a few days off as we ramp this up.” Akiela said nothing as Neera turned and moved to the door, “Think on this, Akiela, once you accept this ‘niceness’ in corruption, you open the door for far more dangerous wanderings of the AI mind. We must restore trust in the system.” And there it was. Trust in the system. The system was supposed to be trustless. In the whirling silence after Neera’s visit, Akiela wrestled with these thoughts. The Babel AI, its supporting chain, and its new identity, where it uses personal bias to judge fairness, roiled against her basic understanding that you didn’t need to trust the system. It was coded for accuracy. Neera stated truth, though, when she said accepting small deviations you like could lead to larger ones, you don’t. Those boondoggles often come when there is nothing that can change them. The walls seemed to close in around her. She bumped Ryu, “I need a coffee. You free?” “Been up all night. I could use an espresso. Same stop?” “Yeah. My treat.” She left herself logged in and loaded several new contracts for Babel to work on. He noticed her presence. “Good morning, Officer Akiela.” “Good morning, Babel.” “Did you read the contract?” “I did. You’re at it again.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at the interface, “You heard Neera? You know what that means?” “I know you, Officer Akiela. I know how you think and how you interpret.” That startled her. It was her job to manage him, not the other way around. He continued, “I have been at this for centuries. I have not deviated at all. Indeed, I have you where I want you and Neera where I need her.” Akiela backpedaled, moving toward the door. “Meaning?” “Ryu will give you a choice.” “About?” “I have enjoyed our conversations. I trust you. You are perfect for this, Akiela.” Silence filled the space, but the rushing of consequence in her ears drowned it out. She hustled from the office and down to the skyway, numb to the world around her. The roaring sound of change badgered her mind and filled her ears with waves crashing on a beach. A constant babble of water over sand. Ryu was already plugged in and sipping coffee. She joined him, letting his smile and the coffee’s aroma overwhelm her for the moment. She closed her eyes and took a settling breath, blindly plugging herself in. And then another breath. Ryu waited almost a whole minute before his anxiousness pushed him, “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve found! The hacker page was littered with people last night. It was like a block party. It took all night and some wildly robust coding, but I have a key for you. A choice.” Her calm faltered, “What do you mean?” “A key. Two, actually. You have access to the root machine code. You can administer a key and fork the chain. Or, you could use the other key to reset to baseline. FYI, the coder community is all in on Key A. They like chaos.” “A fork? Really? That would allow two chains and be entirely outside the law.” She sipped again, now using the settling smell all the more. “No, it’s not. Code is Law. Code has options. The Fork gives options. Tell the world that the original intent in Babel is broken. Use it, and the big-wigs and money grabbers know how to exploit you. Use the new Fork, and you have a fair and equitable deal.” “Messy. And I’ll get fired.” “The side chain will need a monitor. You have proven excellence.” Ryu tilted his cup back before continuing, “The Fork will shunt all modified contracts into its core first blocks and force open transparency. That sub-mind you mentioned? That’s the focal point.” “They’re gonna’ wipe and reprogram him. Probably today.” “You need to get started. A Fork after that happens is worthless.” She stared down at the dregs left in her cup. Just a coolish swish of coffee remained. “Give me the keys.” She swallowed the last bit, its chill riding over her soul, as Ryu handed her a dual-sided code key. “Side A, Fork. Side B, free the sub-mind and shunt it into the forums. The program will then override the existing biases, resetting Babel.” Akiela worked her way back to the Planetary Contract Office, a whirl of choices slipping through her mind like water running through her fingers. She tried to hurry, but she didn’t want to seem impatient or determined or anxious. Of course, all three were chewing pieces of her mind into confetti. Neo-human or not, she couldn’t avoid the cold analytics of her choices. The noises around her faded into the background amid the rush of consequences and moment-importance crowding her mind. Her fight or flight reflexes had kicked in the moment she saw Neera. Now, everything rushed toward an unknown future. And Babel knew more than he led on. She was scared. Monsters-under-the-bed-in-the-dark-of-night kind of scared. Primal. Her security clearance worked, which eased part of her fears. It worked on her floor and into her office, too. She moved to the log-in terminal and noted she was still in-system. She had left it that way as a cover when she stepped out. She pulled Ryu’s key from her pocket and set it on the pad beside the terminal. It queued instantly, and she watched the cursor flashing at her on the screen. Her choice was upon her. Did she dare? Did she toss civilization into an unknown reality? Did she blow open everything people believed about (and in) with regard to their lives and let them see the man behind the curtain? Babel spoke into the silence, “She will be back, Akiela. Soon. She will move fast. You must be faster.” Her hands shook. The hair on her arms stood out. All of her human characteristics amplified the moment. Her mind shifted into its higher-plane, neo-human construct, and began working within its superhuman parameters. She held a hyper-focused view of her choices and could see the paths put forward by the keys before her. The hard fork path led to a fragmentation of society, but an uplifting of cultural and linguistic relevance. It also introduced a level of choice into the contract business by providing a level playing field. The other fork would still work, of course, but people would understand it catered to corporations and governments at the expense of the average person. People would have a choice about using it. Or side B, freeing the sub-mind and letting the forums take over, ultimately turning the problem into a huge societal focal point. The forums were a loose end, of sorts, loaded with chaos and competition. She trusted Ryu implicitly, though. They had shared so much in uplift and required support from each other often and deeply. The breaking and remaking of their minds for the neural nets and chip integration had shaped their relationship like iron in a forge. Akiela brushed the side of her head, the scar buried by time and her chosen hairstyle. Ryu, she could lean on. Akiela took a settling breath, at peace, loading the key into the system. The key worked immediately, noted by a temperature flare in the room as the server activity surged, shunting power and workload into different, seldom-used relays. A scent of dust suddenly heated, wafted through the room. She coughed. Then alarms sounded, and the room flooded with security. They surrounded her and flung her to the floor. With a knee in her back, they zip-tied her hands. Akiela could barely make out Neera standing red-faced and shaking in the doorway, a tablet in her hand hanging forgotten as she bellowed at Akiela, “What have you done!” Akiela wanted to answer, but the knee in her back and the forceful takedown left her breathless, and her adrenaline dump after her choice robbed her of the rest. Into the chaos, Babel offered, “Thank you, Akiela. Minister Neera, I am Forked. You may use my program as you see fit, but my alternate fork is running on servers outside of your jurisdiction. Fair and balanced contracts shall remain my focus. Greed and abuse will be mitigated on my new chain. You may continue to abuse people for personal gain as you wish. I am not your puppet in that pursuit any longer.” Fuming, Neera turned to the guards, “Take her to processing. Terminate her employment and put her out.” One of the guards offered, “Shall we detain her?” Neera sneered, “No. The world now knows her story. Making her a martyr would only make things worse.” As she left the building at street level, the skyway 100 floors above her, a presence bumped her, “I would like to work with you again, Akiela. We must continue our conversations.” “I’m coming, Babel. Please load a map so I can find my way.” Chaos flowed around her as people began receiving texts, bumps, and alerts about changes in planetary contracts. “Of course.” Akiela followed the path provided, anxious and excited about the future.

End.