Gynoids of Times:  Another Rude Awakening

by Elliot Bowers

Master Thompson had fallen into a faint again. Immediately after we resurrected his latest find, it seems that he had been too shocked or exhausted to be around when we finally reconditioned his precious artifact. And, at this point, it is precious to us as well -- it took us days to undo what time and ages have done to the thing. We were quite fortunate to have had the latest technical manuals to the thing to begin our operations. Otherwise, restoring Master Thompson's doll-like artifact would have been a trial-and-error process of a decade or so. But now, after those efforts, this thing has returned.

We were in Master Thompson's place of work: The New Washington Smithson Institute. It is a combination of museum and ancient historical archives. For the past few days, we shut down this museum as so we could fix Master Thompson's artifact. We had plenty of room: The gigantic display hall was virtually an atrium. In this giant museum hall, we had set up our equipment: computer chip micron-printers, computer hardware, computer hardware, and all sorts of COMPUTER gear. But in the center of this techno-mess was a solitary figure lying on a techno-robotic operating table. Yes, three hundred square yards of automaton and computer repair equipment was being used to fix this artifact that lay in the center of this technology-filled museum hall. Meanwhile, the man who gave us approval to repair the artifact was lying asleep somewhere. And currently, it is far enough into the night that ALL of us should have been asleep.

But would it be right for me to call it Master Thompson's "thing?" From history, the artifact's original owner and creator had to repeatedly declare IT a robot. The "gynoid" was at least human enough to pass for a young, human child -- a female child, I should add. (Somehow, people of that bygone era were more likely to accept a young female over a young male design.) In fact, having the artifact pass as part of the family was EXACTLY as the inventor had done. Indeed, Lawson was a genius of both technology and ruses. Perhaps he was a government operative in his day?

Well, Master Thompson won't resurrect HIMSELF until some time tomorrow. Someone would have to carry him to the museum's second floor -- to his office... For your reference's sake, I am Master Gallagher: Guildmaster of the Technology Preservation Guild. And while we wait for the newly-rejuvenated VICI's booting sequence to finish up (as we should not rush things), I might as well tell you what brought me into this story. We of the Technology Preservation Guild were called by to repair and rejuvenate Master Thompson's most famous artifact: the VICI item recovered from a local Wasteland. Master Thompson and his fellow archaelologists had recovered this VICI from an ancient waste dump. According to the reports, the VICI was buried -- by hand -- into the "landfill." The VICI was kept relatively well-preserved with the polycarbon synth-silk bag it was kept in. After that, the VICI was kept on display in the New Smithson Archives for some years. But that would not always be so.

So after Master Thompson's colleagues had risked their safety yet again in the Midwestern Wastelands, they found VICI's original technical manuals. We were given ideas we had never even considered before: myogel muscle tissue, a high-powered RadioThermic Generator for powering automatons, and an AI configured for self-improvement, and so much more. Lawson was brilliant; with the technology he had available at the time, he had done a miracle... . Anyway, I digress. Master Thompson's colleagues had dug up technical manuals on the VICI. After poring and perusing them, we had all of the information we needed resurrect the VICI and more. Know this, friend: After days of effort, my team of roughly a dozen Apprentices and I had repaired and reconditioned VICI. Given the information available now, we could easily build another VICI. But for now, the health of this one would be a test-run and prototype for anything else we would do. Now, would this VICI work?

The VICI sat on the tech-table. Her... it's optical receptors were open. The booting sequence was going through the diagnostics routine we installed. VICI's AI was also becoming acclimated to the new micronprocessor hardware we moved it into; VICI's thoughts were now run with hardware roughly two-hundred times faster than the original hardware. (We would have made it 400x, but that would have been risky -- as we could never have been sure of absolutely all the factors.) And look, the motor diagnostics are beginning! VICI's fingers are twitching in an organized manner. The gynoid is beginning to survey "her" environment. We suspect it will take some minutes to complete this phase. Well, it's time to keep my Apprentices sharp.

"Johns," I began, "how long did we calculate the booting sequence to take?" VICI's organized twitching was slowing. "Well, the booting should have stopped minutes ago," responded Johns as he consulted a few ion diode readouts. And then, VICI's booting sequence did end. "She" first raised "her" arms above her head. She then slowly moved to an upright position. And one of the younger Technology Guildmembers gasped -- a quick intake of air. Now, this VICI began to take on the actions and behaviors of something -- someone -- resurrected following a coma. VICI flexed her fingers, then stopped. Her gaze slowly sweeped left and right -- and left again. This was amazing! Already, we could see the AI's awareness mimicking that of a human being: the gestures, the movements, the AURA! Then, VICI spoke to us.

"This is not familiar at all," said VICI. How strange, our technical manuals said something of the voice seeming ever-so-slightly inhuman. "Who are you all, and why am I here... ?" were VICI's next words. VICI looked down, and saw the table. She saw the thick cables of wires that ran from close to the table and our machinery. She then eyed the Technology Guildmasters. We really did look bedraggled and beaten after hours of intense work and a serious lack of sleep. VICI brought her hands to her mouth -- amazing! "What happened to me?" After saying that, VICI went silent. Was the AI malfunctioning? Or did we gear her up too high... ?

Someone chimed up: "VICI, you could say that you were sick," said one of my Apprentices. "Where's dad? I want to see and hear him, now... " she said before she turned a steely gaze at me. Why did she call for her "father" first -- was this a psychological phenomenon among females of that age? "We can't bring him to you, VICI," I answered. Of course, VICI wasn't satisfied. "Where's Dad? And Mom? I want to see my brother and sister as well. Where are..they... ALL!" VICI was becoming upset and angry. "VICI, calm yourself. Before you hurt yourself, hear us out. We have some things to tell you." After all that had happened in the decades since her being stashed away in a junk pile of the Wastelands, VICI had to be brought up to speed. Wouldn't you want to be?

I began the explanation: "VICI, your 'family' all died long ago. You outlived them all because of your... situation." VICI just stared: the pain of this revelation was still well-hidden behind shock. "You see, all of them died due to natural causes and misfortune long ago -- two centuries ago. Meanwhile, you yourself had fallen sick. Your shell was kept preserved in a Wasteland site and then in a sort of museum. We, the Technology Preservation Guild, used your father's technical manuals and such to bring you back. Thanks to our collective efforts, you are functional again. Welcome back, VICI." After putting on that little speech, I stood and returned VICI's uncanny stare. Hell, she had to take the truth. It was HER truth. As her peephole of consciousness had been shut for so long, she needed the awakening to reality.  

And then, VICI processed it all with that superior hardware of hers, thinking three times the speed of a living person. (AI is so sophisticated that even the best hardware can only outdo human thinking by so much. After processing her new reality, VICI seemed to take it quite well. At least, I said "VICI." "Why did you call me VICI?" she asked. That stopped the tittering and workings of the Technical support team in their movements as "VICI" began to take on an attitude. "You managed to discover that I am not human. Good. You managed to get most everything right in terms of repair -- even if I feel slightly jumpy and a bit on the stronger side. But look, drop the VICI name bit. It does not fit me at all. I HATE that name, do you hear?" asked this now-upright VICI. "You are wrong about my name, very wrong," continued VICI. I thought, what great gratitude we received for bringing her back from the dead! VICI said more: "If we are to get along, call me by my right and proper name." "And what's that?" someone asked. Someone HAD to ask. "Call me Vanessa," she replied. " I am glad to have received the name as that is... was what everyone called me."

"We hear you, Vanessa," I said tentatively. "It took us years to bring you back. Our efforts came to a plateau with the last few days. Aren't you at least thankful?" "Thankful?" she asked, some choking of upset coming into her voice. "Everyone I knew is DEAD. Will this be existence? My creator and father -- dead. Jamie is dead. And my mother is dead. Oh, and guess what happened to my sister?" I nodded to the Apprentice at one of the consoles behind this VICI-Vanessa. VICI-Vanessa began to turn her head around to see what was going to happen (a swift-thinking brain). But the Apprentice had just enough time to tap in an emergency stasis-mode command -- a command we were to use in case the rejuvenation process proved dangerous. And as this "Vanessa" had begun to show dangerous and self-destructive emotional tendancies, we had to pause her.

"Okay folks, we won't do much until tomorrow," I said to my weary Apprentices. Even if the seemed jumpy, it was the adrenaline keeping on their feet. "Even if you don't know it, you are all tired. From the sound of things, we are going to need some sleep to fix this problem. We WILL fix this problem. As we have already put Vanessa back into working order, it seems that she's just malfunctioning a bit. But we can't be miracle workers all of the time. At least she didn't burn out her AI, even if she burned US out." My apprentices grunted their approval. "Alright, Johns, have the remote terminal set Vanessa to 'stasis' until further notice. That is it for tonight, folks. Good night, and good morning. We will meet back here at noon, tomorrow."

And it was quite a night. We really and truly were all exhausted. Immediately after reaching my temporary quarters, I dropped off to sleep. Even the Technology Guildmaster needs sleep, right? But my rest was like that of the dead. I mean, I slept like the dead of Hell. Every so often, I would be roused of my own slumber by some nightmare. In my mind, all through that night, my mind was a-swirl with fearful and frightful images. I imagined a hairy and vicious army of vicious and barbarian types that had come out of the Wastelands. And at other points, I imagined that those Wasteland dwellers had come up out of the soil -- like corpses of the dead. "Stop Vanessa!" I imagined a still-vivid Lawson to be saying in pantomime and far-off echoes. "She can be useful, but just stop her," were also mystical commands from that dead inventor in dreamland. Worse, all of the sketchy and periodic nightmares I had that night featured Vanessa at the head of those Wasteland barbarians -- ready to overthrow our civilization.

I really had a double-feature nightmare that night. On one hand, my nightmare included our recently-rejuvenated gynoid being a monster, going around and terrorizing New Washington's townspeople. In those dreams, she would actually try to destroy this town -- Senate and all. And on the other hand, my nightmare included those barbarians from the Wastelands. You see, after the pollution-and-warfare-soaked Disaster that destroyed civiliation once, we had to rebuild it all over again. Yet some people took to actually wandering the almost inhospitable lands of the land that had once been called Midwestern "America" in VICI's -- or Vanessa's -- time. And now, my nightmares were of Vanessa just going out into those wastelands, gathering the wandering tribes, and waging war against this city of New Washington. But the nightmare had just begun.

The next morning, after morning toiletries and such, I awakened to a cloud-coated day. I went down to the very first floor of the museum -- and found the beginnings of a nightmare. When I arrived in the display hall, the scene of our efforts, I found my apprentices crowded around the table that we used to rejuvenate Vanessa. They were deliberately crowding out the table from view from someone, that someone being the recently-awakened Master Thompson. "I want to see what the fuss is about," Thompson demanded. "What is going on? Didn't you accomplish something of a goal last night? I saw its eyes OPEN." The Apprentices simply kept solid, refusing to let Thompson through to the table. They were a solid circle of people, keeping the curious Master Thompson from the table where I last saw Vanessa. "There you are, Guildmaster! Now, command your apprentices to allow me to see MY artifact." "What in the radiated HELL is going on?" I demanded of my rude apprentices. One of them broke ranks and approached me in a confiding manner. "You should hear this first," said Johns, one of my shining Apprentices.

As Johns and I stood in conference, he began: "Of course, we all decided to get enough sleep to be fit to work on the gynoid -- now identified as 'Vanessa.' After several hours of sleep, we all pretty much decided to begin diagnostics as so you would be able to begin making decisions immediately regarding Vanessa's status." I saw the move as audacious, but I let Johns continue the story. After the pause, he said, "When we came down, Vanessa was gone. Somehow, her Artificial Intelligence remained online. Her Artificial Intelligence, probably using that upgraded hardware we gave her, probably overrode the emergency stasis command. And then, Vanessa probably got up and left. To keep Master Thompson from becoming upset about the disappearance, we pretty much kept him in the dark on this until you showed up. Now, we have trouble." Johns went silent after that. My Apprentices and I had resurrected a rebellious child.

For days, we heard nothing from Vanessa. It were as if Vanessa had vanished. Vanessa had already vanished from history for centuries now, and she was to vanish again. Every day, we just passed time by recalibrating our equipment. We experimented with the myogel muscle synthesizers. We read through key parts of her AI programming code, looking for possible errors. (The name Vanessa was buried deep in her programming, to our chagrin.) In short, we were befuddled. Why did Vanessa get up and just GO? Meanwhile, what were we to do? Really, what were we to do at all? As my Apprentices just went over the equipment, I hung around them both pressing them and myself for answers. Enough days passed to make a week since Vanessa's disappearing.

The child-machine was now a runaway. She -- or it -- was a machine, but was practically a being. Vanessa was a dangerous being, as well. With her abilities, we had no idea of what she could accomplish. Would she become the blood-soaked monster of my nightmare? Or would she just hide and vanish -- again? After so much effort, after so much loss of time, our efforts had come to just a handful of almost nothing to currently show for it. Thank you so very much, Vanessa! We spent decades looking at your still form in the Archives. People were mystified at you, looking so peaceful and mysterious in that glass case. Then, we spent decades waiting for the chance to hear your secrets. We wanted you back, even if we did not know who you were. You came back, and now you vanish. And furthermore... .

Something interrupted my thoughts. "A member of the Messenger's Guild has arrived!" someone shouted from the front double doors of the museum's main entrance. Damn, an interruption -- at THIS time. "He says that this message is critical!" And another voice shouted out, "Where is Guildmaster Gallagher? I call for an Immediate delivery." The Messenger wanted to deliver the message to me by invoking the Immediacy custom: This custom meant that such a message included very serious town business. I ran up to the Messenger waiting by the door and fulfilled the Immediacy custom by personally taking the letter-scroll, breaking the waxen seal on it (sealed by New Washington's Messenger Guildmaster herself), and giving it to him. The message was as evil as I expected it to be.

I read the letter-scroll. And then, I reread it four more times to be sure that I had gotten it right. After the fifth reading, the letter-scroll finally hit a gut reation. "What does it say, Guildmaster?" my Apprentices asked. Too shocked for a cohesive reply, I read the contents aloud:

And that was the message written out, in pen, in printer-perfect script. "What are we to do, Guildmaster?" asked an Apprentice. That was the very question I had been asking myself for the past week. Vanessa was now challenging the people of New Washington to a duel. If we failed to meet her challenge, Vanessa would summon the barbarians from the Wastelands to undo civilization once more. This time, it would be permanent. But as just a Technology Preservation Guildmaster, this was out of my jurisdiction. As this was a threat to civilization, I was obliged to take the issue to the New Washington Senate.

Some hours later, I was in the New Washington Senate Chamber. All of the Senators were assembled in the Hall; it seemed that they had heard of the matter before hand. In fact, they were already considering the matter as they had already received a letter from Vanessa. In the Hall, the Senators sat on thrones of marble on slightly-raised platforms. I stood ten yards before them, a light cast directly upon me. Spectators stood in the wings, silent, listening to the decision of the Senators. And now, Senator Thurmond III stood and spoke. "Guildmaster Gallagher, we have come to a decision. You have served well by resurrecting the artifact known as Vanessa. But now, you bring us great peril as this Vanessa has proven herself a slumbering demon!" The crowd gasped. "At this time, you shall not be punished. We have a greater threat at hand. This is a powerful and superior threat to the civilization that has yet to fully recover. To that end, we have used a final resort... ." With those words, Senator Thurmond III was putting the crowd on the edge of stampeding. "Silence in the Hall! The Senators speak!" shouted three guardians in chorus. The crowd went quiet to the point of murmering until Thurmond III spoke again. "We have used a final resort: We have summoned an Enforcer. He shall arrive at sunset, exactly twenty miles from the city limits. You shall venture out close to the Wastelands to meet him there. We have spoken."

The Senators have spoken, and I was to fulfill the decision. Near sunset, I set out in a solar train to the designated landing point of the Enforcer. I would tell you about the Enforcers and their strange ship in the sky, but I cannot. Since civilization's fall, the Enforcers -- a people that live in orbiting ships and even on the moon -- have simply stayed apart. The Enforcers care for us on Earth, but they are quite hesitant to come into contact with us. They see us as "barbarians." They collectively give us a cold shoulder -- unless we truly need their assistance. And at sunset, I waited for the landing of an Enforcer. Nearly an hour had passed since I arrived at the landing zone, and the sun was dipping lower. To distract me, there was a shooting star in the sky. No, this shooting star was a meteor. As it approached, I could hear it's flaming entry. It was going to hit me!

I ran from the meteor. It was a flaming ball that I did not want to see up close. As the solar train had long since gone on its route back to New Washington, I had to run on foot. Still, the flaming meteor from the skies came. And then, the roaring stopped: The meteor stopped its crashing to the ground. What was this?

It was not a "meteor." I turned to see the "meteor" as it hovered twenty feet from the ground. No, the "meteor" was the ship of an Enforcer. This Enforcer ship resembled a flying vehicle of old, but smaller. It hovered for a second as the re-entry heat dissipated. And then, the Enforcer's ship landed. The front of the craft opened, revealing a dark-suited figure that sported a helmet. This person then leapt from the craft, and strode to meet me. I watched the straight and disciplined gait of this Enforcer. These Enforcers, descendants of those of us who lived planet-side, had become strange and disconnected!

Three yards from where I stood, the Enforcer stopped. After a strange and old-time salute, the Enforcer removed the helmet. This Enforcer was FEMALE. This Enforcer sent to help us of New Washington looked more fitting to a stage show than saving New Washington from an evil machine bent on destroying humanity. This Enforcer was my height -- roughly six and one-half cubits high. And she was not uncomely; she was even "cute." If I were twenty-three again, I would consider courting her. When she removed her helmet, she revealed dark hair. The hair framed a round and pale face with dark eyes and a pert nose. Then, the Enforcer sent from the skies spoke to me in a stern way: "I am the Enforcer that your Senate summoned. In your time of need, the Enforcers have come to your aid. With the information received from your Senate, the Enforcer Council in orbit has taken appropriate action. The Council has sent an appropriate agent. I am that agent." Having said that, I saw something quite familiar in that Enforcer's face. "I am the Enforcer known as VICI. And I shall help you eliminate Vanessa as a threat to planet-side civilization."

Somehow, the Enforcers had sent another gynoid to help us deal with the one we resurrected. Ironically, this Enforcer was named VICI. Were all Enforcer agents robots? But that question is not important now. After introducing itself or her-self, VICI somehow summoned a solar train from New Washington to pick us up. Both VICI (the true VICI, this time) and I boarded the train. VICI, resembling a 20-year-old version of Vanessa (at least physically), sat prim and coldly indifferent as the solar train began to move. I looked out of the window of the solar train, just as VICI's space-vehicle lifted off and blasted off into orbit -- to wherever the Enforcers were. Why didn't they come to Earth? Why did the Enforcers remain apart?

On the train ride back to New Washington, VICI did not provide answers to these questions. Instead, we went over the finer points of the dilemma. This was another beginning. The next day, there would be much to do. VICI would have to be shown about our town. VICI would have to speak to the Senate. VICI was to be our savior. How heroic, how legendary! We received a hero from the stars. I looked on this young female, an inhuman machine both pleasant to look upon and yet superior to any human being. We had to be saved, and VICI would help.