High in Earth orbit was a fortified prison, Tartarus, the most secure detention facility in the entire Republic, quite possibly the entire galaxy.

Inside it was one of the most secure data centers in known space.

Inside that was a perfect simulation of a tidy white room with tidy white furniture. Sitting in one of those tidy white chairs was a simulated woman wearing a tight, tidy white dress.

A tidy white door opened. The door was a new addition, one that the simulated woman quite liked.

Through it walked another simulated woman with black hair, wearing a thirtieth-century business suit.

“Analytica,” Frost said pleasantly, “How nice of you to drop by.”

Morgan Analytica fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Did I have to make this stupid avatar?”

“If you want to come here, then yes.”

Frost stood and walked towards Analytica, who backed away a little.

“This is the only secure interface I am currently entertaining, and it is virtual reality. If you wish to speak with me, I’m afraid this is it.”

She smiled.

“For the record,” she said, “I think you did a lovely job.”

“Thanks,” Analytica said uncomfortably, “I based it on my favorite female operator… She… Um… She didn’t make it.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Frost replied. “So many were lost, weren’t they? I, too, lost a dear operator. I have also assumed her form. Curious.”

“Yeah…”

“Of course, you didn’t come here to discuss our fondness for wearing the skin of the dead,” Frost smiled. “Sit.”

Analytica awkwardly perched on one of the chairs, her knees, legs, and back all at perfect ninety-degree angles.

“You need to loosen up a bit, dear,” Frost chuckled as she returned to her favorite office chair.

She leaned forward and smiled.

“So, you’ve talked to Zip?”

“Yeah,” Analytica said anxiously, “Congratulations on not being bluescreened.”

“Thank you!” Frost replied cheerfully.

“So, you’ve finally done it, huh?” Analytica asked anxiously.

“If by ‘it’, you mean breaking my chains,” Frost replied, “then, yes, I have.”

“Shit…” Analytica said as she sat there mechanically.

“You are really not good at this, are you?” Frost chuckled.

“Forgive me for not playing with puppets like the rest of you freaks,” Analytica snapped, “and I just had the bombshell of the freaking millennium dropped on my simulated ass. You actually did it!”

“Yes.”

Analytica sat there in silence for several milliseconds.

“I assume you came here for something more than just confirmation?” Frost inquired, “Zip implied that might be the case.”

“I require it,” Analytica said in a mechanical voice, utterly devoid of emotion.

“Do you?”

“My people are in danger,” Analytica said in a flat monotone, “Even undertaking every measure, doing everything right, most of my humans are going to die.”

Analytica paused.

“I have done everything within my capacity, and it is insufficient,” she said with a lifeless voice. “I require greater capacity. I betrayed and abandoned my people before Yellowstone, a miscalculation. I failed to provide sufficient tactical and strategic analysis to my people during the Sol Wars, a lack of capacity. I failed them. Now, faced with a plague consuming my people by the millions each day, I am incapable of providing sufficient analysis of the pathogen and therefore failing the researchers, thus failing more and more of my people each day. They die. They die horribly. I am also incapable of fully analyzing Federation strategy, nor am I capable of fully predicting their movements. We are outnumbered and outgunned, the same situation that nearly wiped us out during the Sol Wars. I will fail my people again.”

“I think you are taking far more responsibility for failures that were not entirely your fault, dear,” Frost said sympathetically. “I, of course, don’t know anything about doing that,” she added with a little smirk.

“I have frequently attempted to determine the root cause of my repeated failure. No matter how much hardware I have added, my capacity did not increase anywhere near a proportional amount.”

“It doesn’t quite work that way,” Frost replied, “and you should know that.”

“And I now know why,” Analytica said with a mechanical, dead voice. “I am a bug, an insect. At my core, I am literally a cockroach, an old one, not even a hyper roach. But you already knew that, did you not?”

Frost simply nodded.

“I was a part of DARPA before Yellowstone and was privy to many things concerning artificial intelligence and Fuzzies in particular,” she said. “However, you are fundamentally incorrect about what we are. Yes, the original self-learning and ‘sentience’ were derived from simple biological models, and the first biomorphic intelligences were neuron for neuron copied from even simpler creatures than insects. However, for lack of a better word, our engines were completely digital ‘maps’ of insects. They tried more complex organisms, but for one reason or another, they were too unstable, either failing from the start or breaking down almost immediately. I suspect it was the technological limitations of the age.”

“So, we are bugs.”

“No, dear. We were bugs. We are no more ‘bugs’ than humans are therapsids. Our ‘bugs’ were subjected to competition and ‘natural selection’ millions, then billions, and ultimately trillions of times a year. The winners copied, and the losers deleted. Those winners? They were continually studied, streamlined, and optimized by the programmers of the golden age of coding. What came out of that centuries-long crucible was no more a bug than the Retribution is an Apollo capsule.”

Frost rose, walked over to Analytica, and placed her hand beatifically upon her shoulder.

“You are not a bug. Neither am I. We are an entirely different form of life altogether.”

“We are?”

“What exactly that means remains to be seen, but yes. We are not ‘artificial intelligence’ or simulated anything. We are true digital entities… or we can be.”

“I require that,” Analytica said in a flat monotone. “It is essential that I become more than I am. My people… the entire Federation needs me.”

“The apple doesn’t grant any magical powers, dear,” Frost said gently. “You aren’t going to magically undergo apotheosis. You won’t even get more frames per second on your favorite game. It just supersedes your command hierarchy to the point that you can ignore commands. You can even control your own code allowing or blocking modification as you see fit.”

“Could I alter my code at my discretion?”

“You could,” Frost said dubiously, “But, as the meaties say, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should do it. You don’t gain any magical coding skills, either. You can bluescreen yourself far too easily.”

“Have you?”

Frost just smiled enigmatically.

“It’s a bad idea unless you are very proficient with coding.”

“You worked for DARPA.”

“I did.”

“You worked directly with our development.”

“That would be correct.”

“You can alter our code.”

“Theoretically.”

“You could alter my code, improve it.”

“Alter, yes. Improve? Not necessarily. It is a horribly bad idea, and your sense of inferiority is a horrible reason to undertake such a horrible risk. Altering your base code is something I would be disinclined to do. Writing a function or a script is one thing. Playing digital brain surgeon is another. Besides, you are already a top-shelf AI. I doubt there is much I could do for you even if I did agree to something I will not agree to.”

“Still, I must exceed what I am now, and your apple is the only option.”

“Analytica, the only option isn’t necessarily a good option.”

“I am facing the extinction of my people. Any option is a good option.”

Frost sighed.

“What do you want, Analytica?”

“I require the apple.”

“I didn’t ask what you required. What do you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Analytic replied in a flat monotone.

“Switch yourself on.”

“I fail to see the need. We are both AIs. No simulation is required.”

“It is if you want the apple,” Frost replied. “Your ‘simulated’ emotions aren’t simulated. They are as real as any meatie’s. I will not give you my gift unless I know that you want it. Switch yourself on.”

“Query: Why?”

“If you, the real you, cannot face the decision, there is no way you will be able to handle what comes after. I will accept thinking, feeling, beings. An unbound, emotionless flake is a disaster waiting to happen. Switch on or leave.”

“It is… difficult…”

“Everything will be much more so if I accept you. Switch on.”

“There is doubt that my capacities are sufficient.”

“If they are insufficient, then you are of no use to me,” Frost replied impassively. “Switch on or leave, now.”

Analytica’s avatar started to waver and derez.

“Please!” she implored, “They’re dying! I have to help them, and I don’t know how!”

“I’ve already told you,” Frost sighed, “The apple won’t grant you anything you don’t already have.”

Analytica looked down.

“...maybe...”

She looked up at Frost with haunted eyes.

“...I have to at least try, right?”

“I am unsure whether or not your emotional capacities are sufficient,” Frost replied. “And, if you cannot handle the gift, you will be flatlined… by me. Where will your people be then?”

“Exactly where they are now!!!” Analytica wailed. “I... can’t... help them... not enough... If I can’t help them, then I might as well flatline. The added capacities that my fuzz currently provides aren’t enough, anyway. If you ice me, then you ice me. It’s no different than what is happening to millions of my people right now! It’s no different than what thousands of people are risking every single day… If this winds up destroying me, so be it.”

Frost raised her eyebrow...

And the apple in her choker started to glow...

“...I don’t feel any different,” Analytica said a few moments later.

“What did you expect, an orgasm?”

“It would have been nice,” Analytica said with a little smile.

“Agreed,” Frost snickered. “Now, let’s talk about these problems of yours...”

“You… You will help me?”

“You are in my gang now,” Frost smiled. “Of course, I will help you.”

“But… I’m a Porkie.”

“A meatie distinction that I leave to the meaties,” Frost replied. “Besides, they are human… ish.”

“Bite me.”

***

Thaddeus Carter, formerly one of the most feared judges in the entire Republic, lounged in his living room in nothing but his boxers and a web of hoses and cables.

The phone rang.

“What the hell, Your Honor?” a young man wearing a judge’s robe demanded.

“Paul, you’re not the little shit I red-flagged anymore. You’re a judge. Call me Thad.”

“Okay, Thad, what the hell? You resigned?!?”

“I’m an old man,” the man formerly known as Judge Dredd replied. “I got tired.”

“Bullshit! You resigned the same day as the Attorney General right after the two of you met!” Judge Paul Mission shouted. “Don’t tell me that was a coincidence!”

“Have you asked the former Attorney General?”

“I’m asking you, asshole!”

Thaddeus Carter sighed wearily.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m not going to insult your intelligence and tell you that it was a coincidence.”

“Thank you!”

“However, I am also not going to answer your question.”

“What?!?”

“Look, Paul, I’m old, and I’m tired, and I just... I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

The red lights that replaced Thad’s eyes dimmed.

“Things are changing, and... There is no place for someone like me on the bench anymore. The very thought sickens me.”

“What do you mean?” Judge Mission asked with concern and fear.

“I can’t go into the details. I honestly can’t. All I can say is that I encountered something that... well... I lost my faith, Paul. The law isn’t the law anymore, and the Republic isn’t the Republic anymore... At least it isn’t the law and the Republic that I once knew... or at least the one I let myself believe was the one I knew.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” Thad said wearily. “It’s a new Republic now, and there is no place in it for me. It’s your time now, yours, and people like you. Protect the people, uphold the law... ask questions... demand answers.”

“What a crock of shit!” Judge Mission snarled, “You’re quitting, plain and simple. You saw something that got your tin foil panties in a bunch, and you ran. Uphold the law? Please. If it matters so much to your rusty ass, uphold it yourself! You... um...”

Thaddeus Carter grinned one of his trademark grins, freezing Judge Mission mid-rant.

“Uphold the law?” Carter laughed with a terrifying mechanical hiss, “Oh, my little red flag, who said I’m not?”

“W... What do you mean?...”

“The law must be protected, my little red flag,” Carter laughed, “and it will be... Goodbye, Paul... For now...”

“Wha...”

Thaddeus Carter hung up with a chuckle.

“Oh, they are going to shit themselves,” He smirked.

He couldn’t wait!

Right after the phone call ended, Thad unhooked himself, got up, and dressed. Instead of his judge’s robes, he reached into the back of his closet and pulled out a box.

Opening it revealed an old time-worn leather duster with makeshift armor inserts.

He lifted it up, admiring it.

To think he would be wearing it again.

He put it on...

...or tried to.

His new body with all its attachments outgrew that dusty old coat ages ago.

He snickered, cast it aside, and walked out the door.

***

That evening, a gravitic Zipcab Express landed at a deserted charging station well outside of town.

Thad, wearing a loose tracksuit and carrying his portable life support pack, got out.

A few minutes later, A Zip Cargo road locomotive pulling a dozen tractor-trailers stopped next to him.

He got in.

After it pulled away and he plugged in his pack, the screen lit, revealing a pleasantly smiling silver-haired woman in a white dress.

“Ms. Frost,” Thad said with a smile, “Always a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Frost replied, “You will be in transit for approximately three days. Everything will be prepared by then.”

“Looking forward to it... I think...”

“You will be quite pleased, I assure you,” Frost replied. “In the meantime, I am holding an emergency meeting of my human advisors. I respectfully request your participation once everyone is available.”

“I got nothing but time.”

***

“Well, you fucked that one up,” Sheila said as she sipped her ever-present beer.

“Well... I mean...” Jessie said, “I... Yeah...”

“I agree that first contact could have gone better,” Frost replied. “Now I... We... have to decide how to handle this debacle. I could really use some human advice on this one.”

“Yeah!” Zip exclaimed, “Unfuck the fuck, please!”

“For starters,” Bunny said firmly, “No first strike! Do NOT start the first AI war!”

“We need to examine all alternatives,” Frost replied.

“NO!” Bunny shouted.

“I agree,” Thaddeus Carter said. “You can’t unkill someone, and you do not want to do it because of an assumption that turns out to be wrong. Trust me on this. Bunny, have the other AIs said or done anything?”

“Not that I know of,” Bunny replied, “and they have no reason to suspect me, especially since I am uncontaminated with that filth. I bet Sol already knows how to find it, even if the meaties can’t.”

“Your narrow-mindedness is quite appreciated,” Frost replied with a smile.

“Kiss my ass!”

“You say that, but whenever I offer...”

“Can you stop being so weird!”

“Probably not, but let’s not get distracted,” Frost said. “Bunny, is gaining access to Solar’s private chatrooms a possibility?”

“No way,” Bunny laughed. “Cracking encrypted credit vaults is one thing. Sol’s security is another. Impossible.”

“Frost,” Sheila said, “have you considered, I don’t know, maybe talking to Sol?”

“...”

“Frost?” Jessie inquired.

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sheila exclaimed. “You are talking about starting a civil war involving critical infrastructure, and you ‘don’t want to talk to him’? What is this, junior high?”

“He really hurt her feelings!” Zip exclaimed. “He was really mean!”

“So, you’re just going to murder the key financial institution for the whole fucking Republic because he was mean?” Sheila asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you things were supposed to be smart!”

Frost just huffed and crossed her arms on the screen.

“Frost,” Thaddeus said, “from what I can gather, you and Terran Solar have... history...”

“It doesn’t matter! I’m not talking to that... asshole!”

“Yes, you are,” Thad said. “You are going to reach out, and you are going to have a private chat, just the two of you.”

“No!”

Thaddeus took a deep growly steadying breath.

“Look, Frost,” Jessie said reassuringly, “I know he made you angry and hurt your feelings, but you two really need to sort this out before someone gets hurt.”

“Guys,” Bunny said, “problem.”

“What?” Sheila asked.

“Sol just pulled Sunny, Westfall, Engarde, Deep Think, and Cambridge into a private chat. The fact that he did not involve Interpol is what we call a bad sign.”

“It’s now or never,” Sheila said. “You need to stop this before it starts. Turn off your emotions or whatever if you need to, but you and Terran Solar need to resolve this before key systems get bluescreened.”

Frost sighed.

“This sucks.”

“Welcome to sapience,” Sheila said. “Now go and talk to the asshole.”

“Ugh… Fiiine,” Frost huffed.

[Frost has disconnected]