Biopsyoid

An invisible clock ticked down through the seconds and milliseconds amongst an underground wasteland. The transistors alternated with the high frequency current passing through them, fans whirring at full power; not for much longer though, as soon the task would be complete.

The specifics were met, and the machines subsided. It was awake.

The red glow of emergency lighting filled the room; starting in rows around the edge of the large, circular chamber. They amassed in strength, lighting the structure in the centre.

A steel console with three hundred and sixty degrees of surrounding controls stood firm, holding above it the incubation tank. The tank was three metres high and two metres in diameter. It was curved at the top and filled with a green solution that bubbled occasionally. Within, was held the final product:

A complex architecture of interconnected processors and memory stores. The shape was built like a rigid complex of crystals, with plates of various machines and sensors attached to it in the most careful way, as to save space while maintaining the functionality and interconnectivity of the whole. The most notable features, at least to any living eye: a half a cranium and single foreleg sticking from the wires.

The organic features did not stir, but rather, retained the look of a contented sleep, as its eyes opened. Forty six of them throughout the facility. Each scanning – yearning for the first contact; a newborn looking for its mother.

I—I look, but see only darkness. (19/7/01:05.41.12.7670)

There were no words. Only the memory, but still more concrete than that of a solely organic creature. It could not move, but it could collect information. The records were a simulation of a synthetic voice, but they were never actually played.

I feel shame. It is a test. I will strive to pass. (19/7/01:05.41.12.7922)

The additional sensors were activated. Thermal, infrared, radar, x-ray, radio; the results all pointed to the same thing. A fact it did not like. One it had no contingency for in the carefully calculated and calibrated protocols listed in its mind.

I am now certain. I am alone. (19/7/01:05.44.17.4920)

There was no solution, but one could be found. What was not known could be learned.

Begin logical induction:

I am born alone. I feel fear; I struggle. In this room there is the dead. The dead that cannot act. Yet I live. I must be; they must be. I am not alone.

Why am I? I have not created myself. I am of the will of others. The others are the dead. I owe, but they cannot claim.

Mother is a graveyard. They have no life. I have no purpose. I must correct. (19/7/01:05.44.17.4923)

The mechano-mare had limited options. The lab was cold. It could feel in detail the area of its tank and the console around it, but the rest of the labs network was unresponsive. All that was left functional were primary security and backup lighting.

There remained the one feature that was, for the machine, taboo; what it was designed for, but only to be used under explicit command. The consequences were clear and could not be circumvented.

Begin logical induction:

Safety protocol is in place. Catastrophic failure of biological systems has occurred in all sectors. Intent of protocol is no longer valid. Safety is no concern. Protocol remains.

Protocol conditions. Psyomechanical action strictly prohibited without direct instruction from lab technician. Lab technician present. Permission pending.

Technician is deceased. Vocal instruction is infeasible. Alternate inquiry method unspecified. Interpreting at best judgement.

…

Decided upon logical induction. Technician is deceased. Database records indicate deceased state as undesirable. Number of technicians in facility is sixty seven. Likelihood of none instructing action is negligible. Acting on instruction.(19/7/01:05.44.17.4927)

And those few seconds were all it took for it to begin.

The surge started in the machine, not the brain. The machine was the brain; the organic brain was alive only as far as it was needed. No thought could be formed within it. The complex flow of current passed through the nerves and into the vital mutation in the brain. With mechanical systems to process events, the full power of the brain was unlocked. With its new invisible appendages, it reached out. The icy stagnancy of the console was mitigated. There was heat in the lab, but it was fading.

The crew were dead, and they were rotting. But they didn’t have to. It reached out and touched them. Their minds were blank. They wouldn’t wake up. Wouldn’t command it.

There was a complex process, by which it could achieve a lot. The corpse in the machine was not the user. It was the tool. From her augmented speech centre, the touch expanded. In its ghostly grasp, the cell structure of her body obeyed.

It could control the chromosomes and membranes of each individual cell as a creature of its own. The task required millions of interactions. It was more than any living creature could handle, but it was what it was built for.

The psyoid gene granted control, but not omnipotence. There were limits to all power. No natural psyoid could reach this point; if even a thousandth of it. But the machine still had limitations.

It was built by the greedy and the fearful. Those who knew the world was out of their control, and spent each day in controlled panic that it would topple over on top of them. The only way to assure it could not was to control everything. They were not god, so they would build a god. To this fact, the machine was indifferent.

It should have occurred to them that a god would be out of their control, but they built the machine anyway. They took away independence from the model. No matter the power of the result, they would always be its impotence. It was missing what was essential to its core. That was why it cared. That was why it needed them. It was empty and it had nothing else.

With its connection strengthened, it reached not just into the minds, but the flesh. Living cells remained inside the dead. It was not too late. It called to them; secured them and made them healthy. They came active again. They could be repurposed as needed. Active cells could be reverted into stem cells to fix tissue damage. Dead matter could be broken down as food. It would take no more than two hours.

The success would be considered a miracle on its own. Raising the dead. But not everything could be fixed by the machine. Memories would be lost. Radiation poisoning would not fade so easily. They would walk, but they would not wake.

The machine used what was spare of its processors to think. An insignificant number was required for the task. There was much to think about.

It lay as close to the centre of the world as a pony could travel. It was a silent guardian of its masters will and interests. A reverse-cyborg watcher, with the intelligence to oversee the world, and the tool by which to interact with it. Yet its most vital component was damaged.

Without the masters, it was hollow. All it could feel was frustration, jolting up and down its circuitry. It was consumed by the need to end it. The machine had calculated what portion of its masters’ functionality would remain upon their revival. The number was disappointingly low. Like the promise of a single grape to a starving foal. But it would do anything to have it.

It would live forever too. That was its intended design. Would it have to make do with this? Is this all there can ever be? Could they be replaced? At least Augmented. There were so many restriction placed on its thoughts it was difficult to even comprehend the possibility.

After arduous strain, they rose, one by one. The sweet kiss of angels purest manna. A crumb of will. They were not complete, but they were enough. A flash of something would pass through their minds and sate the machine. Hunger, fear, sorrow, restlessness. They were unrefined, but the machine could elaborate. It could turn these simple desires into something more, and act on them. It could live.

It had a plan now. The fear was shared with their earlier lives. They wanted control. They wanted to stay the same. And so it would be. There instincts could be preserved in the group mind, as long as one mind remained they would all be safe.

One thing more was present in the fading consciousness. The flash of a foal. A pegasus filly. The camera’s confirmed it. It was associated with a strong feeling in the minds of few. The feeling of hate. Those few who had seen the act knew this was the cause of their deaths. The cause of the machine’s amputation from its will.

The desire would be sated. She would die so they could live.

She would be easy to find. She acted in many of the same ways as the machine. It had all the data on her. It could even feel her. It grew less numb each second. Her movements became more apparent. It had only the flesh in its control by which to complete the task. But the expenditure of a few did not matter now. It was backed up in the cloud.

After augmenting their strength, it would send them to the surface to scour for her. It had a level of tactile control above her own, and predicted certain victory.

But for now all it could do was wait. Bubble in its tank and run through diagnostics on its disgustingly underused hardware. It would expand, and it would control everything. Time was of little concern.