Note: After writing CyberEpic (which eventually became Lichii Ba’Cho,) my only desire was to write more cyberpunk timeline tales. In LB, Sam Elias is a courier transporting a bit of code that turns out to be a virus.
That got me on an A.I. kick — what if it hadn’t been a virus but a rudimentary A.I.? Where would one come from? Who would program it?
Which put me on the path of Kou Itten (posted in the Work in Progress section.) A self-aware A.I. is a big part of that novel. But where did it come from? Who would program it? I was back to square one.
So THIS novel, Ulina Mokupuni, was started to explain the origins of the A.I. that would be in Kou Itten.
Whew! What a painful process, huh?
Chapter One
The fifty cal pointed with unerring accuracy at the bridge of Amy Martinez’s nose. Funny how visible the end of the barrel was despite the Cimmerian darkness. Thick black surrounded her, her guard nothing but a blur in the sweating jungle night, but she easily saw the deeper shadows of the assault rifle’s maw.
Plastic cuffs bit into the tender skin of her wrists, and she knelt in a growing streamlet of rainwater, her knees and shins soaked, the wetness seeping into her combat boots. Water cascaded in irregular handfuls from the dense canopy above as large leaves tipped at the increasing weight of rain, the only indication of weather beyond this tenebrious cave of vegetation. Nearby a second member of her strike team stood watch, her rifle slung over his back, her pistol tucked into the back of his combat trousers. She’d completely lost the sensation in her hands. Even if she could escape from the cuffs, she’d play hell doing anything to save herself with nothing but insensate clubs on the ends of her arms.
When the hell had things gone so far to shit?
All she’d done was give the authorities information about this op. The representative from Uncle Sam had promised that they’d be here, protect the target, protect her. Nothing had gone to plan, starting with the sudden timetable change. The team scrambled a day early, and Amy hadn’t been able to get out a message. She’d given up trying after the fourth interruption. Her nerves on edge, she’d jumped at every little thing until her team had disarmed and restrained her. Despite her peril she felt a faint measure of relief that her secret was out. She’d always hated subterfuge, preferring a straight-up fight to sneaking around.
She realized now that someone in the corporation had a mole in Uncle Sam’s administration. The past half hour had been spent in operation silence, and she’d had plenty of time to rehash her actions. She hadn’t made any mistakes up until the sudden orders that had landed her and her team in the Brazilian jungle. The only weak link in the chain was Jackie. Amy couldn’t fathom Jackie turning her in even if her lover had found anything incriminating in their apartment.
At least, she hoped that was the case. Her heart stuttered at the idea of Jackie’s potential betrayal.
Several shapes emerged from the gloom, jolting Amy back to the present. They coalesced into the rest of her strike team. Two of them carried an obvious heavy weight between them on a makeshift litter, the package they’d come to retrieve. Another slumped against a comrade, a tourniquet about his thigh.
Her trembling increased with the thunder of her heartbeat. She swallowed hard.
"It's done," the captain said to the man guarding her. "Let's bug out."
"What about Martinez?”
The captain didn't even bother looking at her, already gesturing for his team to move out. "Dust her... fucking traitor."
After the long minutes of silence, the click of the safety was so loud that it hurt her ears. She had time for one last thought before the fifty cal round bored into her brain pan.
I did it for us, Jackie.
(Excerpt from the Yamaguchi Ulina Mokupuni Daily Packet, dated August 4, 2048)
Special Operations officer, Lieutenant Amy Martinez, 29, died on active duty in Brazil last week. While reports of her activities are strictly confidential, Corporate Director of Security, Jurou Suto, has released information that Lt. Martinez was a hero. She valiantly remained behind to cover the escape of her fire team. Her sacrifice gave the rest of her team the opportunity to complete their mission.
Memorial services will be held on Friday at the Ulina Mokupuni Memorial Gardens at 1300 hours.
Lt. Martinez was born May 24, 2019 in Needles, California to Pedro S. and Theresa H. Martinez. She graduated high school in 2036, after which she signed up with Yamaguchi Incorporated. She attended college at the University of Japan. She was engaged to Ulina Mokupuni Chief of Security, Jacqueline Suto.
Lt. Martinez served Yamaguchi Incorporated with honors. Her career in the law department began immediately upon graduation from college. With an expert rating in both criminal and judicial procedures, she assisted our legal teams with distinction before transferring to Special Operations.
She is survived by a brother, Fernando Martinez of Encinada, California.
Chapter Two
With careful precision Jackie lit the unfolded paper with a wooden match, the acrid smell of sulfur stinging her nostrils. She let the paper dangle between her fingers, allowing the tiny orange fire to catch hold of its fuel. The flames grew bright in the dark room, the golden light reflecting in the crystal bowl beneath, dully glowing along the polished teak surface of the coffee table. She had to squint to follow its progress as the black Yamaguchi Incorporated letterhead curled in upon itself before it turned black.
She watched the destruction with a myriad of emotions. The satisfaction and sense of completeness warred with the sorrow that she’d felt every waking moment of the past year. The strongest feeling by far was a bone deep numbness that crowded her heart. The ashes and bits of charred paper lazily drifted into the crystal dish. She didn’t release it until the fire licked at her fingers. A warm Pacific ocean breeze blew in from her open lanai door and stirred the ashes. Some blew onto the table.
Slowly, she eased up off of her knees and backward until she sank into the leather armchair behind her. She contemplated the bowl now full of ashen memories as she reached for her scotch. Ice clinked inside her glass. The sweet amber liquid burned a familiar path down her throat. She was already half drunk and had every intention of finishing the job. Under the steady lap of ocean waves outside her high rise condo was the muted sound of a passing vehicle — one of her security patrols, diligently keeping all Yamaguchi Incorporated employees safe from harm.
An hour passed before Jacqueline Suto, Director of Security Enforcement for the corporation’s artificial island, Ulina Mokupuni, rose from her chair with cat like grace despite the alcohol in her system. She grabbed the bottle of scotch as she passed, not bothering with the glass, and stood on her lanai. She leaned her hip against the railing to gaze out at the night sky. In the distance she saw the dark Big Island on the horizon and, if she really tried, she’d see a bit more with the infrared enhancement in her eye. She didn’t bother. There was nothing there she wanted to see. Wearing only a pair of boxers, she shivered as the ocean breeze caressed her naked torso. She absently rubbed an arm across her chest, bumping against the small silver nipple rings she wore. After a few long deep swallows from the bottle, she wiped her mouth with her arm. Soon she might be drunk enough to forget, even if just for a little while.
The harsh sound of her phone interrupted her self imposed silence. She cast an annoyed glance at the offensive thing and decided to ignore it. The ring tone indicated it belonged to Corby, and Jackie wasn’t in the mood. The call could wait until morning.
She turned to lean both elbows on the railing. The bottle dangled above the decorative garden surrounding the swimming pool. She wondered what sort of sound it would make when it hit the ground.
“Hello, you have reached Jacqueline Suto. I’m not at home or am otherwise engaged. Please leave a name and number and I shall return your call as soon as I can. Domo.”
BEEP
She glared back over her shoulder. The apartment AI seemed to have decided she needed or wanted companionship. It’s time I deleted that thing.
“Jackie? I know you’re home. It’s me, Corby.”
Jackie smiled despite her somber mood.
“I know what today is and I know you’re home, so pick up the phone.” Corby paused. “Damn it, Jack! Pick up the phone or I’m telling Mama-san and she … well, she’ll ground you or something.”
Of course her best friend remembered the significance of this day. Jackie’s mother had insisted on lunch with her but had refused to acknowledge that today was different than any other. Jackie turned back toward her apartment, a twinge of guilt in her chest. She’d spent the day secretly longing for someone — anyone — to recognize the significance of this anniversary. Yet here she was, ignoring the support from someone who freely offered.
Unaware of the emotional dichotomy in her friend, Corby continued. “Okay, look, I’m worried about you and wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. Maybe we could meet for lunch this afternoon. Anyway call me when you decide to pick up the phone. Love you.”
The phone beeped, signifying the end of the message. Jackie knew Corby Sanchez must have just returned from work. The fiery redhead was a pilot for Yamaguchi Incorporated, stationed out of Waikiki. When not conducting test flights of experimental spacecraft or training other pilots she flew shuttles between Ulina Mokupuni and the mainland. That meant it was beyond “late” and on into “early” for Jackie since Corby had been scheduled to fly a crew to the orbital station Yamaguchi was building in low orbit. A run like that took eighteen hours.
Jackie needed sleep. Tomorrow—today—was another busy day in the corporation. She raised the bottle and peered at the level of scotch remaining. It had ebbed considerably since the start of the evening. Perhaps she was numb enough now to finish this little ritual.
As intoxicated as she was she walked well enough. At least she made it through the shadows of the living area without falling on her face. Her inebriation wasn’t quite enough to make her forget, but as close as she dared come at the moment. At the coffee table, she took one last swallow before setting the bottle down. With exaggerated care she picked up the crystal bowl and carried it out to the lanai.
The slight clink when she set the bowl on the metal rail was louder than the sound of the waves below. She gazed at the ashes. Her infrared eye showed a nondescript cluster of material with only a hint of red. It reminded her of her heart, nothing but ashes.
It was easy to remember that night though three hundred sixty-five days separated her from then. The door buzzer sounding, the suited corporate executives shuffling nervous feet and clearing their throats. One of them was more assured than the others. He’d probably done this before, his apology smooth and well-practiced as he handed her the letter. She’d read that damned thing over a thousand times since then. It only added to her frustration and confusion. How could it have happened? What had happened to the safety protocols? How could all the back ups have failed so blatantly in light of the computer virus that had swept the world two days before Amy’s op?
Even now, she felt the anger rise. Guess I’m not as drunk as I thought I was. All she wanted to do was hurl these ashes, this abomination from her as far as she could. She wanted no part of the words that were now etched upon the dead flesh that had been her heart.
What she really wanted was lost to her, never to return.
The night breeze picked up again and stirred the ashes to life. She covered the bowl with her hand, ludicrously protecting the contents she so wanted to be rid of. When the wind calmed, she poked her finger at the ashes. Feather soft and dead, they caressed her skin. Of course the paper was dead, as inanimate as the message it had carried, as lifeless as…
Several minutes passed until Jackie was mentally prepared. After a deep breath, she lifted the bowl and gently poured the ashes into the Hawaiian night. Unperturbed, the world continued on around her.
“To Amy Martinez and to love. Good bye to you both.”