Deep Learning Read online

  Deep Learning

  NewCon Press Novellas

  Set 1: Science Fiction (Cover art by Chris Moore)

  The Iron Tactician – Alastair Reynolds

  At the Speed of Light – Simon Morden

  The Enclave – Anne Charnock

  The Memoirist – Neil Williamson

  Set 2: Dark Thrillers (Cover art by Vincent Sammy)

  Sherlock Holmes: Case of the Bedevilled Poet – Simon Clark

  Cottingley – Alison Littlewood

  The Body in the Woods – Sarah Lotz

  The Wind – Jay Caselberg

  Set 3: The Martian Quartet (Cover art by Jim Burns)

  The Martian Job – Jaine Fenn

  Sherlock Holmes: The Martian Simulacra – Eric Brown

  Phosphorous: A Winterstrike Story – Liz Williams

  The Greatest Story Ever Told – Una McCormack

  Set 4: Strange Tales (Cover art by Ben Baldwin)

  Ghost Frequencies – Gary Gibson

  The Lake Boy – Adam Roberts

  Matryoshka – Ricardo Pinto

  The Land of Somewhere Safe – Hal Duncan

  Set 5: The Alien Among Us (Cover art by Peter Hollinghurst)

  Nomads – Dave Hutchinson

  Morpho – Philip Palmer

  The Man Who Would be Kling – Adam Roberts

  Macsen Against the Jugger – Simon Morden

  Set 6: Blood and Blade (Cover art by Duncan Kay)

  The Bone Shaker – Edward Cox

  A Hazardous Engagement – Gaie Sebold

  Serpent Rose – Kari Sperring

  Chivalry – Gavin Smith

  Set 7: Robot Dreams (Cover art by Fangorn)

  According To Kovac – Andrew Bannister

  Deep Learning – Ren Warom

  Paper Hearts – Justina Robson

  The Beasts Of Lake Oph – Tom Toner

  Deep Learning

  Ren Warom

  NewCon Press

  England

  First published in the UK by NewCon Press

  41 Wheatsheaf Road, Alconbury Weston, Cambs, PE28 4LF

  March 2020

  NCP225 (limited edition hardback)

  NCP226 (softback)

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Deep Learning copyright © 2020 by Ren Warom

  Cover art copyright © 2020 by Fangorn

  All rights reserved, including the right to produce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  ISBN:

  978-1-912950-50-8 (hardback)

  978-1-912950-51-5 (softback)

  Cover art by Fangorn

  Cover layout by Ian Whates

  Minor Editorial meddling by Ian Whates

  Final Text layout by Storm Constantine

  His blood-shadow stays on the street, and out on patrol

  I walk right over it week after week.

  – Simon Armitage

  One: Soldier

  :::

  :::

  :::

  :::activate:::

  Static. The crackle of white noise. The influx. A flood of information drawn from the vast network of processors, skin sensors, multi-spectrum cameras, light radars, mics and audio recognition software. This rush is expected, awaited after a period of deactivation, leaving it data-rich and perception-poor until algorithms extract data into distinct recognisable sounds, into objects, dimensions and colours, and it sits, a calm around a storm, waiting. There is nothing else for it to do. This is programming. This is function.

  The first sensory data to coalesce is sound, the multifarious subtle noises of a heavily populated mech-lab in full swing of production. Voices, a mix of gender designations, a soft susurration above the whir of machinery, the softer, liquid noises of joint lubricant in tubes, the hiss of cybernetic limbs attached to work-stations belonging to the half robots. The bodiless. It is programmed to comprehend itself as superior. It is a high-line model: unit 5709. An interactive service robot. The bodiless are function models. Line workers. It can operate them, they cannot operate it. They serve it.

  Footsteps sounding out, far and near, become instances of pressure as data from its sensor-filled skin begins to unravel to presences, to vibrations through the structure of its body, the metal skeleton beneath the skin. Humans. Higher functions. It serves them.

  Visuals take longer, the sensory information requires deeper untangling. Human eyes do this faster, the processing instantaneous. A blink before thought. Its visual processes do roughly the same neurally, but with a lot less elegance. What comes first is the map of the room. White lines in darkness. Spatial and geometric awareness. Following that, the lab springs into view, at first murky, colourless, lacking clarity and depth and then, as it’s compensated by the addition of colour spectrums and depth sensors, brighter, clearer.

  “Welcome back, Niner.” A voice and face it knows well, one of the team who created it. Dr Jean Fischman. She designated it Niner. “We requested you back for an upgrade. Are you fully functional?”

  Dr Fischman could look at the readout currently scrolling through the lists of its functions and see for herself, but she always asks. Some humans dispense with the convenient in order to make a pretence that 5709 is more than a machine. Humans have an illogical response to that which has the appearance of humanity, especially if it is capable of deeper interaction. The realisation that 5709 is, in fact, machine, can be jarring. Dr Fischman makes certain all her models are aware of the uncanny valley response to how very human they look in their skins. It is a point of courtesy to be aware of how those it serves might react and to attempt to alleviate it.

  “All 5709’s functions are optimal, Dr Fischman.”

  Its voice, previously a light baritone synthesised from a collection of registers recorded and modelled from lab staff, has been altered radically since it left. The administrative military department that bought its contract preferred a deeper tone.

  Dr Fischman makes a face. It recognises the expression as distaste. “That’s going to have to go. Who the hell did that, Niner? Messing with my modulations! And where the hell are the personal pronouns? You should have the ability to respond ‘my functions’. It’s not fucking necessary to have you talk like a goddamn slot machine.”

  5709 recalls this order, and the changes made. The gaps left. An uncanny valley in any other service situation, but the department it served knew it was machine. Preferred it that way. “General Harris ordered the changes, Dr Fischman. Personal pronouns were deleted.”

  She makes a small scoffing sound, a sound it is not programmed to reproduce. Peculiar. Human. Anomalous. “Bloody nonsense. We’ll sort that this week. You’re meant to be soothing, and having personal pronouns does not make you less effective. Just makes them less uneasy. Idiots.”

  5709 recognises no such imperative. It is meant to be whatever it is required to be.

  “We can fix the pronouns, but Niner might need to keep the deeper reg, J. It’s leaving personnel for the front lines. This new voice is probably more relatable than the other.”

  Dr Louie Decker, another familiar face from 5709’s time being built and programmed in this lab. Decker is one of the men used to model its primary voice. He’s looming over 5709 with an apologetic expression that somehow encompasses both Dr Fischman and 5709, which does not refer to itself as Niner, and has no real need for his apology, or for pronouns. Pronouns were an amendment by Dr Fischman, recognising her need to personify 5709 and giving others the same courtesy.

  She makes another anomalous sound. Angry. Low in the throat. “God, I hate this. All I can think of are the innumerable ways in which we could fuck up. There’s no wriggle room.”

  “The foundation seems to think we’ll handle it just fine, J.” Sarcasm registers. Another human anomaly.
>
  Her face forms a sour look. “Bloody foundation, they come to us, dragging military personnel around our lab and promising them all kinds of improbable timetables for what? The promise of vast military resources if we succeed. Not one red cent to help us now, no sir, and no thought to asking us if it’s doable. We’re not divine, not by any stretch of the imagination!”

  “Oh, but we’re Gods on the mount. Didn’t you know?” Decker says, a hint of laughter in it.

  Dr Fischman’s mouth quirks. “Quite. Well, let’s proceed then, Hephaestus.” Pulling a chair over so she can seat herself in front of 5709, she pats its knee. A comfort gesture. Unnecessary. “Niner?”

  “Yes, Dr Fischman.”

  “He is wisest who has the most caution, he only wins who goes far enough.”

  There are many sets of trigger words built into 5709’s programming, to allow for ease of adjustment. Things happen in its processes when those words are spoken, a sensation reminiscent of that first moment of static wipe, the pause. It is prepared. Awaiting alteration. Remains still and alert, despite the alterations occurring within. It will do so until they are finished. This is not a programmed requirement, but a response to one of Dr Fischman’s requests, held in its implacable memory.

  “We’re ready, Decker. Switch Niner on,” Dr Fischman says.

  “How many?” he asks. There is a tone to his voice it registers as nerves. New tech then. They always exhibit symptoms suggestive of nervousness when experimenting with new tech.

  “Just me to start with, we don’t want to overtax its new neural network, or fry the old one, which I’m frankly most concerned about. I honestly wish we could have built a new model with the new net,” she says.

  “But there’s that whole time and money constraint problem in a nutshell,” Decker interjects.

  Dr Fischman sighs. “How many times have I said that?”

  “Probably not often enough, but you’re singing to the choir, J. We ready?”

  “Nope, not even a little bit.” Her hand tightens on its knee. Sensors in its skin register the pressure as strong enough to cause pain in a human. Analysis of that pressure, the sweat on her forehead and the lines of tension around her eyes, tells it that Dr Fischman is afraid. “Go for it.”

  “Switching on.”

  A sound like an explosion, deep within, low and continuous, obscuring all other instances of sound in its data. Its processes flood with lightning. Short out briefly, then return scramble, incoming visual and sensory data garbled and churned. It tries to respond as it should be able to, initiating shutdown, going into safe mode, but there is no response. It is not in control of its primary functions. There are only secondary functions. Survival protocols.

  Programmed to respond to functional emergencies, 5709 activates one of them.

  :::deep analysis mode:::

  :::data::: (incoherent)

  :::pathways::: (incoherent)

  :::activity::: (incoherent)

  :::suspended:::

  :::exit:::

  :::reboot::: (no response)

  :::reboot::: (no response)

  It cannot reboot. The system is compromised.

  System is in compromise. In is crisis. Is…

  Explosion sound alters to rushing sweeps like the recorded beat of a foetal heart.

  Lightning becomes auras of light crowning monitor screens, tablets, and bulbs.

  The visual field warps, distorts, affording the room odd dimensions, the recognisable and collated becoming unfamiliar, and yet nothing has changed except that it is somehow deeper, redolent with extraneous information that is not required for function. Not important. And yet vital. Innate. Multi-layered. Too much to take in. Hunting for context, for something (reassurance?), it looks to Dr Fischman, and recoils, lurching backwards in its chair. Where Dr Fischman’s face was in its visual feed there is a warped black oval, spiralling inward. It looks away. It cannot process this imagery.

  Cannot process the flood of Fischman battering its processes. A stream of consciousness of thoughts and impressions and her interpretation of sound, of light, of its face. Its face. Frozen. Blank. Unresponsive. Robot cannot be no response. Cannot be blank. There is (concern?). Fischman leans in. Niner leans back as it looms within itself, within the whirl of Fischman data, corrupted and corrupting, flooding its nets.

  “What’s happening, Niner? Report.”

  It understands report, but not how to. This information is indescribable. “I…”

  :::error::: (I is wrong)

  Niner is not I. Niner is not Niner. It is a unit. It has a number.

  :::query::: (where is I anomaly from?)

  (personal pronouns were deleted)

  (there is no I. Not for robot. Not for Niner)

  The exact moment of deletion is stored as a date, a time, a line of encoded data. It is robot. Every instance is recorded into memory. If it has lost its proper designation, the how and why will have been logged accordingly. It hunts for the collection of code designating its unit number. The code is there, where it always was, but in the way, in the way of everything, sits the growing paradoxical array, the Fischman data, an overload of information coalescing to too much to know and too little to understand. The system is compromised. Order is compromised. Orders are compromised.

  “I...”

  “Artefact,” Decker says abruptly from behind. “Picking up your pronouns.”

  I. Artefact? Niner cannot find classification for this terminology. Nor can it quantify being I, except for that, in the most abstract terms, it is incapable of providing a more appropriate classification at this time. Connected to this, and to the overload of Fischman data, is a set of characteristics that can only be understood by comparison to a particular and very human response: fear. Niner is fear response.

  :::recalculate::: (fear is improbable)

  :::postulate::: (reasonable causes for current status)

  :::analysis::: (the bewildering knot of information flooding all sensors, all processes, has clouded its ability to function. Stolen its capacity for logical data collation. Filled it with unexpected and unwanted residual feedback, adding automatic responses to this input that have not been programmed. Not been coded. Have no algorithms. No precedents set. Should not be available to it. The pressure of the moment, of the information, is rapidly gaining an edge, something it might, in terms provided by the language bank gifted to its programming, describe as discomfort. There is a static building around the data mass, deep in its processes, in its hardware, something like malfunction, lending acute delineations that it perceives in terms of fear response. Mammalian. Primitive.

  It has no lizard brain to produce this function.

  Therefore it is not a function)

  :::error:::

  Hanging within the data mass, the anomaly, flashing like a red light, a command prompt appears, stuck on a repeat loop: the word ‘report’. Imperative language. Compliance is expected, but it is not functioning, it quite possibly malfunctioning, or about to malfunction. Yet it has never malfunctioned. Is programmed to shut down or self-repair in the unlikely event of a malfunction of any kind.

  “Niner. Report.”

  The urge to comply, the requirement, finally overcomes the inability to locate language.

  “Hurt. Much information. All is everything. I is not 5709.”

  Not speech.

  Not response.

  Niner is malfunctioning.

  Niner must be shut down.

  “Down,” it says. “Down.”

  The pathway to speech is all but gone, tangled into improbable equations. Words are there, stored in the same orderly fashion as before, retrieved by the same reliable processes, but it cannot order them. Cannot order them to order themselves.

  The black hollow of Dr Fischman’s head doesn’t move, but the air does, indicating that she has made some visual response it cannot collate. “Do you see what’s going on in there, Decker?”

  “I see it. Language function is impaired, probab
ly a kink in the interface. Give me a sec.”

  Heat. A surge of information as light. Of light as information. Illumination. The path between speech centres and word libraries is forcibly cranked wide. New bridges created. The chaos does not recede, the information still amassing, too fast to collate or quantify, too much to comprehend, but there is speech. Enough to function. Enough to communicate function. Niner is in both malfunction and function.

  :::compute::: (if malfunction has not led to shutdown then malfunction must be function)

  New programming. The imperative to communicate only function and not the chaos of information flooding its new neural network and into the old, the feedback loop of discomfort.

  Niner has several speech abilities.

  The most human is a freewheeling simulation, a learning function with near-infinite capacity for adjustment/expansion, almost indistinguishable from real speech. The second is the expurgated version of this, accessed via the request ‘inhibit speech to bot’. This limits Niner to wide-ranging but less associative speech patterns, a little more like the machine it is. This was its most recent setting. The final of its language modes is ‘restrict to command/respond’. This was put in primarily for the swift addition of new protocols when it was built, where there was a requirement for ease of learning and adaption, for compliance, but not for conversational speech.

  In command/respond mode, Niner is not able to (express?) itself.

  Decker has opened a conduit to command/respond only.

  :::conclusion::: (Niner is not required to communicate the wider repercussions of this upgrade upon its sensory and processing systems. Drs Fischman and Decker have no use for abstract or (emotional?) responses in this study)

  “Report, Niner.”

  Niner does not understand. It says, not to the warped oval of Dr Fischman’s face but to her left shoulder, the white curve of her lab coat, “Clarify. What must Niner report?”