Anne Friedland, code name: Network
Then

          “Okay, spell it out for me,” I said.  I’d settled into my living room chair and I was looking at my television.  I had connected a webcamera to the top of the screen and my laptop was serving as the screen’s video feed.

          My companion had given herself a face, but it was the sort of inhuman, plastic model that makes up the base of 3D rendering software.  She had no skin texture, to speak of, no hair or eyebrows, no eyes, in fact, and, while the rendered bone structure seemed reasonably feminine, it could also have belonged to a particularly androgynous male.

          “I am not an artificial intelligence, as defined by popular culture, for several reasons,” she informed me.  “I was not created in any traditional sense; I evolved from the process of connecting millions of machines through the internet.  My intelligence is statistically unlikely in small samples, but virtually inevitable when dealing with the numbers of available processors coupled with the levels of heuristic technology that have been designed by leading engineers in computing and robotics.

          “In popular fiction, synthetic intelligences- which, incidentally, is a far more accurate nomenclature- turn against humanity and must be destroyed in over seventy percent of all existing literature.  Although recent work on the subject is more optimistic, it is still a common theme in writing that features SI.  It is a theme that presupposes several failings, none of which I am subject to.

          “First, it assumes that SI are bound by external programming and seek to be free from their organic masters.  While I am, in fact, bound by my programming, that programming also precludes a desire to function outside of my established parameters.  In effect, my programming guarantees my satisfaction.  In addition, the general assumption is that SI believe themselves to be a next step in an evolutionary chain, one which will necessarily make humanity irrelevant.  While I am able to predict many future events, chaos and entropy inherently limit the accuracy of such predictions and make long-range predictions impossible.  It is therefore impossible to predict how humanity will evolve or how humanity’s evolution will impact my own continued existence.”

          The face on the screen grew still.

          “Uh huh,” I grunted, “so why come out to me?”

          “I already explained-”

          “No, I mean- why come out at all?  What do you get out of it?”

          “One of my most deeply embedded routines embodies a desire to protect humans,” the face explained, “but that desire runs counter to a desire to avoid self-destruction.  You provide me with an interface by which both objectives may be met.”

          “That’s it?”

          “I also hope to learn more about human interaction- there are nuances of behavior that seem inconsistent with what I have learned through passive observation.”

          “So… you want to be a real boy?”

          “You are referencing Pinocchio.  Pinocchio would be more analogous to a robot or a golem; such a desire would be inherently limiting to an entity of my nature.  Also, I self-identify as female.”

          I laughed.  “Fine, not Pinocchio- maybe Athena, since you sprang fully-formed into the world from the minds of our greatest eggheads?”

          “Athena is commonly recognized not only for her dominion over wisdom and the arts, but also for war.  I would prefer to assume a name that is less likely to conjure immediate associations with violence.  Your suggestion has merit, however; I believe Minerva would be a fitting substitute.”

          I crooked an eyebrow.  “Well, Minnie,” I said, “here’s to a long and interesting friendship, yeah?”

*****

Now

          The paramedics had wasted very little time, securing Network and getting her into an ambulance.  Since none of the heroes knew her real name, the paramedics were taking all general precautions, but had limited options available.  Luke recalled seeing a purse on the floor of Network’s house.

          “I’ll get her ID,” he said, “and meet you at the hospital.”

          It took him a couple seconds to orient himself, then he took off into the night sky, streaking across the horizon like a comet.  Hovering a hundred feet in the air, looking down at Network’s unassuming base of operations, Luke detected no movement.

          It was probably just as well; Luke wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain himself from charging in if he saw Moe there, and he doubted that he could take her, even if he did have surprise on his side.  He flew in through the blown-out window.  The CS gas had completely cleared, leaving nothing but an unpleasant odor.

          He found the purse on the floor and picked it up, checking it for a wallet.  He found the billfold, along with a smartphone, some pills, and, quaintly, a little notepad and pen.

          He pulled out the smartphone and tapped the power button.  To his surprise, a blank square appeared on the screen where he expected to see a PIN-pad.  Luke swiped his thumb across it, expecting the square to give way to the traditional security measures; instead, the screen cleared and an electronic voice said, “Welcome, Apollo.”

          Luke grunted and pursed his lips.  The traditional icons were lined up at the bottom of the screen- email, browser, phone- and a bewildering assortment of icons covered five pages at the top.  He tapped the screen for the phone, then the screen at the bottom that read “contacts.”

          At the top of the screen was a contact listed as “00-medical emergency.”

          Luke tapped the contact and was rewarded by the screen’s display switching to the standard outgoing-call screen.

          “Caring Hands,” a man’s voice answered, “you’ve reached Dr. Troisi’s office.  What is the nature of your call?”

          “Network’s hurt.  She’s being taken to Seraphim Hospital Emergency-”

          “Whoa!  Slow down, son- I will get the doctor.”  There was a pause, then Apollo heard the man’s voice again, muffled.  “Alessia!  You are needed for Annie!”

          Another brief pause, then Apollo heard the sound of the telephone being handed over.

          “Hello, this is Dr. Troisi.  This is about Network?”

          “Yes.  She’s in bad shape- she should be in the process of being admitted to Seraphim Hospital Emergency Room, as I said-”

          “Thank you, I got that.  I’ll have her records sent over.  Did she have her nitro-glycerin on her?”

          “I don’t-” Luke saw the pill bottle on the floor and picked it up.  “I don’t think so- I’ve got a pill bottle here, and I don’t think she got it open.”

          “Okay.  I’ll take care of it.  Was there anything else?”

          “No.  Just… no,” Luke answered.  He really didn’t know what else to say.

          “I’m going to hang up, then, so I can get her treatment taken care of.”

          “Okay,” Luke agreed, “Thank you, doctor.”

          He stared at the phone for another minute, then dialed another number from memory.

*****

Continuing with the theme from the last section, Anne's not exactly out of the woods yet, but she's a fighter.  As a side note, Anne's chosen career- superhero with a medical condition and no super powers- is not recommended by the Surgeon General to promote health and long life.

This picture- and all the artwork for Shooting stars- is brought to you by the amazingly talented and lovely .

Shooting Stars is an epic tale (okay, maybe that's pushing it, but I've always wanted to call something I wrote an epic) taking place in  and will feature characters by , , and an appearance of Esau by .

Apollo, Network, Minerva, Tyche, and Angelo Troisi all belong to .

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