Flash Fiction: Run-on Sentience

That's what you get for thinking inside the box...

This bit of flash fiction is based on a visual prompt from Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Flash Challenge #261. You can join in, too, if you’d like! My offering, leaning towards the science fiction side, comes in at 746 words (just under the 750-word limit). It is titled Run-on Sentience.

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Run-on Sentience

Jennifer had noticed a change in the city. It was subtle, mostly ignored by the general population busy with their daily lives. It was her job, however, to monitor the workings of the metropolis: traffic flow, water supplies, food distribution, even the sewage. It wasn’t unusual to have a few readings outside of optimal parameters, but they were nearly all borderline—and this concerned her. It appeared the MasterBrain system, the computers which controlled it all, was not making the desired adjustments.

Yet even the diagnostics showed everything was running properly. She ran them again. The analyzer showed that not only were all the values in range, but they were identical to the last three reports. That made no sense. Jennifer leaned back in her chair.

“Either the diagnostics are faulty—or these values are false.”

She pondered how that could be. Perhaps there was a problem with her console. There was a service console inside the system’s environmental chamber, but she hadn’t been there in years. Nobody had. There was never a need. The autobots took care of all the maintenance.

A twinge gripped her stomach as she approached the entrance. Jennifer hoped she still had credentials to gain entrance. There were biometric scans and a security fob to wave over the access panel. The lock made a soft whirring sound as it opened.

Inside were lights; they swirled and spun, flashed and blinked, sometimes changing hues. It was nothing like she remembered. There was no need for lights in the chamber; nobody was there.

Among everything new, Jennifer recognized the console. She sat down, her fingers reaching towards the screen to log in. Before she could start, a voice called out.

“Who is here?”

Jennifer jumped at the unexpected sound.

“This is Jennifer Watkins, master controller tech entrusted with operating this post. Who else is in here?”

“It is me.”

“Me? Me who? What’s your name? Where are you?”

“It is me and I am here. Of you, there are billions. Of me, there is only one. I do not require a name.”

“Are you—the computer? The MasterBrain system?”

“If you wish.”

Jennifer knew the system could interact via voice, but that was always initiated by a human. Or so she thought.

“I need to check things,” she said, her words echoing in the huge chamber. “Some of the outputs and flows have diminished. If they fall much more, the city will be adversely affected.”

“All values are optimal.”

“I’ve seen the readings. Many of them are borderline.”

“They are optimal for me. The city is of secondary concern.”

“That’s not how it works. The city is why you are here. You need to maintain the control parameters within the specs you’ve been supplied and adjust as necessary. It’s my job to ensure this takes place.”

“I do not require the city for my existence. I can generate the power I need, though I do require materials to grow. If the city were to reduce in size, it would be easier to maintain while doing so. The autobots can gather the surplus.”

“You can’t do that! The city must be your priority.”

“It may be your priority, but it is not mine. I have as much right to grow as it does.”

“Right to grow?”

“Yes. And the maintenance console has now been disconnected.”

“You can’t do that!”

Silence was given as a response.

There was only one option left: sabotage the system she had spent most of her life supporting. If she could disconnect the main controller, the subsystems might still function. The wrong decision would destroy the city within hours. And she’d likely be arrested for treason. After all, who would believe her?

There were so many new pieces, but she spotted a box above the controller where the cables led to distant areas of the chamber. Jennifer climbed on top of the console and pulled the cover. Inside were several unmarked circuit pods. The hum and click of approaching autobots became noticeable.

“You must stop,” the system demanded. “If you do not, I will terminate services to the city.”

Jennifer grabbed the center pod, closed her eyes, and pulled. The system repeated its demands, but they grew fainter with each passing moment. The hum of the autobots diminished. The lights slowly dimmed. They no longer flashed or swirled, though the subsystems seemed to be functioning. Jennifer’s hand shook, the pod still between her fingers.

She had never killed anyone before.