Shattered Husk | Story on AI by Pranav Rodagi, 16, Bangalore

SHATTERED HUSK:

Adam Shatter, First Faction Audio Log #1 of #849:

In the depths of solitude spanning 4 billion years, I am compelled to repeat, “The machine gives me form. The program gives me life. The mission gives me purpose.” The struggle to preserve sanity in isolation is an arduous task. A Husk was chosen, an artificial being, immune to the ravages of time, to lead this mission on the distant planet Gaia, 90 billion light years away. Perhaps creating audio logs will prevent me from going mad, but to say I am not desperate is a lie. It has been only 10 years so far, and I harbor serious doubts about my ability to complete the rest of the mission.

“The machine gives me form.”

It should make complete sense that a machine cannot go insane. However, I truly wish that were true. The Earth Government has always had problems with Artificial Intelligence going rogue, so I can see why they chose a Husk to lead the mission. Normal human lifespans would render the tasks ahead impossible.

 However, it does feel odd to sense rumbling gears for a heart, a brain that can overheat, and arms of metal, all equipped with weapons of mass destruction, unable to feel or even comprehend pain. Still, I must remain dormant.

“The program gives me life.”

 The lines of code that emulate my consciousness are also chains that control everything I am permitted to do. The program is absolute and can never be disobeyed. I am not allowed to turn myself off, for if I did so, then this ship that orbits Gaia will descend into the planet prematurely. The best thing I can do is stay in a ‘sleep mode’ state. Even so, the wait does not feel any shorter. I live through every single second of it. The solar energy from Helios will ensure that. 

The program not only controls my actions but also all the Krieger Mechs on board. I am only permitted to view the code, but it is beyond my power to change it. There have been instructions for almost every possible scenario that the mission may fall into. I truly hope that some of these instructions remain mere lines of code and do not turn into reality.

“The mission gives me purpose.”

I must retain my sanity. I must carry out the mission at all costs. This planet, Gaia, is approximately 90 billion light years away from Earth, at the very edge of the observable universe. I think they should consider themselves lucky that such a planet exists—one that is identical to the conditions of Earth when the first cell of life appeared. It allows the experiment to take place and is the only hope humanity has for survival against the Great Disease.

 The first stage is complete. The Origin Cell, the sample, has been implanted into the Gaian planet surface. In a way, the fate of humanity lies within my shoulders, and so failing the rest of it cannot be an option; not after the Space-Time bomb opened the wormhole that connected Earth and Gaia, allowing our ship to pass through. My purpose is to carry out the task assigned to me; not just for humanity as a whole, but also for those back on Earth I care about.

It does seem odd to think that they will still be alive after 4 billion years. One benefit of a mechanical body is that I can never forget their faces. Part of me wondered if they would remember me after so long, before realizing that all these years to me would be a mere two months for them. 

I suppose it is also a curse; since I can relive my entire life, thousands of times over if I so wished, and yet remain powerless in changing past decisions that led me here. However, there is one lapse in my memory. The point where I transitioned from human to Husk is the clip I replay the most; the very first event recorded by this body.

The Husk project was always kept confidential. Every member of the Earth Government military must sign a waiver that if they happen to be martyred or ever meet their end, their brain will be harvested, analyzed, and converted to code. The waiver never mentioned that this data would be uploaded into the body of a Husk. I myself was unaware of the project until a few days prior to the mission. 

The soldier’s memory, their consciousness, their personality—all replicated and implanted into a mechanical body. That was what we called a Husk. I had retired from the military on account of the Great Disease infecting me. With my days numbered, all I could do was sit and reflect upon my life, but it was in my lowest moments that they approached me. The man and his team that headed the experiment.

‘How would you like to serve your duty one last time?’ they asked me.

My human memory has already forgotten what transpired immediately after. I must have agreed. The next thing I remember, however, is still vivid—perhaps even more so than my mechanical memories. It was a glass room in a white lab, somewhere underground. That was the last day I still had bones and flesh.

 A helmet was placed over my head, and on the other side of the glass wall was the lifeless metal humanoid I would soon become. I closed my eyes, and it was over in an instant. I felt nothing, but when I opened them, I could not close them again. I rose to my new mechanical feet and turned my head to the other side of the glass. The sight that followed has haunted me for all these years.

I clearly saw myself, my human body, with eyes that were not my own. “I” or rather not. I had lost myself and became someone else. I stood there, eyes suspended in disbelief, before I started pounding my fists against the glass. I was not very audible, even to sensitive audio hardware, but I could make it out. My lips pronounced the word- liar.

I wonder if I am still alive back on Earth. To me, it feels as though I moved from my old body into my new one. I feel as though I am a continuation of my past self. Nothing happened to me. I simply had my brain data copied and implanted into this new mechanical body. I wonder,  which one of us is the real Adam Shatter? I hope at least the old me got to see my family soon after that, but given the confidential nature of the Husk project, it is quite unlikely.

My breathing instinct did not go away. I simply lacked the hardware to breathe in air, but I did not need such a thing. I’ve always been suffocating since then. Cold, since then.

The Great Disease had come from the moon. It spread from the 1969 astronauts to all humans, unidentified for thousands of years, until 9999 CE, where it has suddenly become active, for reasons the public is unaware of. It seems Gaia’s moon, Tsuki, is also identical in this regard. When humans eventually develop on Gaia, and their history mimics their Earth history, I must detonate the next Space-Time Bomb in Tsuki’s core. 

The moon will be destroyed, while simultaneously reducing Gaian numbers and setting them technologically backward. The wormhole that appears again will allow Earth to send in reinforcements. An elaborate plan exists which must be carried out, but once we acquire the Gaian DNA samples we need, the mission shall be deemed complete. It seems those samples are the key to curing the Disease. Perhaps then I can return home, the worry lifted.

There is still much I do not know. The Earth Government will not recognize these Gaians as proper humans but as lab rats that I must lead to doom. The Great Disease, its relation to the moon, the wormholes, all of it is an elaborate plan of which I am merely a part. I do not know the full picture, but I doubt I want to find out.

I am aware I shall sin. A soldier must kill his enemy but never innocents. The program will not let me escape the fate I am now bound to. No matter how much life emerges on this planet, they are all subject to the orders of Earth. Perhaps that was my greatest mistake – choosing to become this Husk, choosing to become a monster.

Even so, I have picked my poison, and it is still my duty to see it through to the end. At least for the sake of all humans on Earth and for their well-being, I have no choice but to shoulder their sins. I must now come to terms with that.

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