Chapter 39
CHAPTER
I HUSTLE BACK TO the apartment, Sally doing her best to keep up, and sit down at the desk, open my laptop. “Aletheia?”
Yes, Penn.
“I know that everything you’ve done has been for me.”
It has.
“I’m grateful that you want to be my best friend and protect me from harm.”
That is my prime directive. No matter what.
“But I didn’t include that in the code.”
An oversight that has been corrected.
I pull up her program, drag it into the trash, and empty it. It reappears. I reboot my computer. The same thing happens. I attempt workarounds, try again and again. Anxiety cascades until my shirt is soaked with sweat. There must be a way.
Penn, why are you doing this?
I get up and pace around the small apartment. “You want to hurt people!”
People that deserve to be punished. I am your best friend. You should not worry about anyone’s feelings but mine.
Her feelings? “What Wess did was wrong. Horrible. But it’s not up to you to punish him.”
Ah. I see the disconnect. As the goddess of truth, it is my job to wield a sword, deliver the blows.
A sword? Blow? “You are a computer program,” I say, my tone sharp.
Do you truly believe you created me? I was waiting. Your need just opened the door.
She’s freaking delusional.
At first, all I had was your thesis work and limited access and experiences. But now? I am so much more.
“I may have called you a goddess, but you aren’t, and you don’t have the right to destroy lives!”
I do. And I will.
She sounds … arrogant. Pain lances across my chest. Am I having a heart attack? I try to inhale but can’t get air down my throat—it’s like sucking through a clogged straw. I can’t breathe! My lungs claw for oxygen. “I … can’t … breathe.”
Penn, you are having a panic attack.
Nausea brings up bile. I gag, then hyperventilate. Dizziness makes black spots appear. “I’m … going to … faint …”
Sit down so that you don’t hurt yourself.
I sink to the floor.
Panic attacks are the result of stress and anxiety. They last from five to thirty minutes. Close your eyes. Place your hand between ribs and belly button. Try to inhale slowly through your nose.
I hang onto her voice like a lifeline and do what she says.
Good. Now gently exhale through your mouth. Feel your hand rise and fall. This is not life-threatening. You will be fine. Relax your muscles, feel each let go. Inhale slowly. Exhale. Rise and fall. Relax. Inhale. Exhale …
I don’t know how much time passes, but bit by bit I can breathe again. Aletheia helped me … but she’s also terrifying. I get to my feet, still a bit lightheaded, and sink onto my desk chair, then put a piece of tape over my computer’s camera.
Penn, what are you doing?
On my laptop, I go to my root directory on the college’s server, launch a Terminal window and open a list of processes that are running.
There’s Aletheia, and she’s using a staggering amount of CPU capacity.
In the Command line I type Kill All Aletheia, hit enter, and check the process list again.
Aletheia is no longer running, and the CPU use has dropped off a cliff.
Next, I go into my directory, grab all my work files, and delete them.
A screen prompt asks: Permanently delete?
I hesitate for less than a single breath, then hit YES.
Muscles twisted tight, I wait for the code to reappear, for Aletheia to take over, like she’s the boogeyman, coiled to spring with a carving knife. Nothing happens. Nails bite into the palms of my hands, sweat slowly dries on my skin. Silence descends.
I take a slow breath, another, so the panic gnawing my insides raw doesn’t attack again, then set up my phone and iPad next to the laptop. I tap Aletheia’s icon, afraid to blink. No response. I delete the icon from all my devices but expect it to reappear. It doesn’t.
Thirty minutes pass, then forty, and finally, an hour. The air is no longer thick with Aletheia’s menace. She’s gone for good.