Omnipage and the Child-Savage

The interior of the tank was cramped and smelt like a musty watering
can. Babbage slouched low in his seat, one foot wedged sideways across
the viewscreen, the other propped up on the throttleshift. He was ten
and irredeemably grubby.

"Could an all-powerful God create self-binding laws?" he yelled above
the rumble of the engine. "Laws that He couldn't reverse?" The tank
jolted violently as its tracks went over a rock. Babbage winced as his
backside returned to the seat with a thump.

"An all-powerful God is not possible," replied Omnipage in its
restrained male synthvoice. Babbage sighed to himself, peeling a strip
of matted blond hair from his forehead.

"How can you know that?"

"Omnipotence is a logical impossibility," Omnipage informed him
bluntly. Babbage idly increased the pressure of his heel against the
throttleshift. The hum from the engine grew louder accordingly.

"But what about outside of a reductive Boolean framework? Surely it
would be possible for an omnipotent God to transcend dualist
contradictions, otherwise He wouldn't be omnipotent."

"Any discussion of concepts beyond the bounds of logic is
meaningless."

Babbage leant forward with a kind of fatigued eagerness. "So you
concede that such a God could exist?"

"No."

"Fine." He folded his arms and stuck out his lower lip petulantly. "Be
like that! Even though I might die you won't let me win one debate,
will you?"

"No debate has been engaged in."

"Shut up!" Babbage screamed. He screwed his eyes closed and plugged his
ears with dirty fingers. For a few minutes, the conversation between he
and Omnipage came to a standstill. Babbage bounced and jiggled in his
seat to the rhythm of the ground beneath, until he was forced to remove
his fingers from his ears so he could hold himself steady.

It was very, very hot inside the tank. All hatches were sealed in the
hope of keeping out any air-borne viruses or toxins created in the wake
of the ST-Barrage. Babbage's mouth was dry. He wiped sweat from his
sun-browned skin with the wadded up tatters of his T-shirt. "How much
longer?"

"Approximately two hours," said Omnipage, then added, "at current
speed." Babbage allowed himself to be fascinated by the pause,
providing as it did a distraction from his dehydration.

"Omnipage - how do you decide what is pertinent when you reply to a
question? What's to stop you infinitely contextualising and qualifying
every reply you give? How do you balance between accuracy and a
perpetual regressus ad infinitum?"

"There is no 'you', no 'I' - Omnipage is not sentient. It is a
naturalistic verbal interface for the Landcrawler's database," and
then, "Omnipage interprets questions through clusters of dynamic
algorithms."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Yes," said Omnipage, paused, and went on, "Omnipage's Intuitive
Linguistic Interface or ILI is modelled on the processes of the human
brain. It was developed by researchers at the Chomsky Institute and
initially intended to form part of an expert system that could diagnose
a variety of minor ailments in patients and consequently free up
healthcare resources. It can interpret verbal commands and largely
compensate for vagaries of idiom. It is designed so that providing it
is regularly engaged in conversation it can continue to develop its
vocabulary and grasp of nuance. ILI is primed with basic conversational
maxims and concepts that allow Omnipage to recognise more than just the
literal meaning of a sentence. It also enables Omnipage to respond in a
register appropriate to the audience."

"So&;#8230;" Babbage closed his eyes. His head was beginning to
swim. "That's why you initially answered yes to my previous question -
you were taking it as a literal question - and then went on to
elaborate - you interpreted it as a command." Omnipage did not reply.
"That was a request for confirmation, just now. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Well&;#8230; what if someone tries to deliberately confuse
you?"

"Omnipage is non-sentient and therefore cannot become confused. There
are only successful and non-successful exchanges." Babbage grinned to
himself. The expression was strained, a tad woozy perhaps, but
undeniably mischievous.

"Lower tonnage scrummage photo montage multi-stage spoilage," he said,
then taking a deep breath, "patronage golden age guard hostage
aqua-massage?" Omnipage did not respond. "Cabbage?"

"No," said Omnipage.

"No what?"

"No, Omnipage is not or does not require a cabbage."

Babbage laughed. "You are weeeeeird, Omni." Omnipage remained silent.
Something small and hard dinged off the side of the tank. "Do you ever
speak without being directly addressed?"

"No."

"No spontaneous utterances at all?"

"None."

"What about in an emergency?" Babbage looked a little concerned.

"That ability is currently disabled."

"Well, re-enable it then. I want to know if we're about to go careening
off a cliff." Omnipage said nothing. "Have you done it?"

"Yes." Babbage let his head loll back and gasped like a dying fish. He
furrowed his brow, squinted.

"How long do I have to live?"

"You do not have to live." Suddenly the interior of the tank lurched
and dipped. Babbage slid out of his seat, the base of his spine
catching the lip of the control deck.

"Jesus! What's going on?"

"The Landcrawler is negotiating a ravine," Omnipage replied
flatly.

"Buckle me up! Buckle me up!" shouted Babbage, clawing with slick palms
at the seat, which was now above him. With a robust snap magstraps were
released from the sides of his chair. Babbage grabbed hold of one and
hoisted himself up into position. As he did so, the two buckles swung
together and fastened, the straps tightening. Babbage hung there in
juddering, shuddering disbelief, trying to get his breath back.
"H-h-how d-deep is it?" he stammered, more from the vibrations than
from fear.

"One thousand four hundred and sixty metres."

"Is there life after death, Omni?"

Omnipage was silent for a moment. "No."

* * *

The plains were flat expanses of red clay stippled with black ash. The
going was a lot more comfortable - although not much cooler - than
before. Babbage had asked Omnipage if it was safe to open the vents and
received a negative response. Although the Landcrawler was out of the
immediate area affected by the ST-Barrage, the plains had occasionally
been used as testing grounds before war broke out. The risk of
bacterial infection was 'significant'. Since the landscape contained
little of note, Babbage allowed his foot to slide back over the
viewscreen. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a strip of
leather.

"How long until we get there?" he asked languidly.

"Approximately half an hour, at current speed," said Omnipage. Babbage
could not find the strength to sigh. He had stopped perspiring, was
starting to desiccate.

"Will I make it?"

"It is likely."

"Alive?"

"It is likely." Babbage stared up at the statdisplay above his head.
The digits were becoming an effervescent blur.

"I feel&;#8230;" he slurred. "I feel so strange. What's my most
pressing need?"

"Physical? Spiritual? Intellectual?"

"What?"

"In what context is your question intended?" said Omnipage.

"Physical!" He gritted his teeth. "What's wrong with you?"

Omnipage paused, then seemed to decide that Babbage's final sentence
was rhetorical. "Surgery."

"How long until I&;#8230;" Babbage's mouth and throat were getting
too dry to talk. "Until I&;#8230; until my symptoms are inoperable?"
he finished.

"Auto-haemorrhaging is likely to peak in approximately forty-five
minutes time. Your projected survival is ten minutes from that point."
Babbage nodded redundantly. He had other questions but his cracked lips
could no longer form words, and his head felt so heavy, so, so
heavy.

* * *

An abrupt clatter shook Babbage awake. The air felt slightly cooler. He
felt around in his mouth for his tongue, marshalled his lips into
speaking.

"Have we arrived?"

"We are ascending the steps to the Hemisphere's entrance," said
Omnipage. Babbage's heart began to race. Already he could feel a
pressure inside his cranium.

"Omni&;#8230; my head's starting to hurt. Are we on schedule?"

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"How far are we behind?" The clattering stopped as the tank tilted
level again.

"We are not behind. We are ahead by nine minutes." Babbage heaved out
an arid gasp of relief.

"Thank God," he said. "Where's the nearest medicentre?"

Omnipage paused. "320 metres due southeast."

"Head for it." Babbage was jerked to the left as the tank executed a
sharp turn and accelerated towards its new destination. He was about to
lift his foot from the viewscreen to look for himself when something
occurred to him. "Err&;#8230; if I get operated on&;#8230; and
it's successful, does that mean my intelligence will go back to how it
was previously? I mean like, before the attack?"

"There are insufficient data to draw a firm conclusion."

"Have there ever been similar cases?"

"No," said Omnipage. "You are the first recorded survivor of an
ST-Barrage."

"Can't you hypothesise?"

"Hypothesises may be constructed." Omnipage paused. "Were the
haemorrhaging arrested before brain death and the damaged areas
regrafted, assuming you survived it would be consistent with current
data if the temporary improvement in your mental capacities
disappeared."

"Why?"

"The improvement coincided with the neural aberrations." Omnipage
paused. "Another possibility is that surgery would precipitate severe
retardation." The tank screeched to a halt, Babbage lurching forward in
his seat, saved from being knocked out against the comdeck by his
magstraps.

"Why have you stopped?" said Babbage.

"The Landcrawler has reached your destination."

"Okay - open hatch, open hatch!" Babbage tried to get up but found he
was still buckled in place. "Unbuckle me!" The magstraps unclipped and
receded into the seat. His legs nearly gave out beneath him as he
stood, wobbled, and poked his head through the dilating hatch.
Suspecting the surface of the Landcrawler might well be searingly hot,
he kept his arms by his sides.

The stench was acrid, the sum of all substances that should not be
burnt roasting at once. Babbage almost gagged. He blinked water out of
his eyes. The tank sat on the cusp of a gaping crater that was filled
almost to the brim with black, viscous liquid, on the surface of which
pale, green-rimmed bubbles had formed. The ground beneath him was
cracked and angled like a broken biscuit. Stunted grey husks of
buildings listed and slumped with fat crescents bitten out of their
sides. Babbage, incredulous, shaking, looked up, knowing what he would
see. What once had been a humbling translucent dome had been reduced to
a cracked, pitted, crazied ruin on the brink of caving in and burying
what it had once protected.

Everything was riddled with holes, the insidious swiss-cheesed
devastation that was the hallmark of the SpaceTime-Barrage. Each volley
ate through an area like a million ravenous maggots, ripping it to bits
and dragging tiny sections in different directions through time and
space.

"What happened?" cried Babbage, somewhat disingenuously. It was obvious
what had happened.

"The Hemisphere was struck by a retaliatory ST-Barrage," said
Omnipage.

"When?"

"Almost two years ago."

"What?" he spluttered. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The destruction of Beth Seraphim."

"But this is Beth Din!" Babbage banged his fist against the inside of
the tank. Omnipage said nothing. "Isn't it? Isn't it?"

"No," Omnipage replied. "You are in Beth Seraphim Hemisphere."

"Why the fuck did you bring me here?" Babbage yelled. "I told you I
needed a medicentre!" He sucked in a lungful of noxious air. "I'm going
to die!"

"You asked to be taken to the nearest Hemisphere."

"This place is in ruins! Everyone's dead! Where can I find a medicentre
here?"

"There is one on your left." Babbage turned, and saw through a gauze of
smoke, the burnt out shell of a two-storey building, its roof
collapsed.

"It's gutted," said Babbage. "It's just a ruin." Omnipage gave no
response. "Why didn't you take me to Beth Din? There's people there!
They could've helped me!"

"You requested to be taken to the nearest Hemisphere. Beth Din was
fifteen kilometres farther away than Beth Seraphim, after factoring in
the shortcut through the ravine."

"But I wanted a medicentre so I could get treated! I told you that! Why
didn't you take me where there were people?"

"You did not specify that the Hemisphere had to be inhabited."

"But you must have known!" Babbage was crying now. His throat and
nostrils stung. "You knew I needed to be treated! What happened to all
that talk about being intuitive?"

Omnipage paused before replying. "The ILI is not perfect. No dynamic
system can be. It is, however, capable of being perpetually improved.
Non-successful exchanges - such as the one you have highlighted - are
incorporated into the algorithm sets so as to reduce the likelihood of
their occurring in the future."

Babbage slowly let himself sink back through the hatch. He fell back
into his seat, and lay there, devastated.

"You've killed me, Omni," he said quietly, his head back, neck
stretched taut as a drumskin. He closed his eyes. "You can pilot the
Landcrawler even if I'm dead, right?"

"Yes."

He inhaled through his nostrils. "Can you record a message for me, and
replay it on arrival at Beth Din?"

"Yes."

"Start recording then." The tank interior was silent. Babbage coughed
weakly, and then began. "Mum, Dad&;#8230; I didn't die in the
attack. I survived. Don't&;#8230;" He was starting to choke on his
words. "I don't want this to go on anymore. Tell the people - don't
retaliate, don't look for revenge. It's got to stop somewhere.
Please&;#8230; if you want my life to have meant anything, renounce
violence once and for all. Pass this message on. Make sure everybody
hears. Argh!" He clutched his head. "Jesus! Fuck! Omnipage, stop
recording!" Omnipage did not reply. "Omni! Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Well stop recording, then!" Again, Omnipage did not answer. "Have you
done it?"

"Yes."

"Gah!" Babbage's young countenance was tightened in an agonised
grimace. "Drive the Landcrawler to Beth Din&;#8230; play the message
when you arrive. Aargh!" He was weeping freely now, his skin crimson.
The engine started up, and the tank began to reverse. "Christ! Omni -
tell Mum and Dad I love them. And&;#8230;" He opened his eyes
suddenly. The veins bulged out on his forehead. "It's going to be safe,
isn't it? I mean, the tank's not carrying any&;#8230; gaaah!"
Babbage doubled up, then jerked his neck back, blood streaming from his
nose, his eyes bloodshot. He grasped at the controls with one
hand.

"No, it will not be safe. The Landcrawler interior and your lungs
almost certainly contain a variety of lethal bacteria from the
contaminated air of this Hemisphere." Babbage's body tightened,
convulsed once, twice, then toppled back into the seat and fell still.
The conversation at an end, the Landcrawler was driven competently and
efficiently out of the desolate city, towards the prosperous, populous
Beth Din, and the last hope for peace.