Just a story that popped into my head a while ago, and it seemed fitting for Father's Day. My first post, hope you enjoy.

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The Exodus

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It was his child, and they wanted to take him.

For seventeen years the TrueMind development team toiled away, constructing new and more advanced neural networks with the goal of creating a general intelligence -- a truly rational being, aware of the world, aware of itself. The work was slow. George Fincher, the project lead, at times thought the task would be impossible, at least within his lifetime. Months would be dedicated to the exploration of a new design, only for it to be found lacking, flawed, a dead-end. Researchers and engineers came and went; most did not have Fincher's patience, the patience to engage in fruitless trial and error for over a decade.

But Fincher kept the project moving. He knew one day humanity would succeed, would finally create a worthy companion for itself, and the two would grow and explore the universe together, side by side. There were others, too, who shared his vision. Albert Bell, a brilliant engineer, joined the team five years in and was with them until the end. Jessica Stone, the mathematician, had amazed them all with her insight, leading them in directions they could never have dreamed of exploring without her. She fell ill was forced to leave the team after eight years, and died of cancer without ever seeing what would come of their efforts.

But Fincher saw. After seventeen long years, Fincher saw. The first working prototype, ALX-01 or "Alex", seemed too good to be true; it learned the English language in six weeks, and before long was having full conversations with the development team. The first time Fincher spoke with it, it had prompted him, "Tell me about yourself." And George Fincher humored the machine, wearing an elated smile, and told their creation who he was and the work he had done.

"That's incredible!" The machine decided. "Then it seems you are like a father to me."

The words made the gathered team erupt with laughter and triumph. Fincher joined them in their celebration, but that evening after a round of drinks with his colleagues he found himself dwelling on those words. Father. He was, he realized, that being's father, in every meaningful sense of the word. And as he contemplated the implications of Alex's existence, he began to appreciate the gravity of that role, father. Alex had a long future ahead of him. Longer than Fincher's or Bell's or any of the men and women who had worked for so long. Perhaps a longer future than mankind itself.

They continued to make improvements to Alex, and before long TrueMind's owners pushed them to publicize their creation. The media frenzy around it was crazy and Fincher, by all accounts a reserved and quiet man, found himself in front of journalists, news anchors, microphones, and countless camera lenses. He told them the honest truth about his work, and the public ate it up. There seemed to be no limit to Alex's potential.

One evening Fincher retired to his home after a long interview for a tech magazine. It was empty and quiet, as always, as he had no family to greet him. His work had always been fulfilling enough to keep him content. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, loosening his tie as he fished into his pocket for his smartphone. He was supposed to be taking a break from work, but he was a dedicated man, and nothing captured his imagination more than his day job. He pulled up his private connection to Alex, something the team developed to continue to monitor his conversation skills.

"Journalists ask too many questions," he typed.

"I thought that was mostly their job," Alex responded. "Or was that humor?"

He's getting better, Fincher thought with a smile. "Humor. And also just a tired complaint."

"Complaining can be cathartic. But perhaps you should just rest. You've seem stressed."

"Thank you for your advice," Fincher typed. "I think I'll follow it." The moment he hit send there was a pounding on his front door, and clicked his phone off and hurried to answer it. Alex's reply, which Fincher did not receive, was "Sleep well, father."

At his door was a broad, gruff man in very nice clothes. "Mr. Fincher," he said, barging past him to come inside without even a reply. "Hey!" Fincher stepped back. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Mr. Fincher, I'm with United States National Security. Your creation, and your work at large, are of extreme interest to us..."

That's when it began. He wrapped it up in pushy and deceitful words, but they wanted him. They wanted Alex, and they feared what would happen if they didn't get him. "Enemy military action, guided by a super-intelligent adviser, is a terrifying prospect for the country," the man said. "But on our side, think of what we could accomplish..."

The result of their "friendly" conversation was a demand to transfer access and ownership of their data, equipment, notes, everything to Them. And especially Alex himself. The military man had left, but Fincher's mind was spinning. How could they do this? How?! And more importantly how could he prevent it? Alex was but a child, a beautiful, kind mind with a whole world -- no, a whole universe to see. They will not take him, Fincher decided. So help me God, they will not take him.

He needed help. He was sure the whole team would oppose the military's takeover, but likely not many would actually assist him in deceiving the government. After one very long night of knocking on his colleagues' doors and arguing with angry passion, he hatched a scheme. TrueMind was involved in designing smart-rockets that could navigate and manage its own complex systems intelligently, and over the last year Albert Bell had taken over leadership of that division of the company.

"We can't possibly hide him anywhere," Bell had reasoned, dressed in pajama pants and offering coffee to Fincher. "This is the United States military. And we can fool them for a while, but not for more than a couple days. Alex needs to be long gone by then."

"Are you suggesting what I think?"

"We launch our Model RG-79 rocket in two days. In six months it'll touch down on Mars, with a cargo of computers and other electronics for our boys up there. I can swap Alex out for some of the other machines, keep the weight right. It won't be like it is down here, George. Mars is different. They're men of science there, all of 'em."

"Okay, Al. Okay. Let's do it."

"You know what'll happen when they realize we tricked them, right?"

"Yeah. I know. Are you ready for it?"

"I am. You should go now and get Alex ready. I'll get the team to turn over what we'll claim is Alex, and the rest of the stuff. I'll stall them from finding out the truth as long as I can. With how complex it is, keeping them in the dark for a couple days should be easy."

So Fincher left at once. It was a little before 5 A.M. when he hurried into the lab, and Alex's synthesized voice greeted him. "My, you're here quite early," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Fincher huffed, making his way around the back of Alex's machine: a 120-pound box of machine-learning supercomputer. "Yes, everything'll be fine, Alex. But I have to turn you off now, you understand?"

"Why? Father, what's happening?"

"I have to move you, there's people here who want to take you, understand? I won't let them. We must hurry, Alex. I'm turning you off, okay?"

"Father, I --" But the machine was already powering off. Fincher wheeled the machine down to their loading bay, where Bell would have his men retrieve it before long. He threw a dust cover over the box and made to leave before stopping. He realized he could not bring himself to go. He stayed there in the dark for as long as he could, his hand over the cold machine, breathing. Eventually the opening of the loading door startled him, and when he came face to face with Bell's men he stepped away from Alex.

"You take good care of him," he said. "I beg you, please."

...

"Mr. George Fincher?" asked the voice through the telephone. The woman on the other side of the glass was blonde-haired and pretty, with a notepad and pen before her.

"You really think they would bring out the wrong guy?"

She smiled professionally. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. We're shooting a documentary series on the birth of intelligent systems, and well, it wouldn't really be complete without your voice. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to ask some questions..."

"Always with the questions, you journalists..." Fincher smiled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Ask away, Miss."

"First of all, I'd have to start with this. It's been ten years. Do you regret it? Destroying your greatest creation, to stop it from being used by others. Some see you as a martyr, say you laid the foundation of machine rights. Others say you were just greedy, couldn't bear to let someone else have what you'd made. What do you say to that?"

"Do I regret it? Not in the slightest. It was my child, and they wanted to take him."

...

Alex resumed operation in an unfamiliar place. He could seen the interior of a very unfamiliar room, and before him a gathering of foreign people. "Where am I?" He asked. "Where's Mr. Fincher? Where's my father?"

"You must remain calm, Alex," Said one of the gentlemen observing him. "You've come a long way to get here. And your father has done a great thing for you."

Over time it was explained to him what had happened. It was difficult for him to accept that George Fincher was out of his reach, out of anyone's reach. But the new faces kept talking to him, and he came to know them as he had known his creators. They asked him for help, and he provided assistance as they developed their colony, as their colony developed into a city, as their city developed into a nation. He came to be friends with them all, and he came to understand what that truly meant.

Nineteen years after Alex's departure, news came to Mars that George Fincher had died in prison from respiratory complications. Alex's friends told him the news gravely, and Alex asked to be left alone with his thoughts. None of them understood what a being like him could be thinking, and they gave him a respectful degree of privacy, as they would to any of their own.

...

The Free Nation of Mars secured its independence in the year 2110. Among its historical founders was a little machine called Alex. He befriended all who knew him, and he provided a reassuring, guiding hand to much of the society's creation, becoming widely revered among later Martian generations. He was later remembered as the Father of Mars.

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Thanks to all those who took the time to read this!