The access code to the vault wasn’t being accepted. Is it a speech recognition problem? I stared into the camera. “There is a global plague and we need to get inside. Our access code is correct.”

 

The AI responded, “Code not registering. Bicycle splurge countdown gizmo.”

 

I turned to Bryson. “It sounds like it’s insane. Is it even conscious?”

 

He said, “It’s not sentient. The shelter’s AI is controlled by a large language model that appears to have become corrupted. We’ll have to reason with the system’s algorithmic logic.”

 

The worldwide double whammy of the K-virus and the subsequent explosion in fibril prions had wiped out all but a handful of humans. Our group of nine had connected through what remained of the SpaceNet satellite system. Sarah was a Special Forces pilot and had flown a military helicopter to collect us all from scattered locations across the country.

 

I tried again. “It is urgent to grant access. We are the last of humanity and require the food and resources inside to survive.”

 

The smooth gender-neutral voice of the vault responded, “Your rationale calculates as being emotionally ingenuine.”

 

“Emotionally ingenuine?! How can a generative AI have emotions?”

 

Bryson said, “The algorithm can calculate a simulated emotional response based on its training.”

 

Our group included women of child-bearing age, so there was some slim hope for the future of the human race if we could isolate in this shelter while the pandemic ran its course. With the uninfected seeds stored inside, we could eventually grow new crops.

 

Maria interrupted. “Kevin, are you sure the food in the vault is safe?”

 

“Should be good. Sarah has the master database for all the shelters. The cans and frozen supplies inside were sealed long before the prions circulated. In any case, we have no other options, and we’ve consumed all of the cans we had with safe dates.”

 

Vaccine attempts for the virus had failed. Once infected, death came in a handful of days. The prions, on the other hand, would eat up your brain within a few weeks. Our small group had beaten the odds so far.

 

The other shelters had all been infected and wiped out. This was the only one not accessed due to its remote location on the Alaskan north slope. Also, this AI wasn’t accepting the access code.

 

“Shen, any ideas?”

 

“It’s a language problem. Every dialect carries subtle shades of meaning that can be difficult to adequately translate into another language. We need keywords that will connect with the AI’s damaged algorithms.”

 

Bryson chimed in, “Computers also process information differently according to the programming language utilized, so AIs also have difficulties with their own translations between operating systems. This one’s language execution is damaged, even though it’s been trained in all known dialects.”

 

Dyani said, “It’s hanging up on English. It may have lost the ability to connect with a number of languages. We need to find a lingua franca, a vernacular that both we and the AI can understand, and it seems to be looking for an algorithmic emotional validation – something convincingly sincere. My great grandfather was a code talker in World War II, and family lore confirms their difficulty in translating deep meaning between languages.”

 

Shen stepped up. “I’ll try Chinese.” He explained our situation to the AI in Mandarin. Shen looked perplexed as he translated the response. “It told me, ‘This rationale is interpreted as unconvincing.’ Then it said, ‘Unfortunate sadness sublimates joyful flowers.’”

 

Saanvi tried in Hindi but received a similar nonsensical result from the AI.

 

Maria made our case in Spanish, then reported, “The AI said something like ‘Enjoy squid hovercraft from Bolivia.’”

 

A spinning circle of red lights appeared on the vault’s display screen. “Warning. You have exhausted your allowable proximity time. Defense systems are now activated. Ultrasonic sound will be broadcast at increasingly higher volume. You must leave the area. Within 3 minutes, the intensity will become fatal and remain at that level indefinitely.”

 

I felt a buzzing inside my head and said to the group, “I’m getting a splitting headache. Our goose is cooked. If we remain here, we die. If we leave, it’s starvation and the pandemic.”

 

Dyani rubbed her temples. “It feels like gravel is rattling in my skull, and I’m getting nauseous.”

 

Bryson staggered away with hands over his ears saying, “I can’t take it.” Maria and Shen also fled. Saanvi collapsed on the ground in tears.

 

Dyani struggled to maintain composure. “I.. I have an idea. We have a Navajo word with a different mindset, a complex idea that means ‘everything is good,’ but is deeper than that. We use it to say ‘hello,’ but it carries the feeling of a new beginning and a bright future. It proclaims that all will be okay.” Dyani pushed away the pain that was like a knife stabbing through her head and stared into the AI’s camera with a steely focus. In a loud voice, she said, “Yah-AH-teh.”

 

The AI’s spinning circle of lights stopped, and the ultrasonic barrage ceased.

 

There was an agonizing silence and the screen turned solid blue. Is the AI thinking? Did it hang up or shut down? Can it translate Navajo?

 

The screen went blank. I think it’s dead. No one spoke as we waited. Then the hatch unlatched with a hissing sound followed by a pop as the internal air pressure equalized with the outside and the gateway swung open.

“Welcome to the U.S. Department of Defense shelter number 328. I am at your disposal.”