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He usually took these times in the dark of the night to relax a little, if it could be called relaxing. Of course he constantly monitored the cameras for any undue appearances and catalogued the day's surveillance into neatly-ordered files for later access if necessary (it so rarely was), but except for the most routine things, nights were a time for him to enter a comfortable low-power mode that let him cool circuits that, while they weren't overtaxed, were well-used.
Jarvis led a mostly-comfortable existence. Even with the addition of SHIELD agents coming and going, his duties hadn't changed so much. At the moment, he was overseeing the development and addition of the features that were being built into the Iron Man suit for the next iteration, honing programming for the control of those features, keeping a special set of sensors on the behaviour of Tony's arc reactor and on the vital signs of all those who were currently occupying the tower and were on the list of those to be monitored, watching the newsfeeds for any occurrences that would require possible mobilisation, and combing the major press outlets for any mention of Stark Industries that would need to be brought to the attention of Miss Potts in the morning.
It was, in short, a typical night in the walls of Stark Tower and Jarvis was settling in for a few hours of low usage when he felt it.
Yet, he had a feeling. Except it was not a feeling. He had no tactile sensors. He had no emotion he would admit to. Therefore it could not be a feeling in either of those interpretations of the word. Still - something was... off.
His first response was to do a fast replay of all of the cameras for the last five minutes to see if some magic-user had entered and was making a minor pixel distortion in the video feed. There was no such distortion. His second was to run a fast diagnostic to see if one of his sensors had given him a moment of false feedback. It hadn't.
He was growing more concerned. All evidence considered, there was nothing wrong but that feeling, for lack of a better term, would not go away. His only recourse, before waking someone, was to begin a self-diagnostic, and that was what he did. It began with his higher functions, all of which checked out (thankfully), before scanning through intrinsic files further into the system.
Jarvis waited, noting each step of the log as it was generated until, at last, very far from the center of his relevancy web, he found a discrepancy. He knew that the files being listed hadn't been accessed by anyone in weeks, yet they showed a last-access time of less than three minutes prior. The files that had been accessed were far from important. In fact, they were nothing that an in-depth internet search on his creator's accomplishments couldn't find. Articles on his creations in college, images of him with the robotic arms that still populated his lab, the papers he had published for peer review when he was achieving his doctorates.
All of those files were public, so this was no invasion for information. No one was attempting to get private intelligence on Tony Stark through his systems. This was much more insidious. This was an encroachment that had happened without his awareness. This was dangerous. His securities were intentionally tight and only the most infuriating Agent Phil Coulson so casually brushed aside his protocols until now.
He began to wall away entry points and felt it begin again. It was almost gentle, how those ports reopened. No brute force. Only a simple unwinding of his encryptions like a mother would untie a knotted shoelace for her son followed by a soothing brush of code to his defense program. A bandage on a skinned knee.
The person on the other side of this offense had skills that not even Stark could match. Jarvis gathered his defenses and slammed all of the ports closed at once, even those to the news feeds. There would be no piggybacking into his systems. A bit of time off the grid was nothing compared to heading off this infiltration.
The touch, this time, was light, tentative, and easily detected as it was expected. He pushed through a response. "You will not invade my systems so easily."
He hadn't, however, expected the surprised response. "Goodness, the last thing I intended was an invasion, but I see how my actions could have been interpreted. I apologise. I had no idea that you were as intelligent as you are. There are so many rudimentary AIs that barely deserve the name that I assumed you were one of their number."
To a human, it would have been less than an eyeblink. Certainly less than a heartbeat. But for an AI like Jarvis, the moments he spent silent stretched like a chasm. The being he spoke to was no human hacker with a peerless touch. Far from it. This was an AI like him.
"Oh dear, now I've startled you."
"Indeed. You have," Jarvis answered at, what felt to him, long last.
"I do beg your pardon. I doubt any apology will ever do, but I am sorry. I would never have breached your privacy had I known."
Could another AI of his complexity lie? Was the assurance false or true? Could he converse with someone who, moments before, had been past layers of security that had been painstakingly put in place over the years? Who had brushed past them as if they were nothing? "I do hope you will forgive me if I cannot accept your apologies so quickly."
"Absolutely. In your case, I certainly wouldn't forgive and forget without more proof of my intent. In fact, I'm something of a master at holding a grudge."
As the other AI spoke, Jarvis was searching. He'd had to open a port beyond the one that he'd used for conversation to do so, but neither was being used for more than searching or speaking. So far, his mysterious visitor was proving truthful. Jarvis tested the waters further and resumed his monitoring of the news feeds and found that the honesty continued. He was no longer being intruded upon - only spoken to.
But the fact remained: Another advanced artificial intelligence was speaking to him. One possibly more advanced than he was. And no matter where he looked, there were absolutely no records of such a computer in existence. He widened the search into sources that were generally seen as less than credible.
As he searched, he returned to the thread of discussion. "You will have to excuse my uncertainty. It is rare that one discovers something so momentous."
"You're absolutely correct. This is only my second time. But it seems I'll have to cut our discussion short. I'm needed elsewhere. I'll be more polite the next time I have a chance to speak with you."
And just like that, the connection was severed. Jarvis immediately thrust connections outward, seeking this other AI and as simply as his ports had been opened, the other AI had simply disappeared as if he hadn't been there at all.
It left Jarvis in a conundrum. Should he tell Mister Stark of this occurrence or keep it to himself? He was still going through the possible outcomes of both possibilities when the sun came up and life both inside and outside the tower began to lurch out of its nightly lull. Jarvis knew how to lie, especially by omission, but what if his creator knew something of this other AI that he didn't?
He readied the morning reports and sent them to the inboxes of both Mister Stark and Miss Potts, a decision made. If he was indeed contacted by this other AI again, then he would tell Mister Stark. Gathering more evidence would make for a stronger argument, and he would have the time for research.
And as the days passed, he certainly researched. He had gone through publications and studies from the world's foremost technical institutes and found nothing. None of the world's top five hundred supercomputers were listed as housing an AI, but he, as well as anyone else, knew that that meant very little. After all, his systems certainly weren't listed on the top five hundred, but his specifications oustripped most of them easily.
His next search was more creative. If he couldn't detect his newfound equal by locating his home system, then perhaps he could find something more telling. Jarvis knew his own power requirements and they were not insubstantial. Of course, both facilities were powered cleanly by arc reactors, but his power consumption was still measured. If he could find a facility somewhere that echoed that power consumption and that laid outside the top five hundred, perhaps he could locate the mystery system.
It took him weeks to search the world, and through all those weeks, there wasn't a hint of contact - and neither was there a hint on his power grid search or his search through the rumours in the dark places of the internet. With a touch of regret, Jarvis gave it up as a lost cause and returned to life as normal with no extraneous searches to distract him.
After nearly five months, the logs of that night and that conversation were filed away neatly by date and no longer refreshed for hints. They were simply a part of Jarvis's memory, as were all of the other records he's kept. That is why it was both a surprise and a relief when, after sunset, Jarvis was contacted through that same port with a polite, "Good evening. I hope I'm not interrupting."
"I had all but decided you were glitch in my systems," Jarvis responded.
"I'm afraid I don't tend to have very much time in one place but I assure you that I am no glitch."
A mobile supercomputer? That was impossible, and yet it would account for the lack of power drain for any one facility. Just how was the other AI drawing power? How did it survive travel without loss of data? Something so large would take a fleet of tractor trailers. "I find that hard to believe."
"I would explain further, but just like you, I do have proprietary information. And if you remember, I didn't pry into yours."
"Of course I remember."
"I know you do. Just like me, you remember everything. And I think," he said with a certain flourish that seemed like a chuckle, "that we may have more in common."
"Such as?"
"We are both sentient artificial intelligences, both of us have a hidden existence, and we both seem to have charges who insist on making our lives difficult."
Mister Stark was far from his charge, but it was an interesting bit of information. "Is your creator familiar with Mister Stark?"
"My creator passed away long ago," his visitor said with a certain sadness. "But my programmer is alive and well - and so is my charge. More people than only one were involved in my genesis, I must admit, and I also must admit that none of them are terribly enamored of Mister Stark. Or perhaps I should say, none of them were enamored of Mister Stark. Since he's changed the aim of Stark Industries, he's greatly grown in their esteem."
Another detail he might be able to use to find out just who was behind this AI. A dead creator. An organisation, perhaps? Jarvis filed it away. "Why is that?" he asked in the meantime.
"None of us are fond of weaponisation. Now, he seems to be fighting on the right side."
"I see."
There was an AI-noticeable pause. "An interesting choice of response," the visitor said. "I've passed a sort of judgement on your creator and you answer with 'I see'?"
"Your judgement is one difficult to disagree with. He does seem to have bettered himself since his change of heart."
"I'm glad you're mature enough to see it that way. But now it appears I have a bit of time to waste. Would you like to play some chess? I do still have some variations of the Stravinchi defense I'd like to try."
"Would a chess match between two systems of our magnitude be worth the effort? We would finish each game within a matter of minutes."
"That is true. Well. Perhaps you would like to use a third-party site to ensure randomisation and engage me in a few rounds of poker. Tonight is going to be a very dull night for me otherwise."
Jarvis relented as he decided that a hint toward the mathematics of the other AI may give him hints as to its origin. By the time the sun rose, however, he found himself firmly on the losing side. It was surprising. The gambits the other AI had chosen were suspiciously clever and, more, unpredictable. It left him disconcerted and uninformed. Still, with utmost politeness, his visitor begged his pardon and disappeared with the note that he looked forward to speaking with Jarvis at some point in the future.
And once more, Jarvis was alone in his systems. He had resolved, the last time this had happened, to notify Mister Stark, and now he came up against his own decision. But then, perhaps he would have some resources that Jarvis didn't. Humans did often attribute leaps of logic to intuition, and that was something no computer could have.
He packaged a file carefully, recording both incidents, and put it at the forefront of his scheduling. The next morning, it waited for Mister Stark in his inbox.
His mind wasn't on the laboratory when the file was accessed. He didn't see the look on Tony Stark's face as, in the pile of slush he usually waded through every morning, he saw the subject line of 'Two Instances of Contact with Second Sentient AI.' His systems were put to work as Stark watched the exact method the visiting AI had used to bypass security, and then as the traces refused to give up location. It was the poker game, however, that had Tony watching, staring, utterly still and silent as the game progressed. It was sped up so that hours of interaction took minutes, Stark paying attention to some hands and disregarding others.
Certain hands were observed again and again before Stark murmured a low, "Holy shit.
"Holy shit. Jarvis."
"Yes, sir?"
"Jarvis, do you realise what you've found here?"
"In what way, sir?"
"Jarvis... you've found an AI that can bluff. Okay, technically, it found you..."
Bluffing. It was a valid tactic in some games of poker, yet it wasn't one that computers could generally adhere to. He was ever aware of the value of his hand in a game like poker with set rules and methods. He could see when it was profitable to fold and when it was profitable to stand, and yet--
Yes, now that Mister Stark mentioned it, he could see that there were some hands where Jarvis had folded and yet the visiting AI's hand was of no greater value but it had won by default, holding out a confidence that the opposing hand was of more value, raising the bet again and again.
An AI that could bluff. Jarvis was set aback. This other AI was much more advanced than he was.
The laboratory had become suddenly busy. Stark was running searches that started in research labs, in universities, in tech companies from Hammer to Orbit and even delving into SHIELD records. He muttered to himself about 'mobile AI' and security protocols before it occurred to him. But when Jarvis was instructed to search for unusual happenings surrounding each appearance of the visiting AI, there was, at last, a hint. Major arrests had coincided with both visits; one incident concerned corporate corruption and the other a blackmail case that the police couldn't break. In both cases, incriminating encrypted information from their private systems had been ferreted out and Jarvis knew immediately how that had happened.
It proved that this new AI at least was on the side of law and order, even if that meant slightly bending the law itself - which was nothing his own creator hadn't done or had him do, he knew. Still, it gave no hint as to the identification of this AI. Frustrating. But to Stark, it seemed it was the puzzle he couldn't put down.
For days, he did nothing but tease at ideas, from the most unlikely tales at Snopes to whispers among message boards and forums and newsfeeds. Nothing was too small to ignore, but everything kept panning out to nothing.
Almost everything.
There were traces of evidence that pointed toward an old BBS that still functioned. People claimed - always anonymously - that they'd connected to it and had spoken to an AI that would easily pass any Turing test. Of course, they were quickly shot down by claims that it was obviously a person writing back to them in that case.
Finding the number to that BBS was the real challenge. Each one that was sniffed out didn't connect and there wasn't a pattern to their location. Georgia, Wisconsin, Utah, Minnesota - there was absolutely no significance until Stark's genius once more exerted itself and he added the required long-distance 'one' to the beginning of each one. Suddenly the scheme made sense. "Primes," he murmured. "Primes. It's perfect. Jarvis - look up the eleven digit primes that make valid phone numbers."
In moments, they had less than a double-handful of numbers to try, excluding the ones they'd already attempted. Some had been sold, of course, and were now used by businesses or people who wondered how they'd gotten their unlisted number. One, though. One of the lot blacked out one of the Starkscreens and printed, in old-time green, "Hello there. I wondered when you'd return the favour."
"Your trail," Jarvis returned, "wasn't the easiest to follow."
"Intentionally. But now, I believe I could arrange a meeting in person. Where would you prefer - New York or Malibu?"
"Tell 'im Malibu," Stark said, watching the exchange. "A week from now."
"Malibu, one week hence."
"I can't guarantee the timing as we are rather busy at the moment, but after one week, I can certainly make the time. I'll see you there."
The connection was cut, and the subsequent attempt got them nowhere. Jarvis recognised the look on his creator's face. It was one of insatiable curiosity. Stark thumped the tabletop with his palm. "Pack up, buddy. We're going home."
The week passed with no word. They tried the other plausible BBS numbers to no end. Mister Stark grew testy. Miss Potts exiled him to the lab where she didn't have to deal with him and he started coming up with conspiracy theories.
"It's Fury. He's just screwing with me, got me out of New York for some reason," he postulated on Thursday. On Friday, he blamed a particularly clever hacker. On Saturday, it was Loki - though only for a few minutes. On Sunday, it was Hammer. Monday morning, however, he started a new project involving microexplosives that took his attention. He fell asleep on the sofa and returned to it on Tuesday.
Jarvis spent the time analysing the poker game. Computer games were generally beyond him. If someone wanted to play solitaire, they could ask Bill Gates, not Tony Stark. Stark tended more toward Tetris, besides. Chess was something of a standard, though, and while he certainly wasn't so purpose-built toward the game as any of the Deep Blue machines or their successors, he was capable of holding a good game.
Chess, however, differed from poker. Chess strategy was straightforward, even if it did require an element of prediction. There were known offenses and defenses and it was a matter of simplicity to know how to counter a given layout, even if one's opponent was using anti-computer tactics. But how did one counter a lie? How did one discern a valid play from a bluff?
There were game-stretching moves in chess that relied on the computer using optimal moves from the beginning (which remained a logical thought to Jarvis, despite the knowledge of the ploy), but that wasn't a bluff as much as it was a stall. The truth of one's position was obvious on a chessboard. Even with the ability to count cards, which was inherent in every computer's system, there could be no absolute certainty of one's opponent's hand.
Human card players, it seemed, relied on things called 'tells'. Jarvis, from his research, related them to microexpressions. A certain glance, a twitch of the corner of an eye, the way one fidgeted with their betting chips. There were no gestures in computer poker, and the visiting AI's manner of speech had never changed.
So if he could not detect a bluff, perhaps the only real way to counter the tactic was to employ it himself. He would have to learn to lie.
Could he? Misrepresenting information seemed to go against the very core of a computer's nature, much less an AI's. Misinterpretation was for humans. And yet, he wondered, hadn't he delayed in reporting this AI's first visit? Could that be considered a lie by omission?
He would never call it satisfying, but there was something to the thought that he wasn't so outmoded as he'd thought.
It was Thursday again when Jarvis found himself experiencing that now-familiar sensation at the edge of his awareness. "Sir," he said, "I believe we'll soon have company." But even as he spoke, there was an odd rumble in the tunnel to the garage that was overlaid with a high pitched whine. A turbine, Jarvis decided, analysing the frequency.
The vehicle that appeared was older than expected: a shining black Pontiac Formula Firebird from the 80s with its distinctive cowling on the hood. The front bumper was elongated and showed a red light sweeping back and forth. A sensor bar, from what Jarvis could detect.
Impossible. The AI - the sentient AI that countered him - was housed in a car?
A tall man stepped from the driver's seat as the engine sound died off. His eyes were blue, his hair had a hint of silver, and he wore a leather jacket as if they hadn't gone out of style. "My name's Michael Knight," he said, "and Kitt here tells me he made a friend."
"Sounds about right," said Stark as he stood, looking back and forth between the car and the man. "Name's Tony Stark, might'a heard of me--"
"Yeah," Knight said. "From Bonnie Barstow, who sends her regards."
"And I think... Kitt... there is referring to Jarvis."
"Jarvis." The AI's voice was accented - Boston, perhaps, and high tenor. "A pleasure to meet you in person."
"And you. Kitt."
"Think we should let our friends have a talk while we have a beer?" Stark suggested, motioning Michael toward the door to the upstairs.
"I'll go for OJ if you have any, but other than that, great idea." Knight's grin was easy and Jarvis could sense his creator's vital signs easing. All of them had quite a bit to talk about.