by J. N. Chaney
“Wow,” said Rigby. “You’ve been… busy.”
“Busy?” asked Sparky, his voice cracking a bit. “Yeah, you could call it that. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a grenade on you, would you? Even one of those Electromagnetic Pulse grenades I’ve heard so much about? I tried getting one from the armory, but the asshole cyborg there wouldn’t give me one. Kept asking me why, but you told me this was supposed to be secret, so I couldn’t tell him. All I could do is fight this thing with my torch and—“
“Hold up, Sparky,” Warren said, putting an arm around the man’s shoulders while Rigby gently took the man’s torch from him. It looked like he’d been ready to light it again. “Tell me what happened.”
“That thing!” he said, stabbing a finger at the pile in the middle of the room. “Well, not that in particular, but the thing that’s somewhere in the middle of that mess. Oh, my poor office—“
“Focus,” Warren said. “What happened?”
The tech closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before speaking. “The AI module you brought. No, that’s not right. It’s not a module. It’s a pod. Like for a seed, but not for anything good like corn or a fruit tree. More like a weed. One of those ones that’s so bad you have to kill it with fire.”
“Bite me,” a mechanical voice said from the pile.
Warren and Rigby had their rifles in their hands and pointed at the pile in just over a second.
“Yes!” shouted Sparky. “You’re in for it now. These are cyborgs. You know what those are, don’t you? Shoot it!”
“Shut up,” hissed Rigby.
“Did something in that pile just talk to us?” asked Warren.
Sparky nodded and glared at the mess.
“What is it?” asked Rigby.
“It’s the AI you left with me,” he declared. “The thing’s got a mind of its own.”
“Do not disassemble,” the voice said, unprompted, from within the pile of junk.
“Just like the one on the moon,” Rigby transmitted across a private channel.
“Like on the moon, yes,” said the voice from within the junk.
“You hooked it up to communications equipment?” asked Rigby, turning to glare at the tech. “What part of being careful didn’t you understand?”
“I was careful,” he replied, still glaring at the pile. “First, I attached a portable power source—not even the colony power to keep it isolated. Then I attached a monitor. Turns out the thing can talk. Of course, the next step was a keyboard. Then I got a little carried away, but at no time did I give it any communications equipment. It managed to yank something off my desk. Probably a broken piece of comm gear.”
“You gave it arms?” asked Rigby.
At this, Sparky lowered his head and stared at his feet. “No, but it managed to distract me long enough to make some of its own. I had no idea this thing would or even could do that.”
“Shoot it?” asked Rigby.
Warren took a moment to think about it. If this device was as much trouble—and potentially as dangerous—as Sparky was making it out to be, then blowing the damned thing up might be the right choice. Then again, it was a tool—something the Reotians might be able to use against their enemies. An AI that could talk and gather the tools it needed, and apparently it cared about its own survival, which was something tech the Republic had couldn’t do. It might be more advanced than even the cyborgs.
“Lower your weapon,” Warren ordered. “But don’t put it away. If this thing so much as wiggles, blow it away. Did you hear that, AI?”
“Understood,” the mechanical voice said from within the pile.
“Have discovered rogue 3D printer,” transmitted Lukov.
“Sorry, buddy,” replied Warren. “I’ll need you to handle this for now. I’m dealing with something in Sparky’s room. I’ll let you know when I’m available.”
“Are you needing my assistance?”
“No, I’ve got Rigby with me. We should be good.”
“What are you waiting for?” whispered Sparky.
“What is your name?” asked Warren.
“Designation CU-14, Type-6,” the AI replied.
“The other one was Type-4,” said Rigby.
“The other one?” asked Sparky. “There are more than one of these things?”
“Yes,” replied Warren. “Which is why I’m interested in keeping this one functional—at least for a while. We had to leave the other one on the moon. It’s still up there in charge of a relay. We think it’s a communication tool used by the Commonwealth. In fact, I’ve got another task for you if you’d like to take a break from… this.”
“I’d love to,” he replied. “Anything you’ve got.”
“Good. Go out to our ship. We had the other AI transfer all the messages it’s been storing to it. I’ll let the war computer know it should expect an incoming connection from you and to receive the data. Decipher what you can so we know whether the information is valuable or not. Remember, the simplest request might be important. I’ll find you as soon as I’m done here.”
Sparky nodded, then he ran his fingers through his gray hair and left the room, shooting the pile of tech another glare before gently closing the door behind him.
Warren took a moment to send a message to the war computer, then returned his attention to the room.
“Finally,” said Rigby. “He was starting to irritate me. Speaking of which, this thing told Sparky to bite it. Did you hear that?”
“I did,” said Warren as he set his helmet down on the nearby desk and started rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What is your purpose?” he asked the AI.
“This unit is multipurpose. Its most recent assignment was as deployment craft operator and coordinator.”
“It must mean the CoW mothership,” said Rigby.
“Do you function as a relay?” asked Warren.
“No.”
“Do you function as a storage device?”
“No.”
“Can you function as either of those?”
“Yes,” the AI replied.
“So, it’s an upgraded version,” said Rigby. “That’s cool and all, but I still say we need to destroy the thing before it destroys us.”
“Sorry to make intrude,” transmitted Lukov. “It is drug maker. I require your assistance.”
Warren and Rigby locked eyes for a moment.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll watch this thing, and I swear I won’t destroy it so long as it doesn’t do anything stupid.”
Given enough resources, there was no telling what kind of trouble it could get itself into. The thought sent something like a shiver through Warren’s circuits.
Coming to a decision, Warren laid his rifle next to his helmet on the desk. Then he removed his pistol and added it to the stack as well.
“What are you doing?” asked Rigby.
Warren rushed the pile of tech in the middle of the room. He dove into the center of it and began ripping pieces of technology away from the rest, tearing through circuits, cables, and hoses.
“Error!” announced the AI. “Damage! No!”
A second later, Warren yanked the AI pod out of the mess. A few wires dangled from it, but he tore them loose and tossed them back into the pile.
“I don’t know if that was brave or stupid,” said Rigby. She lowered her rifle and stared at him.
“Probably a bit of both,” he replied, looking around. A few seconds later, he found the Commonwealth flag, yanked it from the pile, and wrapped the pod within it. “Please order the Camel to meet you outside the Dome-6 airlock. Then lock this thing in the ship’s vault. Find something else to wrap it in, too. We’ll be okay so long as it doesn’t come into contact with a power source.”
Rigby took the offered device, a look of misgiving on her face.
“You got this?” asked Warren. “I need to go see about this problem.”
“I got this,” she confirmed, setting her jaw.
“Thanks,” replied Warre
n as he grabbed his helmet, pistol, and rifle from the desk and hurried out the door.
8
Warren arrived at Dome-5 in under three minutes. He’d have to go find and apologize to a couple of women later about destroying their cart when he crashed through it, but one thing at a time.
He’d been worried about being able to find Lukov and hadn’t thought to ask the war computer to mark his location. The sound of a familiar man’s voice guided Warren right to him.
“You stand down,” Craig shouted. “I think we’ve spent enough time coddling these people. It’s time to fix this problem once and for all.”
A total of seven cyborgs, not including Warren, were gathered in the center of the street. Craig was in the middle. In one hand he held a combat knife. In the other, a man—a new arrival from some distant planet—squirmed. The man was bleeding from his mouth and nose, but based on the way he was tugging at his shirt to try to keep from being strangled, he was still alive.
“Do not make harm to the man,” growled Lukov. “This is not our way.”
Craig adjusted his grip on his blade. “This guy was making drugs. You know how much trouble this shit’s causing here. He’s nothing but a cockroach—a drain on our society.”
“Is not right thing,” said Lukov. He glanced at Warren, which drew Craig’s attention as well. “Is wrong thing. If you are shooting this man, is not correct to do. Is murder. Do not do this thing.”
“Hey, Craig,” said Warren, glancing up at the reddish, dust-filled sky outside the dome. It was getting late.
“Boss,” said Craig, flicking his gaze to Warren.
Lukov had his rifle out, but thankfully still had it pointed at the red Reotian dirt. The way he kept adjusting his grip, it looked like he was considering using it.
HOLD, Warren sent to the Russian.
OKAY, replied Lukov.
All eyes, both cyborg and full-human, turned to Warren as if he was some kind of all-knowing guru. As if he had all the answers and would immediately put this problem to bed, never to be heard of again. Warren wished he could do just that, but for all the power and knowledge the cyborgs contained, deep down, they were just as human—and therefore just as fallible—as everyone else.
“Caught this guy trying to steal the drug manufacturing equipment we found,” explained Craig. “I made him show me his home. He had more in there. We can’t let that slide, can we?” He shook the man, causing his prisoner to gag and claw at the clothing at his throat. “This guy’s dirty, boss. All I want to do is stop him. It will save everyone a lot of trouble.”
“Maybe,” admitted Warren. “But it’s not how we do things around here. We aren’t judge, jury, and executioner. The Reotians have a fledgling legal system they’re assembling. We need to give them a chance to police themselves. We aren’t their overseers. We’re their protectors and allies. If what you say is true, I want that man placed in the brig and held until trial. It’s the only way.”
“What?” asked Craig, incensed. “What right does this idiot have to make drugs and cause problems in our colony? He’s killing people. Killing them.”
“And he’ll pay for it,” Warren assured him.
Craig glanced at his knife, then dropped it like it was burning his hand. He let go of the man, who coughed and began rubbing his neck.
The cyborg had made great strides lately and Warren didn’t want him to slide backward. Maybe this is what he needed to really understand how power could go to someone’s head and how easy it was for one of them to become just like the Republic.
Craig rose to his full height, still staring at the hand he’d used to hold the blade. He turned it over, studied the back for a second, then looked at his palm again. “These people,” he said. “They don’t understand what they’ve got. They don’t understand how it is to be human, instead of a robotic freak.”
“We are human,” offered Warren. “And I can prove it.”
The other cyborg inclined his head, giving Warren a puzzled look. “How?” he asked.
“We can do one thing no animal, so far as we know, can do. And as far as we know, nobody’s been able to program an AI to do it either. It’s something no computer or machine can do.” Warren waited a few seconds to make sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “Craig, the one thing we can do that is unique to humans, is hope. We can hope.”
Craig seemed to consider this but turned away. “There’s something humans can do that we can’t, though,” he said over his shoulder.
“What’s that?” asked Warren.
“Grow old and die a natural death.” Craig thrust his hands into his pockets and slowly began walking away.
“Thank you,” the man on the ground said, still rubbing his neck. “I thought he was—“
“Shut up,” growled Warren. Then to the other cyborgs, he asked, “Can anyone verify what was found in this man’s home?”
Two cyborgs raised a hand.
“Lukov, please throw this man in the brig. He’s the Reotians’ problem now.”
“With much gladness,” the cyborg said as he picked the man up and threw him over one shoulder.
“Put me down!” the prisoner shouted. He beat on the Russian’s back with his fists, but Lukov didn’t seem to mind.
“What happened here?” Rigby asked as she slowed her jog and stopped nearby.
Warren gave her a summary.
“Damn,” she hissed over a private channel. “At least the guy was caught.”
“I’m hoping he’s the main supplier,” said Warren, a dark expression clouding his features. “Let’s go find Sparky and see how he’s coming along. He’ll probably be relieved to know we’ve got the AI pod locked up in the Camel’s vault.”
When they found him, Sparky was too engrossed in the data the war computer was feeding his terminal to turn around to see who was entering the cargo vessel. Instead, he raised his index finger, urging whoever it was to wait a moment.
Warren and Rigby met eyes before approaching as quietly as possible so they could peek over the man’s shoulder. When they got close enough to see, Sparky snapped out of whatever technological spell had entranced him. The tech thrust himself against the terminal’s screen in an attempt to cover up whatever data was there.
“I said—oh, it’s you,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I suppose you can see this. You won’t believe how much information you brought back. This is only ten percent of it. Maybe less. It’s remarkable. Absolutely fascinating. Did you know the Commonwealth now occupies more than sixty systems?”
“The hell?” Rigby muttered. “How so many? Last I heard it was eleven. Were they all taken from the Republic?”
“I don’t know,” replied Sparky. He laughed like the terrible news was some kind of exciting present and it was his birthday. Upon seeing Warren’s sour expression, he cleared his throat and wiped the joyous look from his face. “Sorry, but this is important news. Everything is important, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“What else did you find so far?” asked Rigby.
Sparky leaned around the chair, apparently checking to make sure they were alone, then pressed the button to close the cargo hatch. After that, he blackened the front window with another button. “Let me show you,” he said, working hard to control his excitement as he swiped the screen a few times. He brought up something that resembled a diagram of a leg. It was far more technical than anything Warren had ever seen before.
Warren stepped closer and studied the wireframe image. “Prosthetic leg?”
“That’s what I thought at first, but these components are far too powerful for being a mere prosthesis. No, I think this is something more. Maybe a new kind of robot—kind of like the mechs we had to fight a couple of weeks ago, but even more streamlined. The data is still filling in, and there are references to other parts, but those haven’t been decoded by the war computer yet. I think the CoWs are building some kind of robot army. Probably something to fight cyborgs.
“S
hit,” Rigby said before sitting hard on the floor, causing the craft to rock back and forth on its struts for a couple of seconds. “That’s all we need. Not just robots, but streamlined robots. Do the new ones have radioactive micro-rockets like the old ones?”
“I haven’t seen anything like that yet,” admitted Sparky. “But I only have—“
“Ten percent of the data,” interrupted Rigby. “Sorry, but why does all news have to be bad news?”
“Oh, well this isn’t bad news,” he replied. “This is actually good news. Excellent news. Once the rest of the data is decoded, we’ll have the plans for these things. We might be able to produce our own robot army.”
“I don’t know,” said Rigby, sounding unconvinced. “Cyborgs are enough for these people. They’ve been through a lot of shit. The last thing they need is more slaves running around serving a master who isn’t them. And I don’t think there’s any one of them responsible enough to be put in charge of a robot army. That’s how dictators are born. No, it’s not a good idea.”
“What if you used them as cannon fodder when you need to invade somewhere?” he asked, glancing between the two cyborgs.
“They might not be robots at all,” said Warren, cutting off what looked like was going to be a scathing retort from Rigby. “Let’s wait until all the data comes in. But in the meantime, knowing about these potential robots gives us a huge advantage. Once we have the plans, we’ll be able to figure out where their weak points are, and how best to neutralize them if we ever run into them. Let the CoWs spend their money and resources. When they show up with their robot army, and we’ve got a way to take them out in seconds, they’ll probably give up right there on the spot.”
Rigby laughed. “Stop being so optimistic. You’re making it difficult to sulk.”
At that, both Warren and Sparky laughed.
“Keep up the good work,” Warren told the tech. “I’ll come back and check on you later, but I don’t want you staying up all night with this. Code-lock the terminal when you’re done or when you’re tired enough to sleep. Whatever you find, we can discuss it in the morning. You got me?”
