God of the Machine

by Elijah Stephens

  The last story ended with an optimistic outlook for the African people, because the contested annexation of South America was being turned into an economic union of sovereign continents. The wealth was serving the populace and laws were being drafted to create democracy from the ways of the warlords.

  When Kyle saw Colton Tolliver and two bodyguards exit his suite, he made the call over his comm-piece and finished his drink. The large men protecting the target looked to be carved out of synthetic stone, but the slick trillionaire was older than he appeared as a result of careful surgery, to sculpt him into a general concept of youth. It was also useful, since his wisdom became a weapon if other businessmen underestimated him based upon appearance.

  “System is being tracked,” Odin informed Arkane through an Assistant AI. “He’s in the northeast elevator heading down to the parking garage. Join the Strike Team on the lower level and watch for the Prototype. You must remain unseen.”

  * * * * *

  The doors of the freight elevator opened and Kyle moved through the empty access garage near the shipping entrance, referring to maps downloaded to his wrist-monitor. He took off the jacket that hid his OmniField havoc-suit and found the Strike Team on the ramp leading to a private use garage.

  Flanked by six android soldiers, the Lieutenant carried a pulse-rifle and was dressed in riot gear, the same as Orkosk, who was dealing with a malfunctioning robot. Markham nodded to Arkane when he arrived and pointed into the dark. “Do you see it?”

  “Tolliver and his bodyguards have stopped,” relayed the Director’s Assistant. “Their descending elevator must be in use by other citizens.”

  Kyle pulled his OmniField cloth above his nose.

  “That isn’t advised,” Markham told him. Their android’s shoulder vibrated with inconstant spasms, a minor problem that almost revealed them to the enemy.

  “This is a poor excuse for a Strike Team, broken toys and biomechs.” Kyle looked to the robots with programmed orders. Each held wide-muzzle firearms with ElectroNets and specialized magnetic shock grenades.

  Arkane went to the corner and initiated the chameleon projector in his suit, then he crawled under cars that were floating like docked speedboats on a quiet lake. The lamp running down the ceiling created shadows at sharp angles between support columns, giving him plenty of places to hide.

  The elevator opened and an impatient Colton Tolliver exited with his bodyguards, denouncing the woman he was with as not being worth losing corporate connections to Shinichiro in Japan. He ordered one of his guards to hold out his forearms to provide a table for his briefcase, which he opened to retrieve his earphone and make a call. An embedded computer screen reflected flashes of purple across his face. He typed commands and concluded with a conciliatory tone in a smooth foreign tongue.

  “Businessmen are like children when it comes to their appetites,” said Tolliver. “I bought us another ten minutes, gentlemen. Hold the case up.” The bald man in a suit tailored for concealed weapons lifted his arms.

  “Mr. Tolliver,” said the second guard, a blonde who wore sunglasses indoors. “He earned a silver medal in the Olympics.”

  “Twelve years ago,” Colton replied sarcastically. “You shouldn’t have quit.”

  Kyle inched closer, staying hidden in case the guards had cybernetics that could trace his low frequency projector. He caught his breath when something moved above him. The Asian Prototype was suspended upside down, holding the exposed pipes that crossed the roof of the garage. The multicell processor contained in its rounded skull swiveled unnatural to a human range of motion.

  With bulky shoulder and elbow sockets to protect the joints, he concluded that it was a Generalist Android, meant to either lead mechanoid armies of specialized robots outfitted with rail-guns and mounted artillery, or to infiltrate enemy mechs to dismantle them. The machine was a perfect blank slate, designed to use any weapon it could find instead of being one itself.

  Arkane avoided detection because the XR-41 had not been extensively programmed by Eperiam Townsend, who had merely powered up its hardware for the Africa Corps. He wanted to tell Odin to search for remote signals to determine who was controlling it, but Tolliver closed his briefcase and continued towards his car, oblivious to how he was opening himself up for an attack.

  The Prototype dropped from the ceiling and leapt at the surprised Chairman. When the bald bodyguard went to intercept it, the other drew a pistol from his coat. Kyle whispered for Markham to hold back, knowing that Tolliver would assume that anyone else in the garage was also a part of the assassination attempt.

  After the ex-Olympian tackled it to the ground, the Prototype went limp. “Shoot it!” Colton yelled as he backed away.

  The blonde pointed his firearm at the docile droid, but his trigger finger wouldn’t budge. His bionic limb soon began to move against his will, and as he fought for control, Kyle ordered in the Strike Team and pulled Tolliver from the line of fire. The bodyguard took his own life with a shot to the temple, then the XR-41 sprang to its feet.

  Lieutenant Loew and Orkosk hurried into support positions while the androids went to neutralize the threat. The first ElectroNet to be fired hit the bald guard accidentally and zapped him with paralyzing voltage. The second missed as well and skid across the floor shooting sparks.

  The Prototype came for Tolliver as its singular objective, hopping across car hoods and crumbling them under its weight. When Markham was within range he fired his pulse-rifle, but the lithe robot easily dodged. Kyle emptied his clip against its armor without result, so he tossed his gun aside and pounded his fists into the concrete until his hands were glowing blue.

  One of the OIS androids threw a shock grenade that spun in orbit around the XR-41 like a satellite before the magnet completely engaged. As soon as it locked onto the target’s chestplate, an unexpected blastwave ripped through the cars and everything went white. Arkane felt the cold concrete and found himself lying in the center aisle with Tolliver nearby. The emergency lights turned on after a trace detection of smoke, displaying the scattered Strike Team. Orkosk stood up, holding his injured head.

  “Secure the Prototype,” he ordered in a raspy voice.

  Three OIS droids complied and the first that ventured into the darkness was tossed back in pieces. The XR-41 stepped between the others before the second fired an ElectroNet, which wrapped around the third and burned its servos with a frenetic charge. Markham crawled from the twisted wreckage and attacked the target, but there was a flash of light and the Lieutenant hit the ground, limp and barely breathing.

  As the XR-41 staggered around, temporarily stunned, Baron pulled his backup handgun and fired into the side of the Prototype’s skullcase. The functional androids from the Strike Team stepped from the overturned vehicles and grabbed Orkosk, squeezing him and disobeying his orders to relent. After breaking his neck, they dropped him to the floor and went for the unconscious Colton Tolliver.

  With the power of the shock grenade still flowing through him, Kyle put his fist through the nearest robot and force waves shattered its armor like glass. A second droid threw Arkane off his feet, but he landed near a discarded pulse-rifle and pumped electrified projectiles until clipping its central core and rendering it immobile.

  The XR-41 gathered its equilibrium and stood with erratic movements. After it pried the elevator doors open and disappeared, Kyle fell back, letting his energy drift like steam. He clicked on his comm-piece and called for emergency assistance.

  * * * * *

  That night at OIS headquarters, he left his room and followed Cassandra Madison to a session with the Doc, who was reviewing their mission. She was unusually patient with him, and he figured that it was because he lacked nano-immunities. To stop localized cellular decay, they were first introduced during procedures for LogiCalibration to stabilize mental patients with psychological disorders.

  With the adverse effects o
f experiencing trauma, the ancient systems of the brain were designed for natural functions. While civilized life became more unnatural with every invention, normal people became obsolete among the genetically modified. Since augmentation was making an entire species extinct in favor of self-nurtured rebirth, those who respected purity looked to those left behind as living ancestors on the path of evolution.

  In the Director’s office, Odin sat at his desk, watching the video log from the OIS droids with the other survivors. “There is no victory which is permanent,” he declared after Kyle walked in.

  “To destroy something, you must love it,” said the Doc, who maximized the images of the warehouse explosion after the Prototype was lost. “Obsession will take the object of your affection to pieces.”

  “Who’s controlling the XR-41?” Casey asked.

  “No one,” said Odin. “Here are copies of a book written two centuries ago when artificial intelligence was limited to virtual reality.” He put his finger to his lip as if stifling a secret. “I believe Eperiam Townsend is controlling the Prototype. Colton Tolliver is still in holding, so you can verify this for yourself. We know that the Africa Corps used Townsend to reconfigure the XR-41, and in the process programmed its control for the Chief Executives of the Tolliver MegaCorporation. When the Engineer was executed by Commander Lothian, he became a livewire ghost and made a bioetheric transfer into the nearest vessel, which happened to be the Prototype itself. Lothian’s testimony is that the android became self-animated after he shot Townsend, precisely when those given control of it became its primary targets for assassination.”

  Vassil agreed. “Theoretically it’s not unheard of.”

  “Well, we already have the bait,” said Cassandra. “We have Lothian and Tolliver.”

  “What would happen if we killed them?” Kyle asked, and they looked to him curiously.

  “It might work to clear the Prototype’s objectives,” Vassil replied. “But if it didn’t shut down –”

  “That’s not an option,” said Odin. “The head office in Beijing is adamant that the conspirators in this coup against the First World Government stand trial for international crimes before being executed on a world stage, even if it is a foregone conclusion. They also want their machine delivered intact.”

  “Not all of the Africa Corps was dismantled,” said Rowan. “Their diversionary transport drove to Long Beach. What if the Prototype goes after them?”

  “Do we need to close our external lines?” asked the Director.

  The Doc enlarged the video of the underground garage battle. “To avoid letting the ghost in? No, it’s a standalone now. The remote access it has over other cybernetics is a proximity function. It used the direct approach as a primary tactic before switching to any means necessary. If you intend to draw it here, we’ll need to recalibrate the guard drones to be self-integrated, and a closed circuit security grid would also be wise.”

  “Put out a citywide APB about remnants of the Africa Corps,” said Odin. “Make references to how the mercenaries were led by criminals currently in OIS custody. That should put enough blood in the water.”

  “To anger any mercs still out there who are ready to go down fighting?” said Cassandra. “Yeah, especially if they are known traitors to the World Government.”

  “Is that a vision or an assumption?”

  “Just my opinion,” she replied.

  “Then we should get ready for a siege,” concluded the Director.

  “In the meantime, what are we going to do about Tolliver?” Vassil wondered. “Should we send in the interrogation drone?”

  “No, I’ll handle it.” Odin stood to signify that the session was over. “Rowan, come with me. Healers are often empathic, so I need you to observe and tell me what he’s hiding when he attempts to lie his way out of this. Businessmen become the type of demons who hate the sight of blood. Vassil can help the Doc recalibrate the droids, and Cassandra, you foresaw the need for a CytoHuman unit and now there is one. That’s a frightening gift you have.”

  “Was that a compliment?” she smiled radiantly and followed Ganz from the office.

  “So what should I do?” asked Kyle.

  “The same as all warriors,” replied the Director. “Try to be patient for war. And if you take out a Cruiser again, be sure to bring it back next time.”

  * * * * *

  The sky was lit by a full moon, but the horizon looked like dusk as Arkane rode a motorcycle to the Marina. He wanted to see someone who had wisdom beyond her years, so he took the off-ramp to the apartment complexes by the harbor. A house that overlooked a small inlet of water was dwarfed by the surrounding structures. Though the manmade river looked more like a swamp, people enjoyed the slender cranes that flocked there.

  He parked near the entrance, thinking about how it would never occur to anyone that a Fate Goddess lived inside. He walked through the unlocked door and into a living room bright with everlast candles that burned in unnatural colors. As always, she was on the back porch, looking into the sky.

  “Why don’t you have any visitors tonight?” he asked respectfully.

  The breeze picked up and she looked over her shoulder, disappearing as if pulled by a magic that fragmented her into razorblades of light. She dematerialized before the wind died and her form drifted back into place. Though she was an ancient being, Moira looked deceptively young. She kept herself spiritually intact to help wanderers who needed guidance, a mystical counterpart to the logic-based society that deliberately fostered ignorance of the metaphysical.

  “It’s almost time for me to leave,” she answered with glowing grey eyes. Her skin was as immaculate as a statue carved from porcelain.

  “There are still those who need you...”

  “I can see that,” she smiled with a light beyond this world. “But there will be other visionaries.”

  “There could never be another Fate Goddess,” Kyle protested. “You will be honored wherever you go.”

  “That’s good, because I’m going home. What do you wish to ask me?”

  “Are you aware of what’s happening?”

  “Of course,” she nodded.

  “Then I shouldn’t need to ask.”

  “The answers you seek can be found at the Graveyard.”

  “That’s what you always say,” he grinned.

  “It is often better for people to find their own truth, to help them grow and become,” she revealed. “And your questions are never that difficult.”

  “How does a robot become conscious?” he asked.

  “How did humans?”

  “Slow evolution, until component parts developed.”

  “But how?” she asked.

  “The eating of meat expanded the substance of the brain, while pack hunting and pair-bonding led to complicated interaction and communication, giving rise to culture and the dissemination of learned skills. Thousands of years of ingesting psychotropic entheogens helped as well, at least in the perception of the abstract.”

  “Have you heard of the tribal myth of Orphiel Garuda?” asked Moira. “He was a shaman who entered a ley line vortex to follow the woman he loved. His nemesis was a snake god who sought to rule the beasts that plagued the land, devouring everything like grasshoppers. Orphiel completed the timewave after his enemy sacrificed a pure spirit. When the hero gave his blood upon her death, the result was not as the snake god wished, to poison the Tree of Life. Orphiel Garuda purified the past and rose to Paradise with his Angel.”

  “What’s the moral?”

  “There is a fate chosen by yourselves and another created by the Cosmos,” she told him. “Your destiny will reside in the one you reach for. If both fates coalesce, you will serve your purpose, but if you follow your ego the only thing that is served will be yourself. Since temporal identity is an elemental illusion, in the end you will have served nothing. Liberation for personal souls is found in the impersonal ques
t for truth, where insignificant beings discover what is greater than themselves.”

  “How does that answer my question?” he asked her.

  “You are afraid of robot consciousness overcoming the intelligence of man, but this achievement has set a child among you.”

  “You mean a beginning?”

  “And as it goes, it will develop with what you teach it,” she continued. “If you raise it well, AI will become a part of something more with what you give of yourself. If you abuse it, you will distort your own creation.”

  “But self-perception is growing in Concubine droids, the last robots we want to have consciousness on a moral scale.”

  “Humans should know by now that our demons evolve with us until they are conquered. When men see the truth and behave as animals, that is what they become.”

  “Then how should we see the truth?”

  “As beings of infinite light.”

  “You’re a divinity of compassion, Moira. You can’t expect too much from humans.”

  “Is that what you think?” she asked sincerely.

  “It is simply what I’ve observed.”

  “Then as beasts you will construct your own annihilation. Your individuality is a poison when disconnected from the Source, the ego is a broken mirror and it must be overcome to see the light without reflection. You seek answers that will help you in war, but you need to find peace before you can become a true warrior.”

  “And how do I discover this?” he asked.

  “I told you,” said Moira. “You will find it at the Graveyard.”

  * * * * *

  At the Los Angeles Library, Kyle took a seat at research desks where a network of archives was digitally stored. The stacks were full of hardbacks set up like a museum of print media, which became referred to as the Graveyard after research was outmoded by sophisticated scan programs attached to boundless collections of information. Aside from the first unregulated internet two and a half centuries before, the survivors of natural disasters saw a profound loss of cultural history until a bureaucracy was created to reformat the backlogs.