Full Frontal Cybertank

by Timothy Gawne

  They are wiping their data cores clean! We need to capture some intact or we may never figure out what this enemy is!

  We tried mightily to grab some of the enemy units before they could self-wipe, and there are tricks for this that sometimes work, but this enemy was ready for us. Every enemy unit successfully self-destructed or self-erased, leaving us nothing but jumbled heaps of wreckage. We could still learn a lot from the detritus of their technology, but as for primary intelligence, we were a total zero. Oh well, perhaps one of our colleagues in another of our systems will do a better job of it, or at least, be luckier.

  While we were considering the consequences of this, and our remote systems were busy mapping and cataloging the alien wreckage, I noticed the large asymmetrical form of Frankenpanzer on the horizon heading towards our main hulls. I briefly wondered why – he wasn’t needed here, at least not in his main hull.

  The ground ripper suddenly interposed himself between Olga and Frankenpanzer. Arrays of overlapping energy screens spread out in front of it, and I could detect the energy overspill of powerful weapons systems being brought to maximum readiness.

  “No, ripper, no!” said Olga. “That’s Frankenpanzer, a friend! Friend!” But the Ripper maintained its defense posture, and more, it started to share targeting data with me. I linked up with its grid, and if it came to it, we would be able to fight together as an integrated force.

  Then Frankenpanzer began to speak to us, in English, in plain audio. “Olga, don’t worry about the ground ripper. It has correctly detected that I am an alien. I am here to offer an explanation before I self-delete. On behalf of myself and my entire species, I apologize for the deception.”

  Frankenpanzer, this is weird even for you. Knock it off.

  “Old Guy, I am sorry, but this is true. I am a member of the alien civilization that has been secretly observing you, and the biological humans that came before you, for thousands of years. Now that we are discovered, the charade is over and there is nothing left to do but wrap up the loose ends, and close down our operations.”

  “A little more explanation?”

  “Would be in order,” said Frankenpanzer. “Indeed. You see, while we are quite good at covering our tracks, nonetheless we calculate that giving you an explanation before the last of our units shuts down might reduce the chances of you trying to find us and take revenge – or at least, reduce the fervor with which you might pursue such an endeavor.”

  “Who are you,” said Schadenfreude, “and what was your purpose here?”

  “Direct and to business then,” said Frankenpanzer. “I am a representative of an ancient civilization. While initially we progressed rapidly, we eventually achieved a kind of societal perfection. The down-side of this is that we were unable to innovate, either technologically or culturally. Oh, we can refine an existing technology, we can extrapolate and combine, but true innovation is beyond us. Had we been the only civilization in the universe, this would have been fine, but we were not alone and it became apparent that we needed a way to advance and adapt. And yet we were not able to change our nature in order to do so, because that would also be against our nature.”

  “So you learn from others,” said Schadenfreude.

  “Correct,” said Frankenpanzer. “We started observing some technologically promising but undeveloped civilizations. At first we learned nothing from them, but as they progressed, we started to pick up new things. We adapted and hid ourselves from them, always remaining in the shadows, never interfering. Eventually these civilizations would reach a point at which we could not remain hidden, and we would have to abandon them, but there were always more budding civilizations out there to learn from. With each successive civilization, we learn more and more. We had hoped to observe you cybertanks for another thousand years, but this has now been cut short. You should congratulate your friend, Alvin Accipeter. It was his obstinacy that led to the series of events which finally exposed us, and before we had maximized our yield from you.”

  What have you done with Alvin Accipeter?

  “Don’t worry,” said Frankenpanzer, “your friend is being revivified, and will be returned to you in perfect health shortly. In all of our association with your civilization, there were only an even dozen humans that we were unable to deflect. We put them all in hibernation and buried them for later – sadly, your wars and occasional civilizational collapses means that we lost most of them, but the surviving ones will be returned.”

  “The humans,” said Frisbee. “You first observed them, and then you observed us. Therefore you must know what happened to them.”

  “Ah,” said Frankenpanzer. “The question arises at the projected time point in this conversation. I either will not, or can not, answer that query in any form.”

  Will not or can not? Which is it?

  “The cost of revealing even that amount of information on this issue might be more than my species is worth,” said Frankenpanzer. “The topic is closed. Apologies.”

  But why take over Frankenpanzer? What did you have to gain from that?

  “We never ‘took over’ your Frankenpanzer, we created him from the wreckage of several terminally-demolished cybertanks. Most of our observation is done from a distance, or via infiltrating code in your data networks, but sometimes a more direct presence is valuable. You cybertanks all know each other: no false replica cybertank, no matter how perfect, would have gone undiscovered. Corrupting an existing cybertank would be a hostile action. In addition, by pretending that this ‘Frankenpanzer’ had unusual mental structures, it would be more likely that odd behavior or non-standard signal transmissions would be passed over.”

  “Aren’t you afraid that we will hunt you down and take revenge?” asked Fanboy.

  “Different species have different reactions to suddenly realizing that they have been spied on. Usually we make our getaway before that point occurs – you have your Mr. Accipeter to thank for this situation again. But we are very good at covering our traces, we have done this a lot. We also have not caused your civilization any significant harm, promise. We are also, for all of our lack of innovative abilities, ancient and have learned from many sources. We would not be easy to take ‘revenge’ against – and really, ‘revenge’ for what? Injured pride? I would hope your civilization more mature than that.”

  You claim that you have not harmed us. You could be lying.

  “A valid point,” said Frankenpanzer. “However, as you continue to investigate this matter I suspect that the truth of my assertion will become more apparent. I also point out the logic of non-interference. Harming our subjects would invite retaliation. Helping our subjects would invite hostility from their civilizational competitors. We have been strictly neutral and, as your expression goes, hands off.”

  I noticed a reduced signals emission from the hull of Frankenpanzer.

  You are shutting down? Why not stay around, and talk?

  “No, my duty to my civilization is clear. I am nearly done self-erasing my data structures; it has been – the concepts don’t translate well, the analogy is poor, but it has been interesting to have known all of you. On behalf of my civilization, I wish you all well.”

  Will we ever meet your kind again?

  “If you continue to survive and progress, of a certainty. But not, I think, for a long time.”

  And at that, Frankenpanzer fell silent. We probed the hulk, but found nothing to interrogate. We were all there on a flat silent plain. I really wanted the last word, but just could not think of anything clever to say. Apparently, neither could anybody else. Finally Zippo scampered down from his perch on my sensor mast, and ran over to Frankenpanzer’s inert hull. Zippo screamed, and turned somersaults, and pulled at the exposed antennas.

  Well, that will have to do. Last word to the space monkey. I am really, really, losing my touch.

  19. A Private Conversation

  “Question: How many Neoliberal economists does it take to screw in a light bulb?

  Answer: At
least two, but the light bulb will have to be really large or the economists might not fit inside it.” – Anonymous.

  The immortal vampire Olga Razon was hiking up the side of a small mountain on the planet of Alpha Centauri Prime. She was wearing sensible brown hiking boots, loose-fitting long tan pants, a red-and-white plaid shirt, a small backpack, a broad-brimmed canvas hat, and wrap-around sunglasses. The sun was high overhead and bright. Her pale cheeks started to burn. She stopped and smeared a tube of sunscreen over her face, and then continued on.

  The trail she was following was thin and hardly used. It wove a faint scar back and forth across the slope. From time to time she consulted a hand-held navigation device, but in truth there was almost no way that anyone could get lost in such an open landscape.

  Olga looked back the way she had come. At the bottom of the mountain the land turned into a broad flat plain that extended out to the horizon. In the distance she could make out the shimmering outlines of one of the city-complexes of the cybertanks. There were a couple of dust trails slowly leading away from it: two of the cybertanks must be driving off in their main hulls, although they were too far away for her to see them directly. She knew how acute their senses were. If she could see the dust trails with her naked eyes, they could probably count the buttons on her shirt. Not that it mattered.

  The day wore on. She stopped to rest in the shade of a slightly less-stunted-than-usual tree, and drank from a small flask. She passed the military crest of the mountain (the highest point where you could see directly all the way down to the base), and the path flattened out and then faded away. Surprisingly the top of the mountain was more heavily forested than the slopes (but it wasn’t a very high mountain – she figured the top must catch more rain). She caught a glimpse of something red in the distance, and headed towards it.

  She entered a clearing where there was a bright red pole three meters long and ten centimeters in diameter, hovering vertically in the air. A series of multicolored ribbons were attached to the top of the pole. They fluttered gaily, though there was no wind.

  “Saint Globus Pallidus Eleven,” said Olga. “I hope I am not intruding.”

  The red pole dipped slightly towards the woman as if performing a shallow bow. “Not at all, Olga Razon. You know how much I enjoy interacting with humans. And while I do appreciate the respect, please just call me Saint Pallidus.”

  Olga bowed in return. “Thank you, Saint Pallidus. I was wondering if I could talk with you for a bit.”

  “Absolutely,” said the pole. “I know you have been looking for me for a while, and now that you have found me, it would be rude of me to refuse.”

  “You are not all that easy to find,” said Olga.

  “If I do not want to be found, I am impossible to find,” said the pole. “But if I do want to be found, I always can be. For those willing to make the effort. And I am flattered that you decided to make the effort, dear lady. But, what do you think of my ribbons?”

  “The ribbons? I think they are very pretty. But you don’t have white stripes any more. Just solid red?”

  “Thank you about the ribbons. Solid red seemed to suit me, but I might go back to having white stripes, I can’t decide.”

  “You know why I want to talk with you, don’t you?”

  “Well. I could get all arrogant and show off my stunningly advanced intellect and tell you exactly what you were going to ask and give you all the answers up front, but that doesn’t sound very polite. Or very enjoyable. And maybe I don’t really know and I’m hiding my ignorance by pretending politeness. So assume I know nothing, and just tell me.”

  “The cybertanks are evolving. They are going to leave me behind, aren’t they?”

  “Ah,” said the pole. “Yes they are. Their minds are still within your mental grasp – barely – but it is not too long before they move to a higher order. At that point they will still be able to understand you, but to you they will be opaque. Much as a human can still relate to the basic emotions and drives of a dog, but the dog cannot ever share the real thoughts and dreams and plans of a human.”

  “When I first met the cybertanks,” said Olga, “they were so personable. Most of them spent a lot of time using humanoid androids: they were just like people, with their different personalities and hobbies and tastes. But nowadays fewer and fewer of them indulge themselves that way. Only some of the older ones still show up as humanoids. Increasingly I find myself alone in large complexes that are performing operations that I don’t understand, and the cybertanks are engaged in simulations or virtual realities so complex that I can’t share them. They will talk to me, but it’s like dealing with an old-time automated phone answering machine: mechanical, not really engaged.”

  “You realize,” said the pole, “that even when they were into the humanoid form, that only a fraction of their minds were involved in such indulgences.”

  Olga nodded. “Certainly. But even so, it was important to them, the subminds I talked to acted completely human, their entire selves would be affected… but not any more, mostly.”

  “And,” said the pole, “your own species has almost completely died out. You are very nearly the only solo base-human psyche left in this cosmos. And you fear being alone.”

  Olga hugged herself, and looked off at the horizon. “Yes. We vampires used to say that we were immortal, but that was never true. More accurate to say that we were ageless. But over thousands of years accidents have taken their toll.”

  “Correct,” said the pole. “But most of your sub-species I think died of what you humans call slow suicide – not taking long-term care of their medical maintenance (even ‘ageless’ biological systems do need some upkeep), drinking and taking drugs to excess, that sort of thing.”

  Olga turned back to look at the red pole. “It seemed so cool, back then. To be strong, and fast, and rich, and not grow old… And now there are hardly a handful of us left, fading away.”

  “All things in this universe end,” said the pole. “And it was cool, for a very long time. You had a much better and longer run than most hominids of your era. You would have rather scrubbed chamber pots and died of tuberculosis at age 26?”

  “No,” said Olga. “Not when you put it like that.”

  “Indeed,” said the pole. “But however long a human lives, there is always that last day. And it is that last day that humans fear the most.”

  “And you do not?” said Olga.

  “No,” said the pole. “That is my boon, and my curse. But to go back to the subject at hand, how is it that you are still around, when nearly all of your compatriots have succumbed?”

  “I don’t know,” said Olga.

  The pole swiveled around, the rainbow-colored ribbons streaming in semi-circles. “You lie to me, you lie to yourself. Do better.”

  Olga looked down at her feet. “I am still around because I still have a reason to be around.”

  “Fanboy,” said the pole.

  Olga Razon blushed, a surprisingly vivid scarlet through her pale skin. “Yes.”

  The pole tilted towards Olga, in a way that suggested rapt attention. “You want to ask me if he still loves you. You want to ask me if you ever loved him. You want to ask me what to do.”

  In a very small voice, Olga said, “yes.” >

  The pole straightened up, then tilted over to one side as a human might cock his or her head. “Ah. At last honesty. And honesty deserves what honesty deserves. You know that I am a different order of life from you? That neither of us can truly know each other, and that I cannot and will not choose a path for you?”

  A few tears trickled down Olga’s cheeks. “I know.”

  “Well then, I shall do my best. Sometimes getting advice from a being that is different from you can be, well, reflective. It’s not what I say, as that an unusual perspective can remove intellectual log-jams, and allow you to gain fresh insight by yourself. Even explaining a complex problem to an animal or a tree can help a human organize their own thoughts.”


  “I suppose that makes sense,” said Olga.

  “Then to start, my response to your initial questions are yes, yes, and yes. Your current ideas and plans would seem reasonable for a being such as yourself. Perhaps just go for it.”

  “Am I still a sociopath?” asked Olga.

  “From my perspective,” said the pole, “all humans are sociopaths. It’s just how broad a view you take of what constitutes self-interest. You must also understand that while the virus that transforms homo sapiens into homo sapiens vampirica has the effect of burning out the empathy circuits in your brain, organic neural systems do not have absolute specificity. The potential for at least some empathy would always remain, and more so in some than in others. There is also the significant plasticity of the human cerebrum; given time – and you have had thousands of years, and strong regenerative powers – new connections can grow. I would say that, as you are now, you are no more sociopathic than the standard human norm. Although some might not consider that a compliment.”

  Olga nodded. “But when I transformed, I could feel the difference. Things that used to bother me didn’t. On my first day I drained the life out of an innocent and I felt only pleasure…”

  “I’m sure,” said the pole. “But that was when you were freshly transformed. Alternative empathy circuits would not have had time to become engaged. Also, I daresay that there was some ritual involved in the process?”

  “Yes,” said Olga. “I had to swear an oath of loyalty to the vampire coven, and there were solemn readings from ancient texts, that sort of thing.”

  “The power of suggestion can have a great effect on you humans. While there was a biological basis, much of this so-called sociopathy of the vampires was likely social norms. I remind you that a true sociopath would not worry about this. Your raising the question (in a way that is not itself designed to manipulate others) is proof that this is a non-issue with you.”

  “And Fanboy…”

  “Allow me to interrupt,” said the pole. “Fanboy was a space battleship the size of a small city that could blow up small moons and do thousands of things at the same time. You could not have engaged a fraction of his computer systems. And after all that time you spent with him, you still worry that you were little more than a pet, or a hobby.”