Crusade Against the Machines

by Franklyn Santana

  »Is the Old Man there? I must speak to him,« I said to her.

  »Mr. Dexter? What are you doing here at this hour?« she asked in surprise.

  »O’Neil, is he here?« I repeated my question.

  »You can’t see him now,« she replied. »He’s in a meeting with a representative of the UAW union.«

  I ignored her, knocked briefly on the door to the office behind her and entered without waiting for an answer. Inside, O’Neil sprawled in his desk chair, while the intimidated figure of a scrawny union representative in front of him had spread out some papers with statistics on the desk.

  »Mr. Dexter, what are you doing here at this hour of the night? I would have expected you to be in one of those dubious establishments where you have the habit of hanging around usually,« O’Neil said in surprise, looking up at me. I had the impression that this interruption of the conversation came very convenient for him, as the union representative seemed to have become rather a nuisance to him.

  »Sir, can I talk to you for a minute? I’m not sure, but I think it’s important,« I said.

  »What’s this all about?«

  »It has to do with that new bill that you opposed in the Senate...« I started, but O’Neil interrupted me immediately.

  »Not here!« He was apparently uncomfortable talking about this topic in front of others. »Let’s go upstairs.« He stood up and said to the UAW representative, »Give me a few minutes, please. I’ll be right back.«

  »Of course, Senator,« replied the frail man.

  I followed Neil O’Neil outside and we went up the spiral staircase to his apartment together. The apartment was luxurious and furnished in a modern style, although his style wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. In the living area there were a few armchairs and a sitting area, all in chrome and black leather. In between there was a small table made of glass and black precious wood. Also the cupboards were made of such wood. A large panorama window allowed a view over the skyline of the capital. On the wall hung a large flat screen monitor, which was over seven feet wide.

  O’Neil lowered himself heavily into an armchair and then said, »Okay, Mr. Dexter, so what is it that you wanted to talk to me about so urgently?«

  I started my story, trying to say only what was really necessary: »Well, sir, by a stupid coincidence, I came by some strange Neo-Luddites gathering today, a rather extremist bunch. ...but there were a couple of bigwigs there as well.«

  »It’s always amazing in what kind of company you are spending your spare-time,« O’Neil commented, shaking his head.

  »So just listen, sir! They were talking about this... uh... you know, the bill that you voted against in the Senate.«

  »You mean the Human Dignity Bill,« he clarified.

  »Yes, that’s the one,« I confirmed. »The guy I talked to, some university professor, he said that the President is going to sign this bill anyway after all. And he is going to do it through some treaty with the SAU and the Europeans...«

  »Mr. Dexter,« O’Neil said calmly, stressing every syllable, »how many times have I told you not to believe every rumor that someone tells you? The President cannot sign laws into effect that have not passed Congress yet. He can veto a law that has passed Congress, but not the other way around. And al-Rahman will not make commitments with other nations that he cannot honor because Congress has clearly voted against them. Completely absurd!«

  »But, sir, that’s what I thought at first. But then this professor explained to me that al-Rahman is somehow doing this through the North American Union and that this treaty will be above national laws.« Now finally O’Neil started to get skeptical. I went on: »And then another high diplomat from the SAU came up and virtually confirmed all this in his speech, that the SAU and America are signing an agreement where all the robots are switched off and all that. I thought that was kind of important and that I should tell you that right away. I mean, after all, you voted against it, and the President can’t just...«

  »What kind of gathering was that exactly that you attended there?« O’Neil asked, and had suddenly become very serious.

  »Well, uh... I’m not sure, sir. There were a lot of representatives from all sorts of Neo-Luddite organizations, and an imam from a mosque. And he introduced this big shot from the foreign ministry of the SAU.«

  »Wait a minute and sit down,« O’Neil told me. I took a seat somewhere in the sitting area while he pressed the glass top of the table in front of us. The tabletop then turned into a computer display, which he used to remotely turn on the screen on the wall. He made a phone call and waited until the face of his interlocutor appeared on the screen.

  The man who took the call seemed to do so with his smartphone, as I concluded from the shaking picture. In the background you could see the ceiling of some luxurious hotel or theater. You could hear people talking. I recognized the face on the screen. It was a man in his forties with a high forehead and light hair. It was McCain, the second Republican senator from Michigan. »Yes?« he answered the call.

  »O’Neil here! Good evening, McCain.«

  »Good evening, what is it?«

  »Tell me, are you aware of any plans by the President to enter into any agreement with the South Asian Union on behalf of the NAU in relation to the rejected Human Dignity Bill?« he asked his younger colleague.

  »Mmm... no, not that I know of. Why?« he answered.

  »Well, that’s okay. That was all. O’Neil ended the conversation.

  Why he had called McCain, of all people, was not entirely clear to me. He’d only been a member of the Senate for a month and had virtually no political experience. If O’Neil didn’t know anything, McCain would know even less.

  But the Old Man was not yet satisfied. He made another call. This time it was Anabelle Palmer from Boston Dynamics. The android still seemed to be sitting in her office, even at that time. But actually, nothing else was to be expected. After all, she did not have to sleep and probably wasn’t given any time off by her company. Neil O’Neil asked her the same question.

  Before Miss Palmer could answer anything, another face came into view on the screen. It was Jensen. He must have overheard the conversation. Jensen’s face, as always, remained unmoved. He really was the ideal representative for a robotics firm. He was even less emotional than any robot. »The CU Summit in Buenos Aires in four days’ time could possibly be a good opportunity for that,« he said. »It would bring together the heads of government of all continental unions. And some could meet regardless of the official agenda. Where did you get this information from?«

  O’Neil hesitated before answering. »Um... from a usually fairly well informed source. However, I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that it’s just propaganda.«

  »Would it be legally possible to simply bypass Congress?« asked Jensen.

  »That’s what I wanted to ask you.«

  »You are the senator. You should be able to judge that.«

  »Well, I wouldn’t want to rule it out entirely,« O’Neil replied thoughtfully. »If he has consulted with the other NAU member states and can count on a majority in the Supreme Council of the Union... It would be politically a very daring maneuver by al-Rahman. But according to the Treaty of Toronto, which was ratified by Congress, NAU law takes precedence over national law.«

  »So it is possible?«

  »Possibly, but I doubt it would be politically wise. That’s why I have my doubts...«

  »Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.«

  »What do we do now? Will you notify Mrs. Volterhagen and General González?«

  »I’ll take care of everything,« Jensen simply said.

  »But we don’t know if this rumor is based on truth. What if it’s just empty propaganda?«

  »I won’t take that risk. Thank you, Senator.« Then Jensen ended the call.

  O’Neil stared at the blank screen in bewilderment. »What did he mean by that?«

  I asked him, »It was right to come straight to you with this, wasn’t it?«
r />   He was all in his thoughts, so it took him a while to realize that I had asked him a question. »Yes... yes, sure. It was right.«

  Now it was time for me to bring up another matter that was of great importance to me. »That’s why I came to you as soon as I could. The taxi was a bit expensive, you know...«

  O’Neil looked at me and guessed what I was getting at. »Okay, I’ll transfer you two thousand pesos for expenses.« He reached for his smartphone.

  »Four thousand,« I said quickly. »I had some other expenses at this meeting...«

  »All right, three thousand, and don’t put my generosity to the test.«

  I smiled contentedly. Miserable old cheapskate! I really had to negotiate over every centavo with him. I even managed to get him to advance me some gold certificates for the taxi back to my apartment. He told me, of course, that he would deduct this from my salary, but I had a good chance that he would have forgotten about it by the end of the month.

  While he returned to his meeting with the union representative afterwards, I took a taxi home. Today I had really earned my sleep.

  Chapter 8

  New Detroit, 2111

  When I woke up the next morning, I remembered that I had had another one of those strange dreams. I called it the hospital dream. I didn’t know if it was really about a hospital, because as soon as I woke up, I had immediately forgotten most of the details of the dream. The only thing that remained was this strange feeling of confusion, the feeling that something was wrong. And there was this image of a completely white room, no furniture, just bare white walls. It was said that such recurring dreams had some meaning and pointed to some subconscious, repressed fears. But I had no idea where such hospital psychosis could have come from. I could not remember any traumatic experience in a hospital. But maybe this hospital room stood for something else. I didn’t know. And I didn’t really care either.

  Today was the seventeenth of March, the anniversary of the Crusade against the Machines. And for today the school had planned this stupid procession through the village. Why didn’t they give us a day off, like they did every year? What was so special about the number sixty?

  On my bedside table was an old alarm clock with mechanical clockwork. It was eight o’clock. I tried to remember where I had picked up this old museum’s piece. In my time, no one had used mechanical watches any more. Everything had been electronic, synchronized over the Internet with some kind of atomic clock. And no one today was able to build a thing as complicated as a mechanical clockwork, at least not in New Detroit. The clock once belonged to old O’Neil, I finally remembered. I owed him so much. Devil knows where he got this clock from! But it didn’t matter.

  The clock reminded me that I had to show up to this damn procession. I was expected to lead the seventh grade. It was getting harder for me every day to get up in the morning. It had always been difficult for me, but with age it certainly didn’t get easier. My bones ached when I had to move my old body again. Sunlight came into my room through the slits in the shutters. The organizers of this festival procession were damn lucky with the weather today. It seemed to be the first real day of spring this year. At least I would not have to freeze. Well, if the weather had been worse, I would have excused myself from this superfluous spectacle. They could have counted on that. But on such a sunny day, it would get difficult to explain my absence.

  Since nothing helped, I struggled to get out of bed. One day I would need someone to help me with the household. I was just getting too old. But how could I pay for that on my meager salary? I blocked the thought out. I could still manage on my own. Time would tell how things would go on. Maybe tomorrow I’d be dead anyway. Who could tell?

  It took me a whole hour to wash, brush my teeth and get dressed. Then I grabbed my coat and walking cane and left the house. Unfortunately I hadn’t told the coachman what time he was supposed to pick me up today. So I had to walk all the way to school that day. But that wouldn’t make any difference anyway, considering how much of marching I had ahead of me today. At least the sun and a bright blue sky were smiling at me.

  It took me about fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the school. The children were gathered outside the building. Each class formed a group. I saw old Miss Doyle, Reverend Carter and Director Wilson with them trying to line up the students in some orderly way. Even Colonel Lewis and the mayor had come as visitors. They watched everything with great interest. I looked around until I found the group of the seventh grade. I didn’t have to look very far. The tall pompously acting Ned and his friend Jacob commanded the other children around, but the others disobeyed these orders and shouted back instead. There was no doubt, my class was once again the noisiest and most undisciplined of all.

  Only when they saw me approaching the shouting gradually ceased. »What’s going on here? Everybody shuts up immediately! You are behaving like a chicken coop!« I shouted loud to restore order in my class.

  »Good morning, Mister Magister!« said the blonde Janet to me.

  »Good morning, students!« I shouted loud enough for everyone to hear me.

  »Good morning, Magister Dexter!« the class replied well-behaved in unison.

  »I’m glad that everyone arrived here on time today,« I said. »After all, it’s some lovely weather this morning. So there is nothing to complain about. And now we’ll show the other classes how discipline works here and that we’re not such a messed up bunch like the rest of the school.«

  In fact, some teachers hadn’t shown up yet and the kids were romping around wildly. Also Miss Doyle and Reverend Carter had problems to keep their own classes together, since they were also busy calling the unsupervised classes to order.

  I turned to my class: »So, now let’s line up properly, as it is supposed to be. In two rows, in order of height. Boys in the back, girls in front. Get moving!«

  Spurred on by the ambition to do better than the other classes, the children began to line up in the requested manner. There was some discussion about who was taller now and who should stand further to the left. I ended the discussions with some clear decisions. Since there were two boys more than girls, I placed the last one in the front row together with the girls to give the whole line up a proper look. It caused some of the other boys to mock them and giggle.

  »Silence back there in the cheap places!« I said to the gigglers. »Steve, get off your lame ass and take your position! Do you always need a special invitation?«

  Finally my class was the first to stand neatly in order.

  »Okay, everybody to the right of here, two paces forward! That’s it. Now turn right. Forward, march! Close up to the two rows. I want us to form four neat march columns. Yes, stop! Squad, halt! Front rows, turn left! Good.« I was happy with my class.

  The other teachers continued to struggle. Magister Sanders had also shown up in the meantime and tried to get his class in order.

  Miss Doyle had prepared some colorful paper hats, just as Ned Ludd had worn one, as legend had it. She handed the hats out to the children and showed them how to wear them. A string under the chin held them tight on their heads. She also handed out the hats to my students.

  I had to admit, it was a funny idea. The kids were excited about it, too.

  After about half an hour, the other classes had also lined up in columns of four and we marched neatly ordered through the streets of New Detroit. There were about a hundred kids and five teachers, myself included. We teachers marched alongside our classes. All the kids were wearing the King Ludd paper hats. Miss Doyle had made the children sing a traditional song about Ned Ludd. And the children trilled along happily.

  »They said Ned Ludd was an idiot boy

  That all he could do was wreck and destroy, and

  He turned to his work mates and said: Death to Machines!

  They tread on our future and they stamp on our dreams.«

  I watched amused the little kids of the first grade in their coats and silly paper hats, each of them trying hard to sing along.
Some tried to imitate the militia at their parades and marched in a kind of chaotic goose step. They laughed when they kicked the butt of the kid in front of them. Miss Doyle called them to order. The front row of each class wore paper flags and each class president who preceded his class held a wooden hammer in his outstretched hand, the symbol of the Luddite revolt. The sun was shining above us. It was so warm that some students had taken off their coats and carried them over their arms. It was a beautiful morning. I was amazed at the eagerness and enthusiasm of the children.

  All this was in such stark contrast to the real events we were celebrating today, the outbreak of the Crusade against the Machines exactly sixty years ago, on the seventeenth of March of 2051.

  Washington, D. C., 2051

  The disastrous events that led to the beginning of the Crusade against the Machines were like a roller coaster through hell. It began the day before, and I wouldn’t find any sleep until the disaster broke out. Everything happened in a rush. And when March 17 of 2051 was over, the world was suddenly a different place. Nothing was the way it had once been.

  As I said, it began the day before, the sixteenth of March, with the news of the death of President Abd al-Rahman.

  I remembered that it was raining that day. And the rain continued without interruption until the day after, the appropriate weather for the fateful events that awaited us.

  I got the news at O’Neil’s Capitol Hill office. I heard loud noise from the corridor outside and went out to check if there was another security problem.

  »The President, the President’s helicopter has crashed!« shouted a woman excited at me as she hurried through the corridor.

  I went right back to the office and told Miss Hitch to switch on the TV. And then we could see it for ourselves. It was on every channel. U. S. President Abd al-Rahman had died in a helicopter crash. The President’s Marine One had collided with a larger drone normally used by the Air Force for reconnaissance. Surveillance cameras of the escort helicopters of squadron HMX-1 of the U. S. Marine Corps showed the exact moment of the collision. The same images were repeated over and over again. Now everyone wondered how the drone had been able to approach the President’s helicopter escort in the first place. The U. S. Air Force denied that it was one of their drones. But this of course opened the question how an ordinary drone would have been able to enter the airspace over Washington, D. C. unnoticed by the Air Force.