Toy Wars

by Thomas Gondolfi

  Pesky unit. “Negative. Authorized activities. Please push instruction on the queue for two hours.”

  At first I really believed it might ignore me. It remained pointed at the corpse I intended to harvest for several tens of seconds revving its engines. As I didn’t leave or move it instead moved over to the corpse of the dismembered Nurse Nan I’d just worked on, picking it up and placing it back onto the pyre. For a brief moment it turned back to me before motoring off.

  “Persistent and pesky,” I muttered to myself before turning back to my job.

  I ripped the fur from one of the thighs and found the ceramic armor plating beneath, just as I was constructed. Selecting a hook-shaped, armor-cutting tool from my ring of new macabre-obtained tools didn’t require any great stretch of faith, but I realized I had no power to drive the unit. It seemed ironic that I needed power to obtain power.

  “Priority one order,” I called out verbally. “External power required here.”

  Three seconds later my front end loader returned to my side. “External power available behind cab.” I could see the retractable and universal power socket. I reeled it out and without undue strain powered my tools through its single input.

  While I had no experience in cutting armor, I wondered how difficult it could be. I bent over my victim. The blade buzzed harshly at about 320 hertz just barely within hearing as I turned it on. That changed immediately as I touched the point to the armor of the body’s thigh. The sound level jumped up to a very loud 50 or 60 decibels.

  The blade bit easily into the armor, maybe a bit too easily as black foam oozed out from the cut indicating I’d punctured some of the batteries I sought. I eased up on the tool with even a higher level of feedback, incised a ragged line all the way down the thigh. It looked more like the twists and turns of a river than the straight line I’d hoped for, but it didn’t ooze black. I tried the same incision on the opposite side and got something much straighter. Then I circumnavigated the leg at the top and the bottom.

  Carefully, for want of cutting my own hide, I turned off the blade and set it beside me. Gripping either side of the horizontal cut, I pulled off half the plate of the thigh with only a slight suction. Exposed to me were the true treasures I sought—the 30-centimeter-long and 1-centimeter-diameter-cylindrical cells of its batteries arranged around the thigh’s perimeter.

  Several of the cells were oozing black foam from my inexpert surgery. I choose two that were not leaking from damage and removed them, along with several feet of wiring, and the small horizontal blades of a universal male plug.

  The batteries I bonded tightly to the top of the barrel of my M16, clear of the ejection port. The universal male plug I mounted at the very end, sticking out like a tiny double bayonet. The trivial wiring gave me a makeshift shock prod. It was an ugly and beautiless kludge that even Rube Goldberg would have sneered at. However, despite its lack of aesthetic qualities, I now felt I could deal with any biologic that dared to molest me with 24 volts of vengeance.

  As an afterthought, I took out the rest of the dead teddy’s undamaged battery cells. They made a heavy but not too bulky bundle to put in my backpack.

  “Pop load instructions off the stack,” I said to the loader as I retracted the power cord.

  “Acknowledged.”

  I think I may have heard a note of relief in its tone.

  I wrapped up the Nurse Nan tools in the torn fur of the scrap teddy and the bundle also went into my pack.

  Probabilities for a successful mission just rose. It must have been the battery replacement, for I felt rejuvenated and once again felt the mission parameters within my grasp.

  I stood next to the two large piles of bodies yet I felt good about myself in general. I could not explain the dichotomy, but I had the world by the tail and was ready to shake it.

  This made me feel overly optimistic. I decided that time was more my enemy than anything this other Factory could have thrown my way. At the same time the rational part of my processor said that if, in fact, the Factory of these units got wind of my presence, then I might as well throw myself back into the river.

  The whole thought process forced me to decide to make some changes in my overall plans. My first deviation involved hitching a ride on a train that just happened to be going in the direction I needed to go. I hoped it would take me all the way into the Factory without further delays, basilisks, rivers, or battles. With the speed of trains, I could cut days, maybe weeks off the trip. The risk seemed to be worthwhile and within tolerances as every other unit here took me as one of its own. I loaded myself onto the top of a box car without drawing even a second glance.

  Peacemaker

  The trip lasted three days. During the trip I did absolutely nothing that would draw attention to myself. I was just another unit in transit as far as anyone was concerned, and I was going to ensure that it stayed that way.

  Everything about this territory spoke to strength. The train tracks I rode on were double tracks, allowing travel in both directions at the same time. In fact, two trains, each laden with more units than I ever remembered in one place in Six’s domain, passed us traveling back to the front. More than once I saw moldering mounds of scrap material that hadn’t been reclaimed, as if it had no value.

  Each hour I wondered about the sheer size of the territory that this Factory controlled. My maps of Six’s territory showed that you could travel across its entirety by train in sixty-six hours. I couldn’t help thinking of the battle of David versus Goliath.

  All of these facts and thoughts just emphasized that I dare not fail.

  At Mission+41d18h53m my destination finally loomed in sight: a huge pink and gray dome approximately 200 meters across with a dozen smaller and larger auxiliary buildings strewn about in an apparently chaotic fashion. The resemblance to Six bordered on the terrifying but no split weeping-fly tree adorned the front nor did a river flow nearby. The train tracks didn’t curve so closely to the dome. The dome wasn’t exposed as much as Six’s, only showing 60 meters above the coarse red sand it sat within.

  But I was right. I had been right all along. There was more than one Factory on Rigel-3. There had been no other logical explanation for the facts, but seeing it vindicated every action. Everything to this point had been hypothesis. Now it was fact. It was all I could do not to tear my restraining straps off and leap about in the pure satisfaction of being justified. I could now end this war and return home to show Six that I could complete a mission that I set for myself.

  A nearly permanent pall hung over this Factory’s valley. I doubted that the sun ever got a tendril of light onto the bottom where the dome proper sat. Strange spindly plants grew in the darkness and the coarse, rocky soil here. It somehow seemed ominous. I hoped this wasn’t a portent. But then, I didn’t believe in portents, did I? I knew from experience that a Factory could be convinced. I just had to be convincing.

  As the train rounded a large boulder blackened by some type of pyrotechnics, my heating elements kicked in, even though my temperature sensors remained in nominal range. I switched it off, but wondered if the warmth would have been comforting when I saw a colossal array of units awaiting the train’s arrival. I estimated ten thousand teddies. Elephants and Tommy Tanks also waited in similar numbers. These units alone could break through Six’s defenses, at any point, like a bullet through mercury. There would be no stopping such an army.

  My undertaking, to this point, while deadly important, seemed almost an intellectual lark. It just changed into the most important thing I would ever have to do. A sobering thought, as my skills could very well be the only thing that stood in the way of the total obliteration of my home. It made me wonder at how powerful the Humans are if they are the creators of my creator? Would Six one day be called upon to save them?

  The train came to a lurching halt within the silent and still mass of units. I knew my deactivation was guaranteed if I made even a single mistake. I unstrapped, dismounted and walked directly for the dome, i
gnoring the pair of immense smelting plants and the huge manufacturing facilities. The manufacturing capability of this Factory outstripped Six by at least an order of magnitude. Everything here was done on an enormous scale compared with what Six had been able to accomplish. This Factory was in a position to enforce its will. I had to make this work.

  Without waiting, I boldly walked toward what on Six was the main audience chamber. No matter what outward appearance I could present, I still felt all of my physical systems playing havoc at or just exceeding nominal ranges. I looked around with great care before entering. The chamber of this Factory was identical to Six’s—small but arranged in a way that made it seem bigger and more intimidating. That being said, a uniform pink layer of dust covered the floor. My own footprints marked the only disturbance in an untold length of time. I stood there for a moment wondering what I should do. Usually Six spoke to me first.

  My voltage ramped up even further and my main hydraulic pump started to oscillate its speed. I pulled up a reassuring quote from Colonel Janice Corning, squadron commander of the flight that liberated Mars from the megacorp NBM, “Fear is natural; being cowardly is not. Being brave is only embracing fear like any sentient should.” I would face my fear.

  “Hello?” I said tentatively. I might be facing it, but I didn’t have to fall in love with it.

  “Return to your post,” boomed the same domineering voice I recalled from the net shortly after I switched CCTs some weeks ago. A command over the local net reinforced the voice’s authority.

  “I’m sorry to intrude but we need to talk.” There was a long silence. I silently waited for my death in a hail of bullets or the blast of a hidden grenade, but it didn’t come.

  “You are defective. Return to scavenging control.”

  “Ah, no. I’m not defective. I wasn’t constructed by you, so you cannot order me to do anything, Factory,” I said, becoming more comfortable that I had reached beneath its standard programming.

  “Probability 0.0004.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was made by Factory 55466.”

  “Probability 0.008.”

  I decided that using the quote about “lies, damned lies, and statistics” wouldn’t win me any points so I ignored what I didn’t want to hear—I tried to change the subject. “I was curious as to your designation.”

  “I am Factory 55474. Return to scavenging control.”

  “OK. What do I have to do to convince you that you have no control over me? Do I have to do a handstand? Maybe I should shoot your sump out? You tell me. What will it take to convince you that I am NOT of your manufacture?”

  “Probability 0.08. The CCT in your construction answers to my call.”

  “Ah, that’s what it will take.” I turned off the new CCT and activated my primary for 0.6 seconds before returning to 55474’s CCT. There was a significant pause after my demonstration.

  “Probability 0.73. What is your mission?”

  “I am here to establish peace.”

  “Peace—the absence of war or other hostilities or an agreement or treaty to end hostilities.”

  “Correct.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I here? Or why cease hostilities?”

  “Both questions would provide useful information, unit.”

  “I am here as these hostilities are irreparably damaging my Factory.”

  “As part of the local fauna, the destruction of you and your Factory is a significant part of my mission directives.”

  “It is unnecessary and wasteful.”

  “Waste—to consume carelessly. I do not waste. I destroy the local fauna to control the surface of the planet.”

  “But there is no need to fight one of your own kind.”

  “I am unique here.”

  “You are not unique here. I am proof of that.”

  “You have a defective processor. You will be taken back for salvage.” Just then I noted several unarmed teddy units at the door. They were obviously here to take me back to whatever scrap heap they accumulated. 55474 had kept me talking long enough for them to arrive and no longer.

  “I am not defective. I can show you another way!”

  “Peace is unacceptable. My mission parameters would not be fulfilled by peace.”

  “But there must be a way!” I said, getting jittery as the teddy units closed in on me. “We have to work together!” I shouted. The Factory did not answer my voice or my commands over its network.

  With no other recourse, I unslung my M16 and sprayed into the small group of six teddy units approaching. Each of the six went down with at least a semi-critical hit. One tried in vain to crawl along the ground by its paws. I put a single aimed shot into its sump.

  “I told you, I’m not one of yours. Respond 55474!”

  From gloom outside I saw more units moving in my direction. I remembered the tens of thousands waiting to board the train. At this point I was beyond fear. Only units which are alive can feel fear and I was fairly certain I was already as good as deactivated.

  I fired three bursts directly into the panel which held 55474’s main processing unit. I hoped for just enough time to run away, to hide, and to survive. Sprinting for the door, I dropped a grenade behind me as I ran. I added a prayer to the Humans that there would be enough confusion to delay pursuit.

  No fewer than three hundred units closed on my position, weapons drawn. The sharp report of my grenade’s explosion pitched me forward to the ground. It took me 1,435 milliseconds to scramble to my feet.

  To my amazement, the units near me now milled about aimlessly like there wasn’t a thought running around in their head, nor a murderer and traitor in their midst. I bolted.

  I didn’t even dare to look behind me. At times I felt I could hear pursuit, but I knew better than to look back. The disaster wasn’t real unless I saw it. I bested Lot as I never turned. I must’ve been wrong about the immediate pursuers as no bullets ripped up my fur and shattered my skin beneath, nor did elephant mortars explode holes in my belly.

  I ran for nearly eight hours before I stopped, at the summit of one of the tiny hills that made up the valley. My gyros and hydraulics both fought desperately to dissipate the heat they had accumulated. I must have been alive again. I could feel fear as my voltage spiked.

  Neither the grenade nor the few slugs from my M16 could have severely damaged the Factory. It was probably buried behind sturdy stuff. Even failing that it surely had backups. I must have stunned it into rebooting.

  Back down in the valley dozens of teddy units mounted balloon-tired, whip-antennaed racecars barely larger than their riders. Even with their burdens, the cars rooster-tailed dirt out behind them as they leapt forward. They reached speeds of 40 kilometers per hour and unerringly came directly at me, even though not one of them had seen me take cover. They pursued me like a…well, like an animal.

  How could I get away? There seemed no way I could. Those racecars were doing, even loaded, about 50 percent faster speed than I could manage even if I pushed every system in my body to emergency limits.

  My mind raced faster than even the cars. I looked around for an answer. It might be a cave or anything that could hide my signal. That was it—my signal. With 55474’s CCT I broadcasted a “friendly” signal over the net. They tracked the signal I generated on their own net.

  I could switch to my normal CCT and broadcast an “enemy” signal, but that was no good either. What if I didn’t broadcast any signal? I would become, as far as any unit cared, a biologic. I didn’t think 55474 would be fooled by such a trick. It would assume that I had done that, as much as I had shown it I could change CCTs and just start a search with my last coordinates as the center, but it would buy some time. I turned off all the CCTs and moved as rapidly away from my last coordinates as possible. Even as I did so, I doubted that with all the resources 55474 could bring to bear that I would be able to escape in this way.

  My sump still pumped frantically for a plan. The Humans must have looked o
ut for me as the solution jumped into my head. It didn’t grow. It didn’t form. In one clock cycle I had no idea, and in the next it was as clear as new hydraulic fluid.

  Below me was a river. Not the river that had been my nemesis before, but a significant tributary. If I could get into the river I would be swept away faster than I could run, or better yet 55474’s CCT could be swept away, just in case Four had units it could coordinate farther along the line of the river.

  At a dead run, I unslung my combat pack and dug through the little bit of fur where I had wrapped the Nurse Nan tool ring. I looked frantically for the proper wrench. It didn’t help that it was the blasted tool at the very end of my search program. I immediately went to work opening the side panel on my neck. My arms jostled up and down in time with my feet hitting the ground. It took writing an algorithm to move my arms counter to that of the motion. It didn’t matter much because when I got the panel open, I couldn’t see to remove the correct CCT. I don’t know what I had been processing.

  At the same moment, I turned radically, running down the hill at a dangerous speed toward the river.

  I knew it would be a close thing. If I could make the river before the cars crested the hill, I might survive. As I ran, I once again dipped into my backpack and pulled out one of the spare batteries. I had to be ready or this wouldn’t work.

  The cars careened down the hill, barely in control, but even faster than I remembered. If I only had five more minutes it would be a sure thing. As it was, my processor couldn’t decide if I was going to win this race or not.

  My heat sensors edged dangerously past redline for the last hundred meters to the river. The acrid odor of scorched hydraulic fluid permeated the air, but this was the least of my worries. The racecars and their riders were hot on my trail. I had won the foot race, but would I have enough time? I fell down onto the ground near the river and tore back open my neck panel. I worked frantically from my reflection in the silver of the river. I could see the tertiary CCT and I ripped it out with no thought of the consequences. Wires snapped and I felt tiny discontinuities and shorts, but I could ill afford fastidiousness. I made the fastest wiring job in history, connecting the battery in my hand to the CCT. As soon as I felt the signal, I stuffed the board and as much of the wiring as I could into a tiny plastic bag and heaved it into the swiftly flowing current. I watched it tumble over in the river and flow rapidly out of sight.