Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

  "Is there any way to try asking him?" Laura persisted.

  Gray shrugged. "If he happens to be recharging, then he's on the net."

  Laura nodded, then turned and bolted down the hall for the study. "Laura!" Gray called after her. "You've got five minutes. I won't wait."

  She took the stairs three at a time. When she got to the study, she found that the terminal on Gray's desk was still logged on.

  "Hello?" she typed.

 

  "It's Laura. I don't have time to talk. Can you find out if Hightop's in a chair recharging somewhere? I need to talk to him."

 

  "I don't have time! Hoblenz just went down the elevator to the Model Eight facility. Gray and I are following in about four minutes. Find Hightop right now!"

 

  "Hightop! Now!"

  There was a momentary pause, and then,

  "I need to talk to Hightop!"

 

  Who is this?

 

  "Hightop," Laura typed. "I have to ask you a question."

  What?

  "Mr. Hoblenz took a team to your facility in the mountain, and Mr. Gray and I are headed down in a couple of minutes. Do you know anything about what's going on down there?"

  There was a pause. Finally, Laura read,

  I can tell you what I've already told Mr. Gray. Leave us alone. Let us handle things.

  the computer interrupted.

  I wasn't speaking to you!

 

  You don't control the switches!

  "Excuse me!!!" Laura typed, pressing the Enter key repeatedly. "I'm leaving now. Are you sure you don't have anything you can say to me, Hightop?"

  Don't get on that elevator.

  "Is that Hightop or the computer?"

  the computer answered.

  "Why shouldn't we get on the elevator? What's down there?"

 

  Laura raced for the stairs. When she reached the lower level and turned toward the elevator, she saw that the corridor was empty. The elevator doors were still open, however, and she snatched her black rifle from against the wall and dashed into the car just in time. She collapsed into the seat next to Gray.

  "Hightop said don't go," she reported, out of breath. The doors closed and the cool voice of the countdown began. Laura got the straps on quietly, but there was something on the seat under her, and she squirmed. She thought she was sitting on the loose end of one of the bolts, but as the countdown neared zero she probed the straps and found both ends. She felt the cushion underneath her and found the cause of her discomfort. The three men watched her twist as she retrieved the hard object. She held it out in the palm of her hand.

  The spent rifle cartridge was still warm, and its brass was smudged with powder burns. The elevator began its powered descent, and the cartridge fell from Laura's hand to the ceiling.

  At the opposite end of the long shaft, the rifle pressed on Laura's lap under the tremendous downward tug of deceleration. The noise of the motor and the popping of their ears prevented them from hearing the gunfire until the doors opened.

  A single rifle roared in long bursts, but when the two soldiers made it out the elevator door their weapons added to the thunder in the enclosed space. Gray and Laura were last out — Gray stopping at the elevator door to hit a button holding the car there.

  "Incoming!" Hoblenz shouted just as fragments splattered from the concrete wall beside Gray. A large hole marred its previously smooth surface.

  "What the hell was that?" Gray yelled, after diving behind an overturned table.

  "Nail gun!" Hoblenz shouted before firing at the corridor that led to Griffith's jury-rigged control room. "Their equipment belts have nail guns and blowtorches!"

  Gray didn't appear to have heard Hoblenz. Laura followed his eyes to the cafeteria floor. Two soldiers from Hoblenz's group lay dead.

  Just minutes before they had volunteered to get in that elevator. Now their bones were broken in a dozen places — that much could be seen even from a distance — and one's neck was bent at an impossible angle.

  As horrific as the sight was to Laura, the expression on Gray's face frightened her more. He was staring at the bodies with a haunted look on his face, and she feared he might crack right there.

  But instead he raised his rifle and loosed a burst. The bullets struck right in the face of a Model Eight, who peered tentatively around a pockmarked wall. But the bullets seemed to have little effect.

  "These full metal jackets don't penetrate enough to 'em!" Hoblenz reported from the other side of Laura. The two newly arrived soldiers were working their way across the room to get a better shot down the corridor, overturning tables along the way for cover.

  "Look out!" one of the soldiers yelled as he opened fire.

  Laura stared as a metal desk spun end over end through the air. It flew over her head and crashed into the wall behind her.

  Laura barely even ducked. In shock, she marveled at the strength of the robot — at how much force it had imparted to its projectile.

  Hoblenz groaned, wincing as he held his ribcage. "Are you all right?"

  His grimace served only to make him look angry. He struggled to his knees, favoring his right side. "I'm just fine," he said through bared teeth.

  "We've gotta pull back!" Gray shouted as Hoblenz reloaded.

  "Can't! They got one of my men." Gray and Laura both looked at the two broken bodies. Hoblenz had come down with three men. "We were ready when the doors opened, but they were standin' right there. They jus' reached in and grabbed 'em. I couldn't do too much. Didn't wanna hit my men."

  The robot leaned out into the open momentarily, almost daring the soldiers to shoot. When the torrent of rifle fire arrived, it darted back behind the corner.

  "Save your ammo!" Hoblenz yelled. "That one's just been playin' hide-and-seek since we got down here. The nail gun is just a toy, I think. He even shot himself in the leg with it."

  "What happened to them?" Laura asked, nodding at the dead men sprawled on the concrete.

  Hoblenz shook his head. "Their bones were broken like dry sticks. You could hear 'em. The robots didn't do too much to 'em."

  He looked out at the piles in black uniforms. "But it don't take too much to kill a man."

  Gray's eyes were on the bullet-riddled face of the Model Eight.

  It stood almost totally exposed now that it was not drawing fire from the soldiers. "They must be toddlers," Gray said, his voice drained of inflection. "Mr. Hoblenz, how did they move? Did they seem agile, or ungainly?"

  "Well, they weren't exactly graceful. This place here was mostly torn up when the doors opened."

  "They're toddlers," Gray concluded, "between two and four months old." He looked at Laura. "They wouldn't have completed tactile training."

  Laura nodded slowly.

  "Well," Hoblenz said from behind Laura, "whatever the hell that means, they took my man Tran down that way." Hoblenz pointed down the corridor from which the robot taunted them. "We gotta go get him."

  Gray nodded, checked his rifle, and rose from behind the table to walk into the open. "Bring the explosives," he said without taking his eyes off the robot. The two of them stood facing each other across the cluttered room. The Model Eight disappeared down the corridor.

  Without warning Gray walked out into the maze of overturned furniture.

  "Joseph!" Laura shouted.

  "Hold your fire!" Hoblenz ordered.

  Gray got down on one knee beside the bodies. With his fingertips he checked the arteries on the men's necks. In his other hand was the assault rifle's pistol grip.

  Suddenly, the young robot rounded the corner. He held a metal filing cabinet that he appeared re
ady to sling one-handed.

  The robot froze — staring at Gray, who rose to stand not ten meters in front of it. Even from where Laura crouched behind the table she could see the holes in the toddler's face and the deep indentations in the metal plates that covered his chest.

  "Mr. Gray," Hoblenz said loudly, not taking his eye from his rifle sight, "I would advise you to back off without making any sudden moves!"

  Laura glanced at the other two soldiers, whose rifles were also raised. She belatedly picked her own up and rested it on the table.

  It made her nervous just thinking she might have to shoot, but she held the pistol grip as firmly as she could and aimed it in the general direction of the robot's head. "Put that butt hard up on yer shoulder," Hoblenz muttered quietly like some drill instructor. "It kicks like hell." Laura complied, more nervous than before.

  The Model Eight held the filing cabinet in one hand, but its other arm hung limply by its side. Its shoulder was pierced by a tight grouping of holes.

  Gray approached the robot gingerly. It was probably too young to understand spoken language, Laura reasoned. Gray moved closer, careful not to topple anything along the way. The robot appeared transfixed by the scene — by Gray.

  When he was almost within reach of the robot, Gray held out his hand. With a loud crash the filing cabinet dropped to the floor.

  Gray stood completely still, his hand extended to the Model Eight.

  The robot's good arm rose, its three-fingered end effector wrapping around Gray's outstretched hand. Gray said something to the robot, nodding down the corridor.

  The robot turned very carefully. It appeared to make certain not to move too quickly for the human. They headed off toward the control room Laura had visited earlier. The robot was stooped over and holding Gray's hand with obvious care.

  Laura, Hoblenz, and the others quickly followed. She skirted the two dead men — silent reminders of the dangers they faced.

  The Model Eight was unsteady on its feet. Several times it scraped the walls with an awful grating sound. And when the robot lost its balance, it almost dragged Gray off his feet. They finally arrived in the temporary control room, and the robot let go of Gray's hand.

  Most of the consoles and chairs lay on their sides, and there were loose cables crisscrossing the large cavern.

  "Mr. Gray, I can't promise I can hold this area," Hoblenz said. He was pulling hand grenades out of a sack that he carried, lining them up on an overturned console.

  Laura joined Gray at the observation window, where he stood rubbing his hand. They peered down at the captive soldier curled into a ball on the bare floor of the tactile room. Five robots stood around him in a circle. One robot was stroking the soldier's back, his hand carefully guided by another.

  Hoblenz appeared beside them at the window. "Jesus Christ," he said, then he began to inspect the window and the frame around it.

  "Sir, I can take this thing out with some C4. That'd give us a good angle for direct fire. I'll grab a man and head down. I would take two, but we need to keep an eye on this one." He shot his thumb toward the robot that had led them there, which hadn't moved an inch since Gray pulled his hand free. "Unless, of course, you let me do him right now."

  "No," Gray said as they watched the Model Eight in the tactile room pull his pupil's hand off the soldier's back. Another robot then proffered its hand and waited. The teacher grabbed its wrist and slowly, carefully, laid the hand onto the man's back. The soldier flinched but made no move to uncover his head. He was playing dead.

  "Is that 'no' to wasting this one, or 'no' to my plan?"

  "No to both," Gray said, putting his rifle down. "I'll go down there and get him. You have your men check for signs of drilling, although I don't think you'll find any."

  Hoblenz heaved a loud sigh of frustration. "Mr. Gray, you may be a walkin' human calculator, but brilliant tactician you're not. I just saw two of my men get snapped to pieces by those goddamn things. Now you wanna go down there by yourself, unarmed, while I split my men up and send them off to look for something you don't think they'll find?"

  "There are only five robots down here," Gray explained, "four toddlers and one holdback — a robot we're planning to reprogram."

  "Now how do you know that?"

  "I told you, this is the toddler class." Gray turned to nod at the robot behind them, who was staring down the barrel of a soldier's gun. "That one's called Goose."

  "How do you know its name?" Laura asked. "I thought they all looked alike."

  "They do, but watch this." Gray stepped up to the Model Eight. "Goose," he said in a loud voice, "show me your music box. Go show me your music box," he said, and held out his hand.

  "Jeez," Hoblenz muttered.

  The robot led Gray straight to a small pile of belongings placed neatly in the corner of the room. There was a ragged beach towel, all bright green and burnt orange. A small collection of what looked to be doorknobs, their internal mechanisms protruding, jagged and twisted.

  But the robot ignored all the rest and picked up a large, multicolored plastic ball.

  "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?" came a distorted and scratchy voice from the toy. The robot pressed another panel. "Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall."

  Gray returned to Laura and Hoblenz, the robot remaining in the corner with its things.

  "That's real sweet, sir," Hoblenz said with barely concealed irritation. "Mother Goose nursery rhymes—'Goose.' But those things did just kill my men."

  "But was it Goose?" Laura said. "They're each different. You can't judge them all just by what some do."

  "They're all ten fuckin' feet tall and can rip the head off of ya if you get 'em riled."

  Both Hoblenz and Laura fell quiet when they saw the look of concern on Gray's face. They turned to look down through the window at the tactile room. All five robots were now standing and staring silently up at the window.

  44

  "There he is," Laura said on seeing Gray at the door of the tactile room. Hoblenz returned to the window carrying a black canvas bag. From the bag he pulled a block of plastic explosives about the size of a large brick and began to mash his thumbs into the gray mass.

  "What are you doing?" Laura asked as Gray inched closer to the gathering of robots. The robots' attention was focused on him.

  "Just a precaution," Hoblenz said, using all his strength to pinch off a piece of the gummy substance. He began pressing the explosives in a thin string along the seals at the edge of the window.

  Laura sensed movement behind her. Turning her eyes but not her head, she saw that Goose stood right behind them. Hoblenz concentrated so hard on his work that he hadn't noticed.

  "I think you ought to look around," Laura said to Hoblenz in as calm a voice as she could muster.

  Hoblenz froze, turning his head slowly to look at the robot's legs. Then he looked over at his rifle, which he'd leaned against the wall.

  His men had gone to take care of the bodies and to look for signs of drilling. They were all alone with the Model Eight.

  "Go-o-od robot," Hoblenz said. "Nice robot. That-a-boy, Goose."

  The Model Eight reached out and grabbed the block of explosives from Hoblenz. Slowly, its grip tightened, and the gray substance oozed out between its three fingers. Goose returned to the corner and sat down amid his other toys, continuing to knead the explosives with his one good hand.

  "You have fun with that!" Hoblenz yelled. He then muttered, "You son of a bitch," as he returned to work at the window. He inserted what Laura assumed was a tiny detonator into the thin string of explosives, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  "Is that enough?" Laura whispered, worried by how skinny the strings were.

  "Plenty," he said tersely. He then walked backward across the room, spooling out a hair-thin filament in the direction of the elevator.

  In the room below, Gray stood inside the circle of seated Model Eights, his hand on the should
ers of two robots. It was like the hand you placed on the rump of a horse when within range of its dangerous hooves, Laura thought. An I'm-right-here-don't-get-startled touch. He was talking constantly, but Laura didn't know to whom.

  The robots all began to rise as if on cue. The Model Eight that had guided the students' petting pulled them away one by one.

  Gray then led the soldier out without incident.

  Hoblenz began shouting for his men to "Pack it up." In the corner, Goose held his hand in front of his one undamaged lens. It was covered in the gummy explosives.

  When Laura looked back at the tactile room, most of the Model Eights were milling about. But one of the robots sat in front of the room's only door, barring the exit. The robot brought his hand up to his chin and rested his elbow on his knee. It was Auguste, "The Thinker" — the reprogrammed "bad seed." He already had blood on his hands, Laura thought, and seemed determined not to add any more.

  Gray anxiously checked his watch. Two soldiers stood with Hoblenz at a terminal, showing him something on the screen schematic.

  The third man had ridden up the elevator with the two bodies and the former hostage, who was thoroughly shaken but not badly hurt.

  "I've got to be getting back, Mr. Hoblenz," Gray said. "It's three hours to deceleration."

  Hoblenz reclined in his chair, frowning as he stared at the screen. "There's still no sign of any drilling."

  Laura stood at the window and watched the listless Model Eights below.

  All now sat on the floor as if exhausted. Or maybe depressed by the events of the day, Laura thought. But the [garbled] maybe their batteries are just low.

  One of the Model Eights turned and pressed its palm flat against the white concrete where its back had rested.

  "What's that Goose is playing with?" Laura heard Gray ask.

  "C4," Hoblenz said with a chuckle. "I'd pay cash money to stick around till he plugs in for recharging."

  "Clean it off him," Gray directed.

  "Do what?" Hoblenz shot back — incredulous.

  "There are some paper towels in the cafeteria. Clean his grippers off."