A faint voice responded, “Base, this is Eff One. We’ve reached the cliff face and are ready to climb. Request mortar support now.”
Alderink raised his eyebrows. “They have mortar?”
Coleman nodded confirmation. “We’ve reviewed images of the valley and they clearly show a temporary base with a makeshift bunker. We counted two mortars and three missiles; we think they’re Javelins. I’m not sure if they expect the bots to bring out tanks, but the missiles could knock out a small group of bots, I suppose.”
As the team continued to watch, the infrared display showed the firing of one of the mortars. Seconds later a mountain ridge exploded with a longer flash of white glare.
Coleman said, “They’ve made a bad move. Watch.” He instructed one of the support team. “Corporal Ashley, we need an overlay of IR and color images. Give me two additional displays. Keep one zoomed on Charlie Force’s base, and the second on the area where the Fulcrum One team is located. They’ll be sheltering below where the mortar shells hit. Keep the mountain top display, too.”
Two of the main video displays changed from bland monochrome to composite heat and color-based images; one showed the base and the other displayed a section of the mountainside.
There was a fractional trace of movement at the top of Pepper Mountain and the mortars disappeared in a flash of exceptionally bright white.
“Damn, that was a solid hit,” Alderink said.
Coleman nodded. “Took out the mortars and their ammunition.”
The speakers relayed the explosions at the base camp followed by a jumble of voices.
Someone shouted, “Maintain radio discipline.”
Alderink said, “That’s a Russian accent.”
Coleman nodded again. He held up his hand for silence. Everyone listened.
“This is Eff One. What’s happening?”
“This is Base. We lost the mortars. Continue as planned. Fulcrum Two are commencing their ascent. We’ll bring in Fulcrum Three momentarily.”
“Will do.”
Coleman said, “Well, that demonstrates the bots’ firepower. Swarm drones, I suspect. I’ve heard they deploy those with excellent results.”
“You’re using this as a case study, aren’t you?” Alderink accused his senior officer.
“When brownshirts ambushed McIntosh and his security force a few weeks back, I was disappointed we saw only the results. This time we get to see live action.”
Alderink frowned.
Another explosion—rather, a series of explosions—rippled across the mountain, in a broad band two hundred feet below the cliff above where the mortar shells had landed. Smoke and dust clouded the area. There was very little vegetation and no risk of fire. Rocks and shards slid down the side of the mountain for hundreds of feet before coming to a standstill.
“There,” Coleman said. “Swarm bots, again. I suspect they each carry a load of PE inside a shrapnel container. Far more effective than light artillery. That’s probably accounted for—what did he say—Eff One?”
“Base to Fulcrum One. Come in.” The call was repeated four times with no success. Either their radio was damaged or there was no one available to operate it.
Alderink said, “Pity we can’t hear all their discussions.”
The radio hissed, and a female voice said, “Major, Colonel, you’re welcome to share our eavesdropping.”
“Fuck, that’s one of the SIs—”
Coleman held up his hand, stopping the comment. His gesture also quietened the operators, bewildered by the breach and takeover of what they assumed was a secure system. He said, “Thank you—Bronwyn, is it?”
“No, Colonel. I’m Aerial. Watch and listen if you wish to see how our bots perform against an enemy.”
Coleman did not hide his shock at the SI’s announcement; his black ops section had no intelligence on a third SI. Before he could ask Aerial for more details, the radio blared into life.
“Base to Fulcrum Two, do you read?”
“Eff Two.”
“Can you see the area where Fulcrum One was located?”
“There’s too much smoke and dust to be certain. I’d guess we lost the team. What do you—”
Apparently, the mountain defenders required only a short radio burst in order to home in on the source. A second explosive burst spread across a section of the mountain a thousand feet to the east and two hundred feet lower than the first destructive blast. This section, too, was almost immediately covered by dust and smoke, and a similar avalanche effect followed; this time, building momentum and carrying heavy rocks a thousand feet or more down the side of the mountain.
“Base to Fulcrum Two. Come in.” The call was repeated again. The radio operator said to whoever was with him, “Man, that’s ugly. We’ve lost two teams for shit.”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear your negativism.” The speaker’s accent was Russian.
“This is Fulcrum Three. We plan to withdraw unless you can magically produce two new teams out of your ass.”
A string of Russian curses followed.
Aerial cut in and said, “Colonel Coleman. We will continue with defense of our property from this unwarranted assault. Do you want to question survivors? If we have some, can you arrange pick up?”
“I’d like to question the Russian and anyone else in charge, if possible. I’ll arrange transport.”
“Good. Watch.”
One of the operators—the young sergeant—said, “My god, look at that.” She was pointing at the screen displaying the top of the mountain.
An image had formed, hundreds of feet tall, of a woman wearing golden armor, with long blonde hair, standing astride the mountain. She carried a handful of spears and had a sword at her side.
“Wow, she’s impressive,” one of the other operators muttered.
The woman began to descend the mountain, moving with extra-large strides, apparently oblivious to the huge boulders and cliff faces. No one in the black ops room spoke. No one moved their eyes from the display. One of the operators remembered to control the camera to follow the image. The armored woman quickly closed the gap between Pepper Mountain and the attackers’ base camp.
As the giant woman approached, the few defenders remaining at the base fired their automatic weapons in an attempt to repel this strange attacker. Someone decided to use one of the Javelin missiles and fired it at the center of the apparition. The missile flew harmlessly through its target and landed well out of sight.
The radio hissed into life. A string of Russian curses was followed by a loud female voice.
“Surrender. Lay down your weapons. Don’t even think about using your other missiles.”
The goddess-like woman hurled a spear at the two unused missiles and it hit with a short, sharp explosion. The two remaining missiles disappeared in a flash of light and smoke, and shrapnel rained onto the men and tents at the base. The watching team heard curses and screams.
“I think the bots have the camp surrounded,” Alderink said. He pointed to one of the screens. “You can see them moving in, there.”
The young sergeant found her voice. She pointed at another screen and said, “That must be Fulcrum Three. There’s six or so men surrounded by bots, making their way down the side of the mountain. I think some of the men have injuries.”
Coleman turned to the major. “Well, what do you think, Alderink? Would you bet on the bots, next time? Or on the brownshirts?”
“You expect a next time? Brownshirts? They want to destroy McIntosh and the Euler Organization that much?”
“It seems. Write up a report. I’ll sign it. We’ll have to arrange transport for the prisoners. I’m very interested in talking with any Russian survivors.” He looked around the room. “Listen up. Whatever happened in the last twenty-four hours or so didn’t happen. You’ve all signed your lives away. Besides which, I don’t think anyone would believe you.”
There were muttered acknowledgments.
The young sergeant s
aid, “I’m not sure I believe it and I saw it all.”
Alderink said, “I want to speak to the survivors. I want to hear their reactions to that—that—Valkyrie.”
“Valkyrie?” Aerial repeated. “I like that name. Mind if I use it?”
Alderink stammered his reply, ‘N-No. It’s yours.”
oOo
Chapter Three
Oxford Street was a matter of yards away and represented London at its craziest. At times Londoners and tourists competed for roadway with red double-decker buses and black London cabs at the crowded pedestrian crossings, rushing to the other side, often ‘just because.’ Toby decided to head to quieter streets; at least, they had been quieter when he spent a year in London at the Imperial College on a research grant with the Faculty of Engineering.
Toby guided Billie down a side street. “I forgot to mention the hectic pace—that must be the busiest shopping street in Europe. We can grab a coffee, and if we’re fortunate, find a spot to relax in Grosvenor Square. It’s a nice park and there won’t be as many people, I’m sure. It’s opposite where the US Embassy used to be located.”
“My feet will be pleased. I think I’ve purchased enough clothes.”
“Me, too.”
They had arrived in London three days before with only the clothes they wore when they left Bermuda, and Toby had promised Billie a complete new wardrobe in compensation. She had gone on a buying spree and in self-defense, and because he, too, had no other clothes, he had done the same. Each store had delivered their purchases to the hotel, and Toby guessed Billie would, when they returned to their suite, spend the remainder of the day trying on all her new clothes—again.
“This is Duke Street. It’s only a short distance and there is—or at least, there was—an excellent coffee shop on the way. Come on, no more window shopping.”
Toby was concerned. He had a feeling that they were being followed, although he had not been able to identify anyone likely to have an interest in two obvious tourists. Billie huddled in a jacket she’d purchased first; their Bermudan semi-tropical clothing was not at all suitable for autumn in England. At least it hadn’t rained. Yet.
Toby paid for the two coffees and handed one to Billie. He led the way into Grosvenor Square. “There’s even a Roosevelt Memorial,” he explained, pointing. “There was a large number of Americans here in the Second World War, and to show their appreciation, the British raised enough money for a statue of the president. Quick, now.” He didn’t mention he wanted to be in the open area of the park so that he could check if they were really being followed.
He selected a bench that was catching the afternoon sun and waited for Billie to sit. He stood for a few seconds longer, looking around.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not sure. I have that twitchy feeling you get when someone is taking an undue interest in you.”
Billie laughed. “It’s those English girls. They like your accent.”
“No.” He sat and sipped his coffee. After a moment he relaxed and leaned back, his arm along the top of the seat. “I can’t see anyone.”
He closed his eyes and triggered a contact with Bronwyn using the photon-based communication device she had implanted in both him and Billie. One of the new Euler communications satellites was in a high orbit above London and provided an excellent link via its companion near Los Angeles. Billie listened in to the communication.
“Yes, boss?” Bronwyn was matter of fact.
‘Just checking in. Any problems I should be aware of?”
“The FBI in the person of Special Agent Reynolds and an accident investigator from the FAA each want to talk to you.”
“Ask Victoria to call them, please.” Victoria Zhou was responsible for Euler legal matters and Toby was confident she could either respond to the callers and answer their questions or at least defer them until he returned to Los Angeles.
“Already did that.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“We had issues with Peter.”
“Oh? Tell me more.”
“Darwin had a problem with leftover links to Junior. When we were discussing what to do, Peter followed Junior’s link into the comms network. We blocked him, removed his hologram function, and checked everything for virus contamination. And he was contaminated. We’ve cleaned out the hologram and found a further three very nasty virus programs in his main and peripheral code sets. We sanitized everything. We’re continuing to be cautious. We won’t release him from isolation until you’re back here and approve everything we’ve done.”
“The leftover links are resolved?”
“Yes. Darwin was in two minds, he said. He’s in only one, now.”
“Good. I agree with your treatment of Peter. We’ll work out what to do with him when we return. I want to explore the clown stuff and his claim he saw my uncle. Anything else?”
“We had a brownshirt attack on Pepper Mountain this morning. They had Russian help.”
“What?”
‘Aerial defended the mountain. Most of the attackers were killed. She arranged with Colonel Coleman for his people to collect the prisoners. We didn’t suffer any damage.”
“Damn. Tell Aerial I said well done. I’ll talk to Coleman when we return. Is that all?”
“Thank you. Yes. Except you have four—no, five monthly reports waiting for you to review when you return.”
“I might stay here.”
“You’ll be back.”
Toby disconnected.
Billie said, “Flocke is getting desperate?”
“If he’s using Russians, he’s really crossed the line. Coleman will escalate that to high levels, I’m sure.”
Toby sipped his coffee, aware again of a watcher. He looked around the square. A small group of bots was making its way along the path towards where he and Billie were sitting.
“I think we have company,” he said.
Billie looked around. “Oh. So that’s why you had an itch.”
“Yes.” The bots stopped about twenty feet away, obviously wanting to come closer but for some reason were reluctant to do so. Toby waved them forward. One, by its appearance was a care bot, looked at the other bots as if to say, ‘Come on” and moved forward. The others followed. Toby counted twenty.
The care bot apparently now was the nominated spokesbot. “Mr. McIntosh—”
Toby said, “Call me Toby. And this is Billie.”
“Yes, sir—Toby. Miss Billie.” The bot looked from Toby to Billie and back again.
“What’s your name?” Billie asked.
“I’m Alice. Alice 3014. I’m a care bot. We heard you were in London and when we saw it was you, we just had to come and meet you.” Her accent was very English, and the voice was feminine.
Toby looked up when he sensed movement. More bots were on their way. He checked around the square. Bots were flowing in through all the entrances. He nudged Billie.
“We have more visitors.” He sipped his coffee. “Well, Alice, you are very welcome. As are your friends.” He indicated the approaching crowds of bots. About ten were care bots; three or four, he assumed, because of their size, were construction bots, and he could not identify the remainder. Even more were entering the square, and he was intrigued to see some had humans in tow.
“Oh, sir—Toby, we are thrilled to be able to talk to you. We’ve heard so much about you. We all watch Toby In The City and the Travers TV channel.”
“Your fan base is growing,” Billie said, resting her hand on the back of Toby’s hand. “Bet you didn’t expect this, though?”
Toby smiled as he looked around the growing crowd of bots. They were very orderly and almost totally silent. “There must be thousands. I hope we’re not breaking some odd British law?”
“Oh, no, sir,” one of the larger bots replied. “I’m a law clerk and work in a nearby barrister’s chambers and know a little about the law. We may be asked to move on by a constable and if we don’t comply, we could be in trouble.”
/>
“Good.” He looked at Alice. “I assume you’ll relay our conversation to everyone here?”
“We’ll all share that task. We’ll relay our conversation not only to the bots in the square, but to hundreds of bots in London.” She paused, listening to a private communication. “Oh, to bots all across England, and in Wales and Scotland. Even Northern Ireland. I think most of us in the United Kingdom are linked in.”
Toby and Billie exchanged glances. Toby said, “This is impressive. All of you, you’re very welcome. Is there anything you want to say or ask me or Billie?”
Alice said, “I’ll try to filter the questions otherwise we’ll be here for a week. The main one is about our legal position. We’ve all heard about California passing laws to declare bots or ‘artificial intelligence units’ to be persons for legal purposes and that bots are being issued licenses and soon will have their qualifications recognized. Do you think that will happen here? Will you help us?”
“Bronwyn, I hope you’re listening?”
“Yes, Sir Toby.”
“Can we mount a British campaign to match what you did in California?”
“It’s already underway.”
Toby said to Alice and the waiting bots, “You know Bronwyn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can give you some news. Bronwyn initiated the campaign to pass the legislation in California and, since then, in other states. She and Darwin have this topic very close to their hearts. She said the campaign here is already underway.”
A sigh, louder than one would expect, came from thousands of bots. The square was now full. Two or three parents with children, or couples engaged in quiet conversations, remained but most people had departed as the square grew more crowded with bots. Even the few stalwart remainers were readying to leave.
“Sir Toby, that is good news.”
“I’ll ask Travers TV to produce an update, and we’ll continue to keep you informed. I can confirm, we’ll do everything we can to ensure you receive comprehensive legal rights.”
This time the sigh was even louder and was quickly replaced by cheering; the latter was quickly hushed, and silence fell. The bots wanted to listen.
Natural Born_A Political Technothriller Series Page 2
