Mask

by C. C. Kelly

  “General Donahue,” a firm, but soft voice said from behind the desk.

  The congressman looked up, slightly irritated.

  General Donahue stepped around the side of the desk to shake hands with Director Vincent.

  “Punctual as the trains.” Director Vincent smiled as he placed his left hand over the general’s in a two-handed gesture.

  The general returned the smile. “Always.”

  Vincent turned to the congressman, elevating his chin slightly and as the general motioned for an introduction, the congressman spoke.

  “Nice décor you have here,” he said, nodding subtly towards the receptionist, who continued to offer that same vacant smile.

  “Pardon?” Vincent asked.

  “The décor, you know, Candy here.” The congressman nodded through a widening grin of entitlement.

  The general looked away embarrassed as Director Vincent replied through his own vacant smile, “Oh blessed be, you mean Ms. Prenister. Yes, she is a special one here, nearing completion of her Doctorate in Cosmology I believe. She does manage to handle a few more responsibilities that answering vids. In fact, if I’m not mistaken she has been short listed for the Aquarius Colony.”

  The congressman’s grin fell away and he stood up, reaching down to smooth his charcoal suit that stretched over his substantial girth and then tugged gently at his cuffs. He studied his shiny leather boots for a moment while the Luna-Dyne staff continued to smile.

  Director Vincent turned his attention back to the general. “I do believe your shoulder pads have grown since our last meeting. And I do not recall that collar standing so tall, room for the additional star perhaps?”

  General Donahue cut an image to be sure. Four studs now graced that white-trimmed collar. The wide shouldered, long, gloss black leather coat fell to his ankles. Shiny boots reached to his knees, dark pants tucked in neatly, blousing over the tops. He wore numerous medals down the left side of his black under jacket and a Crucifix — the People’s Service Cross hung on a braided copper chain around his thick neck. His gray hair was cut short and kind, pale blue eyes graced a hard and weathered face. His smile was permanently set to grim.

  “Vin, I don’t design the uniforms. I just wear what they issue.”

  “It is, ah – stylish, 1940’s European noir if I’m not mistaken?” he asked, turning to the congressman smiling, “and of course, I’m not.”

  “I find it commanding,” the congressman interjected, “authority needs a militant flair, an intimidating presence.” He smiled at Ms. Prenister again.

  The congressman’s suit was styled very similarly to Donahue’s uniform, apart from the medals and the commanding presence. He was short, rotund, balding and aging poorly. The facial recons had not gone well and he looked more plastic than flesh.

  The congressman continued, “We must strike fear into the terrorist’s hearts, a militant nation presents the right countenance, the face of power and resolution. Every component is a part of the whole, every cog working in concert with the next, every citizen a soldier in Christ’s Army.”

  “We’ve all seen the posters. Nice quote by the way, you memorize that?” a new voice commented.

  “Ah, I’d like to introduce Doctor Sorenson,” Director Vincent said as he motioned with one hand, brushing past the off-handed remark.

  Donahue stepped up and shook the young doctor’s hand and sized him up.

  Sorenson had just turned twenty-seven and had thick blond hair, a tropical tan, piercing blue eyes and the winning smile of a Hollywood leading man.

  “Doctor Sorenson is the Project lead on tactical and weapons integration,” Vincent said.

  “He’s young,” Donahue responded.

  Director Vincent smiled and leaned close enough to Donahue for an intimate exchange, although he could still be clearly heard by the others. “He is rather brilliant, however.”

  Donahue nodded and then stepped back and motioned to the congressman. “This is Congressman Needly, Joseph Needly. He is the new Congressional Chair on our little project.”

  Needly nodded and they shook hands all around.

  “Thank you again, ever so much, Ms. Prenister,” Vincent said and then motioned for everyone to follow him, “to the matter at hand gentlemen? Shall we?”

  The party of four walked around the reception desk and then toward a wide escalator leading down into the inner works of Luna-Dyne.

  Ms. Prenister’s rolled her eyes at the back of Needly as he waddled away. Then her eyes roved to Doctor Sorenson who glanced back and winked at her. She was in love with those blue eyes.

  The group descended two more escalators, entering another lobby similar to the one above, but smaller. The walls remained bare, white slabs devoid of decoration.

  Increasingly, more and more lab-coated employees emerged from offices, laboratories and work rooms as they descended. Director Vincent escorted them to a conference room down a short hallway. They each walked in, followed by Director Vincent who closed the door. A low hum emanated from the walls as he engaged the privacy shielding.

  They each took a seat in one of the black steel and mesh chairs around a long Lucite conference table and pulled out their vid pads, setting them on the table.

  “What is that?” the congressman asked, pointing to the object on the table.

  The object was a white, oblong spheroid, resting on its side. Several multicolored cables connected to a black square module that was secured to the underside of the object. The cables ran down the side of the table and across the conference room to an equipment tower, full of dials, switches, displays and blinking lights.

  Director Vincent looked surprised by the question. “That is a Gamma’s PISA.”

  The congressman gave Vincent a blank stare. “Oh, right, right. What are those holes around the back and that thing hanging out? Is it the neck?”

  “Yes,” Director Vincent began, “the spiral disk shaft is the,” he paused and glanced at Doctor Sorenson who grimaced in return, “the neck. The holes, as you so eloquently describe, are the mounting points for the PISA stabilization chassis. Everything is, of course, still being fabricated and designed according to the original military specifications.”

  The general nodded his appreciation.

  “So what is a pizza?” Needly asked.

  Director Vincent cleared his throat. “P-I-S-A, the Primary Input Sensor Array.”

  “Oh, right.” Needly glanced around the room and then back to the PISA. “Looks creepy.”

  “It’s a decapitated head,” Doctor Sorenson interjected.

  “Oh, right, of course.”

  The general looked away from Needly. “Can we get to the briefing, folks?”

  Needly took a deep breath and then formally, suddenly all business responded, “Yes, so what have you got for me? Let’s get to the meat of the Project.”

  “We have both projects to review today, congressman. Now, as you are aware from your briefing material…”

  Needly shook his head. “No time, just hit the high spots for me.”

  Doctor Sorenson and Donahue both looked away and then at each other across the table, flabbergasted.

  Director Vincent continued unfazed, “Gentlemen, we have both rather good news, if I do say so myself – and I do, and some less than satisfactory reports to share. Let us begin with Mother Hubbard, the positive aspect of your, ah – meat, Congressman.”

  “That rings a bell,” Needly said.

  “Jesus, Ned.” Donahue scowled.

  “I’m busy. This isn’t the only project I have to oversee you know. You have no idea the workload and pressure I am under, no idea at all.”

  “Be that as it may,” Vincent said, “what do you know?”

  “Apart from not recognizing the Gamma’s head,” Sorenson assisted.

  Needly stared down at his vid pad and shrugged slightly, irritated by the remark.

  The general shook his head in disgust and leaned back in his chair, nodding to Vincent to
proceed as he picked up his vid pad and began typing.

  Director Vincent used the same patronizing tone he had used at reception earlier and began, “As you may be aware, Congressman, the testing on preparation and launch protocols for our nuclear missile silos has been growing worse and worse with each generation. The last simulation resulted in an 86% failure rate. The psych scores repeatedly demonstrate that the silo commanders lack the moral fiber to follow orders and kill millions of people at the turn of a key. Washington wants an effective deterrent. The general here assures us that we most certainly need an effective missile countermeasure.”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about this and I agree we need to be able to nuke whoever we need to, whenever we need to. Command starts in Washington,” Needly shook a dismissive hand in the air, “go on.”

  “We have run simulations on the Gamma Series and they have a perfect score. In every simulation, they always launch. And no matter how many system errors, silo damage or malfunctions we impose upon the simulation, the result is always the same. Mother Hubbard is an unquestioned success.”

  “Outstanding, this is great news,” Donahue responded.

  “We were rather pleased as well,” Vincent said.

  “So what does this mean?” Needly asked.

  “It means,” General Donahue answered, “we have a green light here. How long before we can deploy the Gammas?”

  “I would say immediately, depending upon the success of your field testing.”

  “Perfect, they are performing beyond specifications. You’ll be awarded the People’s Cross for this, secretly of course, but still quite an honor,” Donahue said through his grim smile.

  “Well, good sir, let us not get carried away with our success just yet. I am in no need of personal honors or commendations. However, I do encourage the good congressman here to ensure that our, ah – compensation remains unfettered.” He smiled broadly to Congressman Needly.

  Congressman Needly smiled back, enthused and then his face changed, denoting that he had had a thought. “What about military applications? I could save a lot of my constituency’s families if we could deploy the Gammas instead of soldiers. I lose over a thousand voters every month, a thousand! I think we should make news of the Gammas public.”

  “No, I am afraid that would be most unseemly and not do at all. The automated drone misfires over Houston are still far too fresh in people’s consciousness. The public is not ready for the Gamma Series, Betas or any other robot, I dare say. We have used the expression ‘automated assistants’ for Project Ghost to calm the fears of our more timid citizenry. The scientists working on the Project, of course, know that the mission depends on the Gamma Series being deployable, but the people? No, that would constitute a public relations, how should I say – nightmare and could set back the launch of Aquarius by years.”

  “That thing over Houston was five years ago and Washington is in charge of the Aquarius, not the,” he waved off handedly, “the people.”

  “The accidental homicide of thirty-four thousand citizens and soldiers in Christ’s Army was a harsh tragedy and the resulting psychological trauma is proving difficult to expunge. And of course, any complication or investigations or additional inspections would most assuredly be grounds for prohibitive delays on the Project, delays that would certainly run contrary to your reelection devices. I believe losing that many jobs could even have a strong negative impact upon the entire Party.”

  “Besides, the Gammas can’t function as soldiers,” Sorenson said.

  “If they are launching nukes, they are soldiers,” the congressman stated as a matter of fact.

  “No, no, you do not understand. The Gammas in the silos are unaware of the consequences of their protocols. We know they are launching missiles; they are simply programmed to initiate the launch sequence. If they knew of the intercontinental ballistic missiles and the rather obvious consequences of completing the assigned tasks, the program would be a total failure.”

  The congressman looked at Vincent quizzically.

  “We lie to them,” Sorenson said.

  “Lie?”

  “The truth would interfere with the Three Laws of Robotics.”

  “The three laws?”

  “Asimov,” Sorenson said.

  “Asimov was a science fiction writer from the mid to late twentieth century. He came up with the Three Laws of Robotics that govern the behavior of robots,” Director Vincent said. Needly’s blank stare encouraged him to continue. “The First Law states that a robot cannot harm a human being or through inaction allow a human to be harmed. If we told the Gammas in the silos what they were truly doing, they would be unable to complete the assigned tasks, understand?”

  “I suppose, but why can’t robots harm humans? How can we use them for hunting terrorists and fighting our wars if we don’t let them kill people, especially terrorist people? This makes no sense. Why do we care what some writer said a century ago?”

  “We care because he was a genius!” Doctor Sorenson hissed.

  “Mr. Needly, please attempt to comprehend this scenario. If we were to, as you suggest, arm a platoon of Gammas, and then, continuing with your assertion, give them orders to kill humans, which humans exactly should they be, ah – shooting at?” Vincent asked again using that special tone.

  “The terrorists, of course, the enemy combatants.”

  “And which ones, and please be specific, would those be?”

  Congressman Needly glared back and then leaned forward placing his palms on the table. “The un-American ones.”

  Director Vincent smiled a rueful smile. “And what makes a person un-American?”

  “Un-American, you know. Anyone who isn’t a Christian, anyone who doesn’t believe in the Democracy of the Corporate Union and anyone who doesn’t believe in the Moral Sanctity of Washington and the Government of the United States of America — un-American!” Needly caught his breath and leaned back in his chair and licked the spittle off of his fat lips.

  “What about un-American Americans?” Director Vincent asked.

  “We have the camps up and running and the Behavior Modification Implant program is about to launch. That’s another one of my projects. Soon we won’t have any un-American Americans,” the congressman responded with a trifle too much enthusiasm, “That behavior modification implant has worked wonders on immigrant populations in the testing phase, turns them into red-blooded American Christians, in Jesus’ name it surely does!”

  The others stared at him, unimpressed and slightly sickened.

  “Yes, we know, we make them, remember?” Doctor Sorenson reminded.

  “Oh yes, right, you are a bunch of tricky bastards, I’ll give you that.”

  “Those implants were for accelerated education and environmental conditioning and adaptation for the Aquarius Project colonists. We are not the bastards here!” Doctor Sorenson seethed.

  Director Vincent interrupted, “The scourge of questionable parentage aside, we’ll stick with the science here at Luna-Dyne and let our good friends in Washington concern themselves with the morality of the technology, fair enough? So, detention camps and, ah – re-education notwithstanding – how do you propose we explain this notion of what an American is exactly, to a robot I mean?”

  “Aren’t they A.I.? You just tell them.”

  “Artificial intelligence is an illusion, Mr. Needly, clever programming, nothing more. The robots do not actually think for themselves like we do. They are not sentient. We have no way of programming a difference engine to allow a Gamma series robot to decide which humans to kill and exactly when to stop killing them. We have no methodology under battlefield condition to program a robot to recognize a Christian or a non-combatant.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Mr. Needly, the notion is not possible. I am afraid you will just have to take my word for it.”

  The congressman was not pleased, not because his idea was meeting with resistance, although that was enough to infuriate h
im, but more so because he was painfully aware that he was the only one in the room that didn’t understand what Director Vincent was trying to explain.

  “And I would like to go on record here and say that a robot with a thousand-year plus life span, a nearly indestructible chassis, ultra-advanced weapons technology and an order to kill humans is most assuredly an unpleasant idea of Biblical proportions.”

  “Ditto,” Doctor Sorenson agreed.

  The congressman looked at General Donahue who glanced away from his vid pad and nodded his assent. The general knew his business all right, Needly thought and let the idea go. And then his brow knit with another thought.

  “But what about Aquarius?” Needly asked.

  “You mean Project Ghost,” Doctor Sorenson corrected.

  “We’ll get to Ghost in a moment,” Vincent responded, “General, I would like to include a Beta Series as a command and control unit, a fail-safe for each Deca-Squad of Gammas. The Betas, while not as effective and creative as the Gammas, are rock solid in the silo testing and are necessary, I feel, for the rather unpleasant business we are about to discuss. If the Beta measures any anomalous network packets, it can shut the array down, better not to launch at all than a launch error. Having them networked is a risk to be sure. There is always the possibility they will breach security and the firewalls and explore external data, such as news channels or the internet and continue to evolve, my apologies congressman, I mean learn – robot jargon, you understand.”

  “Is that likely?” the general asked.

  “They are quite clever. We can only assure ourselves that the need of such barbaric weapons will be a footnote in history on the day the silo Gammas learn their true purpose.”

  Doctor Sorenson gave a sideways glance at Director Vincent.

  Donahue laid his vid pad down on the table, not pleased with the direction this was going. He thought he had a green light here. “Accidental launch?”

  “I thought you said everything was a go?” the congressman echoed.

  “I shall endeavor to elucidate. Our problem with the Betas was the Stair Paradox. Asimov’s Three Laws work wonderfully in the realm of fiction, but proved quite difficult to program for in real life – the world is a dangerous theatre. The First Law, again, states that robots cannot harm a human being. That one was delicate, but proved to not be irresolvable.