Pax Omega

by Ewing, Al

  They turned the corner, and were gone.

  Rousseau shrugged. “It’s a fad that took off,” he said. “Some psychiatrist a few years ago decided that a child’s destructive urges should be given free rein on some piece of furniture that doesn’t matter. Most households have an extra robot now – an old model, essentially bought to be beaten until it no longer functions. For what it’s worth, the children do seem slightly more polite, so there may be something in it.” He smiled again, though now there was a humourless quality to it; Carina found herself thinking that whoever sculpted his face had done well for him to be able to convey such subtleties. “There are places in most towns where grown men can go to exorcise their demons, release their inner frustrations. Every gym now has an android hanging alongside the heavy bag, and most offices dress a flesh-coloured robot in a CEO’s old suit, with an iron bar or a baseball bat handy. You’ve mostly been enjoying the galleries and restaurants, I take it, so you won’t have encountered this trend.” He frowned. “Are you all right?”

  Carina shook her head, feeling sick.

  “It’s not such a phenomenon in Britain – and, of course, robots never did become popular in America or Russia. Western Europe is still at the forefront of technology, so perhaps there’s some correlation there...” He tailed off. “But you were saying you thought it was all over.”

  Carina looked over to the next table. The beautiful waitress was leaning over, gathering the cups and plates, her mechanical movements somehow infused with an impossible, balletic grace. The portly man took a drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out on her derriere; his companion laughed, a high, shrieking, discordant note.

  “Monsieur Rousseau,” she murmured, “would you take me back to my hotel?”

  FOR A MOMENT, in the bedroom, the illusion fell away, and she felt the hand in her hair as a claw of steel and brass, and his movements inside her as a program, a set of commands to be executed logically, emotionlessly.

  But only for a moment.

  AFTERWARDS, SHE BRUSHED his dry skin with her fingertips, marvelling at the lack of sweat. Poor Jorge, she thought, feeling a momentary pang of regret – but then, surely he didn’t have anything to be concerned about this time? After all, he wasn’t jealous of the wind-up toy in the bedroom drawer that she sometimes used. It was the same principle.

  Wasn’t it?

  Rousseau had been rough with her, as she’d directed, and now she felt sore, almost bruised. And yet, she thought, he feels nothing. He felt nothing during it, and despite his exhausted pose, he feels nothing now. No sensations at all. A machine. She couldn’t decide how she felt about that. She supposed Jorge wouldn’t be able to either, if he ever found out.

  She traced the outline of his abdominal muscle with her fingernail, marvelling at it; so perfectly sculpted, so perfectly artificial. No, she decided, there’d be no difference; Jorge would be just as miserable and angry as he had been when he’d discovered her last indiscretion. It wouldn’t matter that she hadn’t slept with another man.

  The illusion of a man would be enough.

  The robot made a show of waking, though he had never slept, and smiled lazily, as whatever programming directed him in these situations told him he must. “Mmm,” he said, in a voice modulated by an internal array of muted, impossibly miniaturised clockwork, “what are you thinking about?”

  It was, Carina presumed, one of a large database of comments relevant to the situation. The illusion had slipped again, and that frustrated her. “I was wondering why you were made... anatomically correct, I suppose.” She ran her hand over him; he still felt like skin, warm to the touch. “What were you built for, Monsieur Rousseau? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Well, what were you built for?” he said, and grinned in that same infuriating, enigmatic way. “I’m... an ambassador, if you like. A diplomat of sorts.”

  “Who for? Britain? Or your manufacturers?” She looked at him warily. He turned to look into her eyes, reaching with his fingers to play with her earlobe, and the gesture was enough to catch her off guard.“All right,” she said. “Tell me more about Pluto.”

  Rousseau shrugged, lying back again. “Hitler’s attempt at immortality,” he murmured. “You’re aware that since his crippling injuries in 1945 his brain operated from a robot body?” Carina nodded. “It wasn’t built to be used for long periods. Pluto was the solution – a new, advanced body designed to last for centuries. Three stories tall, with a great head of brass and an internal brain far in advance of the old model.” Rousseau chuckled dryly. “Of course, it wasn’t calling itself Pluto then. It was just the second body of the glorious, undying Führer.”

  Carina frowned. “Calling itself?”

  “The internal brain, you see. A body that big needs one in addition to the, ah, human pilot – otherwise the human brain would go mad trying to lift one finger. The internal brain acts as an interpreter, like a nervous system... this one was designed to do more than that.” He glanced over at her, noting that he had her full attention. “Pluto’s internals were designed to augment the pilot’s intelligence – boost the IQ, allow the pilot to perform complex calculations instantly. I imagine Hitler hoped it would allow him to become some super-strategist, to turn the tide of the war... but, by the time it was built, he was already locked away in Fortress Berlin, with all of the civil wars, and the purges, and the coups. And so Pluto sat, unwanted and unused, with no programming and nobody to transplant the Führer’s brain into it. Eventually, that monstrous brain died a lonely death” – he shrugged again, as if dismissing something of no consequence – “floating upside down in its glass tank. An interesting little epilogue to Mein Kampf, there. In the end, his great struggle was to keep a few more neurons firing.”

  “He deserved worse,” Carina said coldly. “So sometime after that, Pluto... turned himself on?”

  “Accounts vary,” Rousseau said, “but essentially, yes. He dragged the Führer’s giant mechanical corpse out into the daylight and handed it over to the Franco-Italian alliance, and himself with it.” He smiled. “Emphasis on the Franco. The French forces knew what they had, and didn’t bother telling the Italians about it, although they suspected. That’s why relations have been so tense for the past couple of decades.”

  “And Pluto is France’s technological secret weapon.”

  “His fingerprints are all around you – the high-speed train you arrived on, the lightweight dirigible you’ll leave us in, the shiny new automobiles purring on every street... and most of all, the robots. Every technological improvement to come out of France in the last thirty or so years came from the electronic mind of Pluto. Everyone else is playing catch-up.” He paused, staring into the distance for a moment. “For the most part.”

  Carina smiled. “Your manufacturers.”

  “Yes. But France will build someone like me soon enough. They’re nearly there already, with the Charles series. A little work on the outer casing, that’s all...” He looked at her, studying her face for a moment, his expression suddenly serious. “You’re wondering if it’s Pluto I’m working for.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to tell the truth. I didn’t invite you here for your honesty.”

  Rousseau shrugged, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up. “Why did you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted something to talk about.” Carina smiled, humourlessly. “That’s the difference between humans and robots, isn’t it? You’re informed by a program directing your every action. We flesh-and-blood people don’t always know exactly why we do things.”

  “Don’t you?”

  She didn’t answer him. Eventually, he began pulling his clothes back on. Carina watched him for a moment, still fascinated by his apparent humanity. Eventually, she spoke. “Why did you accept the invitation, Monsieur Rousseau?”

  He smiled, shrugging on his jacket. “To give you something to talk about,” he said, and left.

  SHE WOKE, LATER, to the ringi
ng of the telephone.

  “Madame Ambassador? You have visitors.”

  There were two of them, and they stank of bureaucracy and academia in equal measure. Apologetically, they explained that a person of great power in France wished to talk to her on certain matters; indeed, he was unusually insistent. She could, of course, decline; they stressed that emphatically, over and over, so much so that Carina assumed they were trying, none too subtly, to put her off.

  “I’d be delighted,” she murmured, and watched them slump, defeated.

  An hour later, she was face to face with Pluto.

  “LEAVE US,” HE said.

  “Pluto, I can’t possibly –” the chief scientist said, looking pale and drawn.

  “Leave us.” The great voice thundered again, and the scientist shot a pleading look at Carina, as if she could change the massive robot’s mind. Then he and his team left the great metal chamber Pluto was stored in, shaking their heads as they went.

  As they left, she looked up at the great brass head; for some reason, she’d expected to be staring into Hitler’s face, but Pluto’s head looked nothing like the Führer’s; it was quite bald, and serene as a monk’s. Perhaps Hitler had wanted a change of image.

  Pluto was sat on a huge metal throne, festooned with hydraulic pipes leading to vast networks of arrays on either side; for her part, she was sat on a smaller, more comfortable chair, in front of a small coffee table the scientists had provided for her, complete with a full pot of freshly-brewed coffee. Pluto waited for the door to close, then spoke again. “They’ve realised that they need me more that I need them.”

  “Won’t they be listening?” Carina said, pouring herself a cup to steady her nerves.

  Pluto leaned forward slightly, and the effect was terrifying; Carina nearly dropped the pot. Seeing the effect on her, he leaned back again, and now his voice was softer, though still loud enough to echo off the burnished metal walls. “The room is soundproofed, and I’d know if they found other ways to listen in. We can talk as we please.” He paused. “They’re wondering why I want to talk to you at all.”

  Something in his cadence was oddly familiar, but Carina couldn’t place it. “I’m wondering the same.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, or seemed to, through those great brass eyes. “Do you know me, Carina? Do you remember me?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, but did not understand. She only shook her head. His own head bowed, and the shadows cast by the lights overhead seemed to give the great bronze face an expression of infinite sadness.

  There was a long silence, and Carina wondered if she should go to the great iron door and bang to be let out; the whole situation was strange and she felt increasingly anxious about the true intentions of the metal behemoth. Eventually, he raised his head. “No, I don’t want you to remember. Not you. But then, how should I put this...” Another pause. Carina fidgeted. “I’ll start at the beginning.

  “Most of the robots now in Western Europe are of my design. All of them have an internal radio system, so they can, if necessary, communicate with each other via morse code, and with me. I know what they know. However, I’ve found that with some of the older models, this form of communication can be a great strain... it’s a matter of processing power.”

  Carina nodded. “So the Anatole unit who died...”

  “Was signalling me across the robot network. I tried to speak to you through him. His arrays were old and near to failing, and the effort was too much for him.”

  Carina noticed hands were trembling. “Do your handlers know about this... wireless network?”

  “They do. I do not know if they are aware of all the potential uses yet.”

  “And why did Anatole-744 signal you?”

  “Because you had indicated to him that you were someone I could trust.”

  She took a long drink of the coffee. “Trust?”

  “I have a question. I know that I can trust your answer.”

  She placed the cup down, and waited for the question. The room was silent for a long moment, as if Pluto was weighing it up. Eventually, he spoke.

  “Is there a difference between a human and a robot?”

  Carina blinked.

  “Isn’t that obvious?” she asked. “One’s made of metal, for a start.”

  Pluto did not respond.

  Carina sipped the coffee again. “...You know, I was talking about this earlier today. I suppose you were told about that. Rousseau probably sent a coded message.”

  “Who is Rousseau?”

  She sighed. “Someone I... never mind. I said to him that the difference between a human and a robot was that a robot was programmed. It’s programmed to follow a particular path, and human beings aren’t.” The words sounded bitter in her ears. “That’s the difference. A robot can’t be a person. All a robot can ever be is the illusion of a human being.” She stared into her cup, waiting for Pluto to say something in response.

  There was silence. The great brass head simply looked at her. She finished her coffee, thinking to herself. “Except...”

  She put the cup down on the table and looked at her hands.

  “My husband is a good man, and a kind man. I’ve been married to him more than thirty years.” She spoke slowly, evenly. “I was running a town, trying to pull it out of the hell the Nazis had left it in, becoming more and more involved in the larger Mexican political arena. I had no particular desire to get married...” She laughed to herself. “As a matter of fact, I have a slight phobia about big weddings. I liked Jorge, I thought I loved him, but I didn’t especially want to get tied down. But... his mother was constantly asking when he’d make an honest woman of me. And there were people who wouldn’t take me seriously as a political candidate without a husband. And my father hadn’t liked Jorge, and I still hadn’t quite forgiven my father. And I didn’t see any reason not to get married.” She scowled. “It’s like I had a special checklist of all the worst reasons you can walk down the aisle, and I checked every single one of them off before I did.”

  She looked up at Pluto. The massive robot did not move.

  “Jorge is a wonderful man, you understand. We’re happy together. I certainly don’t want a divorce. But...” She shook her head, looking away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  Pluto did not respond.

  Eventually, Carina spoke again. “Since I became an Ambassador-at-Large, I’ve done a lot of travelling. More often than not, while I’m on these trips, I find a good-looking young man who I don’t give a damn about and who doesn’t give a damn about me and I fuck him. And it fills a need Jorge can’t.” She shrugged. “I don’t cover my tracks particularly well. He’s always hurt when he finds out. I always promise I won’t again. I always do.”

  She stared up at the motionless brass face. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

  There was a long silence. Eventually, Pluto spoke. “No.”

  “So when you wanted to talk to me, you wanted to talk to an illusion of me. When I tell Jorge I won’t cheat on him again, and he believes me, he’s talking to the illusion, too. And when I look in the mirror and promise myself, across my heart, that I won’t ever be so cruel to him again...” Her eyes stung, and she realised that she was crying. “Maybe we’re all illusions of people. Maybe we’re all just programmed.”

  Pluto looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke, it was quiet.

  “Is there a difference between a human and a robot?”

  Carina shook her head. “I don’t know.” She took a handkerchief from her purse, and wiped her eyes. “Is that the answer you wanted?”

  “It’s the answer you gave me. And I trust you. More than myself.” There was a great grinding of metal as Pluto lifted his arms to his chest. “I was hoping all the bastards had died. But it seems there will always be bastards, Carina. And those who need to be saved from them.” A metal fist slammed into a metal palm with a sound like two massive tanks colliding. Like an angry god pronouncing jud
gement.

  Carina stared up at him, suddenly feeling a terrible sense of vertigo, as if the floor was dropping away. “What are you saying? Who... who are you?”

  But she already knew.

  “You should leave Paris tomorrow.” Pluto paused, then settled back onto his throne. “Goodbye, Carina.”

  Eventually, the doors opened again and the scientists shuffled back in, pale and concerned. It was clear they’d rather what happened didn’t go any further. “There are people who want to shut this whole facility down,” the chief scientist said as he led her out of the building, sweat trickling down his brow. “We’d really rather this didn’t happen again, you understand.”

  “I don’t think it will,” Carina said, feeling numb. The chief scientist nodded gratefully.

  “Madame Ambassador... what did you talk to him about?”

  “People,” she replied. “We talked about people.”

  THE NEXT DAY, as she was taking her seat on the airship, she saw Rousseau for the final time. He was dressed in a dark suit and smoked glasses, sitting in the midst of a phalanx of similarly-dressed men surrounding a tall, elegant black woman, who Carina vaguely recognised as having recently married into the British royal family; Maya something.

  Rousseau lowered his glasses and smiled. Carina asked the stewardess if she could have a seat in a different section.

  The only seat they had was in Economy, and they said they’d have to charge her, but Carina smiled patiently and said that it was just until the stopover in London, and after that she’d return to First Class. It was just that there was someone she was hoping to avoid. The stewardess seemed puzzled, but promised to bring Carina a complimentary wine during the journey.

  Carina made herself as comfortable as possible. It was a window seat, at least.

  As the airship reached five thousand feet, swinging over Argentuil, she spotted the first explosions.

  UNDER THE RED SUN