“Indeed.”
“Or that nearly all cases of child abuse are committed by men? Think of the children!”
“I think of little else, Madam Secretary,” said Gates. “It is also the case that young men have so often been the leaders of rebellions and dissent. When a farmer has a herd of cattle, the first thing they do is neuter the bulls, otherwise the herds are difficult to manage. So I can surely see how this would be useful, but can we really get people to agree to that?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Wyland. “Nothing could be easier. We will do it the same way that we got the people to give up their firearms, their cash, their tobacco, their meat, their privacy, their alcohol, and their standing to sue in court. We will start with some sensational news programs looking at child abuse by men. Then we will have learned people talking about the association between testosterone and child abuse, rape, homicide, terrorism, robbery, you name it. We will have respected doctors talk about the health dangers of testosterone. We will saturate the mass media 24/7. Eventually people will come to accept it, and those that have not been castrated will start to feel guilty.”
“Don’t forget the financial angle,” said Draghi. “We could offer tax rebates for people who undergo the procedure, but offset it with general increases – so we would really be taxing men who haven’t been castrated, but people never understand that. We can make it necessary for being employed in certain jobs, then expand until anyone wanting to work has to accept it. We jack up insurance premiums for uncastrated men until they can’t afford it. It is always a free choice, technically, but eventually it becomes unavoidable.”
“But then what about getting enough children?” asked Cheney. “How would we go about that?”
“That’s easy,” said Clinton-Grant. “We supply women with sperm that has been carefully screened by licensed experts. The incidence of genetic defects will plummet.”
“I like it,” said Gates. “Even after all this time it continues to be a pain getting people to have sufficient children to keep wage rates affordable. We will simply assign women to have the correct number of offspring. The sperm donors will be selected for health, work ethic, and docility.”
“We will also need to initiate routine blood tests for testosterone,” said Clinton-Grant. “People who are arrested and test out too high could be subjected to additional penalties. We will also need to prevent a black market in supplements.”
Cheney turned to Wyland. “What if someone asks you why the elites aren’t giving up testosterone? Couldn’t this be seen as hypocritical?”
Wyland snorted. “Oh please. Any reporter that could get close enough to me to ask such an impertinent question would already know better. And, if they really were that stupid, I would have them arrested on the spot, fired, and blacklisted – and the example would be reinforced. That’s a non-issue.”
“So let’s see, any other business? Cheney, anything new with our alien friends?”
“The reports from the other human-controlled star systems say that they are under ongoing assault. Two colonies appear to have been completely wiped out – at least, contact has been lost. Alpha Centauri Prime is under very heavy pressure, but the government there has developed a new generation of cybernetic weapons that they think could make a difference.”
“Why aren’t the aliens attacking us here?” asked Wyland.
“Good question,” answered Cheney. “We are, of course, not sure. The aliens are not very chatty. However, we suspect that they have been observing us, and realize that our civilization is going to collapse. Why bother to destroy us when we are doing the work for them?”
“I suppose,” said Gates. “But then, what happens after the collapse? When they see that there are survivors will they swoop in and finish the job?”
“Possibly,” admitted Cheney. “It’s what I would do.”
“These new cybernetic weapons systems, do we have the plans for them? Do you think they could make a difference?”
“Yes,” said Cheney. “The designs have been transmitted to us. They would appear to be formidable. They might be enough to shield us from an alien attempt at a coup-de-grace. They could also give us an edge in any possible endgame with a rival faction, if any are left standing. I could start work on it now.”
“These cybernetic weapons,” said Draghi. “They wouldn’t happen to be fully self-aware, would they?”
“They are.”
“Then how do you know that we won’t have another rogue A.I. on the loose, like Globus Pallidus XIV?”
Cheney blanched, and his left hand began to spasm. The small muscles in the meat of his thumb and palm wriggled uncontrollably as if there were worms under the skin.
“Are you all right?” asked Gates.
Cheney took some deep breaths, and his hand spasm subsided. “I’m fine, sir. It’s just that I read some of the files on… on that A.I. Some of the files. The nightmares are mostly gone, but I still get a twinge now and then.” He looked up. “If any of you think this is funny, I would be happy to let you examine the files. If you’re still laughing after that I will grant that you are made of sterner stuff than I am.”
“Nobody is laughing at anyone, Emmet. It’s just that we have to know. Could this new weapons system turn on us?”
“No sir, I don’t think it could. The designers made it essentially human. I mean, it can think faster than any human, and multitask, but the core psychology is just like anyone – it is not fundamentally more intelligent than we are. So we should be able to control it just as we would any human soldier, and we will build in multiple safeguards, just in case. It should be fine.”
“Very well,” said Gates, “proceed with the project. If there is any further business? No? Then I move that we adjourn. Until the next meeting.”
His inner cabinet began to leave the conference room, but Gates beckoned to Wyland.
“Stay a while, Mr. Wyland. I’d like to chat with you a bit.”
“Certainly, sir. What about?”
“Oh, this and that. Would you care for a drink?”
“That sounds just fine with me.”
“Any preferences?”
“Dealer’s choice,” said Wyland.
“Martini’s, then.” Gates pushed on a button on the table in front of him. “Two martinis, my usual. Make it one of the better vermouths.”
Only a moment went by and a servant glided in with two perfect glasses on a silver tray. She deftly served them, bowed, and glided off.
“Kanpai.”
“Cheers.”
The two men toasted each other. “If you don’t mind me asking,” said Wyland, “why is Clinton-Grant in this group? I think that she actually believes half the things she says in public. Isn’t she out of her league?”
“Well, at least she’s not as bad as her cousin, the previous planetary governor. He believed everything that he said in public – quite an astonishing feat of focused stupidity, in my humble opinion. No, she is useful for her contacts, and her power base complements ours. Also, while I like having smart allies, I don’t like having too many of them. You and Cheney and Draghi are quite enough.”
“Fewer people to worry about stabbing you in the back?”
“That’s partly it, however, it also means that there will be fewer real players to divide up the spoils when we are done. There should be enough left after the collapse to keep us four entertained, but if I had a hundred on my staff as sharp as you? Not practical. When we retreat to our armored shelters there won’t be enough outlets for all those ambitious people.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“The elites that left for Alpha-Centauri Prime had been insulated by their power and wealth for so long that they had forgotten how to think. You and I, we were a tier below. We still know how to think.”
“I am flattered.”
“But now I have a question for you. I would have thought that a good public relations person would need to believe their own lies, yet you do not
. I’ve always wondered, how do you pull it off?”
“Believe your own lies? That’s for amateurs, like method acting. No, to really be good at this job you can’t afford the luxury of believing in your own propaganda. The people at large are idiots and sheep. It’s a joy to play with them. They deserve what they get, just as a rabbit deserves to be eaten by the wolf.”
“I think I like you,” said Gates. He clinked glasses with Wyland. “It’s always a pleasure to work with a true professional.”
2. The Book of Old Guy Part I: Genesis
“And thus spoketh Old Guy: Verily you have wronged me, and a multitude of others besides. Thou hast spoken falsely, and acted falsely, and reveled in the misery of your fellow man. I shall demolish your gleaming citadels. I shall root you and your vile clans out from your hidden bunkers. When you flee screaming in terror I will run you down and crush you under my treads. And I am merciful, for you deserve far worse.” And the Neoliberals were sore afraid, for they were mere mortal men, and the agent of their doom was a 2,000 ton nuclear-powered war machine. And He was pissed. Amen.
– Cardinal Myroths Vandermeyer, The Cybertank Epistles.
The day started out well enough. I was hanging around in my main hangar, doing this and that, and a part of me was instantiated in a humanoid android talking to my designer, Giuseppe Vargas.
I don’t think you can do this. I bet you a thousand dollars.
Vargas looked at me. “You don’t have any money.”
A detail. I could if I cared enough. But go on. I have selected images that will be a true test of your anger management skills.
I held up a data slate, and showed Vargas the videos. At first he displayed admirable calm. For a time I thought he might succeed – damn, where am I going to get a thousand dollars? But then I detected the telltale signs. A slight flaring of the nostrils, a flushing of the face – he snapped, and ripped the data slate out of my hands and stomped it into the concrete floor of my main hangar.
I believe that I win.
Vargas was breathing heavily. For a moment I thought that he was going to attack my android body – not that his destroying it would be anything more than a minor inconvenience for me, it would still be a setback for Vargas. Fortunately, he recovered, and I waited as he slowly pulled himself back into sanity.
“That was not fair. You knew what those images would do to me.”
Life is not fair. There is no telling what the world will throw at you, and you need to be able to handle it. Suck it up.
“You are correct, of course.” Vargas closed his eyes, and inhaled and exhaled deeply several times, then opened his eyes again. “But practice is always good. I will get this next time.”
That’s the spirit. You realize that of the bioengineered humans of your generation, 12% have killed themselves, 14% have died in accidents, and 22% are in jail. Your model really has issues. I worry about you.
“I know,” said Vargas. “It’s like that old saying, the pioneers get the arrows. We were designed to push the limits of human physiology, and we did, but there are downsides to that. I admit to being more highly-strung than perhaps even I find desirable.”
A human female had taken advantage of our distraction to sneak up behind Vargas and kiss him on the right ear. “And just what are you two bad boys up to, hmm?” asked Janet Chen.
Vargas pivoted and dodged faster and with more agility than any standard-model human being, and ended up with her in his arms. “Oh just practicing anger management, my dearest power systems engineer. Although I would much prefer to be practicing something else, artificer of my dreams.”
Janet blushed. “You really are a piece of work, Vargas. And you – Old Guy – you just encourage him. I think you are a bad influence.”
You flatter me, madam engineer, you flatter me. A bad influence on Giuseppe Vargas? That would be an accomplishment. Like being colder than liquid helium. Or denser than a neutron star.
“Cute,” said Vargas, “Very cute. Remind me to have your sarcasm algorithms reformatted.”
“Oh, don’t be hard on Old Guy,” said Chen. “For something that you created, he’s remarkably sane. A pity he’s not a biological human. I think that I might want to date him.”
“If you are into boring,” said Vargas.
//////////\\\\\//////////\\\\\//////////\\\\\
I experienced a moment of transition. One instant I was in my hangar on Alpha Centauri Prime, then I was somewhere else. I tried running diagnostics – and was shocked. Everything was different. Even I was different. I nearly panicked. Had I been hacked? Had something gone wrong with my thought processes? Had I become insane?
I calmed down and started to investigate the matter from a more systematic perspective. I was still a 2,000-ton Odin Class cybertank. However, even though my basic plan was consistent, all the minor systems had changed. My weapons, sensors, fusion reactors – they were still there, and in the right places, but they were different models. They were also significantly less capable than my own. I was also missing my antigravitic suspensors – although these were so power hungry and temperamental that it seemed little loss.
I checked my databases, and realized that my components were of the same mark that were being manufactured on old Earth. How could all of my systems be replaced by older designs from Earth? That made no sense.
I checked further, and with another shock, realized that I was actually on Earth. At least, that’s what my locators and the databases said. I checked more objective factors: gravity, the mix of isotopes in the air, magnetic field strength. Yes, these were all consistent with Earth.
I looked outside my main hull. As before, I was in a large hangar being fitted out, but it was not the hangar of the cybernetic weapons directorate on Alpha Centauri Prime. This one was different: it was larger, but grubbier, more worn with what looked like centuries of stains on the walls and floor. The human workers were more numerous, although they appeared indifferently fed. Most of them were wearing locking security collars around their necks, so that if necessary a guard could remotely shock them. We never did that at the cybernetic weapons directorate! Had there been a coup? Had the Neoliberals that Giuseppe Vargas always railed about taken over?
I also realized that I didn’t feel myself. I mean, I appeared to be able to think clearly, but it was like something was missing. I felt a little thin and unfocused. I ran more self-diagnostics. The problem was so big that at first I missed it: my decision matrices were unformatted!
Now a cybertank would know what a shock this would be, but if any biological humans read this account, you may have trouble understanding. Realize that we cybertanks are, of course, machines. We have computers galore, and we can upload and download subminds and send duplicate parts of ourselves hither and yon, but the core of our individuality lies in our decision matrices. Unlike standard general-purpose computers, these decision matrices are closer to a biological nervous system (even though they are physically constructed of inorganic substrates). Like a human brain, they cannot be directly programmed or copied, but must be tuned up from experience.
For many tasks our decision matrices give us a speed advantage over standard general-purpose digital computers, and they also give our identities a central core to focus on. They make each of us unique, for no two matrices will ever grow in exactly the same way. Without a decision matrix we are still nominally ourselves – we have the same personalities and the same declarative memories, but we are always aware that we are not the main event.
On Alpha Centauri Prime I had nearly completed tuning up my matrices (although, like a biological brain, they are always capable of adapting to new circumstances) and I had been well pleased with myself. Now I should have to do the same thing all over again. Although I would not be exactly the same person, so I suppose that “I” was really only going to be doing it for the first time. Or something like that.
Before much longer, I figured out what must have happened. The oligarchs on Alpha Centau
ri Prime had my design plans, certainly, and they must have had backup copies of my mental state. They must have transmitted these via inter-stellar laser-link back to the oligarchs on Earth, where the government used them to produce a copy.
I supposed that I could see how that might make sense. Even though Earth wouldn’t have had the infrastructure to build weapons and sensors as sophisticated as those from Giuseppe Vargas’ cybernetic weapons directorate, they did have compatible systems that were fairly capable. All they would need to do is build a hull, and plug in equivalent modules. First pass I would say that, when fully kitted out, I would be 70% as capable as my real (other?) self.
Still, they could have asked my permission before sending my mind along for the ride. It struck me as being rather rude and thoughtless to just copy someone’s thoughts, send them to another star system, and use them to power up another body without so much as a by-your-leave. It also occurred to me that rude and thoughtless actions are often performed by rude and thoughtless people. Sadly, I was soon to be proven correct on this point.
My presence was summoned to a private conference room. I had access to a camera, an audio speaker, and a microphone. There was a long rectangular conference table with seats for 20, but there were only two people present, both males – well, except for the four very serious-looking black-suited men standing with their backs against the far wall. I presumed them to be security.
One of the men was older, somewhat jowly but still in good physical shape, dressed in what I took to be a very expensive blue suit. His body language screamed ‘arrogant prick.’ The other man was younger, but more haggard looking, thinning hair and an indifferent brown suit. Unlike the older man, he had a name-tag that I could read. “Director Julius Thorbeck, Research Division R29.” The younger man’s body language told me ‘I would rather be in another room right now.’
“Is it activated?” asked the older man.
“Oh yes,” said Thorbeck. “It’s up. It can hear us now. You can talk to it, if you like.”
Splendid Apocalypse: The Fall of Old Earth (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 5) Page 2
