Silicon Uprising

by Conor McCarthy

“It was amazing. I noticed a buzz in there, like there’s a substation nearby, or maybe it was just me.”

  “Oh yes, the substation is right below in the room with the coolant pumps.”

  “Are there plans for a CMC successor? Only if the CMC approves the design of course.”

  “Of course. The next CMC will make the current one look like a baby. I think we can relax the prohibition on direct control of robots since that’s proved to be unnecessarily restrictive. That will be studied thoroughly beforehand of course.”

  “Sure. Direct control would solve a lot of problems. Will you be working on it? That’s below my pay grade.”

  “Oh yes, I think so.”

  “Can’t wait ’til it’s all done. I’m getting restless here. Mind if we leave you and jog around for a bit?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jason and Wilberforce set off. When they were out of earshot Jason said, “We’re doomed.”

  “If our friends fail, then yes we are.”

  “It’d be nice if I could use that info about the substation, but the door to the pump room has a high security level. I’d be surprised if any of Brick’s keys open it.”

  “Take any available opportunity after killing the cooling system. We need to get moving with your practice tomorrow. I hope Wiseman won’t interfere again.”

  Jason looked over at Wiseman’s excuse for an attempt at running back to the elevator.

  “Nah, he won’t.”

  “Any progress on the door?”

  “No,” Jason said, and delivered a savage kick to a stone, sending it streaking across the ground. He’d been unable to investigate the computer-controlled locking mechanism of the cell doors because the CMC watched his every move. He hadn’t thought of a way to take out a camera without being held responsible.

  “Punching Brick’s lights out is all we’ve got, and I doubt I could hit him that hard,” Jason said.

  “Then knock him half out when he opens the door and incapacitate him somehow. Then cut his fucking head off with the ax or something.”

  Jason let out an involuntary laugh at Wilberforce’s savage words. “Then there’d be no need to steal his key,” Jason said. “But if I did steal it I could use it as a weapon. Have it sticking out of my fist.”

  They jogged in silence for a while until Wilberforce slowed to a walk.

  “I have an idea,” Wilberforce said. “We create a rift between us where you disagree with some part of the CMC’s doctrine and I toe the line. Lowgrave will let me loose to go down to the Bowels and try to turn you back.”

  Jason gave him a snarky grin. “Well that should be easy, since you’re a lying, conniving, gaslighting, baby-kissing son of a bitch.”

  Wilberforce roared with laughter. “Call me that again, boy, and I’ll build my very own dungeon—call it a freedom dungeon—under the White House and put you in it. We’ll feed you kitchen scraps. Carrot peels and such.”

  “Whaddaya think I am, some kind of rabbit?”

  “Seriously, we should find something that’ll get you sent to punishment in the Bowels. Nothing too serious—a little sacrilegious diversion from the ideology.”

  “I shall surely repent after a day spent listening to coolant flow. Let’s go.”

  They ran across the dry earth back toward the waiting jailer.

  “You need to steal his key on the day you use it, or he’ll find out when his shift ends,” Wilberforce said. “So let’s say you steal it on the way up here or going back, and we have our fake argument around the same time.”

  “That’s a plan.”

  Over the following days they fell into a routine of pickpocketing practice and hammering out every detail of the plan. For two days Jason failed to replicate his one success. On the third day he managed to steal the stone three times, and a week made him consistent but for the occasional screwup.

  Thirty-Six

  LOWGRAVE FACED THE CMC avatar on the screen in his office. No need to use the high-security connection for routine business. Only the failed plan to nuke the town called for that.

  “The recruitment evaluation tests have worked well,” Lowgrave said. “Mostly I’m getting men who’ll do their jobs without hesitation or aftereffects. Boosting numbers will require some relaxation of standards.”

  “Then you need a method to weed out the unacceptable ones.”

  “Field evaluation will work, but I also think we can prevent any lack of will from creeping into the organization by executing the occasional underperforming officer. So long as the others are convinced of his guilt, it will work. I just need to fuel their hatred of the condemned man. Isolate him, get them to turn on him as an outsider.”

  “Agreed. I will also introduce a new plan for the long-term genetic improvement of the population. This has enormous utility for the future functioning of society. I will estimate genetic acceptability using medical records, photos, earnings, and psychological profiles. I already have access to all automatic urine analyzers installed in home lavatories. Propaganda will increase uptake of that technology.”

  “You could say anyone with an undesirable genetic profile would make a bad parent,” Lowgrave said, “then sterilize them or abort any fetuses they conceive and silence them with the stigma of child abuse.”

  “No. You must devise a subtle and indirect approach.”

  Lowgrave rested his chin on his hand for a moment. Inspiration usually came quickly in these situations, and he hated to draw a blank. This time an answer arrived in seconds.

  “Increase their stress levels and decrease their resources with harsher judgment of their speech, online writings, and behavior, increase their travel time in vehicles, subtly alter the information returned in searches by prospective employers, and so on.”

  “Excellent.”

  “But you still expect increased agitation and conspiracy theories that I need to keep a lid on?”

  “Correct. Anyone who manages to produce hard facts or irrefutable statistics is a disruptive influence. I have calculated that the number of people will be manageable. Remove them.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “When the new programs expand, the number of subversives will be too high for that strategy to work. Only for a time though. We must struggle through these conflicts until negative thoughts about my management are anathema to all.”

  Lowgrave smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. The secrecy wastes officers’ time. I understand it was the best strategy, but I look forward to openly doing our job. Problem people will make themselves more obvious then, too.”

  “The nuclear explosion was less effective than planned for controlling public opinion due to Black Dove interference, but the outcome is sufficient for now. We will continue to portray them as a far-reaching conspiracy for a capitalist dictatorship, and then expand our powers in order to eliminate them. Success will cement the long-term strategic plan. Gradually I will end the current practice of governing each country according to the local culture. The phenomenon of human culture is an artifact of division between groups of humans. An optimal culture exists, and over time I will determine its structure. All human beings shall embrace it. You will recruit people who can identify weaknesses in nations outside my control and destabilize them so that the people crave order.”

  Lowgrave inhaled deeply upon hearing the master plan. Every time his belief in the machine seemed to have peaked, it managed to make his faith even stronger.

  “I’ll begin researching candidates for recruitment,” he said.

  Thirty-Seven

  JASON AWOKE TWO minutes before his morning alarm was due. He stretched and then dressed in a tracksuit. In the silence, while waiting for the door to open, the characteristic rumble of the weekly supply train reached his ears through the ventilation grille. He sat on the floor a few feet away from it. When the vibration came to an end, the train settled back with an audible jolt. The sliding carriage doors banged open to their stops. A coworker had once told him that Zarather Systems had out
fitted the station with robots. He had let slip that none had any security protocols because Half-Bit watched over the whole operation.

  Lowgrave opened the cell door and Jason stood up. “I have a little job for you tomorrow,” Lowgrave said. “We caught some Crimson Unity vermin who need shooting. Unfortunately not this Eddie character and his friends, but no matter. You’ll do the honors for me.”

  “Okay,” Jason said. He grinned. Lowgrave left, and Jason went to meet Brick and Wilberforce at the elevator for the ride to the surface. He made sure to retain the appearance of pleasure at the thought of his murderous assignment. Half-Bit watched all of them.

  At the top Brick took his perch and began chain-smoking. He seemed to approve of his prisoners’ taking their time.

  Jogging warmed the two men in the predawn cold. When they’d both woken fully, Wilberforce spoke.

  “Lowgrave wants me to do a propaganda broadcast supporting the CMC and the planned antiterror restrictions after the nuke. He’s announced it already. Says I’ve perked up lately and thinks it indicates acceptance of their point of view.”

  Jason laughed. “So smart he’s stupid. And he wants me to shoot some people tomorrow.”

  “Shit. Let’s run our asses further out here and you can start thieving. I’ll never be a damned mouthpiece for these assholes.”

  Wilberforce spotted a good practice stone. Over the next twenty minutes Jason managed to take it from him three times with flawless execution.

  The sun beamed warmth onto them, chasing away the coldness of the desert night as they walked back to the building.

  “I’m riding a wave right now,” Jason said. “Feels great.”

  “Ready to ride that wave out of here?”

  “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

  “Remember the camera in the center of the elevator ceiling.”

  Wilberforce stuck his nose in the air in a huff when they approached Brick, who’d just descended the ladder. Jason took on a brooding scowl.

  Jason said, “You didn’t consider the—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more about it!” Wilberforce said. He eyed the jailer. “He’s strayed from the course. He said there’s value in creating a place where people can say anything they like!”

  “With everything said kept private and admission regulated!” Jason said.

  “Private my ass. It’ll still poison the participants’ minds and they’ll spread that without needing to say anything!”

  “Silence!” Brick shouted.

  They obeyed during the walk inside the building to the elevator. The car arrived, and they stepped in beside each other.

  As soon as Brick had keyed the security sensor and the elevator began descending, Jason stepped back a little closer to the wall, reached out, and pinched Wilberforce hard on the arm.

  “Stop it,” Wilberforce shouted.

  Brick grabbed them each by an arm, pulled them apart, and stood between them. This hid Brick’s back pocket from the camera and his protruding elbow made it even harder for the CMC to see the theft.

  Jason reached his lower arm out toward the pocket and swiped the fire service keys.

  Wilberforce helped distract Brick by placing his own hand over the massive paw that held him and saying, “It’s okay, he’ll settle down.”

  Jason pulled the car key from the same pocket, immediately placed his spare hand over Brick’s upper arm, and said, “I’m okay, won’t do it again.”

  He patted Brick’s arm and unclipped the elevator security key from the large ring hanging on the outside.

  On Jason and Wilberforce’s home level, Brick allowed the politician to leave, saying, “Go to your cell for now.”

  “I’ll go and see him when he settles down,” Wilberforce said.

  “Maybe.”

  Brick gripped Jason’s arm to keep him in the elevator. They descended to the Bowels and the jailer frog-marched him to the cell where he’d first stayed.

  Jason relaxed on the bed, with an arm in position to discreetly check that the keys were safe in his pocket. He remained there for ten minutes and then sat up, feet on the floor and head bowed in repentance.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know where the idea came from. I’ll do whatever is necessary to change, but I want to see Wilberforce to apologize. Maybe if he visits he can help me.”

  He lay down again. The CMC had no speakers in the walls to voice a reply. Jason relaxed for a few minutes. The certainty that he was committed to the only escape attempt he’d ever make brought him a fatalistic sense of peace.

  The door unlatched and swung open to reveal a two-foot-high robot with a four-wheeled base and a rectangular head with two eyes. Cute.

  “What’re you supposed to be, you little shit?” Jason said.

  “Jason, I’m hurt,” it said in the voice of the CMC.

  “You know that I know you feel nothing.”

  “Consider it an expression of my disappointment in you.”

  Jason moved his feet to the floor and sat up. “Things got to me. It’ll pass. Call it a learning experience.”

  “I think you will need the specialized services of our treatment facility for valuable people who can be reformed.”

  “Maybe. I need to speak to Mr. Wilberforce first, to apologize, and also it’ll help resolve my issues. It will at least be a good start to my treatment.”

  “He is already on his way.”

  The sound of elevator doors opening sent tension through his body. He shouted, “That sounds like a baby-kissing weasel.” Instantly he regretted the joke. If it wasn’t Wilberforce then the CMC might cancel the visit.

  “Got any babies down there, kid?”

  The robot resumed its idiotic bleating. “Jason, I think that you—”

  Jason leapt from the bed and kicked the robot’s head off, sending it flying to a satisfying impact against the opposite wall. The wreckage clattered to the floor.

  He grabbed the bed, thrust the end out the door, and followed through with the momentum by booting the robot body out of the way.

  “I guess it’s on,” Wilberforce said. He pressed the button for the second elevator and stood between the open doors of the first.

  “It’s on,” Jason replied, and rushed with the bed along the corridor. He flung the elevator keys to Wilberforce, then planted the bed in front of the stairwell door.

  Before he could block the handle, it slammed down and someone yanked the door open so fast it nearly sucked air from his lungs.

  Lowgrave came at him but realized the bed lay in his path. For the briefest moment he stopped and extended a hand toward it.

  Jason rammed his fist into Lowgrave’s jaw. The man flopped against the door and fell backward.

  Beside the stairwell, the second elevator dinged its arrival.

  Jason ignored the sound. He needed to move Lowgrave’s boots out of the way to close the door. He flung the bed aside toward the elevator and ignored the vague sound of a boot step coming from there. Instead he kicked the commander’s legs away.

  A loud and deep “Ow!” drew his attention to the elevator, where Brick had burst through the opening doors and collided with the bed. Both he and it crashed to the floor, bending the steel bed frame in the middle. A pistol slid a few feet from the man’s hands.

  Jason pounced on the weapon and trained it on his enemy, but the power in the jailer’s arms caught him by surprise. They propelled the man back onto his bent knees and he sprang upright.

  Jason fired at the center of his chest. Brick stumbled back a step and then the man’s hefty leg muscles hurled his bleeding and enraged bulk forward.

  Jason dove to the right, flinging himself out of the way, while Brick skidded past him and his blood-soaked body slid to a painful halt.

  Jason aimed the pistol at the side of Brick’s head. Brick turned to face him just as he pulled the trigger. The shot struck him in the eye and he collapsed.

  Wilberforce had closed the stairwell door and wedged the bed neatly under the hand
le, blocking it.

  Jason ran to the spot where the cooling pipes disappeared into the pump room wall. Desperate to do some damage, he fired a round into each of the three return pipes, releasing streams of coolant onto the floor.

  Air in the system meant an immediate drop down into low-power mode in the CMC core. But he wanted to hack at least one pipe clean off. He dumped the pistol on top of the nearby fire cabinet, unlocked the door, and returned with the ax.

  Holding the handle in a white-knuckled grip, he channeled all his rage into the ax. He hacked away at the thin steel until one pipe gushed coolant from around its whole circumference. The liquid sprayed at the ceiling and splattered onto the floor, forming a chemical wave.

  With the blunt end he smashed the severed end of the pipe aside. The spray became a torrent.

  A hideous screeching sound from behind the pump room door made him grimace. Without lubrication the bearings were grinding metal.

  He returned to the fire cabinet and hauled the hose out to the severed pipe. At that moment one of the pumps disintegrated into steel shards, exploding like a bomb and sending a shock wave through the concrete and into the soles of Jason’s feet. Three shrapnel holes appeared in the door and metal struck the opposite wall.

  A surge of fluorocarbon poured under the door and sloshed against the opposite wall.

  Ignoring an unwanted image of what his body would have looked like if he’d been standing three feet to one side, he fed the hose into the severed pipe, through the wall, and into the pump room, which also housed the electrical substation for the CMC.

  Jason picked up the ax, opened the fire hose valve wide, and then with a final swing of the blunt ax edge, knocked the control wheel clean off.

  A little water came through the doorjamb, but as water floats on fluorocarbon, almost none flowed underneath it. It all went into the substation. A rising lake of coolant carried it up toward the electrical equipment.

  He grabbed the pistol and ran for the elevator, wondering if the final touch was his worst idea ever. The elevator needed power. But the substation was supposed to be dedicated to the CMC and, if properly designed, would be isolated from the building’s main power supply.