Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series)

by A J Marshall

  Richard heard the rattle of a chain being pulled from between two wrought-iron gates and he turned to see, a few metres back, Mubarakar step into the street. The Professor was wrapped inside a thick, black coat with the collar turned up and was indicating impatiently towards him. Meanwhile Abdel, his assistant, went about fully opening the gates. Mubarakar spoke in Arabic to the driver who then climbed back into the ambulance, started the engine and reversed through the gates and down a straight terracotta-tiled driveway until arriving at a carriage arch that was part of the main house. Richard caught up with Mubarakar as he issued another order and the driver then continued to reverse until he disappeared into a garage another ten metres or so from the back of the house. After Mubarakar and Richard had also stepped inside, Abdel scurried about, closing and locking first the outside ornamental gates and then the green-painted wooden doors of the garage. There seemed to be plenty of room inside and the shadow of another large van parked further back caught Richard’s eye. After a second heavy bolt was heard to clunk into position the ceiling lights came on and Mubarakar peeled back his collar. He was happy to see Richard.

  “So, my friend, Egypt draws you back into her arms. This is good!”

  “Pleased to be back, Professor . . . cold and wet in England as usual,” replied Richard, shaking hands as was customary. But Richard could not help frowning at the change of plan. “But I thought we were to rendezvous in the Cairo Museum?”

  “There are issues, and I received a message from Peter Rothschild. He told me to be extra-vigilant. Quite how much more that is than vigilant, I am not sure.” Mubarakar grinned. “It is better here. I own the ground floor of this house and have done for many years, and the apartment upstairs is empty – they went to Sharm El Sheikh three months ago.”

  “Professor, is the ancient statue . . . ?”

  “It is here, my friend.” Mubarakar gestured with his head towards the white, Japanese-built van. He then looked at the box under Richard’s arm. “And inside you have a . . . crystal?” Mubarakar’s eyes widened at the thought of it.

  Richard nodded cautiously. “The shielding, did you manage to do it?” he asked.

  Mubarakar put a reassuring hand on Richard’s shoulder. “In the study of ancient mummies and artefacts we use X-rays frequently,” he responded. “We borrowed material from our portable booth to line the vehicle. It is done and the statue is positioned with the panel open. But first, hospitality – lamb stew, honey cake and mint tea.” Mubarakar turned and led Richard into the house.

  Richard walked into the kitchen to see Hamid Faruq already enjoying a selection of Medjool dates that were in a large bowl on a central wooden table. “Hamid, how are you?” he enquired, extending his hand.

  “God is merciful,” Hamid replied warmly.

  The dates were preserved in thick sugary syrup and Richard was pleased to try them. He turned to Mubarakar. “You know about my support?”

  Mubarakar nodded. “Science progresses faster than seems possible to an old man like me. You and Hamid, you will see what human ingenuity offers the world; the future is surely clouded by such technology, and the old times, they are gone forever.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not that progressive as to have a robot for a buddy, Professor,” Richard responded. “Anyway, I’m under orders, and it might be a good idea to have the system activated when we try the crystal in the statue . . . You never know, we might need it!”

  After dinner, the three men returned to the garage to find Abdel sipping tea with the ambulance driver. “This is my cousin,” Abdel said to Richard.

  “Driving like you do is in the blood then,” commented Richard with dry humour, momentarily lightening the growing preoccupation in the group.

  Mubarakar had already explained the ‘family’ situation and that security was not an issue, and so Richard set about opening the aluminium tube by keying a five-digit code into the control panel that was mounted on the circular access door nearest the rear of the vehicle. The door opened promptly under its own means and Richard reached inside and partially slid out a stretcher arrangement that ran on side rollers. His immediate impression of the robot, and particularly the legs and waist area was that it looked remarkably similar to that of a Humatron HU40 – having a thick, opaque and pliable celluloid skin inflated to the size of a large man’s legs by a pressurised, oily, electrolytic fluid. However, the feet were different, much more life-like than the Humatron’s mechanical, claw-like feet. Richard then focused on the hands – again, they were complicated but ‘human-like’, instead of four-fingered metallic mechanisms. He released the nylon transportation straps that secured the bulky arms and legs to the stretcher bed and examined the chest area. Once more it seemed very familiar, with the outline of a Humatron’s ethereal alloy skeleton supporting a box-like structure that tapered towards the waist, and clearly apparent was the central control panel and cover. Inside the ‘chest’ box would be the high-capacity catholithium batteries and photoelectric converters. Overall, the primate-like proportions of the Humatron system had been replaced by those of a human; although the reasons for this Richard could only speculate.

  With the four canvas straps securing the lightweight tube securely to the floor of the vehicle, Richard withdrew the stretcher bed to its fullest extent. The ambulance sagged on the rear suspension as a result of the moment arm. Again Richard noticed the use of circular, segmented, metal alloy rings as a flexible neck structure and that they steadily decreased in diameter from shoulder to head. However, with that body part collapsed for transportation, he could only guess if its fullest extension would add a metre or more to the overall height of the machine, as it did with the Humatron HU40.

  It was the head where all similarity between the two robots ceased. Whereas the Humatron’s was a metallic ‘X’ shape, with a disproportionately large upper ‘triangle’, this one was oval-shaped. And where the Humatron’s construction was approximately eight centimetres in thickness with the neck joining at the rear, this head was in the shape of a pear sliced in half and was at least eighteen centimetres, front to back, with the neck joining at the base, as with a person. In fact, the proportions of the flat, oval face was a little larger than an average man’s. With the power switched off, the laptop-like, blank screen revealed none of the technology that lay behind. Indeed, the black screen simply reflected Richard’s own face as he stood over it and peered down.

  Richard recalled the upper triangle of the Humatron HU40’s X-shaped head, with its face having human male proportions from hairline to top lip. Its eyes were teardrop-shaped, and a glowing neon red, lit from behind and made real by plasmoltec technology. With trepidation, he recalled the 3D images that the system could produce by manipulating the pliable screen as if it was soft modelling clay and that by a connection to the machine’s emotion centre it could form ghostly facial expressions at will. He also recalled the look of dread that the lower triangle added, being a silver-coloured metal grill that masked a number of vertical slits. On the Humatron HU40 series the slits were openings through which the robot could sense the faintest of odours and which also allowed the electronic vocallator to project synthesised words. Richard studied the HIM system as it lay motionless on the stretcher and wondered how it would behave when activated. Friend or foe? Incorruptible or a hidden agenda? Trusting or plotting? Passive or innately violent? He moved the head from side-to-side, examining it. Prior to energising, this might be the only time for doing this, he thought.

  As a result of insufficiently researched, irresponsible and ill-intentioned computer programming, the Humatron HU40 series had become a human-hating catastrophe of self-aware robotic engineering. They could be controlled, but without reliance or confidence, and they could be contained, but only by a similar level of destructive violence. Richard wondered where it was all leading. He looked up at Mubarakar, but he was deep in his own thoughts.

  Beginning the activation process, Richard inserted a small electronic initiator into the receptacle beneath
the control panel cover. He pushed a number of buttons, closed and locked the panel with the same code that he had used to open the container and, finally, pressed a small pad to the side of the panel that scrambled the code so that it was no longer useful. The system started immediately.

  The hum of electromechanical motivators and the shifting of limbs caused the men to step backwards, startled – even Richard was caught off-guard at the speed of response. The tiny but powerful electric motors that were coupled to advanced joint mechanisms produced the customary whirring noise that Richard was familiar with, but unlike the Humatron model this machine flexed and twitched – like a person being touched by a Tasler stun baton. Also it was much quieter; the mechanisms more refined.

  Slowly the HIM sat up. The arms came down and grasped the side of the stretcher and then it swung its legs around, making contact with the floor. It edged forward, much as a human would, stood, and then stretched to stand tall. The five men moved to give it space. With the neck compressed it was a little taller than Richard, but it was significantly wider at the shoulders.

  “Look . . . look . . . the face . . . it moves!” Abdel screeched, hardly able to contain his astonishment.

  The blank, flat, face screen began to flicker and undulate as the plasticized material warmed. Richard stepped to the side. The memory banks and processing mechanisms were all within the chest cavity in the Humatron series, he thought. Here, the brain was housed in an ethereal alloy half-skull and it interfaced directly behind the screen. Rothschild had told him that a breakthrough in synthetic nerve construction had allowed Professor Nieve’s team of specialists to amalgamate to a much higher degree the brain’s response to the plasmoltec manipulators, and he wondered what the result would be. He was amazed as the face took shape – never had he seen such technology. The four other men stood mesmerised and the ambulance driver began to shuffle nervously behind the rear door of the vehicle.

  And then the eyes took shape and opened – to a collective gasp. With the Humatron, the eyes were backlit, but here the plastic material moved like jelly and formed perfect eyeballs and eyelids that blinked. The mouth began to form and a nose protruded and material was sucked in to produce two nostrils. Then the lips took shape. The mouth was completed by the forming of a cavity about five centimetres deep. Gradually the colour changed from black to green to yellow and then to a pale olive hue. There was even a small scar above the top lip. After another thirty seconds, during which time the entire group just stared in awe, the final expression solidified. It was a complete young man’s face.

  “He is remembering what he looked like when he was alive,” Richard mumbled. “His memory and emotion centres are interfacing with the nerve receptors and then in turn controlling the plasmoltec system. It’s impressive.”

  The machine’s flexible neck extended about half a metre and then its head slowly described a circle. The eyes of the face began to flip from man to man in the room in turn, quickly registering contours and characteristics, and then fell down on Richard’s face and focused intently.

  “By the Gods,” uttered Mubarakar. “If I was not seeing this with my own eyes, I would not believe it.”

  “I am Human Interface Mechanism Number Thirty-Two. I am Thomas,” the figure said, in a very convincing human voice that came from the mouth. “I am here to work with you.” His Home Counties accent was equally startling.

  Richard stepped forward and stood in front of the machine, staring up at its face. The HIM raised an eerie smile that made Richard nervous and then extended its neck to the fullest extent. It seemingly glared down at Richard from a height of three metres. The back of its head rubbed on the wooden rafters of the garage roof. Bolstered by a long-standing and inherent distrust for this level of cyber-system, Richard said, “You are here to work for me and not with me . . . Do you understand?”

  The HIM seemed surprised; its expression changed. Richard forced himself not to be intimidated by the technology. Humatrons were one thing and he could view them as dissident, disposable machines – but this system was something different: the level of humanity and self-consciousness was not only off-putting, it was deeply disturbing. This was very much a person in a robot’s body and he speculated as to its longevity – a hundred years, two hundred, a millennia? “What are your statistics?” Richard barked.

  “Weight . . . one hundred and fifty kilograms; overhead lifting capacity . . . two hundred kilograms; top speed . . . fifty-seven kilometres per hour when fully charged . . .”

  “How long to charge?”

  “Thirty minutes in white or infrared light from a ten per cent residual.”

  “Protocols?” Richard barked again, struggling to keep his developing dislike for the robot from his voice.

  “I am assigned to Commander Richard James Reece of Government Department MI9. I am to execute the duties of personal security operative and in so doing I am directed to act independently if required. In addition, I am to perform all instructions given by Lieutenant Commander Richard James Reece provided they do not infringe the Constitution of Robotic Behaviour as incorporated into the International Bill of Human Rights as amended 2018. You are Commander Richard Reece.”

  “You mean you are programmed to take my orders . . .”

  “No. I am not graded on the Rockwell Illinois Plateau System for robotic capacity. Therefore I am not programmed, but enhanced. I have a human interface, Richard, and therefore I am directed to do your bidding . . . within certain criteria, of course.”

  Richard wasn’t having any of that! A robot calling the shots, and worse, using his first name – like an old friend!

  “You listen to me,” he said, scowling at the HIM’s face. “You do exactly what I say, when I say. Do you copy? I do not want your advice, not ever. And stay in good view at all times; I don’t ever want you behind me. You do not carry a weapon – not unless I approve it.” Richard paused for breath. “Now go over there and keep out of the way!” He jabbed his finger towards a corner of the garage.

  Thomas’ expression morphed from neutral ‘matter-of-fact’ through flushed embarrassment to one of sorrowful dejection, as if he had been unfairly scolded by a favourite teacher. Had tears been available, he looked as though he would have shed them. Ever Mubarakar was surprised at Richard’s vitriolic outburst.

  As Thomas moved off to stand in the corner, Mubarakar put a hand on Richard’s forearm. “Time is pressing,” he said, “we must attend to the crystal.”

  Richard’s expression lightened. “Yes,” he said in a whisper. “This could be what we have been waiting for.” He pushed the stretcher back into the aluminium tube, closed its circular door and then those of the ambulance and strode off towards the white van.

  There was a large colourful sign stencilled on the side panel of the commercial vehicle. It comprised images of the three great pyramids and the Sphinx at Giza. Beneath were two lines of words in Arabic, of which Richard understood only Cairo. However, below, in much smaller font and in English, was written: Cairo National Museum. Richard slid open the side door to half its extent. Only then, as he climbed into the darkened interior, did he realise that the suspension legs of all four wheels were bottomed, indicating a very heavy load. He peered hard into the darkness: grey material, with a dull, metallic appearance, hung as open rolls from the upper corners, like a series of extended blinds, and a thick ‘carpet’ of material was lining both the ceiling and floor.

  “We have overlapped the shielding by twenty centimetres to be safe,” explained Mubarakar, as he too climbed in. “These lead curtains are three millimetres thick. If they can stop X-rays, they will stop radio waves.”

  Richard agreed and shuffled around the end of the crystal coffin; the heavy lid had already been removed and the statue lay face down inside. The access panel had also been removed and the orifice in the centre of the statue’s back extended inside by the size of his fist. There was a small chalice-like receptacle inside but nothing else, although Richard noticed some engravi
ngs in the ‘old writing’. Hamid followed the two men inside and stood at the head of the coffin while Abdel, remaining outside, switched on the internal lights and then closed the door. Richard checked the all-round integrity of the lead curtain and then put his helmet box on the floor. He paused thoughtfully. “You sure you want to be in here?” he asked. “I don’t know how this crystal will react when I pull it clear of the protective glass.” He waited for an answer.

  Hamid, having taken a little time to chant something in Arabic, nodded hesitantly. Richard looked at the Professor, who stood opposite him with his hands gripping the coffin edge. “I would rather watch and then have my own funeral, than miss this,” Mubarakar countered, with an uneasy grin.

  “Very well,” said Richard, and he reached down and released the two catches on the box. Subconsciously holding his breath he slowly opened the lid. On top of the densely packed green shards of glass was a pair of black tongs made from an inert plastic material. “So far so good,” he offered, and breathed again. With that, and a glistening forehead, he picked up the tongs and promptly delved into the broken pieces. It was not difficult to locate the crystal for it glowed with a hazy white light. Richard pushed deeper with the tips of the tongs until he had hold of it. He paused again in order to sight the opening on the statue’s back and then slowly he withdrew the crystal.

  In one flowing movement he stood, leant over the coffin and deposited the crystal into the receptacle. It was Mubarakar’s turn to hold a breath.

  “It looks as if this task should be done with the figure standing,” commented Richard, “and the crystal is too small for the receptacle by the looks of it, but it’s there. For the life of me, I’m not sure if this will work.” He turned his head towards Hamid. “Can you replace the cover exactly as you found it?”