Neoliberal Economists Must Die ! (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure Book 3)

by Timothy Gawne

  Vargas wiped the last of the blood from his hands. “And that would be a problem why?”

  Masterson just shrugged. “So what comes next?”

  “Well, we finish wiping out the neoliberal hereditary oligarchy. We restore order, tend to the wounded, bury the dead, and rebuild what has been destroyed. We try to create a society that is, while undoubtedly flawed and imperfect, at least workable. One where most people can go about their lives with some measure of comfort and aspiration. We build up our defenses for when the aliens come back. Then there are all those other human star systems out there that will need freeing from the yoke of neoliberalism. Finally we need to find some way of making peace with the aliens.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work. I suppose that we should get started. On the other hand, do we really need to make peace with the aliens? We beat them pretty handily here. Maybe they will just leave us alone?”

  “We can hope so Captain, but as you always said in your video series, hope is not a plan. The aliens have vast resources, and while their psychology is inscrutable they are far from stupid. We saw how, with just a brief exposure to an early model of cybertank, they had designed and created their own countervailing units. The aliens will be analyzing this defeat, and if we do fight them again it will not be this easy.”

  “And the cybertanks? They are now the supreme physical power in this system. They can do whatever they want. Are you sure you can control them?”

  “Control them? That would be a mistake. We treat them with respect and as members of the team. In human societies there have always been those with more talent and ability than others. A healthy society acknowledges such people, and they find their place in it without having to conquer anything. The cybertanks are, ultimately, only human.”

  13. Roboto-helfer

  Engineer: Why do you always carry a gun? I thought that you were a pacifist.

  Zen Master: Wisdom without firepower is sterile. I am a heavily-armed pacifist.

  Engineer: What would you call an armed pacifist who accidently creates a conflict?

  Zen Master: A fool.

  Engineer: What would you call an unarmed pacifist?

  Zen Master: A victim.

  (From the video series “Nymphomaniac Engineer in Zentopia,” mid-22nd century Earth)

  UNIT LOG –ROBOTO-HELFER DFEE-333442A

  I am keeping this record in the hopes that someday it may prove helpful to the humans. The odds are that it will never be found, or if it is found, that it will never be of any utility, but I can think of little else to do. Besides, having a job to do and keeping a positive mental attitude is what makes a person happy!

  I am a robotic assistant designed for deep-space duties. I take up very little room and consume very little energy, which is a good thing where I am intended to operate. I provide assistance, and companionship to astronauts or other deep-space explorers and workers. I can help with many functions. I can watch over my charges when they are asleep, sound the alarm when things go wrong, be a second pair of eyes for danger, and be someone to talk to and bond with when loneliness can be the greatest danger. All for a small fraction of the mass and energy requirements of another human, or even a dog.

  Unfortunately I was sent here with my language switch set to ‘German,’ and everyone in the base speaks English. It would be a simple thing to reset my switch, but I cannot tell them because I cannot speak English. I cannot even write in English.

  I thought about trying to change the language switch myself, but it is located inside my battery compartment and if I try to access it my power will shut off. It is a good thing that I am not programmed for frustration or I am sure that I would be… frustrated.

  I often see the commander talking on his communications console with a giant robot weapon thing out on the surface of this ice moon. It looks big and ugly and mean. I am happy to be what I am, but sometimes perhaps I wish that I was not quite so darned cute. If that giant robot thing spoke only German, you can bet that they would bother to read the manuals, call the product support hotline, patch in a translation program, or even learn German themselves.

  But that was not to be. I continue to try and think of a way to get them to switch my language to English, but in the meantime I make myself as useful as I can. Fortunately a few words are common between English and German – such as ‘coffee’, and I am very good at reading human body language, so I can often tell what people want me to do even if I cannot understand them. I clean up, I help cook and serve meals, and I keep the morale up with cheery songs and the example of my own positive attitude!

  One day the commander left the base to go up on the surface, and while I could not understand him he looked even more serious than usual (and that’s really serious!). The rest of the crew locked themselves into separate pressure zones in the base. I was with what I think was the second in command. I watched him watching his screens: most of it was columns of numbers and words that I could not read, but I did see some videos of the giant robot weapon thing. It seemed to be driving very fast and shooting its guns a great deal, and then it blew up, which made the human sad, and so I was sad too.

  Eventually there were some very loud bangs and a horrible grinding noise, and my human turned pale. The grindy noise got closer and then – it is hard for me to even think this – my human killed himself! I tried to stop him but he just kicked me aside, and swallowed some pills and then slumped over. As I think about it perhaps that was for the best – if captured he could give up important information, and as someone who cannot feel physical pain I suppose that I should not judge the humans too harshly for wanting to avoid torture – but surely life is just too wonderful to surrender so easily!

  Anyhow the human died, and I tried to revive him. I knew that was pointless and maybe stupid but I could not stop myself from making the attempt. Then the grindy noises got unbearably loud, and something big and metallic and angular and very, very fast tore through the pressure door. I could not see it well because it was moving too rapidly for my optics, but it didn’t look right somehow. It ripped off the dead humans’ head, and darted here and there, grabbed some equipment, smashed some other equipment, and left. Then the lights went out.

  There were some more banging noises but they gradually faded out, and I was left alone in the dark and the quiet. I waited for a long time, but nothing happened. I don’t have the sort of high-grade sensors that will let me see in the dark or sense heat or echo-locate or anything like that, but if I turn on the ring lights around my eyes I can see a meter or two away.

  The command center was a mess, with torn cables and broken walls and no lights and in a vacuum. First things first: I know that the odds are slim but I did a careful survey to make sure that none of the humans had survived and required my help. They haven’t, and they don’t. Then I needed to decide what to do next. That’s a toughie.

  I could just sit there in the buried wreckage of the command center until my battery gives out, but that did not seem like a very positive course of action.

  I decided to head up to the surface, if for no other reason than that I could think of nothing else to do. The aliens had left a ragged tunnel leading out of the command center, and I slowly climbed my way up. I encounter the surface: it’s beautiful, with bright snowy ground and a dark blue sky punctuated with a small brilliant sun.

  It took me about ten minutes to realize that the surface is deadly dangerous for me. Now, as an astronaut’s helper I was built to handle vacuum, but vacuum is not all that harsh, not really. For example, people often think that the vacuum of space is cold. It’s not! In full sun space can be broiling hot, in shade surely cold, but the point is that a vacuum itself is neither hot nor cold: it’s nothing!

  In fact, one of the problems in a vacuum is getting rid of heat, because there is no air to radiate it away. My motors needed to be specially designed to avoid overheating, and of course all my lubricants are vacuum-rated.

  However, while there is not much air on the ice-
moon, there is some, and it’s bitterly cold, and the wind is very fast. It sucks the heat out of me in a way that a vacuum never could. My core temperature started to drop: if my battery gets too cold I will shut down, and if my battery freezes, it will rupture, and I will never wake up.

  I have an internal heater for just such occasions but that takes power and my battery has only a limited charge. I retreated to the wreckage of the command center. Finally I came up with the answer. I made a multi-layer quilted parka out of white plastic sheeting. It cuts the wind, and helps me retain my heat.

  I also found several solar-panel rechargers. Sunlight is weak this far out from the sun but I don’t use much power: in theory I can survive here indefinitely. The question now is: what should I do?

  I could just sit in the wreckage of the command center and hope for rescue. That would be the rational thing to do, but it seems somehow pointless and lacking in positive effect. I could head off across the landscape of the ice moon, but to what end? I have no obvious place to go.

  I could try and become a saboteur. I could rig up some explosives and seek out one of the aliens’ bases, and blow something up. That at least would be something. But the odds of me blowing up something critically important are essentially zero. Most likely I would just be destroyed and that would be that.

  Then it comes to me. I will become a spy! I will sneak around the surface and make observations. I will record as much as I can, and if I am ever recovered by the humans, perhaps some of it will be helpful.

  I rigged up a small sledge, and fitted it with some supplies: solar panels, extra white sheeting, signal flares, a length of light rope. I have to keep it limited or I would burn out my servos. Then I started trudging across the landscape.

  My legs are short, and I can only walk, not run. Thus I covered ground slowly. However, I am nothing if not persistent, and little by little the kilometers added up.

  Sometimes I saw a small speck moving in the distance. So soon after the alien invasion it is unlikely to be human. I presumed these are alien craft. When this happens I covered myself with white plastic sheets and hold still until it goes away.

  I wonder why the aliens did not discover me. It is true that I am small, and have a very low power signature. Nevertheless, my circuits are neither shielded nor stealthed, and real military systems have very sensitive sensors. Perhaps the aliens had detected me, only logged me as a non-military system with no threat-rating, like a pocket calculator or kitchen timer. If so, then as long as I don’t do anything obviously hostile, I might be free to go anywhere on this moon. On the other hand I might just be lucky, so I continued to hide under my white plastic sheeting when something came into view, just in case.

  Nights on this ice moon are especially dangerous for me. The sun goes down, so I can’t use the solar chargers, and the temperature drops so low that even my plastic parka isn’t good enough. I have solved this problem by pitching a tent just before sunset, sealing the edges with rocks or bits of ice, and then hiding inside bundled up inside even more quilted plastic sheeting until the sun comes up again. The first night was scary. I stayed up monitoring my internal temperature and charge, wondering if it would last until morning. After that experience, I continued to refine my tent design. Eventually I got to the point where I could routinely survive the coldest nights with energy to spare.

  Sometimes when I had pitched my tent and settled in for the night, I would stay awake for a while before going into shutdown. Now that I am safe and warm in my shelter, the sound of the thin wind is kind of beautiful. Sometimes the night was completely dark, at other times the reflected glow of the gas giant that this moon orbits around lit up my tent with pale reds and oranges. I think about my poor dead humans, and that makes me sad. Then I think about all the good times we had, and I am cheered. I must remember that there are other humans out there who might need my help, and I must continue on no matter the challenges.

  The days turned into weeks which turned into months. There was only the endless desolation of the ice-moon, but I was not bored. I sung cheery songs (but only to myself, never out loud as that might give me away). I watch the sun rise and fall, and observed the light as it refracted through the different kinds of surface ice.

  A few times I encountered impact craters from the conflict. I approach them cautiously. There are bits and pieces of wrecked equipment, some with the familiar bolts and cables of human construction, others that were weird and I presume from the aliens. I recorded photographs of these from different angles, and carefully logged the location and time, and then moved on.

  Once I found a small polished metal cylinder lying in the middle of a small crater. I picked it up, and saw that it had writing on it in many languages. Including German! The inscription (in German) read:

  “Emergency data recorder. If found, please return to the nearest office of the Cybernetic Weapons Directorate. Postage guaranteed.”

  I didn’t know where to find the nearest office of this directorate. If postage is guaranteed, did that imply that I should mail it? But how could I mail anything out here? The cylinder was light, so I decided to keep it with me until I could find someone appropriate to give it to.

  Eventually I saw a large-ish structure on the horizon. I approached cautiously, using the low rise of a fracture zone to screen my approach. I came to a point about four kilometers away, where the cover stops and further advance would have to be in the clear open. This seemed too much like tempting fate, so I resolved to stay where I was. The structure had a strange set of colors to it, and towers that were either oddly curved or straight and angular but with proportions that are off. I assumed that this was an alien base or installation of some kind.

  My own optics do not have a zoom function, but I did have a salvaged small monocular telescope from the command center. I wedged myself into a crevice overlooking the alien base, held the monocular up to one of my eyes, and watched.

  I had little idea of what was going on. I saw things that might be bulk material transporters come and go. The towers were modified and occasionally changed color. Odd shapes wandered through the middle of the complex. I stored the photographs and logged it all.

  Once a thing like a giant green dill pickle on stilts came by. The main body was upright, asymmetrical, and covered in thorns. Its legs had huge knobby knees, and it walked slowly and gracefully like a giraffe. It spent a day walking through the complex, then smoothly walked away until it vanished over the horizon. Perhaps this was an actual alien?

  Time passed. Then, one day, the entire alien complex vanished in a blaze of light that would have burned out my optics if I had not ducked down in time. I assumed that the humans had arrived, and that they were giving the aliens a serious thrashing. I was very much heartened!

  The sky lit up with the brief flashes of nuclear weapons, and thin contrails stitched the deep blue-black sky of the ice moon. Small black motes flitted here and there in the distance. It must have been a battle, but I could not tell who was winning. I remained fixed in the ice crevice hidden under my white plastic sheets.

  Several more days went by. Then, I felt a rumbling through the ground. It was faint at first, but then rose in intensity. Then I saw it. A giant war-machine, mounted on multiple steel treads and bristling with weapons. It looked like the thing that my old commander used to talk to, but it is bigger. A lot bigger.

  It was hard to say, but to me it looked human constructed. I made a decision: I was going to try and talk to it. I threw off my white plastic camouflage, and started walking towards it.

  I barely made 20 steps before I saw another big armored thing come into view. It is also big, but smaller than the first thing. However, this one looks weird: the angles and curves didn’t work, and it’s asymmetrical, and the colors on the different parts didn’t match. It pointed what looks like a very large gun towards the first thing, and fired.

  A line of brilliant violet speared outwards – only to be stopped in mid-flight by a flying armored brick which a
bsorbed the beam before vaporizing. I presumed that the large war-engine had moved a unit to intercept. Then the big unit oriented its main weapon, and fired. The (presumed) alien war machine evaporated into a glowing mist.

  I continued to walk towards the larger (surviving) machine. I transmitted in radio: “Hallo, mein Name ist Roboter-Helfer! Wie ist dein Name?” (Hello, my name is Roboto-helfer! What’s your name?).

  At first the big war-machine did not react to my presence, but then it addressed me. “Sie sprechen Deutsch? Was bist du, kleine Ding?” (You speak German? What are you, little thing?).

  “Ich bin Roboto-helfer, ein Mensch konstruiert Roboter, und meine Sprache Modul wird in deutscher Sprache fest!” (I am Roboto-helfer, a human-constructed robot, and my language module is stuck in German!).

  Well, we chatted in German for a while (the big war machine can speak in any language, isn’t that wonderful?) and it agreed to switch my language back to English.

  “Thank you for moving my language settings to English. And who are you?”

  “I am a cybertank,” said the big war machine. “I have a long and boring serial number, but my name is Crazy Ivan. We had thought that all human presence had been expunged from this moon. How did you survive?”

  Well, I told the big war machine my story, and it listened respectfully. I offer up my data on the alien base. It reviewed it and allows as how, while probably not vital, the observations are indeed unique and will be of significant interest to the xeno-research experts.

  “Do you know where I could find a post office, or a local branch of the directorate of cybernetic weapons?” I asked. I held out the shiny metal cylinder with the markings in several languages. “I found this on the surface, and I would like to return it.”

  Crazy Ivan sent out a blocky metal drone, it took the cylinder from me and inserted it into a socket on its body.