The Silence

by Mark Alpert

  He winces. His face reddens.

  “Okay, this is the hard part. Late one night, your parents started screaming at each other in their trailer at Victory Base. I had to barge inside and physically separate them. And I got so mad at both of them that I said something I shouldn’t have. Tariq pulled out his service revolver and shot your mother in the head. And while I stood there in shock, he jammed the gun under his chin and killed himself too.”

  Hawke looks down at the table and falls silent. Several seconds pass. He takes a deep breath.

  “I want you to understand something, Zia. The war was going badly in 2005. If a story about a soldier murdering his wife went on the TV news, it would’ve demoralized everyone and hurt the war effort. My superiors in the Pentagon didn’t want that to happen, and they urged me to change my account of the incident. So I reported that Tariq shot your mother accidentally, while cleaning his gun, and then became so distraught that he shot himself. This change made the story less sensational and newsworthy, and the incident was quickly forgotten. I convinced myself that changing the story was the humane thing to do, especially for you and your family. But I think your grandmother suspected the truth. She had a stroke a few months afterward, and then you were placed in foster care.”

  He winces again. For the first time, he looks directly at the laptop’s camera.

  “I’ll be honest. By changing the story, I was really protecting myself. I was hiding what I’d told Tariq after I barged into your parents’ trailer that night. In the heat of the moment, I admitted I’d had an affair with your mother several years before, while the two of them were separated and she was working for me. Then I made the situation worse by telling Tariq that I believed you were my child.”

  Another tear trickles down Hawke’s cheek.

  “That’s what set him off. That’s what tipped Tariq over the edge. You were the only person in the world he still loved. And thirty seconds later, he and your mother were dead.” The general pauses. “I don’t know why he didn’t shoot me as well. I was standing right there in front of him.”

  There’s a longer pause. But Hawke doesn’t take his eyes off the laptop’s camera.

  “You’re my daughter, Zia. I confirmed it before you became a Pioneer, when the Army doctors took a sample of your DNA. I’m sorry I never had the courage to tell you this when I was alive. I was a stupid, stubborn, cowardly man. And I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

  Hawke lurches forward and reaches for the laptop, as if he can’t stand looking at it for another second. He slaps the keyboard, and the video feed goes black.

  Chapter

  8

  After I finish recharging, I rush back to Dad’s laboratory. Viewing Hawke’s confession seriously distressed my circuits, but it also strengthened my resolve to defy him. No matter the consequences, I’m going to help Brittany.

  As I stride down the corridors of Pioneer Base, I finalize my plans for the nanobot procedure. My biggest worry is keeping it secret. If Hawke discovers what I’m doing, he’ll try to stop me. So I’m going to hack into the lab’s security cameras and fiddle with their video.

  Then I turn a corner and almost collide with the general.

  Hawke is leading half a dozen visitors toward the base’s command center, where all the official Army business gets done. It’s jarring to see him in the flesh so soon after watching his confession. The contrast in his appearance is striking. He’s in his dress uniform, not his fatigues, and the expression on his face is calm and commanding. I guess it’s not surprising that he can compartmentalize his emotions, separating his determination and self-confidence from his regret and self-hatred. That’s one of the job requirements of a professional soldier. Still, it’s an impressive skill. I know I could never do it.

  As I aim my Quarter-bot’s cameras at the visitors, I understand why Hawke is wearing his dress uniform with all its medals and ribbons. Five of the six men are high-ranking generals, probably Hawke’s superiors from the Pentagon, each with his own collection of medals on his chest. And standing among them is a lone civilian wearing a handsome navy-blue pin-striped suit.

  It’s Sumner Harris. Jenny’s father. I haven’t seen him in six months, not since his daughter died.

  Sumner’s hair is dyed black and expensively styled. His glasses have sleek, silver rims, and his fingernails are manicured to perfection. But he’s lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw him, and his face is haggard. He scowls when he sees me.

  My first impulse is to stride past the group without acknowledging Sumner, but I can’t do that gracefully because the corridor is too crowded. I can’t turn around either, because that would make my contempt for the man too obvious. So I halt my Quarter-bot and wait for Hawke and his entourage to file into the command center. But Sumner steps away from the group and points one of his perfectly manicured fingers at my torso.

  He looks over his shoulder at Hawke. “I recognize this machine from your briefing book.” He has the voice of a rich lawyer, arrogantly articulate. “This is the upgraded model of Pioneer 1, correct?”

  Hawke nods. “Yes, that’s Adam Armstrong.” The general steps forward, moving between Sumner and me. “Adam, I’m sure you remember Mr. Harris. The President has appointed him to lead a special committee that will make recommendations concerning the future of the Pioneer Project.”

  Hawke’s voice is casual, but he’s giving me an unspoken order: Don’t do anything stupid in front of this man. Although I have a problem with following orders, unspoken or otherwise, I go along with this one. I extend my Quarter-bot’s right hand.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Harris. I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was when Jenny—”

  “General, who designed this robot?” Sumner doesn’t even look at my steel hand. He keeps his gaze on Hawke. “It’s very different from the original models I saw six months ago.”

  He’s ignoring me, acting as if I’m not here. It’s pretty insulting, but I don’t synthesize a word. I want to see how Hawke handles it.

  “Adam designed it himself. All the Pioneers have access to our computer labs and machine shops, so they can build and upgrade their own robots. They’ve created a highly effective team with a wide range of complementary skills.”

  That sounds like a good answer to me, but Sumner frowns. “You let them build whatever they want?”

  “No, they have to submit their engineering plans to me for approval.” Hawke stresses the word “me” and points at his own chest. “But because the Pioneers understand their own needs better than anyone else, they can—”

  “This design process is rather unusual, isn’t it? It’s not used by any other branch of the Army?”

  “Yes, that’s true, but—”

  “It also seems inherently dangerous. You’re letting the computer programs make the decisions. And they’re building weapons of phenomenal power.”

  I can’t stay quiet any longer. “We are not programs. We are people.”

  Sumner still won’t look at me. “General, can you please turn off this robot’s loudspeakers? It’s very distracting.”

  I raise the volume of my speakers. “Your daughter was one of us. She volunteered to become a Pioneer and served with distinction. Why are you deliberately forgetting that?”

  “Believe me, I’ve forgotten nothing.” Sumner grimaces. “Allowing my daughter to participate in this horror show was the worst mistake of my life.”

  The tension in the corridor rises. Sumner’s pulse is racing—my sensors can measure his heart rate—and the other high-ranking visitors are jittery. But Hawke stays calm and shakes his head. “Okay, Adam, that’s enough.” He steps toward Sumner, splays his hand on the man’s back, and nudges him away from me. “Come this way, sir. I’ve got a lot to show you this morning.”

  Hawke guides his visitors into the command center. A moment later, the door closes behin
d them.

  Then I aim my cameras down the corridor and see a glint of sparkling light at the other end. To my surprise, Shannon’s Diamond Girl steps around the corner. It looks like she’s been tailing Hawke and his visitors. She’s turned off the screen that displays video of her human face, and now there’s nothing to see on her robot’s head except her camera lenses and loudspeakers.

  Shannon strides toward me and halts a few feet away. She points a glittering arm at the command center’s door. “It’s a closed meeting, I guess. For humans only.”

  My Quarter-bot nods. “That’s right. No dogs or robots allowed. Did your acoustic sensors pick up my conversation with Mr. Harris?”

  “You weren’t very diplomatic, but you asked the right question. I mean, what’s the deal with that guy? Is he mad at us because of what happened to Jenny?”

  “Yeah, I think so. He wants to punish us.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!” The voice coming from her speakers rises in pitch. “We cared about Jenny too! And we deleted the AI that killed her! Her father should be grateful!”

  Shannon is upset. I don’t need to see her face to sense her emotions. She still blames herself for Jenny’s loss. Shannon was leading an attack against Sigma when it happened.

  I change the subject. “What about that play you were rehearsing? You know, to show the peaceful uses of the Pioneers? You think it might have any influence on Hawke’s friends from Washington?”

  “It’s not gonna happen. When I heard that Mr. Harris was visiting the base with a bunch of generals from Washington, I ran to Amber’s room to tell her to get ready to meet them, but she wouldn’t even open her door. It was the world’s worst case of stage fright, and it came out of nowhere.” She shakes her Diamond Girl’s head. “I don’t understand that girl. She’s kind of strange, don’t you think?”

  I need to be careful. Shannon seems to be fishing for information. “Well, it’s been an intense morning. The episode with Zia was hard for everybody.”

  “Yeah, Marshall told me that Amber ripped into you afterward.” Shannon points a sparkling finger at my Quarter-bot. “He said she called you an idiot for helping Zia. That seems a little harsh.”

  I get a sinking feeling in my wires. Shannon is putting two and two together. She’s on the verge of figuring out that Amber and I have something going on. I really wish I hadn’t promised to keep our relationship secret. “No, Amber was right. It was a risky maneuver. You warned me about it too. Or at least you tried to warn me.”

  Shannon shakes her head again. And then, to my surprise, she turns on her video screen. The digital rendering of her face has the pretty brown eyes and dimpled cheeks I remember so well. Even better, she’s smiling at me. “This time I was wrong and you were right, Adam. What you did wasn’t logical, but it was brave. That’s you in a nutshell.”

  This is the nicest thing Shannon has said to me in a long time. It reminds me of the conversations we used to have when we started dating and became the first robotic couple in history. In those first few weeks, I’d visit Shannon’s room every morning and we’d spend hours talking about every subject under the sun. My Quarter-bot would stand exactly two feet from her Diamond Girl, and I’d focus my cameras on her video screen so I could gaze at her human face. When we had a lot to say, we’d exchange radio messages instead of talking out loud, and our signals would dart back and forth, electrifying the air between us.

  It would’ve been more efficient if we’d shared circuits. If I’d transferred my mind to her Diamond Girl’s electronics, I would’ve seen all her thoughts and memories at once, and she would’ve seen all of mine. But we were reluctant to take that step, because it can’t be undone. Once you know someone’s secrets, you can’t unknow them.

  If Shannon and I had stayed together longer, we might’ve taken that leap, but we never got the chance. She discovered that I’d shared circuits with Jenny shortly before Sigma deleted her. I never told Shannon about it during any of our conversations, and she argued that this omission was the same as lying to her. She said she couldn’t trust me anymore, so our relationship was finished. And now I’m making the same mistake all over again. By hiding my new relationship with Amber, I’m proving how untrustworthy I am.

  I feel awful. Guilt swamps my circuits, stinging and corrosive. And underneath it is a painful, crushing sense of loss. I miss my conversations with Shannon. I wish I could talk to her again with the same ease and freedom. I want to tell her about everything that’s bothering me—my anxiety about the surge, my mother’s desertion, my plan to save Brittany. But I can’t. There’s too much distance between us now.

  Instead, I train my cameras on the closed door of the command center. It occurs to me that this would be an ideal time to start the nanobot procedure. General Hawke will be busy with Sumner and the other visitors for at least another hour. I have a good chance of curing Brittany before their meeting is over.

  By the time I shift my attention back to Shannon, the face on her video screen isn’t smiling anymore. She arches her eyebrows, giving me a suspicious look. “You’re plotting something, aren’t you? You’re going to try to break into their meeting?”

  I hate to lie to her again, but I have to. Shannon wouldn’t approve of my nanobot plan, especially if she knew Hawke ordered me to drop it. Because Shannon is the commander of the Pioneers, she takes Hawke’s orders a lot more seriously than I do.

  “No, I’ll leave that to you.” I step away from her Diamond Girl. “Keep watching them, okay? Especially Mr. Harris. And send me a radio signal when their meeting breaks up.”

  Then, with an additional load of guilt weighing down my wires, I make a beeline toward Dad’s lab.

  Chapter

  9

  Dad stands next to Brittany’s bed at the medical center, preparing a syringe that’s as long and thick as a cigar. Holding it upright, he inserts a hypodermic needle into its tip. Inside the syringe are four ounces of grayish liquid that Dad diluted to make it easier to inject. And floating in the liquid are five million nanobots.

  We’ve asked the Army nurse to leave the intensive care unit for the next hour, telling her that we need to perform some tests on Brittany. I’ve also hacked into the medical center’s security cameras and replaced their live video feed with surveillance footage from earlier this morning. If General Hawke happens to look at the video screens at Pioneer Base’s command center, he won’t see Dad or my Quarter-bot in the intensive care unit. He’ll just see Brittany lying in her bed.

  Jutting from the back of Brittany’s right hand is an intravenous catheter, a small plastic tube that provides easy access to her bloodstream. Its sharp steel tip is lodged in one of Brittany’s veins, and the other end is connected to the intravenous line that’s dripping nutrient solution into her blood. Dad disconnects the IV line, then slips the needle of the syringe into the catheter and pushes the plunger. He applies slow, gentle pressure, forcing the grayish liquid through the hollow needle.

  I aim my Quarter-bot’s cameras at Brittany’s face. Her eyes are open but unseeing. She doesn’t wince when Dad injects the nanobots into her. The grayish liquid is cold, and she must be feeling some discomfort as it flows into her arm, but she shows no reaction whatsoever, not even a reflex. That’s a bad sign. Her nervous system is failing. I hope we aren’t too late.

  I focus on the injection site and turn on my Quarter-bot’s ultrasonic sensor, which sends sound waves into Brittany’s right arm. This is the same technology that doctors use to look at babies in the womb. The sound waves penetrate Brittany’s arm, and their echoes reveal what’s inside. I can see her finger bones fanning out from her wrist, and all the muscles and tendons around them. I can also see the tip of the catheter embedded in a vein just beneath her skin. When I increase the sensor’s magnification, I can see the nanobots rushing out of the tube and into the blood vessel.

  According to my databases, which hold many gig
abytes of information about human biology, the nanobots are entering Brittany’s cephalic vein, one of the largest in her arm. The tiny machines mingle with her blood cells. Then the powerful current of her pulse propels the nanobots toward her heart. They flow up her arm, coursing past her elbow and around her biceps muscle.

  Dad takes his time, careful not to inject too many nanobots at once. After he pumps all the grayish liquid into Brittany, he removes the empty syringe from the catheter. Then he looks at my Quarter-bot. “Okay, the nanobots are in her bloodstream and should be powered up. See if you can link to them.”

  I tune my Quarter-bot’s transmitter to the frequency of the radios inside the nanobots. My circuits vibrate with trepidation. I’m transmitting at the same frequency that Sigma used just a week ago to communicate with this hardware. Although the AI no longer exists, it still feels incredibly reckless to meddle with its machines. Thinking about it logically, I know I shouldn’t be worried. I checked and rechecked the nanobots and found nothing hazardous or suspicious in their electronics. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my life as a robot, it’s this: logic isn’t everything.

  After a couple of seconds, my radio establishes a link to the antennas on the microscopic machines. “The radio channel’s open,” I tell Dad. “More than three million of the nanobots are responding to my signals. No, make that four million. The last ones are powering up. And…we’re at five million. I’m ready to transfer my software to their circuits.”

  Dad wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. Then he picks up a handheld device that’s packed with radio equipment and has a screen like an iPhone. “This is a sensor that’ll track the position of the nanobot swarm. I’ll use it to follow your progress, but make sure you send me frequent updates over the radio. And let me know right away if you need more nanobots to get the job done.” He points at the table next to Brittany’s bed. Lying on it is a second syringe filled with grayish fluid. “There are another five million nanobots in that thing. If you run into any trouble, I can inject them in less than ten—”