by SL Huang
“Least let me help you,” begged Arthur.
“Yeah,” I said. “Good. I have to set it.”
“Set it?”
“Yeah.” It was why I’d dug out the bullet—my physical hyperawareness had revealed how it sat exactly where I needed the stupid bone to go. I’d do a crappier job setting the break than a doctor would, probably, but math was useful for all sorts of things. “You want to help? Brace me.”
“I ain’t think this is a good idea, Russell—”
“Help me or fuck off.” I’m eloquent when I’m in pain.
Arthur reluctantly did as I bid him, holding down my shoulders and anchoring my upper body against the wall. I grabbed above my right elbow with my left hand, did the calculations, closed my eyes, and braced myself. Two choices: slow and steady or fast and over with, and the math was the same either way.
I yanked.
I’d forgotten to bite down on something again. Checker and Pilar both rushed back into the room afraid I was dying.
I slumped against the wall, waiting for the world to stop distorting itself, and waved them off with my good hand, though even those muscles didn’t seem to be working well. My whole body throbbed, as if my nervous system had given up containing the searing mangle to my right arm. Everything felt raw and red and horrible, and I’d already taken as many of Miri’s over-the-counter painkillers as I dared.
Arthur moved against me, dressing the wound and splinting my arm. Checker had piled as many medical supplies as he could find next to us, which didn’t include much better options than gauze, ace bandages, a couple rudimentary first-aid kits, and some strong-smelling herbal balms Miri apparently swore by.
“Are you going to tell us what happened now?” came Checker’s voice, his worry pecking at my consciousness. I’d given them the basic rundown of events when I’d come in, but not the details. I hadn’t told them about the sniper.
“I got shot,” I said.
“Cas!” cried Checker.
I got lucky, I didn’t say.
I pushed my brain into working. “We have to find out who’s moving the chess pieces.” Chess. That was a pretty high-brow metaphor for me. I was proud of myself. “Ally Eight stole the tech, but then someone else stole the robots, and they’re using ’em as weapons. Who?” Robots as killing machines. I wondered if Liliana could be reprogrammed that way. I didn’t want to think about it.
“This is bad,” said Checker. “This is really, really, really, really bad.”
“I know it’s bad,” I said. “I’ve been shot.”
“No, I mean—well, yes, of course it’s bad that you got shot, but I mean the whole someone-using-androids-as-weapons thing. This is really bad. The mob rioting we’ve seen so far is nothing; now people are going to flip out—the government will be shutting down all AI research everywhere, just you wait, and every roboticist alive is suddenly going to be suspect; it’ll be a witch hunt—”
“I think we have bigger problems right now,” I said. The words were only a little slurred. I needed more pain meds.
“Bigger problems?” exclaimed Checker. “Bigger problems? All of AI is going to be a scapegoat for this! It’ll set research back fifty years! People are going to think robotics is—is dangerous!”
“Seems pretty dangerous to me,” said Arthur darkly.
“Yes, an extremely limited anthropomorphic robot is any sort of threat when we have Predator drones—”
“One thing being dangerous don’t mean they both ain’t,” said Arthur. He was threading a cutout piece of bed sheet around my arm to make a sling—gently, but every touch stabbed—and his tone was hooded.
Checker didn’t seem to notice. “But you’re talking about a threat of computerized violence! My point is that we already have ridiculously deadly robots! The ones like Liliana are barely more than—barely more than toasters in comparison. In terms of violence, I mean; obviously the natural language processing’s better than a toaster—”
“Toasters ain’t look like us,” said Arthur.
“If looking like us is the scary part, you should be more scared of other humans,” Checker argued. “All an android can do is what it’s programmed to. It can’t react to new situations, or plan a crime, or have any sort of motivation for violence—”
“Or have remorse or second thoughts,” said Arthur. He tightened the knot on my sling and wheeled tiredly around to face Checker. “Come on now. The thing that stops people killing each other ain’t the thought that killing might be too hard. The ’bots, they got no…no compunction. No empathy. You can’t reason with them. I get why people’ll want ’em stopped.”
I thought, briefly, of Rio.
“Well, they’re programmed to mimic empathy and reason, so you can still sort of manipulate the AI, if you know how,” said Checker. “Unless someone overrides those algorithms…but saying the technology’s at fault here is like saying internal combustion is at fault for a hit and run. You want to ban cars next?”
“Robots don’t kill people, people kill people?” I muttered sarcastically.
“Cas, I’m serious! We have to get out in front of this!”
“What do you expect me to do?” I managed to wrest my eyes around to look up at him. It was an effort. “Seriously. What do you want us to do here?”
He threw his arms wide. “I don’t know! But we have to do something!”
“He’s right.”
I rolled my eyes the other way. Rayal had come over to stand behind Arthur. Her eyes were wet, the skin below them puffy and shadowed. “Losing what Arkacite was doing—that will be enough of a blow. We can’t let everyone else be taken down, too.”
I was starting to feel very hemmed in. Wasn’t being shot supposed to make people be nice to me for a while? “I thought you hated Arkacite,” I said.
“What?” she said, taken aback. “No, not at all. I—when I left, that was about me, not them. We were doing great things there, tremendous things, and my team…” More tears leaked out over her cheeks; she sniffed and dabbed at her face with the hem of her sleeve. “Look at what we did. We built something amazing, something nobody’s ever—and we couldn’t have done that without Arkacite. They gave us free rein; they took a chance on us—they had no idea how it would turn out, and they gave us the time and the funding to figure it out, and…we did something great.”
“Yeah, Lau strikes me as an accommodating sort of boss,” I said.
“Him? He was just a manager. He liked to think he had a part to play, but he wasn’t an engineer.” She got quiet. “Universities can’t do everything. The world needs more companies like Arkacite. More of the research we were doing. There are so few industry labs left that do real research.”
I thought about Grant’s deathbed confession about stealing Funaki’s secrets to base the company’s work on. Rayal was probably happier not knowing that.
“I kind of agree,” said Pilar. I hadn’t realized she was still hovering. I wrenched myself around to look at her, and she twitched under the scrutiny but didn’t back down. “I mean, I—I hated working there—they were awful to me—but that was mostly because of, um, certain people. The technology, it was fascinating, like they were building the future. They were working on things like self-driving cars and 3D cameras and honest-to-God invisibility stuff—and they were trying for inventions that would help police, like a frequency thingamajiggy that would help break up mobs in situations just like what happened today, and brain interfacing machines for people who’ve been injured. And Liliana…I dunno, I’ve been spending a lot of time with her, and she’s something. Really something.” A smile tugged at her face, and she shrugged self-consciously. “I guess I’m just trying to say, in a lot of ways they might’ve sucked, but Denise is right. What they were doing—it was like working in Back to the Future or something. Except with a miserable boss.”
“I still don’t know what you all want me to do about it,” I said. “We don’t even know who’s weaponizing the ’bots.”
&nbs
p; “So we find another one and kidnap it, like we were planning to do with Sloan,” said Checker. “Cas, with your help I’m sure we can get the recognition algorithm to work. We find any other ’bots out there, and Denise can figure out who’s using them as weapons, and then we can stop them.”
“No,” I said. Nobody else was getting hurt on my watch. Maybe later there would be breathing room for investigating and fighting back, but there was a time to play detective and a time to get innocent people who couldn’t even handle a gun out of the fucking crosshairs. “No. We run.”
In the silence, one of the laptops trilled.
Checker grabbed at it and looked up at Denise. “It’s Vikash Agarwal calling back.”
Agarwal—the one scientist on her team who hadn’t been at Arkacite.
“Answer it!” said Rayal, rushing over.
“You can tell him Arthur will pick him up, too,” I muttered. “Seeing as we’re now an inn for wayward scientists.” We’d get him out with Denise. The mob and whoever was behind Sloan’s assassinations would have no one left to come after.
Checker hit a key.
“Vikash?” cried Denise. “Vikash, tell me you’re all right. Did you hear what—did you hear?” Her voice cracked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I did. Denise, did you manage to find those people you told me about? The ones who stole our Liliana?”
“Yes, they’re—it’s a long story, but yes.”
“Oh,” he said. “Good. I need her.”
Rayal blinked. “What are you talking about? Vikash, someone is targeting us, all of us. You have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” he snapped. “Not anymore.”
Arthur stood up slowly and went to stand next to Denise.
“I just meant…Vikash, where are you? We can help—”
“You always tried to be so helpful.” He sighed. “You were a good project leader. You can come with me if you want.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rayal. “You have a plan?”
“Of course I have a plan. I always have a plan. I have ten thousand contingency plans for every event, every branching. Exponential preparedness. It’s why you liked me, isn’t it? Every time one of the others fucked up, I had a plan. Me.”
“Vikash—don’t, not now—they’re dead.” Her voice shook, and her eyes overflowed again.
“Yes,” he said coldly. “Truth value, correct. They are.”
She winced. “Can’t you leave the past…”
“Do you know what I think is one of the only unforgivable sins?” said Agarwal conversationally. “Plagiarism. Plagiarism and censorship. Those are inexcusable. People can have a reason for murder, you know.”
“Vikash, we dealt with this—”
“It was Arkacite’s culture, wasn’t it? They encouraged it. Publish or perish—but in our case, it was develop or perish, and steal from your colleagues if you have to. You and I, we were ninety-nine percent of the innovation, but no, other people wanted some credit, too, they said it was fair—they didn’t like me, did they? So no problem to put their names on my work. Except you, of course, but you were always smarter than they were. Were you smart enough to figure out how much Arkacite stole, I wonder? How much we worked off the backs of other people’s property? You were always so innocent, with your dreams of a better future.”
Rayal straightened up, very slowly. “Or maybe I think all research should be shared anyway.”
“Without credit?” Agarwal roared. A bang sounded from the speaker. “Don’t try to play a hippie liberal copyleft card here; you know the difference! You’re smarter than that! You’re smart enough to understand the truth!”
“Yes,” said Rayal, and my breath caught at the coldness in her voice. I hadn’t known she was capable of that tone. “Yes, I am smart enough.”
Agarwal was silent.
“I think I understand a lot of things,” said Rayal, with that same harsh frigidity. “I think Funaki Industries offered you a job on the condition that you brought Liliana and all the behavioral research we’d put into her. I think you were the leak, that you’ve been feeding them our research for years as retaliation for what you see as the moral wrong of us stealing theirs.” Her voice held the slightest tremor on those last words—I was right; she hadn’t realized, not until now. “I think you knew about their plans to cause mass AI hysteria in the United States, and maybe you even helped them out—or maybe they didn’t need you; their roboticists are just as good as ours. I think their goal was to get AI research shut down in the States so they could corner the market, and their methods weren’t extreme enough for you. I think you told the rabid McCabe-followers exactly who was artificial and used the mobs to cover up your crime, and I think you killed people you’d worked with for over a decade in a fit of petty jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” cried Agarwal. “Me, jealous of them? This wasn’t jealousy, it was justice—”
He stopped.
Rayal’s voice rose. “You commit murder and you gut the support for science funding in the US just so you can—what, win? Funaki isn’t going to want you anymore after this, no matter how much they hated us at Arkacite—you turned your technology into a killing machine; you’re insane; you don’t deserve to be called a scientist!”
There was a beat of total silence.
Then we heard an angry rustling, and everyone jerked back as a large video window appeared with a close-up of Agarwal’s face, his eyes wild, his skin smudged with dirt and sweat, his wiry black hair in disarray. “Can you see me? Do you see me, Denise? I am the future of humanity. I am! You know what it is to look at everyone else, at their stupid, meaningless little lives, at their petty problems and logical fallacies, and know that it all means nothing, that they’re nothing—less than nothing! I will rebuild this world—I will—and I will do a better job than any politician, any bureaucrat, any two-faced, lying Wall Street CEO or schmuck born into a trust fund, and the people will love me for it!”
“I’m not giving you Liliana,” said Denise. “Whatever you want her for—I’m not giving her to you.”
Agarwal started to laugh, the sound building, slow and malicious. “Well, what did we say, about me always having a backup plan?”
He moved aside and adjusted the camera to focus on a wilted, bleeding figure tied to a chair.
Lau.
They took him, Grant had said. She hadn’t been talking about the Sloan robot.
“You think humanity is worth something?” ranted Agarwal. “Then I dare you to a trade. I want our ’bot; you get him back. You never liked him much, did you? None of us did. Would you like to see his brain matter spattered all over the floor? If the answer is yes, then join the new regime with me.” He grinned broadly, the smile all too-wide angles. “If not, then give me our work, and you’ll get him in return. Not a very fair trade, I admit, but let’s see what you think.”
The video blinked out.
CHAPTER 29
“WE CAN’T do it,” said Pilar. She sounded like she was near tears. “She’s a scared little girl—”
Checker was pressing a hand to his eyes. “No,” he said. “She isn’t.”
“Here’s a thought,” said Arthur. “How about we call the cops? We just got video of him kidnapping someone.”
“The cops are after both Liliana and Rayal in the first place,” I said tiredly.
“It doesn’t matter.” Denise’s voice was muffled. She had sunk into one of Miri’s chairs after the phone interview, hunched over, her face in her hands again, but this time her hands were shaking. She slowly raised her head and spoke to us. “Vikash is—he’s one of the smartest people I ever—no matter what we try, he’ll have a plan. If we call the police, he’ll have a plan. If we try to double-cross him, he’ll have a plan.”
“I’m pretty smart, too,” I said.
“But you’re also injured, and—” Arthur took a shuddering breath. “I think we got an elephant in the room here. Liliana, she ain’t…you all tell me she
ain’t human. The guy he got is.”
None of us said anything. Pilar found something riveting to study on the floor.
“She’s just a kid,” I whispered. Checker didn’t correct me this time.
“I dunno nothing about this stuff,” said Arthur. “I gotta trust what you guys say. Russell, you tell me honestly—you think this girl got a—a soul?”
My throat was dry, and the pain in my arm was making it difficult to think. “I don’t even know what that means,” I said.
“She’s not sentient. You know that.” Checker still hadn’t looked up, but I knew he was talking to me. “Ye gods, she’s not even the most advanced computer we have today; it’s only that she looks human, that she’s been programmed to interact with us—Cas, you know that.”
“He’s right,” said Rayal.
Pilar made a small, unhappy noise.
“I don’t want to be the bad guy here,” said Checker, “but this—I’m sorry; I don’t see how this is even a question. I know Lau’s an ass—I do—but he’s a person.”
“And if we could prove she were conscious? Would you still say that?” I wanted the words to be ornery, argumentative, but they came out weak and tight. “That just because she’s not built like us, she deserves to die?”
Checker recoiled as if I’d slapped him. “That’s not what this is,” he pleaded. “This isn’t—she isn’t, she isn’t what you’re talking about.”
“How do we know? If the programming is sufficiently advanced, how can we say it’s any different from conscious thought?”
“Because you know the math!” Checker said. “You know how she works.”
“And why does that mean anything?” I countered bitterly. “What if some higher intelligence understood the science behind human beings? All we are is very sophisticated slot machines, only biological ones!”
“Are you telling me if she were a smartphone, or a tablet—with all the same programming—would we honestly still be having this discussion?” Checker sounded anguished. “I don’t want to turn her over to him—I don’t—she’s an amazing piece of technology, and it tears me up to think of her dissected or destroyed, but—you can’t tell me that she’s worth a human life!”
