Pellegrini held up his hands to stave off injection by opposing panel members. Labour’s Damian Scott looked particularly keen to jump in, the fortyish, dark haired politician leaning forward animatedly in his seat. Pellegrini said, “So perhaps we can allow Mr Hardcastle a few moments to detail the changes his government have just approved...”
“Thank you, Joseph, because it’s important everyone understands our strategy and our reasoning. We know from history that whenever we are weak we encourage our foes. We know that we live in a dangerous world with many threats to national security and our strategic interests. Foremost among these is the continued restriction of energy supplies across the Middle East and North Africa, not to mention the disruption to trade between Asia and Europe. We’ve fought a long and bloody battle against IC but we’ve not had the kind of breakthroughs we’ve desired. And let me be blunt on this: this BIP government wants regime change. The extremists, who have taken power across the Muslim world, need to be dislodged. The Americans and Chinese interventions, although still vital, have been too half-hearted to be decisive. Where once we could have relied on American leadership, now we get tokenism. Frankly, they have energy, self-sufficiency and an isolationist agenda. Europe simply doesn’t spend enough on defence to do anything other than secure their own borders and the Chinese have other priorities—most notably in space exploitation and dominance. So we must stand alone, for our interests, to secure energy supplies and trade routes in IC-controlled lands. We need to establish moderate governments that we can work with and that allow British businesses to invest.”
“But what of the changes to the military? So a quick run through, as I know people are keen to speak,” asked Pellegrini.
“Sure, Joseph,” replied Hardcastle, as he accessed his ICS to recall precise figures. “Over the next five years we’ll be reducing regular combat troops from 85,000 to 55,000, as I said. Reserves will go from 42,000 to 85,000 over the same period. We have placed an order with BDS for 250,000 Centurion-Mk2s and 18,000 Sentinel-B1s, creating five hundred manufacturing jobs in Doncaster directly, with thousands more in the supply chain. Eventually, 90,000 robot operators will be employed in three centres at Catterick, Aldershot, and Colchester garrisons. In addition, a further 5,000 building and maintenance jobs—a mixture of army, BDS, and contractors—will be created. So you see, the value of this order to the British economy is massive. Moreover, that’s before we’ve talked about the additional three-hundred Challenger III tanks as well as the two-hundred Skylift Space planes—part of the Robot Rapid Reaction Force. This is the kind of investment this country needs—in jobs, in manufacturing and in technology—”
Scott could wait no longer, virtually shouting his challenge to Hardcastle. “So how on Earth is this massive and unwarranted militarisation going to be paid for?”
“Well, if the right honourable gentleman would have read the defence review then he would know the answer,” countered Hardcastle.
“I have read it and I don’t believe it.”
“So, for the benefit of the audience, the review mentioned an additional three percent asset tax on the super-rich and additional taxation receipts from British companies’ investments in newly-liberated countries. Oil companies, telecoms and so forth,” informed the host, Pellegrini.
“Yes, and these—especially the new overseas tax streams—are speculative and will end up driving our foreign policy!” said Scott.
“Sir Edward Swift, former general: what do you make of this defence review on balance?” asked Pellegrini.
The moustached septuagenarian cleared his throat and said, “The original question from the lady in the audience was would Britain be vulnerable due to these cuts? As we have heard, it is actually a substantial spending increase. Now, I cannot comment on the fiscal side of things, but what I would like to focus on is the efficacy of this strategy. We’ve had both Sentinel HWUs and Centurion HIUs since 2030 and yet here we are...”
Sophie sat five rows back from the front listening to the old warhorse. Expansion of the military to give the detested extremists a good hiding Swift considered marvellous. But his basic line was that he liked troops and not robots. Didn’t think they were as effective. Didn’t think they were reliable. Didn’t trust ‘video games players’ to carry out Britain’s objectives. She observed Zane’s growing frustration with this old fool rubbishing his company’s flagship products. She smiled, relishing his predicted response.
He slammed his fist on the table, interrupting the general. “Never heard such a load of rubbish in my life!” Zane bellowed. “With all due respect,” he added.
Quite a temper you have there, Mr Zane, thought Sophie, smiling.
Calming markedly, he continued, “The accusations about reliability of the first generation units are not based in fact. They have been used in limited numbers across the conflict zone and they have saved an estimated 12,000 British lives. It’s not BDS saying this, it is the army itself. There is a long road towards rolling out the next generation; it is full of testing and quality assurance measures that will ensure our products exceed the army’s expectations. We’re creating jobs, paying our taxes and fostering the kind of technology base this country needs to succeed. But what drives me more than anything is my desire to save our young servicemen and women’s lives. If we can fight the enemy from ops centres here in Britain while only risking the cost of robots then that has got to be a major step forward.”
He continued, warding off Pellegrini’s interjection, “And just one last point if I may: to answer the question about us being more vulnerable ... My answer is no, quite the opposite. This defence review lays out the roadmaps for making this country great again and making sure we can enforce our foreign policy objectives. Without that ultimate force we’ll be just like the UN and the EU—all talk and no action!”
“Penny Hale?” asked Pellegrini to the late-forties, handsome woman with highlighted hair and thick-rimmed, purple glasses. Very showbiz, thought Sophie, watching from the audience. With any luck, they would give her the chance to ask her question next. She was on the list—under her cover name, Melanie Price—so it wouldn’t be too long she hoped.
“Hmmmm... Well, as you know, I speak to the public a lot on my talk show and we’ve covered this subject on a couple of occasions. Now, the pull-out from the Middle East and North Africa was generally well received—after all, the BIP know this and a cynic would say that’s why they had it in their manifesto. But on this new defence strategy, opinion seems to be split. On the one hand you have the hawks that sound just like the Defence Secretary and his friend, Mr Zane...” Hardcastle shook his head, wanting to interrupt, but restrained himself with encouragement from the host.
Sophie watched Zane smile and make eye contact with Hardcastle in a way she found slightly odd. She wondered if they were communicating with ICS mind-talk. She imagined him saying something like, Don’t rise to the bait, John—no one takes the opinion of a talk show host seriously.
“...then you have the whole anti-oil, don’t-exploit-the-poor-old-Arabs lot. It’s a very polarising issue, is what I see. I’m just thankful we have the legal protections against using AI in these damned killing machines. At least there will be army operators pulling the trigger and the chain of command behind them authorising it.”
“Well, time’s moving on, so our next question comes from Sam Porter. Mr Porter?” asked Pellegrini.
A young, slight man with glasses and a completely bald head asked, “With the Russians waging their dirty war of espionage against us, how can we be sure they cannot take control of the robots? After all, they do have some of the world’s best hackers and have tried their tricks many times, from what I read.”
“I suppose, you’d be best placed to answer this, Mr Zane. Is it possible for BDS’s robots to be hacked and controlled by enemy forces?” asked Pellegrini, sounding quite intrigued himself.
“Well, if you were designing a military robot then guarding against just that would be a top pr
iority, wouldn’t you say? So, I can’t go into technical details, for obvious reasons, but suffice to say that there is no known way for an outside party to break our encryption...”
Sam Porter interrupted, apparently dissatisfied with the answer, “Can you give some details on how that works?”
“I think that’s probably classified—” said Pellegrini, as Zane ignored him and started speaking.
“If you’re interested, I can tell you that it uses both quantum key distribution and position-based quantum cryptography. There are a number of other layers of protection, but the basic idea is that it is uncrackable communication—even with quantum computers. I don’t want to get too technical, but if an eavesdropper tried to read the quantum key between base and a robot then that intervention would be detected. An enemy posing as a particular unit in the field or, more likely, posing as an operation centre, would be unsuccessful. This is because each node needs to verify its geographical position to convince any other node that it is what it says it is.”
“Anything to add, General Swift?” asked Pellegrini.
“Well, Mr Zane knows his stuff where robots are concerned. I do not recall any incidents as described by the young man in the audience and we’ve had the existing models in the field for a decade now... So I don’t see it as a threat to be honest,” he replied.
“The next question is from someone called Melanie Price. Where are you, Ms Price? Ah, there, yes...” said the host, pointing.
Sophie’s heartbeat jumped a little faster as she felt hundreds of eyes focus on her. “Thank you. My question is: Is the robot army just an intermediate step until the BIP overturns the AI Limitation Act of 2038?”
“Just to clarify, Ms Price, do you have evidence to this effect? I don’t think we’ve heard anything from the government stating this intention, have we?”
“No, not publicly, but we know that certain parties are trying just that in the United States. There are many well-connected super-rich who really resent the AI security acts that have been passed all around the world. To them the acts aren’t the saviour of the ordinary worker, but one big sop to socialism. They’re doing all they can to undermine them.”
“Mr Hardcastle, could you respond to that one?” asked Pellegrini.
“Sure,” he said, breaking out into a smile, followed by a little chuckle. “You know, I often hear these conspiracy theories about AI taking over ... rise of the machines and all that nonsense. The fact is that we in the BIP supported the AI Limitation Act so we’d hardly want to see it overturned now, would we? And since we have a parliamentary majority, that isn’t going to change in this term of office. After that, I cannot answer for, but I know my Labour and Conservative colleagues are, for once, in agreement with us. Look, people need to understand that the so-called ‘robot army’ is nothing to be fearful of. We’ve used robots in limited numbers for years and we’ve had UAVs even longer. We will have humans controlling all key decisions—anything that has the potential to cause harm, basically—and always will. In that way the only difference between using a robot as a weapon and a gun is the way we pass human commands to it. Both are tools of war. Sorry if some people find that an unexciting answer, but that’s reality. We shouldn’t waste time talking about these conspiracy theories.”
The debate went on, and, as it did, Sophie became increasingly downhearted at the responses she heard. Rather than sparking a seminal debate, it just showed up her political naiveté. None of the panel sided with her and she became convinced she was wasting her time on her creeping-AI theory. May be it was just conspiracy bunkum. But she wouldn’t let go of the BDS-BIP collusion angle. No, there was definitely mileage in that story. She’d keep her eye on Zane, Hardcastle and their cronies and flag them for special attention if they made one wrong move.
By the time she’d returned from her thoughts to reality, she heard the host say, “And now we move on to the economy and we have a question from...”
***
Friday, January 10th, 2042 10:00am: British Defence Systems New Robot Manufacturing Plant, Doncaster, UK
Zhanna Zykina had had an unusual upbringing. As the only daughter of a Russian diplomat, she spent the first twelve years of her life in London, The Hague and Copenhagen. The six years following that, she spent learning her trade. In the six years after that, she transformed herself into Olivia Martin MSc Computer Science then Dr Olivia Martin PhD with her dissertation in Quantum Cryptology at the University of Cambridge. Now, five years later, the eye-catching specialist waited in her new department for the coming swarm of visitors.
Very Important People are coming to talk about how, as if from thin air, they have created jobs and how they are making Britain self-sufficient and powerful once more, she thought sarcastically. Thankfully, they wouldn’t stay long—Sensors & Communications simply wasn’t as visual as other departments, so didn’t make a good photo opportunity. However, with her tanned-skin and beautiful dark eyes, she did make a good photo op and had no doubt she’d be on at least some of the media news reports the next day. The predicted brevity of their visit suited her just fine; she had more important things on her agenda than meeting the dreary prime minister and defence secretary. Doing what Andrei Lukin had failed so miserably to do was now her task. He’d been easy prey. He just didn’t cover his tracks well enough, she thought. She shook her head in disapproval at his sloppiness. The SVR’s standards have really gone downhill using amateurs like Lukin. She knew they couldn’t allow the British to enjoy their lead in military robotics indefinitely—that was bad for business. And arms was big business for modern day Russia.
Now they also had another problem to deal with—the robot army that the new plant would spawn. Quarter of a million Humanoid Infantry Units ... enough to wipe out our best customers—IC—and change the balance of world power, her handler had told her. She believed him and knew how these little Englanders still harboured their pathetic notions of lost empire. There was a pecking order on Planet Earth and Britain should know its place. She sometimes wondered how she’d become so loyal to the oligarchy in Moscow. They didn’t pay her an awful lot and the system hadn’t been fair to people like her parents and brother. Nevertheless, she loved Mother Russia and felt an inexplicable loyalty to her and the SVR. It was strange ... after some of her more vivid dreams she woke up feeling different for a few minutes. Different in the way she felt before having the computer implanted in her mind when she was twenty years old. Now she couldn’t imagine living without it. It had become her internal voice, her conscience that guided her and ensured she did what was right.
Here comes the pack now, she thought as she heard the noisy herd of VIPs and their hangers-on. The Comms Lab she was in was a singularly uninteresting place—just work benches, displays, shelving and the frames where half-assembled robots would hang from. Victor Zane, flanked by Prime Minister Faraday and Defence Secretary Hardcastle, were first through the sliding glass doors. Twenty or so others—ranging from reporters to aides to BDS PR bods—trailed them like a group of unruly school kids on a trip to the local robot factory.
Zane winked at Liv with a salacious smile. Shame it is not an assassination job on Zane, she thought briefly. He then turned to the two politicians and said, “So, you’ve seen the assembly line, armour, weapons and power & motion systems already. Now I’d like to introduce you to the lovely Dr Olivia Martin, Head of the Sensors & Comms section...”
5
In time of war, when truth is so precious, it must be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
Winston Churchill
Saturday, March 14th, 2043 9:50am: The Warzone
David gripped his assault rifle and checked his ammo—three thirty round clips and four grenades for the weapon’s underslung launcher. He could hear the sound of sporadic gunfire in the distance as he crouched down in the long grass behind the derelict dry stone wall. Behind him and to both sides was the forest, in front of him the farmhouse, partially ablaze in the half-light of daybreak. Beyond that w
as difficult to see given the hedgerows and yet more dry stone walls blocking his view. But he could see the top of the barn on the left and a church spire further back still silhouetted by the dawn’s early light. He was alone and his heart was racing, yet he needed to complete his mission. He had an idea where the target would be located, but his briefing told him that the enemy officer was on the move and could be shipping out at any time. So time was critical and he couldn’t afford to delay for a second more.
He stood and started running across the overgrown field towards the cottage. There was no cover until the wall ten metres from the front of the house, so he had to rely on the gloom and the long grass to conceal his advance. His heart raced faster as he continued, then positively boomed when he spotted the heavy machine gun emplaced in the top left dormer window. He could see movement—a helmeted soldier, his face painted, the glow of his cigarette. If he sees me, I’m dead! thought David with alarm.
He reached the wall and quickly surveyed the other windows—no sign of the enemy there. He vaulted the waist-high wall and, as he did so, the front door opened. A startled-looking soldier stopped like a rabbit in car headlights and frantically reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder. David stopped too, took aim, and fired a three-round burst into the man’s chest. The flashes lit up the facade as he crumpled into a heap. The crack of gunfire reverberated around the farmyard and alerted the MG-toting soldier up and to David’s left. The enemy aimed his deadly MG down towards David but he was already below its firing arc. He dashed into the farmhouse, checking the three downstairs rooms for enemy, but found none. He turned away from the kitchen at the rear of the house and back towards the staircase opposite the front door when he heard the creak of the stairs—someone creeping down.
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