Artificial Evolution

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Can you guys get up here on your own? I don’t know how long a jury-rigged tractor beam is going to hold off these things,” he cried out over the sound of thrashing robotic legs.

  “Up you go, hon,” Silo said, pinning the bottom of the ladder beneath her foot and hoisting the reporter as far up as she could manage.

  Michella, one lens of her glasses shattered and the other missing, moved almost mechanically as she climbed the ladder. She was more on autopilot than fully conscious. When she was near enough, Lex hauled her up and coaxed her into the passenger seat. He turned to offer the same hand to Silo, but with a screech of metal a flying Gen-Mech shot past him and gouged its way into the plating of the SOB. Before it could deploy its torch and start doing any serious damage, Lex charged up to it and delivered a thrust kick, which… failed to budge the machine so much as a centimeter. It did, however, turn its attention to him. It slashed with one leg and caught his flight suit. The attack tore open a pocket, as well as a wide gash in his leg. From inside the pocket spilled the handful of Poison Pills he’d snagged before setting off on his mission. Thinking quickly, he snatched one up and waved it in front of the Gen-Mech.

  “See it? See it? Go get it!” he yelled, hurling the gadget back toward the rest of the robots.

  His current opponent took to the air and streaked toward the device. Before any of the others could catch their scent, he grabbed the remaining Pills and tossed them as far as he could. With a worried glance at the steadily advancing horde of robots, he called back down to Silo.

  “Hurry up! We’re looking at maybe another ten seconds, tops,” Lex said.

  “Can you fly with the cockpit open and the ladder down?” Silo asked, looking up.

  “I think so.”

  She hooked one arm and both legs through the ladder, grabbed Ronzone’s belt, and looked back to him. “Get moving then!”

  Lex didn’t waste time trying to suggest a saner alternative, he just slid into the pilot’s seat and guided the ship up as gently as he could. For the moment the nearby robots were more interested in the recently reintroduced Poison Pill effect. He expanded the shields as far as he could, then reactivated them.

  Outside the ship, even with Silo’s gravitationally enhanced strength, it was all she could do to keep her grip against the acceleration. Ronzone’s brain was slowly returning to functionality after the tank explosion, or else he probably would have been screaming like a lunatic. Instead he stared in confusion at the ground that was dropping quickly away. The shields flickered to life as a dull blue glow just a few centimeters from his dangling face. The lower rungs of the safety ladder shimmered and flashed, then were sheared away as the shields fully engaged.

  “Have you got us on sensors?” Lex barked into his communicator.

  “Affirmative. Tracking your location. Arbiter’s payload is calibrated and sensors indicate all remaining Gen-Mechs are within the predicted blast radius. Maintain your present course and we will inform you of when you have reached minimum safe radius,” Paltrowe replied.

  Lex watched the mayhem slowly retreat in his rear viewer. As the danger and intensity began to taper off, he could feel the throb of pain in his leg begin to force its way through his exhilaration. The postadrenaline crash swept over him as his body decided to collect on all the hours of sleep it was owed. He was fighting to keep his eyes open by the time he heard the words “Ordnance deployed” blare out of his com system.

  He brought the ship to a gradual stop and let Silo drop to the ground before pivoting to face the point of light descending from above. He landed a few moments before it did and forced himself to focus on where he knew the robots to be. The bomb met the surface and produced a silent flash of light that made the tank explosion seem like a flicker in comparison. The whole of the marsh, hundreds of kilometers in all directions, was suddenly as bright as day, the slightest dips and mounds producing black shadows amid an ocean of brilliant white soil. Debris was thrown almost into orbit. The flash died away, leaving only a dull glow of superheated ground, then nearly a minute later the sound hit, along with the lingering edge of the shock wave. It was an apocalyptic roar, almost painfully loud even at their extreme distance. “Safe radius” had obviously not been defined with auditory health in mind. The rumble turned into a whistle, then into silence, and then slowly into a rushing hiss as their ears recovered.

  “Repeat, please respond,” came the order from the Teeker ship.

  “Yeah… yeah, we’re here,” Lex said. “Did it work?”

  “Sensors indicate no trace of Gen-Mech communication signatures. Further bombardment has been placed on hold pending further orders. A response team is on its way to your location to administer medical treatment and remand you into custody.”

  Lex let the words seep into his head.

  “Custody?” he said.

  He didn’t like that word, but the medical treatment part seemed nice. Out of habit, he worked through what it would take to make a clean getaway. He’d have to cram Michella and Silo into the cockpit, get past whatever was left of the blockade, then spend at least a few hours at FTL before attempting to find a hospital that would be willing to treat them without asking too many questions. His brain ran this by his body for a vote, but his body made a compelling counteroffer: pass out and worry about the whole thing later.

  “Uh… yeah, that sounds good, I’ll… I’ll be…”

  The sentence trailed off into an incoherent mumble as a deep black sleep claimed his brain.

  Epilogue

  Three days had passed since the bomb dropped and the Gen-Mechs were wiped out. For Lex, they had been remarkably uneventful. In the beginning that was refreshing. He spent the first twenty hours alternately sleeping and undergoing medical treatment for the gash in his leg and a few other accumulated injuries. The military surgeons repeatedly assured him that the leg wound was a “lottery injury.” A few millimeters in either direction and he might have bled out before they could reach him.

  Once the various holes in his body had been patched, though, the captivity began to grate on him. His current home was some sort of military rehab facility on Movi. The place seemed to be composed entirely of synthetic fabric, particleboard furniture, and beige paint. His room had a bed, a desk, which also served the purpose of a dinner table, a window facing the jungle, and a frosted-glass door that gave him some measure of privacy. There was a medium-size flatscreen on one wall as well, but it was mostly for show, since they had disconnected the data from it. Steps had been taken to prevent him from feeling like a prisoner, which he appreciated. After all, they had given him clean clothes to wear, and rather than a high-visibility jumpsuit, he had an assortment of T-shirts and jeans from a nearby department store that the owner had stubbornly refused to abandon. The food was good too, and they trusted him with knives and forks rather than the flimsy plastic spork he’d anticipated. On the other hand, his slidepad had been taken away, and they didn’t provide him with the most crucial element of the whole not-feeling-like-a-prisoner mentality: permission to leave.

  There were far too many other things to take care of before freedom could be considered. Debriefings, for example. A conga line of military bureaucrats, arranged in order of ascending importance, all asked him to describe his involvement in “the recent incident.” First, they asked about what he had done. Then they asked what the others had done. Michella, Silo, and Ronzone must have been getting the same treatment, because by the third day they were mentioning minor discrepancies between stories and requesting explanations. At no point was he allowed to speak to any of the other members of the group. This, he was informed, was standard procedure for debriefings. He made a mental note to ask how that differed from, for instance, interrogations.

  It was now morning on the fourth day. Lex was working on a plate of scrambled eggs and engaging in what had become his primary pastime, trying to locate and destroy the mosquito that had gotten into his room. His head twisted to the side, trying to localize the maddenin
g hum of tiny wings.

  “Gah!” he grunted, swiping his hand by his ear. “You’d think a planet that’s half jungle and half swamp would have worked out a way to keep the mosquitos under control.”

  He closed his eyes and tried to hone his ninjalike insect-detection skills when a new sound joined the mix. It was a quiet scratching sound. He turned to the door and spotted a fuzzy little silhouette pawing at the bottom.

  “Squee?” he said.

  An excited yip came in reply, and the little creature started scratching at the door far more enthusiastically.

  “Sorry, little lady. If I could open the door I would, but the button’s on your side. So—”

  Squee crouched down, wriggled her hindquarters, and jumped at the wall beside the door. There was a bleep, and the door slid open. The little creature came trotting in and promptly leaped to Lex’s shoulders to assault his cheek and ear with licks. Lex wisely decided to put his foot in the door before indulging his pet with well-deserved and long-overdue rubs.

  “You are one whacked-out escape artist, you know that?” he said, scratching between her ears. He leaned out the doorway and looked up and down the hall. There was no one present. “Hello?” he said warily.

  No answer. He ran through a few daring escape scenarios, but his mental simulations all came to a sudden halt once he got to the part where they had guns and he didn’t. It turned out to quickly become a moot point as a pair of voices echoed up the hallway.

  “I’m pretty sure it came this way. I can’t believe it got out again,” the first voice stated. “You must not have shut the door tight.”

  “I didn’t just shut it, I locked it. The stupid thing just keeps opening it again,” the second voice said.

  Both voices sounded like they belonged to first-year cadets, just a bit more youthful and less formal than the seasoned soldiers who usually delivered his meals.

  “Locked it,” said the first, dubiously. “As in with a key code? You’re trying to tell me that this thing entered in a key code to get out?”

  The two soldiers turned the corner to find Lex leaning in the doorway, Squee on his shoulders. They were sure enough on the young and inexperienced side of the military spectrum. Crew cuts, crisp uniforms, and not quite enough discipline. Upon seeing Lex, they froze and put their hands to the conspicuous holsters on their hips.

  “She likes keypads,” Lex said. “You need a mechanical lock if you want to keep her in.”

  “How did you get out?” the first young man.

  “Like I said,” Lex said, indicating the pad beside the door. “She likes keypads. I guess you’ll be wanting me to step back inside?”

  “Uh… no, no, Mr. Alexander,” said the first soldier, taking his hand from his weapon but glancing at his friend in a not-so-subtle signal to keep a weapon handy. “We were actually on our way to get you when we noticed your… pet had escaped. The captain would like a word with you. This way, please.”

  He began to lead the way down the hall. Lex followed with the second soldier bringing up the rear, fingers still resting on the grip of his pistol. The first soldier, a man with the name Fleck embroidered on his shirt, looked anxiously toward Lex every few seconds, as though he was perpetually on the verge of speaking.

  “Something on your mind?” Lex asked.

  “Mr. Alexander, is it true you were the one flying that ship that made it through the quarantine a few days ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you learn to fly like that?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had a number of professions, all of which require a degree of flight skill to avoid dying. Not dying is usually enough of a motivator to get good at just about anything.”

  “That’s not very helpful advice.”

  “Well, you guys have been holding me prisoner for a few days. I didn’t think I’d be serving anyone in an advisory role.”

  “You aren’t a prisoner, Mr. Alexander, you’re a detainee,” Fleck said, stopping to bleep open another door.

  “What’s the difference between a prisoner and a detainee?” Lex asked.

  “Due process, that’s what!” Michella said, marching out of the room and glowering at Fleck. “We are being held here without trial and without charges! Being questioned without right to an attorney!”

  She continued to bellow at and browbeat Fleck while he looked increasingly like a startled puppy. After letting it continue for a few seconds, Lex attempted to interject.

  “Mitch.”

  “—travesty of justice! And another thing—”

  “Mitch!”

  “—without formally declared martial law—”

  “Mitch!”

  “What is it, Trevor?” Michella snapped.

  “Remember what happened during those protests in college, and then back at Tessera after the Neo-Luddites struck?”

  “You mean the last two times we were unfairly oppressed by authority figures overstepping their bounds and damaging our civil liberties?”

  “Yeah, and then one or both of us spent time in jail that was directly proportionate to the amount of screaming and yelling you’d done?”

  “… That’s what happens when you speak truth to power.”

  “Well, maybe this time let’s wait until we hear what power has to say before we speak truth to it.”

  Michella shot him daggers but crossed her arms and reluctantly remained silent. Fleck offered a glance of gratitude, then continued toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

  “Is Silo going to be a part of this, too?” Lex asked.

  “The soldier? No. The captain wants to talk to the civilians and soldiers separately,” Fleck said.

  Michella opened her mouth but reluctantly held her tongue.

  “What about Ronzone?”

  “VectorCorp has negotiated a liaison to be present during the final debriefing of Mr. Ronzone, so he will remain on planet and in detention until one arrives. I understand it’ll be a few weeks.”

  “And here I thought karma was bogus,” Lex said. “And what about… I mean… well, did you find Garotte… or his remains?”

  “I’m afraid I have not been informed,” Fleck said.

  The doors opened to reveal one of the basement levels of the facility. The air was cooler there, and the mind-numbing beige had been replaced by off-white and slate gray. Directly outside of the elevator lobby was a conference room of sorts. Unlike the borderline disposable furniture elsewhere, the conference room contained a large, luxurious walnut conference table surrounded by high-backed leather office chairs. Seated at one end of the elongated oval table was Captain Paltrowe. She was the very model of military class and authority, outfitted in her dress uniform and sporting a detached and thoughtful expression.

  “Mr. Alexander, Ms. Modane, please take a seat. Thank you, Ensigns. Step outside and close the door behind you.”

  The junior officers did as they were told, clicking the door shut while Lex and Michella took their seats.

  “You’ve spent far too much time in my custody already, so I’ll try to keep this brief,” Paltrowe said. “The circumstances of the last few days have placed me in an unpleasant position. This planet is under the protection of the TKUR. By virtue of the sensitive nature of the events that have transpired, central command has elected to keep the number of military representatives to a minimum to avoid increased chance of security breaches. I have thus been given authority to decide what exactly is to be done with you.

  “You have violated a number of military and civilian laws. Mr. Alexander, you have confessed to violating a military quarantine, transporting a weapon of mass destruction without military escort, and willfully damaging military property. Ms. Modane, while you have been remarkably uncooperative, we have found you to be complicit in most if not all of Mr. Alexander’s crimes. And then there is the matter of your investigations and attempted revelations about the Gen-Mechs…”

  “If it is your intention to offer me my freedom in exchange for my sile
nce about the Gen-Mechs, don’t bother. I have delivered considerable research and footage to a number of reliable associates. This information will see the light of day with or without me.”

  “I would consider it a rather lofty assumption on your part to suggest that your freedom is on the table at all, Ms. Modane. May I remind you, you have both violated a military quarantine. You willfully exposed the rest of the galaxy to a Class Omega threat.”

  “We did so in order to prevent you from murdering a whole planet of people.”

  “We do not live in a society where a group of self-righteous vigilantes can take it upon themselves to circumvent precautions intended to protect the rest of the population. As great a tragedy as it would have been to have wiped out this world, in the absence of your intervention it would have contained the threat. Your actions would have far more likely spread the Gen-Mechs to areas beyond our capacity to contain them. The threat those mechanisms represent to the continued existence of humanity cannot be overstated.”

  “But our actions enabled us to create a workable means to combat the threat.”

  “An outcome few other individuals in the galaxy could have hoped to achieve. We cannot allow your behavior to set a precedent for those who believe they know better than the armed forces and regional governments. The next group of mavericks might not have the ear of Karteroketraskin Dee.”

  Michella’s eyes widened slightly.

  “Yes, Ms. Modane, we are aware of the source of your solution. You are not the only person in the system with investigative capacity. Dee is a known figure to the TKUR, and we are confident in his capacity to maintain the proper level of secrecy and security on the matter, if given sufficient motivation.”

  “You’re going to pay him to keep quiet?”

  “As I understand it, financial incentives are among the only trustworthy ways to motivate him.”

  “Tell me about it…” Lex said. “Hey, listen. I don’t suppose you can slip him a little cash on our behalf. We sort of committed to a ton of money to get those countermeasures made.”