Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War

by Chris Hechtl

  Boomer watched her antics frowning. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but the woman was all business. She methodically finished taking the bar stool apart and then stacked the wood near the stove for future use.

  He frowned. The stain and stuff on the wood wouldn't do the fire any good. Come to think of it, it wouldn't do them any good either.

  They could hear the buzz of a drone a few minutes later. They all looked up fearfully to the sky. The woman put a finger to her lips. When the buzz faded, she seemed to relax slowly.

  “You can never be too careful with those damn things. I'm not sure what sort of sensor package they are carrying these days. But I know they hate the smoke from furniture and stuff,” she said, indicating the stove. It was leaking smoke a bit despite the seal around the door. Hallis coughed, one hand over his mouth.

  “It reeks,” he said.

  “My eyes are watering,” Roger complained.

  “Come on, in here,” the woman said. She opened a door into the greenhouse. They felt warmth, even greater warmth than the stove was putting out hit them. “The greenhouse is set to eighty-five or so to promote growth. I vent it only when I have to. It will hopefully mask our heat signatures. Just don't move around too much,” she warned. “I'm Molly by the way. Molly Grue.”

  “Call me Boomer. That is Agent Hallis, Roger, and Shawn,” Boomer said, making their side of the introductions. Molly nodded to each in turn, making eye contact.

  “Oh look at me, I'm a mess,” the woman said, finger combing her scraggly hair and trying to make something of her appearance. “Sorry, it's been rough,” she admitted.

  “Understandable, ma'am, for all of us,” Hallis said with a nod. He was careful to stay upwind of the woman, however, or at least as far away as possible.

  “Fruit?” she asked, offering them some fruit from a small tree. “This is the tropical greenhouse. The heat from that furnace is ducted into here for the plants,” she explained.

  Boomer nodded. He was already breaking out into a sweat. He could see beads on Roger's forehead. After being so cold for so long, no one was complaining.

  “The drones don't normally attack from above. They'll circle for a bit if they know you are around. That's how people know to move. But the drones stay just out of range of anything we've got normally,” Molly explained. “While they are buzzing around like bees, they call in the robots to do the dirty work. Or they call in another drone that can drop bombs or something,” she said.

  “Bombs?” Boomer asked.

  “Or something?” Hallis asked at the same time.

  Molly grimaced. “The bombs are improvised. Molotov cocktails at a guess, firebombs I call ‘em. They flush people out or if they stay hidden burn ‘em alive. It's not pretty,” she said, shivering despite the heat.

  “Aren't the robots out of ammunition?”

  “They took the gun store—fat lot of good there,” Molly said with a sniff. Hallis cursed softly. “They've shot a bit off. The new thing is the nail guns.”

  “Nail guns?”

  Boomer grimaced. “I've seen them. Played with them a few times too. You disable the safety system on the gun and modify it to shoot the gun. You can even make a rail gun with some electromagnets and the right parts.” He smiled.

  “Ah, the not so innocence of you,” Hallis said dryly. Shawn grinned, ducking his head. “So, they've got them? Did they make them themselves I wonder?”

  “Hardly. I know a couple people who made them and tried to use them against the robots,” Molly said as she took a cutting board out. She picked a couple of melons and some strawberries and then washed them quickly in a pail. She brought them back dripping. All four men were practically salivating despite it being fruit and berries not meat. Shawn blushed when his stomach growled.

  “I thought you boys would be hungry,” Molly said. She smiled.

  Boomer nodded. She was a good woman, older, in her forties or fifties; it was hard to judge. She wasn't familiar to him, so he hadn't gone to school with her. She was short, a head shorter than him and a bit flat chested and stocky for his taste. But she had a frisky glitter in her eye despite the situation. She might be down, but she was by no means out apparently. That was good to know.

  It was good to see someone still had some spirit in them, despite everything that had happened. He hoped the continued situation didn't grind it out of her.

  “We made improvised weapons from the local hardware store,” she said, pulling a chef knife and pointing the tip down Main Street. “Got about half, but the bastards kept coming. Tore up Wellington; his militia was routed. They ran in the dark, and they cut them down like dogs. The rest of us hid,” she said, shaking her head as she cut.

  “I wonder if they copied that nail gun design. Are they low on ammo or just conserving it?” Boomer asked, rubbing his chin. He looked to Hallis.

  “Why are you continuously looking at me?” Hallis demanded, taking a strawberry. He shook his head. “I'm not an expert in A.I. I'm just a security guy. I was sent here to investigate, write the report, and make sure the techs didn't get into trouble, then to get everyone back home. That's it,” he said.

  “Okay…,” Roger said, putting hands between the two men as if they were about to come to blows and needed the space. “How they got the plans … you said you did it. Where did you see it?” he asked, looking at Boomer.

  Boomer grimaced. “The net. Where else?” He asked.

  “So they got them from the net or could have. Great,” Roger said. “Okay, so …”

  “So, we have to figure out the range of these weapons. And how good their sensors are. The number of robots, how fast do they send a response team …”

  “Wowa!” Molly said, hands up. She had the knife in her fingers. “Slow down, slow down. You are starting to sound like Wellington. I mean that in a good and a bad way. He was all talk too.”

  “I'm a sergeant in the United States Marine Corps, ma'am. I'm a decorated combat veteran. I think I know a bit more about fighting than a weekend warrior wannabe,” Boomer growled.

  “Wait, Boomer, you said?” She pointed the knife tip his way. He nodded. Her eyes widened fractionally. “So you're the town legend? The guy who won the CMH? The guy who stopped the bomb in New York?”

  Boomer grunted as the others looked at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, that was me. Can we move on or something?”

  Molly studied him for a long moment, seemingly reassessing her mental image of him. Finally she nodded, letting the knife blade drop to the cutting board once more. “Okay,” she said. “I'm glad we've got that out into the air.” She used the blade to push some of the melon to the side. Shawn's fingers darted out to snatch one.

  “Here, honey. More where that came from,” Molly said, pushing some into a bowl and then handing it to him. “Don't mind the grit. It's hard to wash everything fully clean.”

  “Thanks, ma'am. I won't,” Shawn said. Roger bobbed a nod as he took a similar bowl a moment later.

  “They are learning,” Boomer said, thinking fast. “Adapting. Taking out areas of resistance. Laying traps. Ambushes. Improvised weapons. I don't like their learning curve,” Boomer said darkly.

  Hallis grimaced, but he was forced to agree with his own grim nod.

  Roger sucked a melon piece greedily to get every drop of juice then swallowed the piece. “Yeah, scary thought. Where are they getting the power though? How are they functional at all?” Roger asked.

  “If one or two were up, they could fix the others with the right parts I suppose,” Boomer mused. He glanced at Agent Hallis. Hallis shrugged.

  “No clue,” Hallis said, looking up to the sky.

  “Right.”

  “We should hit their power supply. Find the power lines and cut them,” Shawn suggested.

  “They'll patch it,” Roger said in disgust. “Besides, we don't have the right tools.”

  “Well, we, we need to do something, right?” Shawn said, voice rising a bit. Molly winced.

 
“Where is the nearest power plant? Can we get to it? More importantly, can we get there and then home?” Hallis asked. It was his turn to wince but internally. He didn't like the idea of calling the farm home, but right now, beggars couldn't be choosers.

  “It won't work. Don't you think we didn't try that? The bots don't need it. They've got solar on the roof,” Molly said as she cut up a piece of melon and served it to Shawn.

  “What about the EMP?” Roger asked, unsure of the woman.

  Molly shrugged it off, not looking up. “It didn't get as far as there, or didn't hit as hard, who knows! Who cares! The point is, they've got the damn warehouse.”

  “So, we have to attrition their forces,” Boomer mused. He turned to Agent Hallis. Hallis raised an eyebrow. “Ambushes. Hit small groups, patrols, or whatever. Pick them off a few at a time. Pick apart the wreckage for what we need then destroy the rest so they can't use it for parts to rebuild each other.”

  “Now you're talking,” Shawn said with a grim nod. “Count me in.”

  “Me too.”

  “No, you idiots!” the girl said shaking her head. She pointed to the ceiling. “They are always watching,” she warned. “Even if you can't see them, there is something up there.”

  “Okay, so we do it where they can't see us,” Hallis said.

  “Or on a stormy day,” Roger suggested.

  “Possible. Using a storm for cover would be tricky, but I think we could do that. It'd be cold as hell though,” Boomer grimaced. He'd trained to fight in the sandbox or urban combat, not this shit. Besides, it was August; the damn nuclear winter was going to kill millions if the winter was planet wide.

  “For now, we get back to the farm. Report in, come up with a plan of attack.”

  “Take me with you,” Molly said. Boomer eyed her then turned to Hallis. Hallis didn't look happy. He was obviously thinking about liability and more mouths to feed.

  “It isn't safe here.”

  “Sure you can come,” Roger offered before Boomer or Hallis could say anything. Hallis turned a fulminating look on the young man, but Roger didn't see it.

  “I'm wondering why the bots didn't hit us on our way to the warehouse. If they had sky coverage, why not? And why not hit the farm?” Shawn asked.

  Boomer grunted. “I can answer that one. The farm is at the extended range of a standard delivery drone. It wouldn't have enough power to get there and get back, not in this weather. Not with any sort of payload worthwhile. Mom used to love ordering stuff until they added a surcharge for delivery. It's what my dad was talking about. Why he had to go in to pick up stuff from time to time.”

  “Oh,” Shawn said.

  “They might be saving something special for us,” Hallis cautioned.

  “We need to get as much gear as possible. More vehicles if more people are coming obviously. Weapons … do you have any?” Boomer asked, eying the woman.

  “We do.”

  “We?”

  She nodded. “There are about a dozen of us left in town. Some are old folk too stubborn to leave. A couple of single parents with kids. I feed them. Some just didn't know where to go like me.”

  “We could use the greenhouses at the farm,” Boomer mused.

  “No way we can transport these things. Too much weight,” Roger said.

  “I know.”

  “I know a lot about growing things in greenhouses. I'm a horticulturalist. I've worked in the commercial greenhouse farms too. I know the tricks of the trade,” Molly offered. She licked her lips nervously. “Do I have to beg?” she asked, voice rising in distress.

  Boomer held a hand up. “No. We save who we can when we can. But we need gear. You have to understand, the farm is no picnic. We are low on food and a lot of stuff.”

  “It's better than here!” the woman said, ducking instinctively as a drone's hum buzzed overhead. “Please, the heat signatures are giving us away.”

  “We need to do something,” Shawn said, looking out a peephole. “It's banking around and coming back. I think it knows we are here.”

  “Then we've got to take it out,” Boomer said, hefting his hunting rifle. He checked the scope, then the chamber. He had five rounds. It would hopefully be enough. “The rest of you go through this place with a fine tooth comb. Food, containers, medicine, clothes, blankets, you know what we need. Even candy or stuff that's expired. Beggars can't be choosers.”

  “I've got a truck in the back and a van,” the woman offered. “The truck is an old moving van; I kept it around to move trees we sold,” she said. “The battery is dead though. It needs a jump or something.”

  “We'll figure it out,” Boomer said. “I think … I think Tommy's hardware had some good stuff. Jumper cables or hell, some rolls of wire we can use to improvise. Hopefully, it doesn't come to that. I'll go after this thing. Hallis, you watch for anything coming or in the area.”

  Hallis nodded.

  “I'll be back in a bit. Don't freak when you hear the shot or shots,” Boomer said, brandishing the rifle. They nodded.

  <>V<>

  Boomer selected a rooftop for his sniper position. It was on top of an old battered brick building, one that had been abandoned for years. He and a few of his friends had played in it, even had a couple wild parties in it as kids and teenagers.

  He took a seat, then thought better of it and found some pieces of metal to use as air cover. He laid down and searched the horizon. It didn't take him long for his ears, and then his eyes to find one.

  It was yellow and orange, painted in the livery of the delivery company. Six lifting fans with insect-like legs and armatures to hold a package while in flight. He grunted as he looked through the scope. No weapons, no bomb on board. The virus had repurposed it as a recon drone like the towel heads had done in the sandbox. It didn't look too modified, so it might not have a powerful transmitter.

  He wasn't so far out of practice that he would miss, but he had a heck of a time leading the target at first. It was dead easy to see with its colors despite the background sky and low light. But it was out of his range or at least at the far end of it. He wasn't comfortable with trying to shoot; he wasn't sure what the winds would do to the bullet. Also, the thing could dodge. The only solution was to lure it in where he was guaranteed a hit. But that wasn't without some risk.

  He tried motion, a flag, and some rocks thrown towards the drone. Nothing seemed to get its attention. He wasn't certain if it was programmed to keep its distance or not. He wished he knew how effective it's sensors were, and what range they were. Only when he deliberately exposed himself when it was far away then hid again did the UAV come back for a closer look so he could engage it properly.

  The first shot missed, going under he assumed since the thing had hit a thermal or dodged up. He worked the bolt, swearing as the cartridge kicked clear, keeping an eye on the flying robot. It apparently didn't notice the shot. The second shot hit center mass taking out the drone. It spiraled to the ground and crashed. He could hear Shawn, Roger, and the woman cheering. Then a few more people joined in. He looked around as he rose, waved sheepishly, and then trotted back to the group.

  “Enough celebrating,” Boomer growled, hefting the rifle. He noted a few more people were peaking out. “Hannah, we've got to go. The rest of you, help her load up. We'll need to take every plant, every seed, any equipment, clothes, blankets, food, you name it.”

  “We're going to need to make multiple trips,” Molly muttered.

  “Not if we can get some more vehicles and more help,” Boomer answered, looking around them. “What say you, folks?” He said, voice rising to just under a bellow as he pitched it for them all to hear. “Hide, scurry around like rats here? Or come with us? We'll train you how to fight. You already know how to survive, so you can teach some of what you know at where you are going,” he said. “Your choice,” he growled, surveying the area as he spun in place.

  “They are too scared. Hell, I'm scared,” the woman said, holding out a shaking hand. “See?” />
  “You're scared. News flash, so is he, so are they, so am I. We live in fear now. Fear of the unknown, and the damn robots. But that doesn't mean we can just stop living,” Boomer said.

  “I didn't say that,” she reared back. She blinked, and then glared at him. She turned in a huff and marched off.

  Boomer wondered if she'd upped and quit on them, but then he heard her tossing metal pans and stuff about, then bringing luggage out. “See? I'm packed. I just didn't have a place to go,” she said.

  “She's not all there, is she?” Hallis asked.

  “I heard that!” Molly said. She hiked her skirts up and marched right up to him. She put a finger right up to the tip of his nose. “Now you listen. The world's gone to shit. I've seen friends, dear friends die. Robots are turning everything into a nightmare. It's cold out, and my bunions hurt. I've had my period, and I'm not happy about that.” All of the men winced. “See if you are all so damn smug after some of what I've put up with or all there. So don't,” her finger dropped to poke him in the chest, “be judging me. You have no right,” she said, tearing up. Suddenly she flung her arms around him.

  Hallis was at a loss for words as he tried to comfort her. Boomer rested a hand on her shoulder. The woman turned and hugged him instead. He sighed, rubbing her head for a moment. “Just try to relax. We're on the clock. None of us want to be on the road after dark,” he murmured.

  Her sniffles dried magically. She wiped her face on his jacket and then nodded as she stepped back. “You're right. My truck is around back,” she said.

  “Gotcha,” Boomer said. He waved to the guys. “Let's help the lady move her things, boys.”

  “Do we have to?” Shawn muttered in disgust.

  “Of course if you don't want the fruit and other food she's bringing along, just say so,” Boomer said, eying the young man.