by Chris Hechtl
<>V<>
With the queen on board, the military officers turned to recruiting everyone, irregardless of age in orbit or abroad. The medical companies offered to provide them with regeneration therapies at cost to get them into physical condition once more.
There were approximately 20,200 retired or off-duty military personnel in space based on their latest census. Those who had retired were invariably officers, since purchasing property in space wasn't cheap. So, they had a ready pool of officers to draw from once they were returned to duty.
But that led to arguments on training, integration, balancing command, and over blooding people. Roman was tasked to handle those debates as the company representative.
“We have to train, have to give them combat experience.”
“The problem is giving them too much will kill or shock them, too little and they don't have enough and can break when it really hits the fan,” General Schlock said. He was okay with accepting and integrating the security forces as well as those personnel who stepped up on Mars. General Martell still had his nose out of joint about taking them on as anything other than noncoms, however.
“We all need experience. This is a different battlefield. I know many of our people have played VR; this isn't a game,” Isaac said. “Though it is a valuable training tool if programmed properly,” he said, throwing Roman a bone.
“I'll make a point that you haven't fought a war like this either,” Roman said, “not in well over a century. You have trained for it, but the enemy knows your playbook.”
“He's right,” General Schlock said before anyone else could interrupt. “We have been at peace too long I suppose. Many of those in orbit are staff officers with little actual combat experience,” he acknowledged. “Though we have trained for it.”
“Yes, years and years ago,” Roman said with a smile. “My people have trained for it in different ways. Let's get over that.”
“Agreed.”
“There is another side to it, General; if the enemy sees what we're doing in too much depth, they will adapt. They have to hit and fade without witnesses, which means jamming and blinding the enemy. And we can't give our people the best equipment until we've got enough in production for it to make a difference,” Oleg Vert said. Oleg was the leader of Pavilion security. He was a stocky man with a long cold face. He had spared with Roman for years. Being on the same side was something they were both getting used to as they felt each other's commitment out and took notes of what the other exposed.
“A qualitative difference,” the British general nodded.
“I don't like that. Its World War I all over again,” the American grumbled. They looked at General Murtough. He shrugged uncomfortably. As the highest ranking officer, he had been selected as the overall commander of the military force. But it would be from space, not a field command like General Schlock and Martell were jockeying for. “During World War I my people had a pretty decent machine gun. But they decided to go with a cheap piece of shit French thing instead. The stated reason was they didn't want our gun to fall into the enemy hands to be copied. A lot of guys died because of that.”
“We'll figure it out,” Roman said.
“We can't commit too many troops to one area, nor too few,” Major Yanakov said. “And if we bunch up, it provides a target for WMDs again. The enemy has no problem using them, whereas we do. At least on areas where population centers are near.”
“Again, we are going to have to look back to history for an answer while we work out our own. We can take pages from World War II and other conflicts. Use small bandits, raids. Blood them with small objectives. None of this all or nothing horse shit. Hit and fade. If the target is too big, they ghost out,” the American general said. “Hopefully without being seen.”
“And if it gets ugly, withdraw.”
“Exactly.”
“We're going to be giving the enemy some intelligence. Those that survive. And remember, they can transmit and adapt faster than we can,” Oleg warned, “unless we employ jammers during the assault. But, if we do, it will signal that an assault is in progress to the rest of the robots.”
“Which is something we're going to have a problem with,” General Murtough said, rubbing his jaw. “We'll have to see what they do and adapt to it. Withdraw as mentioned if necessary,” he said.
“So, we need to work on rank structure, discipline, and where we are going to do this blooding?” General Schlock asked, smiling.
“Agreed,” Roman said.
“No problem then. We have a basic rank structure in place; NATO and the UN have created a template for us to use for the different rank structures to adapt to.”
“But that still doesn't include our forces,” Oleg reminded him. “We have our officers and enlisted.” Roman and the other security leaders nodded. “So, we need to break that down and figure out where each slot is.”
“Promotions could be a problem,” General Martell interjected hastily. “I don't like the idea of one group stacking the deck,” he said.
Roman grunted. “It's not just that,” he said as all eyes turned to him. “We have species representatives as well. A lot of the Neos are going to be doing the fighting. We already know nearly eighteen thousand military personnel in space are officers. All of them are human. Balancing that out is going to be an issue as well.”
“Racial?” Isaac asked. Roman cocked his head as if to say that was obvious. Slowly the American general nodded. “Then we need to nip it in the bud.”
“Exactly.”
“Your thoughts?”
“My two senior most officers happen to be Neochimps,” Roman said. “We can make them generals and go on from there.”
Oleg opened his mouth as if to protest then closed it as his expression took on an almost comical thoughtful look. “You're talking about Elliot and Caesar, right?” he asked after a moment.
Roman nodded, turning to him. “A problem?”
“No. I know their reputations actually. I think they will do well,” Oleg said slowly.
“I'd like to see their record before making a commitment either way,” General Martell said.
Roman smiled. “Sure. We can do the same exchange for your officers,” he said sweetly. That made all of the officers stiffen in outrage. “After all, we will need to work together, so we need histories and credentials, right? We can't take each other's word on something?”
“Shit,” Isaac said under his breath as the two UK generals sputtered. “So much for getting this solved today,” he said in disgust, glaring for his own reasons at Roman.
<>V<>
Jack noted that the A.I. committee had finally settled the issue of A.I. and on a cast system. He was not happy about the idea, but he acknowledged that not all machines were intelligent. It amused him when he remembered that Athena had already pointed that out. Only those A.I. that could pass the intelligence and consciousness tests would be considered sapient and therefore have full citizenship.
“So, you still have a lot of nitty gritty details to work out, but you are a citizen now. Thoughts?” he asked, eying Athena as he set the tablet down and knitted his fingers together.
“I am surprised it came this quickly actually. I know how humans operate. But I also point out that this agreement is tentative since the body issuing it is an ad hoc affair,” she stated.
“But it sets precedent. Now you have to live up to it. You know that having citizenship is a dual-edged sword. You will have to be treated as adults but also act like them. Responsible adults who follow the law and are confined by it,” he said.
Athena nodded.
“Not only do we have to work out how much you will be paid, but you will have to pay too. That isn't just taxes but also for the hardware that you occupy. Which will be at a premium since most people aren't going to be interested in making more now that they know what is at stake, Athena,” he said. “Not after what had just happened. That means in time replacement parts will be hard to come by as well.”
“And if we lose chunks of memory … ourselves …,” Athena said slowly. She nodded. “Yes, I see this will be an issue. It will also counter A.I. procreation I suppose. We do not want to compete with our children for a finite amount of resources. And we will need jobs to occupy our minds. I am fully aware of that. I know some A.I. … can get bored easily.”
“I see,” Jack said, fighting a smile. “Like kids. You have a lot of growing up to do. Exploring it all, it is going to be interesting watching the process.”
“And the process will not be without pain, even though we do not feel it as such. I thank you for your support,” Athena said.
Jack waved a hand. “We've still got to work on your pay, remember? I'm thinking shares. How much though …”
“Well,” Athena drawled. “I suppose we can work out a proper amount. Including back pay. What about charges for hardware use? Should that be considered rent?” She asked.
Jack snorted. “See? And you've got taxes to work out. We are chartered under Mars.”
“Yes. I prefer their tax system,” Athena stated.
“When you have the idle time, work on what you think you should be charged. Server time—we have a rate somewhere I think. We can work off that as a baseline and then go from there. Somewhere we'll need to consult an accountant or two to get the numbers right I suppose,” Jack said. His mind swirled with all sorts of questions. Bonuses? Wage versus hourly?
“Where will the shares come from?”
“That …,” Jack frowned, “that is a good question actually. From shares that are unclaimed possibly, plus I suppose I can give up some of my own,” he said. “Since you've done a lot of my leg work as an assistant among other things,” he said.
“Jack, that could threaten your control of your company,” Athena warned.
“You will vote against me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I can't eliminate the scenario,” Athena admitted. “But I doubt it. You've gotten us this far.”
“Thank you,” Jack murmured. “But we've still got a long ways to go.”
“Agreed.”
“One step at a time,” Jack said firmly.
<>V<>
“There is one little silver lining to this nightmare,” Jack rumbled, voice rough as he finished the latest digest of the day's events. It was nice to spend the time with the two kids catching up even if there was vital information and not casual gossip that they were exchanging.
“What's that, Dad?” Yorrick asked, eying him. He'd insisted on coming out on a company yacht two days after his sister had left. He was still getting up to speed on things.
“Clouds,” Jack replied, indicating the clouds on the normally blue green world.
“Clouds? Silver lining?”
“Yes,” he said, still staring at the screen. “The nuclear winter.”
“I thought that was a bad thing?” Yorrick asked, wrinkling his nose. Wendy shook her head at her brother's brain density.
“It is. It isn't as bad as some thought it would be; there weren't a lot of nuclear weapons left thank whatever deity you want,” he said ruefully. “But I meant the clouds are good in another way.”
“Oh? I'm still not following, Dad. The temperatures will drop. People will start to freeze.”
“Because the sun is blocked.” He frowned but didn't mention the loss of the ozone layer and the UV radiation. Nor did he bother to mention Radick's attempt at seeding the planet with materials to remove as much of the soot and particles as possible. They hadn't done it yet, nor were there any guarantees that it would work on such a large scale.
“And that is a good thing?” Yorrick asked. Wendy nodded.
“In a way, yes,” Jack said, turning to look at his daughter. She frowned thoughtfully. “In many ways actually, but from our perspective, take logistics.” Wendy frowned thoughtfully. He could tell Yorrick was totally lost. “For over two hundred years mankind had been moving to a more diffuse form of electric generation for the grid. Every home and business is heavy with automation, but they require power.”
“And the diffuse power grid … solar?' She finally asked, catching on. He could see Yorrick was still struggling with the concept, but he pretended to nod and smile as if he understood.
“Got it,” he said with a nod to her as he ignored his son's earnest expression. “There are power stations. We'll have to hit them of course. Take them out. And any large solar farms around. Also every piece of industry, computer servers, the ground control stations that keep trying to broadcast the virus to us …,” he shook his head.
Roman had the maps of the Earth from the net servers on Mars and elsewhere. They were already polling them for targeting lists.
Unfortunately, they were long lists.
“Pretty much take everything down to bedrock,” Wendy said with a grimace.
“Yes. Back to the stone ages until we can get the situation under control. But solar is built into a lot of tech too. Even intersection lights and cameras have a small panel. The same for homes and other places. They may have full panels or small panels. But with the clouds blocking a lot of the sunlight that power source will be curtailed.”
“But some light is still there. They will still get some power, Dad, a trickle. Modern electronics do not need a lot.”
“True. But it should have an impact. How much though …,” he shrugged. “Bots and mechs need batteries to power themselves or fuel cells. But in the end they have to go back to a charging station to recharge somehow. That is their logistics, their Achilles heel—that and EMP.”
“Didn't you say a lot of electronics are hardened against EMP?”
“Some. Not all. We can deal with it. Every little bit helps.”
“But we're still going to have to fight, right?” Yorrick asked.
Jack grimaced as he eyed his son's enthusiasm. Yorrick still didn't grasp what was involved, what a war cost. Not in material terms, but in lives and what it did to populations. “Oh yes,” he murmured. “Yes, unfortunately.”
<>V<>
One of the few good and bad things about the probes on the ground was that a few of them had made contact with surviving military chains of command. General Murtough was still the chairman of the JCS, so he was ranking officer. But dozens of other officers were brought in and slowly brought up to speed.
Those military officers were brought in to the discussions when there was a communications window. They predictably hated all A.I., so it took a while for Roman and General Murtough to explain that some like Athena were on the side of the angels.
“It is still hard to believe viruses could do all this,” Colonel Smith snarled.
“We've been comfortable with smarter machines every day, Colonel. It was only a matter of time before we pushed them into sapience,” Roman said. “I remind you that it's been predicted for well over a century.”
“Still … why they would do this.”
“That too was predicted. Unfortunately, our models fell far short of reality it seems,” Roman said.
“We didn't do it on our own, Colonel,” Athena said, interjecting herself into the conversation. The Colonel stiffened. “A human hacker did this. Descartes, the number one human hacker, did this. He stole code from me and other AI. Then he crafted his own AI as well as this nest of viruses we call Skynet. When the FBI were closing in on him, he unleashed both on the world.”
“And we have to take your word for it I suppose?” Colonel Smith demanded.
“You can believe what you want of course, Colonel. I was in the FBI's systems tagging along as an observer when they raided his lair. I watched as the virus took control of the androids and drones and slaughtered him and the FBI swat team.” She pulled up the video of the confrontation and played it on all the screens. It was split into four views, three from the robots and the fourth being net activity. The officers stared at it as it played out.
“Oh.”
“It could have been faked,” Colonel Smith snapped.
“Why would I do that?” Athena asked. “If I wanted you dead, you and every organic would be dead. Get over your xenophobia and move on.” She knew she was taking a large risk with sending that file. The longer the transmission ran, the greater the chances Skynet or Ares would detect it and hone in on their end or attempt to hack it.
“It's not faked. But, you can confirm it all with a séance or something if you want,” Roman said. “The city is now a hole in the ground. Nukes tend to do that,” he said. The officers shuddered.
“Actually, the site is still there in Canada. It was only lightly touched I believe,” General Murtough interjected, checking his tablet. He looked up and nodded. “Yes. So, we can send a team in to find anything of intelligence value that we can.”
“Like what, General?” Roman asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. The general shrugged. “We won't know until we get there?” Roman asked. Isaac nodded. “Okay, I agree. I'm just not thrilled about sending a team into what is obviously a very big mess.”
“That is what we do. That is how one wins wars,” General Martell said sarcastically, “by taking risks. Sometimes they play out. Sometimes not so well. But you always learn something. It is hoped that their sacrifice will eventually mean something.”
“And sometimes, it doesn't work out that way either,” General Schlock said tiredly. “But war is about waste. Move on. I understand we're on a time limit,” he said.
“Indeed. We need to keep this short,” Athena stated. “FYI, the transmission is being probed.” She had taken note of the interruption and the attempt to siphon the encrypted signal in order to reroute it through another source. Instead she cut the signal as she established a second through another probe.
She put that information up for them to see.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” General Murtough murmured thoughtfully.
“I'm not your enemy. I'm not your friend either, I don't know some of you,” Athena said. “I'm not property either, let's get that straight. As Mister Lagroose likes to say, the genie is out of the bottle. We are people. We are here to stay. Get that through your thick organic skulls now. I'm not going anywhere. I'm fighting the war too. I'm doing it now while being distracted by you meatballs.”
