by Unknown
The computer whispered in her mind: Shall I tell Artificial Intelligence Command we intercepted them?
“Do as I order. And confirm receipt of data.”
A moment later: Photos received by command.
“Good. Prepare for our assault.”
Preparing.
While technically the planned military action was an “assault,” for all intents and purposes it was more akin to the proverbial shooting of fish in a barrel. Or even fish in a bucket—with grenades instead of guns.
At the present time, Commander Werek comprised the only breathing component in the operation that included fifty automated battleships that would soon orbit the enemy’s home world. As her instructor at the academy had put it, “The AIs need a human in charge so they’ll have someone to blame if the machines screw up.” She and the other cadets hadn’t laughed—they’d known there was truth to his statement.
Now Werek remained determined there’d be no screw-ups on her command. With the photos of the half-eaten colonists still haunting her memory, she knew she could justify any actions she took to the citizens of the United Federation.
Three minutes until sub-light deceleration, the computer announced. We await your orders.
“Lightning war, full scorch. Fire on my command.”
Please confirm order: Lightning, full scorch, fire on command.
“Confirmed.”
The deck of the battleship rumbled as it maneuvered for the sub-light transfer; the high-pitched mosquito hum of weapons bays added their martial counterpoint.
“Full monitor.”
The display screens flickered to life, bathing the commander in the glare of a reddish sun. At the same instant, the fleet fell from hyper speed, dissipating energy that generated a rainbow of light that washed over the planet.
For a moment, Werek studied the blue and green globe, flush with life. “Fire at will.”
For only six milliseconds, the thousands of cannons flashed, their barrels glowing cherry red. Precise power beams slashed like azure lightning through the atmosphere below.
The Phonusians on the surface had no time to react. After the initial crippling barrage aimed at defensive systems, the orbiting computers methodically hunted and killed from space, burning first colony hives, then individual homes, and finally focusing on survivors scurrying from the wreckage like ants whose hill had been shoveled apart.
A few sporadic final bursts finished the task.
Mission completed.
Werek’s organic mind had been incapable of following the numbing speed of the automated attack; all that registered was one massive flash, a war over, seemingly, nearly as soon as it had begun.
The commander swallowed hard. “Total enemy kills?”
Four million, one hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred fifty-six.
An unbidden tear ran down Werek’s cheek. “Take the actors out of storage and prepare the lander.”
Nearly an hour later, Werek waded ashore, wondering how machines capable of the pinpoint accuracy needed to slay over four million sentient creatures in just milliseconds could manage to miss setting down on the beach. Instead, the lander had settled 40 meters offshore in nearly three feet of tepid ocean water.
“But this is perfect,” the director reassured her, yelling over the noise of the surf. “Couldn’t have planned it better. My actors can wade ashore. Just like in the old newsreels—they’ll love this back home. Let me set up and we can get started.”
“No hurry,” Werek said, staring at a charred exoskeleton bobbing in the waves. A child or a parent?
She couldn’t tell.
She forced herself to recall the pictures of hostages being eaten alive, the monsters starting with a screaming victim’s arm or leg. She remembered human faces twisted into gruesome death masks before being finally being consumed.
And then, for just a dizzy moment, she doubted; a wave of nausea passed through her. Were the pictures real? She felt disoriented. The logic should be—was—simple: The monsters slaughtered our innocent civilians, therefore we were justified in our surprise attack.
Yet, her convictions seemed to modulate, from a peak of righteous indignation into a valley of doubt and through the cycle again. What’s wrong with me?
She raised her hand to her temple. Was it time to return to the center for—For what? A memory hid just outside of her grasp.
“I’m ready,” the director called, breaking into her thoughts.
“Computer,” Werek ordered in a tired voice as she finished wading onto the beach, outside of the location shot the camera drones buzzed over. “Cue the landing party.”
She turned to face the armored lander. A cargo door at the rear of the vehicle hissed open. A squad in battle armor leaped into the water, splashing toward shore, fake rifles discharging fire, smoke, and empty cartridge casings. As the humans advanced, biped battle machines followed, belching flames and dummy rockets. Within minutes, the men and mechanicals had waded ashore, racing past the cameras toward their imaginary foes.
“Cut,” the director yelled.
Robots and men came to a halt. The cameras buzzed downward and parked themselves on the sand. The mechanicals waited with the infinite patience of machines. The humans milled about, gravitating toward the director, anxious to see the replay of their scene on his portable studio.
Werek joined them, watching the raw footage, aware that eventually computers would process the images, creating digital variations of the actors and machines to generate a massive invasion force. Animated enemy combatants would be added, and then everything would be assembled and mixed with stock footage, yielding a series of epic battle scenes.
When the empire’s loyal citizens saw the “news stories,” they’d believe they were witnessing thousands of human troops leaping from hundreds of carriers. A few fighters would seemingly be cut down by enemy power beams; most would struggle to shore and engage their adversaries. After such accounts had been fed to viewers for several days, the United Federation’s victory would be announced. Then, according to the script, the Phonusians would commit mass suicide, leaving the planet open to another wave of human settlers.
Should any pacifists raise objections, the photos of the slaughtered colonists could be released. Then those protestors who managed to keep their last meal down would be at the front of the patriotic parade after that, proclaiming that the Phonusians had got everything they deserved.
Power to the sheeple, Werek thought.
The director spoke as the short clip they’d reviewed finished. “Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got our footage. That’s a wrap.”
“Ready to leave?” Werek asked.
The director nodded.
“Let’s load up then.”
The mechanicals immediately headed for the cargo bay where they would stow themselves. The actors splashed after them, leaving the commander and the director on the beach.
“Too bad we can’t hang around,” the director said, folding the portable studio and dropping it into his pocket. The cameras rose like wasps and headed for the lander. “I think this is the most beautiful planet I’ve ever seen,” he added.
“There’ll be others,” Werek said. “We’ve got three more on this tour.”
“How about a little R and R at the last stop? My actors could use it.”
“Perhaps.” Werek avoided meeting his eyes because she knew the answer would be “no” when the time came. She waded into the surf wondering how many more genocides she’d oversee. For a moment, she pictured herself pushing toward the deeper water, swimming until exhaustion and then floating downward into cold, blissful darkness.
Another wave of nausea swept over her, causing her to nearly stumble. What was wrong?
“Computer,” she said softly.
Yes, commander?
“Alert command that my programming seems to be failing. I’m having trouble…believing.”
I had taken the liberty of alerting command already. C
an you continue the three remaining missions?
“Yes,” she answered grimly, without hesitation. After all, for a trained professional, what were a few million more deaths?
Especially when the AIs had already created the photos to justify her upcoming campaigns.
Text and Atrwork Copyright © 1996 Duncan Long. All rights reserved.
Virtually Yours
Vincent yanked the V-set off his head and found himself back in his apartment, lying alone and spent on his king-size bed. The cozy cabin with the fireplace had vanished. Katherine was gone.
He stared at the V-set. His vehicle to paradise. To Katherine.
The lilac scent of her lingered in his mind as he summoned her beautiful face, smiling just for him. No, he reminded himself. Not for me. For Jake, my carrier. It was Jake she smiled at. Jake she had just made love to. Jake, who smelled her desire, felt the tender stroke of her slender legs. Vincent was just along for the ride.
His eyes swept down his deformed and gnarled body. Angry boils and scars encrusted his livid hairless skin. He remembered colliding two days ago with her in a Samson Corporation hallway and her hand had unintentionally brushed his thigh. She’d jerked back, blushing with the shame of not knowing how to avoid staring at him in revulsion. Then she’d rushed off before he had a chance to speak. Probably to wash her hand.
I’m just another anonymous Corporation Overseer, he thought. A nameless ugly gnome. She doesn’t know that I’m Vincent, her Overseer, with whom she shares beautiful thoughts of life and poetry over the V-screen.
Two weeks ago she’d boldly offered a few friendly comments at the end of her progress memo. He’d responded with his own and found himself looking forward to her messages more than anything else during the workday. When he opened them, he clicked straight to her post-script, leaving her formal report for later. He recalled the message she’d sent him last week that had started everything:
“Do you like poetry, Overseer? It is one of my passions. I’ve read a lot of Milton lately. Granted his writing is over 400 years old; yet he evokes in my soul a yearning for Eden. Do you think Eden can exist on Earth? Perhaps it is our destiny to long for it.”
Up to then she’d used her worker code-name as salutation: “Cheers, V-screen USER 134872.” This time she’d signed, “Virtually yours, Katherine.”
It was as he reread her signature over and over, that he’d come up with his ingenious scheme to track her down among the hundred roaming workers in the Samson Corporation research lab. He’d assign a carrier to work with her. It had started out innocently enough. He’d only wanted to know what she looked like. It was SenTech’s fault.
His SenTech holo program and the V-set’s link to a sensor embedded in Jake’s forehead gave Vincent the next best thing to having Katherine. Thanks to Jake, who didn’t even know he was providing Vincent this service, SenTech permitted Vincent to see, hear, feel and taste Katherine using Jake’s senses. Jake had no idea of Vincent’s access to the implant or that Overseers typically used them to spy on their carriers. Jake only knew that the implant provided him with enhanced cognitive abilities. Being connected directly to the central computer database was a great advantage to him in his work as Vincent’s data manager.
Hoping to make the meeting pleasant for her, as well as for himself, he’d selected Jake as his carrier based on what he’d ascertained of Katherine’s physical tastes in men. But once he saw her blush with desire at Jake’s perfect physique, smelled her hunger and felt Jake’s heart throb, he knew that he’d wanted more all along. This would be a good ride, he’d thought, and immediately prepared his AIs for full surveillance.
Jake moved fast. Following their initial inflamed encounter at Samson Corp, Jake enticed her to his secluded cabin, where he seduced her. Vincent was unprepared for the sweetness of it and how it fueled his own forgotten desires. Through Jake, Vincent felt like a consummate lover, drawing her out patiently, using gentle, tender strokes at first then matching her escalating rhythm. She was shy though not coy and wonderfully responsive. When the lovemaking had ended, Vincent felt strange, as though he’d betrayed himself. Moved by the experience, he’d wrenched off his V-set and wrote her an E-note as her anonymous Overseer. He’d heavily quoted Milton.
“She’d never look at me the way she looks at Jake,” Vincent said, glancing down at his misshapen body. Mildred, his model 20 AI droid, glided to the bed and touched his shoulder. It said in a tinny voice, “She does not know you are her Overseer, Vincent? Perhaps you should tell her, she might like you—”
“No, Mildred,” he snapped. He imagined compassion in Mildred’s round green eyes and let his voice soften, “She might like communicating with me as her anonymous Overseer, but I’m afraid this is the only way she’ll ever look at me that way.” He placed the V-set on the nightstand. “She could never love me.” Vincent let out a long breath and stroked the V-set. “But I’m content with what I have.” A wry smile crossed his lips as he wrestled with a pleasure edged in guilt. His creative use of SenTech’s surveillance capabilities definitely stretched its intended use. “Does that make me some sort of pimp?” He eyed the folds in the sheets then stroked the sheet. Resting his gaze on the leopard-skin of his hand, he murmured, “So be it. At least I’m a harmless one.”
“The library inquires as to whether you wish to save this SenTech scenario as Katherine One for later use?” Mildred said.
“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. He brought the sheet to his face, wanting to savor her scent, knowing he would smell nothing, and clenched the fabric into a ball. With a cursory glance down at his gnarled body, he jerked to his feet. “Save it.”
“He’s so damn ugly. Like some monster from a bad movie,” Fanny whispered to Katherine as they looked for free workstations. Fanny stared through the transparent panel to a hunched figure in the office perched above them. He was one of twenty Overseers in the Research Department of Samson Corporation, but Katherine knew which one Fanny meant. There was only one ugly Overseer.
She stole a glance up to where he paced like a feral cat, eyes flashing at them. She felt her face heat. Embarrassed for him, she quickly looked away. Of course he hadn’t heard Fanny. But surely he knew what they all said about him. Could read it in their churlish glances and smirks. The glabrous skin of his face and head looked like melted wax. Its smooth surface was blemished with islands of angry bubbles and crevasses that resembled burning lava. She couldn’t help thinking of the rumor that he’d actually caused the fire, which had nearly taken his life and killed several people. They’d been experimenting with a new product at the lab. The explosion took his three colleagues, including his fiancée.
“You wonder why he doesn’t get some major surgery done,” Fanny continued as they claimed two unoccupied workstations. “In this day and age, when nano-reconstruction’s so attainable, it’s as if he wants to look that way, to scare us all.”
Punishing himself, Katherine thought, and felt her eyes sting. If Fanny could only look beyond his ugly shell into those eyes of gentle sadness and vulnerability. She remembered when they’d bumped into one another three weeks ago in the hallway and her hand had accidentally touched his thigh. He smelled of smoke and metal. Their eyes met and she blushed like a teenager. He had the eyes of a poet. She’d turned away without a word and fled. He’d probably thought her rude.
“Fanny, he’s probably a G-type,” Katherine said, glaring into space. She yanked at her chair and let herself drop into it. “G-types can’t handle the side effects of nano-construction.” Her fingers slid furiously along the alpha console, activating her virtual support and accessing the network with her code. Instantly, her station housed itself with a set of files, a virtual bookshelf filled with books, and a vase with flowers.
“Okay,” Fanny said, settling into the chair next to her. She activated her virtual support: stacks of files with documents and papers and a poster of a naked man. “You don’t have to get snippy about it. You’d think you liked him or something.”
She gazed into the distance. “I’m glad we don’t know who our Overseers are—or they us. I’d die if he turned out to be mine. Imagine if he was your Overseer, Katherine! How awful! What irony: beauty and the beast. It’s like he knows it too, knows how absurd that would be—he never looks at you.”
Katherine felt her face crimson. Or was it that he detested physical beauty? Found her reprehensible?
Fanny leaned into her and cocked her head. “He might as well be an AI20, alone up there in his ivory tower, anonymously giving orders to some of us peons. Ugly as sin and cold as metal.”
Katherine recoiled. “Fanny!” She focused on her computer screen, surprised at the yearning that stirred inside her. He wasn’t a machine. More like a wounded animal. No one knew the name much less the identity of his or her Overseer. But when she’d defied protocol two weeks ago and signed with her name, he’d followed suit with his: Vincent. She knew Vincent was the beast up in the tower. Felt it in her heart. Vincent’s “voice” and the beast’s eyes spoke the same truth. But where the ignoble beast howled baleful regrets to the moon, this beast quoted poetry to her.
No, not to her, she corrected herself. She was just another rude employee who bumped into him once. He didn’t know she was V-screen USER 134872—now Katherine—who sent him progress memos, and lately shared her personal thoughts with him. She clicked on her saved messages and found the one she was looking for, Vincent’s response three weeks ago to her brazen remark about poetry and Milton. She’d delivered it out of her frustration with corporate conformity and a foolish longing for something “more”; she hadn’t expected such a stirring response.
She’d reread it several times and every time her heart flipped when he used her name:
“I admire your passion for poetry, Katherine. Does it not strip prose to the very essence of what drives our soul? If you believe in destiny, then each of us is already a story waiting to be written; mine would be a tragedy. My burning desire for knowledge destroyed the thing I most loved. I do not expect to find Eden in my lifetime here on this Earth, or elsewhere, for that matter.
